ATLAS 3 (ATLAS Series Book 3)

by Isaac Hooke

  While the rest of us covered them as best we could, Snakeoil pulled out his plasma cutter, and Manic and Lui approached the bulkhead.

  “Let’s get this done,” Lui said.

  Manic and Lui sprayed the bulkhead with their incendiaries. The pipes comprising the undulating surface instantly parted before the streaming flames. Staying abreast, Manic and Lui moved into the gap.

  Apparently realizing what we intended, the jumpsuited aliens pressed forward with renewed urgency. Weapons were passed down their ranks so that those who had dropped them (thanks to our sniping efforts) were armed again.

  “Lift the payload, people!” the Chief said. “But keep firing! Move! Skullcracker, watch our backs!”

  I switched my pistol to automatic mode and then I, Hijak, Bender, and the Chief hoisted the nuclear warhead between us. We fired into the approaching enemy with our free hands from our positions on either side of the payload.

  I managed to divert the aim of one of those rifle-blades but I couldn’t knock it away entirely. I switched targets to another alien whose weapon was coming to bear and I deflected its attack as well.

  Snakeoil dove through the shrinking gap in the bulkhead after Manic and Lui. He circled his plasma cutter around the rim of the passageway as he went, widening the undulating walls and preventing them from returning to their prior configurations too quickly.

  We four porters hurried inside behind Snakeoil. The fit was tight, and my right side scraped against the shrinking bulkhead. I was forced to position my free hand and the 9-mil I held in front of my body. Still, I didn’t need the weapon right then. And though entering a shrinking, claustrophobic-inducing hole on an alien vessel wasn’t on my top-ten list of things to do before I died, it was a relief to be out of the line of fire.

  After us came Skullcracker, bringing up the rear. He still had his heavy gun, and he walked backwards, whaling on the aliens that crowded the shrinking entrance behind him.

  The hole was too small for those aliens to fit, of course, at least while standing. One of them managed to squeeze into the gap by crouching, but it couldn’t move very far, not under the impacts of Skullcracker’s heavy gun.

  The bulkhead resealed behind Skullcracker and swallowed the alien.

  None of the other troops pursued. In theory, they could have used their disintegration weapons to carve a path but that would mean damaging their own ship. Better to simply meet us on the other side of this bulkhead. Wherever it led.

  The uneven surface of the deck changed in realtime as the pipes contracted. Somehow we managed not to trip, advancing as fast as we could across this passageway hewn through the living walls of the vessel. The bulkhead sealed in our wake so that it felt like we traveled inside some air pocket through a slab of solidifying magma.

  Ahead, I hoped the bulkheads would give way soon, but as time passed and still the undulating pipes didn’t end, I had a sick feeling in my stomach that Manic and Lui might run out of incendiary rounds before we emerged. If that happened, we’d be crushed by the peristaltic contractions of the very passage we carved.

  “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” Bender transmitted, mirroring my own thoughts.

  And then we were through.

  Following Snakeoil, I emerged into an empty corridor, as did the three others who ported the payload. Skullcracker stumbled through last.

  We lowered the warhead in relief.

  “What was that you were saying, Bender?” I sent.

  “That was the best idea ever,” Bender transmitted.

  “And keep those ideas coming,” the Chief said.

  Skullcracker watched the bulkhead slowly seal behind him. “Tell me we won’t ever have to do that again.”

  “How many incendiary rounds do you have left?” the Chief asked Manic and Lui.

  Manic shook his head. “Almost out.”

  “Me too,” Lui sent.

  The Chief compressed his jaw behind his faceplate. “There you go, Skullcracker. We won’t ever have to do it again. Though I’d much rather we had the option.”

  “What now?” Manic sent.

  “We continue toward the target,” the Chief said matter-of-factly. “But first: Snakeoil, with me.”

  He and Snakeoil disarmed the payload and then the Chief had Snakeoil reactivate the wave-canceling tech that masked the nuclear signature.

  Spare weaponry was quickly doled out between us, and I was given a sniper rifle once more, as was Bender—though he would’ve probably preferred a standard-issue rifle, judging from the sour expression on his face.

  “Let’s be on our way before the cavalry comes again,” the Chief sent. “The ruse is up, boys. Point and drag men, I want you on extra alert.”

  The squad spread out again and moved forward at a faster lope than before, carrying the nuclear warhead ever deeper into Bogey 2. The enemy was aware of us now, but there wasn’t much else we could do but continue our mission. I didn’t think it was likely we’d actually reach the Observer Mind though, given how far away it was, but the closer we could bring the bomb, the greater the chance of inflicting actual damage on the target upon detonation. Even if we didn’t harm the Observer Mind, if we got close enough maybe we’d still succeed in crippling the Skull Ship.

  We passed a side corridor. I stared into the darkness, letting my aReal map as much of the passage as it could in the brief amount of time my helmet pointed in that direction.

  As I moved on, a male voice emerged from the murk, speaking perfect English.

  “Help me!”

  The squad halted.

  I stared into the side corridor but could see nothing beyond the ambient light of our headlamps.

  “Help me!” the voice came again.

  It sounded almost like . . . no, it couldn’t be.

  Alejandro?

  The Chief and I exchanged glances.

  “It’s a trap,” Skullcracker said.

  “Rage, Hijak, check it out,” Chief Bourbonjack said.

  Hijak and I proceeded down the corridor at a jog. My heart was literally pounding.

  Alejandro.

  Alive after all this time.

  I almost couldn’t believe it.

  I felt trepidation, matched by a nearly unrestrained joy.

  Those eerie, undulating bulkheads swayed and flowed around us. If they contracted and tried to crush me to death, I’d fight through them, because in that moment I’d do whatever it took to reach Alejandro.

  In seconds the cone of light from my helmet illuminated a small, squirming shape up ahead, which protruded from the deck. It was a jumpsuit, about the same size as my own, glued to the gangway via some sort of resin.

  I hurried over to the jumpsuit and knelt to peer inside the helmet.

  It wasn’t Alejandro.

  The disappointment I felt was staggering. I actually lost my balance and had to rest a steadying hand on the victim’s jumpsuit. I’d wanted it to be Alejandro so badly that I’d hallucinated.

  “Chief, you better get over here,” Hijak sent.

  “What is it?” the Chief returned. “What did you find?”

  “An SK.”

  “I am Fan,” the SK said, using his external speakers. “Please, get me out of here.”

  He sounded nothing like Alejandro. But we human beings had a way of torturing ourselves when we lost those people we cared about. We would imagine we saw them on the street when we spotted a stranger of similar build, dress, and hair color in the distance. We’d go to them and upon seeing their face we’d realize our mind’s deception. Or we’d think we had heard their voice and we’d follow it to the source, only to find someone else speaking entirely.

  While the rest of the squad came up, bringing the payload, I had Hijak move aside, then I peered into the SK’s faceplate. Even though I shined my headlamp directly inside, the bulky rim o
f his helmet prevented me from seeing the back of his head, so I couldn’t tell if there was a metallic bar grafted onto the rear of his skull.

  “Turn your head to the left,” I told him. “As far as you can.”

  Fan obeyed.

  I saw his right ear fully, but other than that, the rim still occluded the back section of his cranium.

  The Chief came up beside me. “Is he a host, then?” Chief Bourbonjack spoke over the squad-level comm, keeping his external speakers deactivated so that Fan couldn’t hear.

  I shook my head. “I can’t actually tell. Short of taking off his helmet, there’s really no way to see the back of his head.”

  The Chief glanced at Snakeoil. “Readings?”

  “Though the jumpsuit looks almost the same as our own, and is probably in fact based on our tech, it seems to be of alien make,” Snakeoil sent. “As such, I can’t get a reading through the it. No vital signs. No EM signatures. Can’t even scan the public profile on his embedded ID. But I’ll tell you what I can read, and that’s the resin binding him. It’s made from an allotrope of geronium, similar to the stuff we found caking the buildings in Shangde City.”

  I exchanged a worried glance with the Chief. Crabs and slugs had produced that resin in Shangde City. Did that mean those alien breeds loitered somewhere aboard this ship, too? We had enough trouble as it was dealing with the other aliens.

  “Set me free,” Fan said, using his external speakers.

  “What the hell are we going to do with him?” Manic said over the squad comm.

  “Well, he is human,” Lui sent. “We can’t just leave him here. We already left enough people behind back there.”

  “Yeah, but that’s because we had to,” Manic returned.

  “Exactly,” Lui countered. “This man has a jumpsuit. He can live. We can get him out of here.”

  “Did he give a name?” the Chief transmitted.

  “Fan,” Hijak sent.

  The Chief momentarily used his external speakers to address the SK. “Fan, switch to frequency 134 please.”

  That was a new comm line the Chief had just formed, which we could all use to communicate with the SK instead of having to rely on external speakers that might attract unwanted visitors. If we needed to exclude Fan from our conversations, we could still revert to the squad-level comm.

  “How did you get here?” the Chief sent over the new frequency.

  “Please, get me out of this.” Fan squirmed against his resinous binds.

  “Not until you tell me who you are,” Chief Bourbonjack said.

  “I told you, I am Fan.”

  “Care to expand on that? Are you military?”

  “Yes. I’m part of the fourth regiment, second battalion, city defense group, Tau Ceti II-b.”

  The Chief seemed unconvinced. “And how did you get here exactly?”

  Fan met the Chief’s piercing eyes. “I was captured when the robots turned. They took me to a holding facility beneath a football field. I woke up here, encased in resin.”

  “Why would the aliens deposit an unpossessed human in an empty corridor?” Snakeoil transmitted on the squad-level comm, excluding Fan. “It makes no sense.”

  “Unless they put him here because they wanted to lure us,” the Chief answered. “Though the question is, why?”

  “To delay us, maybe?” Lui put forth.

  “He could be a weapon of some kind,” Manic offered.

  “The possibilities are endless, aren’t they?” the Chief said. “And none of them point to his presence doing us any good.”

  “We should leave him,” Hijak said.

  Lui turned toward Fan. “How did you get that jumpsuit?”

  “I had it when I woke up,” Fan insisted. “The aliens must have put it on me.”

  “Why do you speak English so well?” Lui said.

  “English immersion,” Fan answered. “First seven years of schooling.”

  “How much oxygen do you have left in your tanks?”

  “It looks like . . . about four days’ worth.”

  Lui turned toward the Chief and switched to the squad-level comm again. “Chief, you have to let him come with us.”

  The Chief half smiled and half frowned in that kind of grimace he made when he thought something was a very bad idea.

  “Chief,” Lui continued. “Please. We’ve already abandoned so many innocents. We can’t leave this man, too. If the aliens put him here to delay us, then the sooner we let him go, the faster we can move on. We’re good men. We don’t leave innocent people to die.”

  But we did that earlier, I thought bitterly. With the refugees in the glass tank.

  The Chief bit his lip and then nodded. On the public comm he said to Fan, “Against my better judgment I’m going to set you free. Better not make me regret the decision.”

  Skullcracker patted his heavy gun. “Don’t make any of us regret it.”

  “I won’t,” Fan said. “I won’t. Thank you, all of you.”

  The Chief waved Snakeoil forward. “Cut him loose, breacher.”

  Snakeoil hefted his plasma cutter and knelt. He brought the cutter close and activated it, slowly outlining Fan’s jumpsuit, melting the resin that held the SK in place. Fan was able to sit up halfway through but the Chief ordered him back down.

  When it was done, Snakeoil stood back and the Chief allowed Fan to stand.

  “Skullcracker and Bender, I want you two to keep watch on him,” the Chief transmitted openly.

  “With pleasure,” Skullcracker returned, eyes gleaming as he regarded Fan.

  “I’m watching you, bitch,” Bender sent to Fan.

  The SK ignored the comments and glanced at the nuclear payload. “You came to destroy the ship?”

  The Chief smiled, saying nothing.

  “Perhaps I can help you.”

  Chief Bourbonjack’s smile transformed into a feral grin, replete with teeth. “I highly doubt that.” He turned to regard the rest of us. “We’ve tarried here long enough. Let’s move, people. Rage, Manic, Snakeoil, with me on the payload.”

  We hoisted the payload between us and returned to the main passage, traveling in the direction of the Observer Mind once more.

  “I can help you,” Fan insisted as we walked. His gaze was still on the nuclear payload.

  “I’m listening . . .” Chief transmitted. “But that doesn’t guarantee a thing.”

  “My Implant is still active,” Fan said.

  The Chief seemed puzzled. “Your Implant is active.”

  “Yes. You know what that means, don’t you? It has continued mapping, even while I was unconscious. Using visual data sent from my helmet cams, rather than my eyes.”

  “Using visual data from your helmet,” the Chief mused, sounding doubtful. He switched to the private comm. “Snakeoil, I thought you said his suit was of alien make. How could it interface with his Implant?”

  “Assuming he’s telling the truth, Chief,” Snakeoil replied, “that isn’t so farfetched, given the external design. As I said, though the suit is of alien make, it is based on our own tech.”

  “If that’s true,” Manic said over the private comm, “it’s scary how easily they’ve reverse engineered our technology.”

  Snakeoil nodded. “With possessed human hosts helping them, it’s probably not all that difficult, unfortunately.”

  “And his claim that his Implant is still active?” the Chief sent. “How is that even possible, given the EM blasts the Phants like to use to overwhelm its circuitry?”

  “Maybe he got lucky,” Lui transmitted. “And they haven’t gotten around to blasting him yet.”

  “Either that, or he’s one of them . . .” Hijak sent.

  The Chief eyed Hijak, apparently carefully considering his words. Then he turned toward Snakeoil. “One last thing. If
the SK’s suit is really based on human tech, wouldn’t the aReal built into his helmet do the mapping already? Why would he have to rely on the Implant?”

  “The aReal would do the mapping,” Snakeoil agreed. “But if he was logged into his Implant when he fell unconscious, the helmet would continue sending data to the Implant, not the aReal.”

  “Good point.” Chief Bourbonjack switched to the public comm. “Well, Fan, let’s take a look at this map data of yours. Send it to Snakeoil here. He’s the one—”

  A transfer window abruptly appeared on my aReal, cutting off the Chief. The data source was labeled “unknown.”

  The Chief frowned at Fan and then turned toward the rest of us. “Snakeoil, accept the transfer. You’re our buffer. Everyone else, drop the connection.”

  I promptly dismissed the incoming data window.

  Snakeoil remained silent a moment. And then: “Even though it’s just a data file, I had the virus scanner take a look anyway. No infections. I plugged it into the mapping software. Looks legit. If this data is accurate, I should be able to plot a much more direct route to the Observer Mind. Will probably save us a few hours.”

  “Propagate it to the rest of us,” Chief Bourbonjack ordered.

  I watched the map fill out on my HUD as I received the data. Out of curiosity I overlaid the EM emission source corresponding to the Observer Mind. None of the new mapped corridors actually approached the Observer Mind—though a few came close. In any case, the map data would definitely help us get there faster.

  “All right, Snakeoil,” the Chief sent. “Best route?”

  “I’m plotting a path now,” Snakeoil said over the comm.

  “I still don’t like it.” Hijak sent over the private line. “And I’m not just saying that because this Fan guy is an SK. He shows up right after we finish fending off an alien attack and gives us map data that just so happens to reveal the fastest route to our destination. Smells like a honey pot to me. You know, the kind sys admins use to trick hackers into logging into jailed shells, and while the hackers are busy poking around, monitor processes dispatch police robos to pick them up.”