by Isaac Hooke
“Refer to my previous comment.”
On the HUD map, the dots of Fire Team 2 intermittently froze, a sign that the advance group was nearing the maximum range of our aReal nodes.
The dots abruptly swerved into an alleyway and the Chief sent a message, his voice cutting in and out with static: “Advance, FT1.”
The four of us got up, hoisted the payload, and moved forward at a jog. We made our way across the bottom of the gorge formed by the shoulders of the black resin that encrusted the lower halves of the buildings. I wondered vaguely if any survivors watched from the uppermost windows, and if so, why they didn’t try to get our attention. I guess it could be because we were still suited up, with aReal visors covering our eyes, looking all too much like some type of combat robot.
Weaving between smashed vehicles along the way, we reached the alley that housed Fire Team 2 and deposited the warhead. Then the four of us spread out and advanced in zigzag formation. I was point man, Skullcracker drag man. I kept my gaze to the forefront, scanning the buildings as I went.
After a hundred meters we took cover in a side street, ducking between the resin that coated two adjacent buildings, and there we waited for Fire Team 2 to leapfrog us in turn.
I aimed into the street and scanned the surrounding buildings, doing my job.
“Do you really think Fan was a traitor?” Manic said while we waited.
“Of course he was.” Hijak answered. His voice was directed away from me, so I knew he hadn’t looked from his sniper scope. “When Rage and I were aboard the Guide’s ship, we encountered other SKs who had joined the aliens of their own free will. They weren’t hosts—they simply decided to throw in their lots with the bad guys. Fan obviously did the same thing. It’s not really unexpected. SKs are always looking out for themselves and don’t really care who gets harmed along the way.”
“Hijak,” Lui said. “Can we tone down the anti-SK rhetoric for a little while? Please?”
Hijak shrugged. “Just saying.”
“I’d argue that Fan was a host,” I said, concentrating on the street through my scope. “I’m not so sure these aliens would allow a non-host to wander freely around their mothership.”
“He wasn’t exactly wandering freely when we found him,” Hijak said. “But even so, you checked Fan yourself. You told us he wasn’t a host.”
“Actually I couldn’t tell. His helmet blocked my view of the back of his head.”
“If he was a host,” Manic interjected, “then why did he seem so human?”
I had to sigh at that. “You haven’t met a host before. It’s not so big a stretch for them to play at being human, especially when they have the contents of an entire human mind and its associated embedded ID to work with. The woman whose body we salvaged? Lana? She was a host at one point. I was utterly convinced she was human. A Keeper named Jiāndāo.”
“We were drugged, humiliated, and tortured,” Hijak said. “We would have believed anything back then.”
It was a struggle for me not to close my eyes. I hadn’t meant to bring our interrogation up. It just came.
And now I regretted it.
The Keeper had called me Floor. Something whose only worth was to be stepped on.
I had resisted her, at first. But after a mere seven days I caved and told her everything. Seven days.
I pushed thoughts of my humiliation and breaking aside, and concentrated on the task at hand. I would overwatch my brothers who were out there and exposed. I would do my duty and prevent anything from happening to them.
I would.
Fire Team 2 deposited the payload at our location and moved forward, eventually assuming an overwatch position a hundred meters ahead.
That was our cue. The four of us hoisted the warhead and jogged onward. We dropped the device off at Fire Team 2’s location and leapfrogged them until we reached the next suitable overwatch.
“Why does it seem like we always find ourselves given the butt end of the stick?” Manic complained quietly after we had settled into our newest position. “Deep in enemy territory, surrounded by bad guys, with no way out and no contact with home base. The story of our lives.”
Hijak exhaled. “Relax, Manic. We’ve seen worse.”
“What do you mean we? You’re still the new guy on the team. You’ve hardly seen anything.”
“Cut it, Manic,” I said, scanning my scope from left to right. “Hijak has witnessed enough shit to last a lifetime, trust me. We all have.”
“It’s bad karma,” Manic insisted. “I’m telling you. We should have helped those refugees on the ship when we had the chance. And now we’re paying for it.”
“Yeah well, look what happened when we tried saving one of those so-called refugees,” Hijak said.
Manic shook his head. “Like I said, karma, bro. We would have never met that Fan dude if we’d helped the others.”
I exhaled in exasperation. “Shut it, Manic. Let’s not draw any more attention to ourselves than we have to.”
“Their footsteps are louder than our voices,” Manic complained, referring to the approach of Fire Team 2. I felt him shift beside me. “Look around. Just take a look. Like I said before, if ever there was a hell, this is it.”
I didn’t answer. None of us did. We didn’t want to goad him into continuing his morale-leeching tirade. He stayed quiet, thankfully.
Though honestly, the devastation in the city was starting to get to me, too, even if I wasn’t as vocal about it as Manic.
I could imagine, not too long ago, cute girls in short skirts swinging their hips as they sauntered down this very street. I could almost smell the greasy scent of fast food wafting in the air, and hear the laughter of children playing in a nearby park.
All that was left were the dead streets filled with smashed vehicles, electric signs, and other vestiges of defeat, and the ruined buildings covered in bulbous, black masses, with dark pits leading to the alien hordes lying in wait beneath the city. The air hung with the stench of burned petrol and flesh.
Manic was right. Welcome to hell.
About half an hour later we arrived at the city defense force armory.
The inside was smashed and looted—the residents had probably made a run for the munitions after the invasion. That was what I would have done, anyway. The facility contained ATLAS 5 bays, but they proved empty. We found a locked weapons locker, and with Snakeoil’s plasma torch, cut our way inside. We distributed the grenades within between us, but none of the remaining small arms ammunition was actually compatible with our weapons, so we ended up swapping our loadouts for SK equivalents.
Snakeoil produced a few magnesium-ion battery packs he’d snagged from vehicles and robots along the way; we connected to the terminals via our universal charge ports and repowered our suits. We also repurposed fuel from backup power generators, which gave our jetpacks six or seven more spurts each.
The communications array was utterly destroyed, so we decided our next destination would be the starport. There was another comm station we could check along the way but in all likelihood it was razed, too. Our best chance at getting out of here was to find a ship or shuttle.
Resupplied and ready to go, I relieved Hijak of his guard position at the entrance to the armory so he could grab some ammo, recharge his suit, and siphon the jetpack fuel we’d set aside for him.
I crouched beside the doorway and aimed out into the street. The SK sniper rifle felt fairly close to its UC equivalent; it helped that I’d swapped out the scope with my old one. Still, I doubted I’d be setting any sniping records with the thing.
As I scanned the street, something unexpected crossed my sights.
A kid stood in the middle of the devastated roadway, staring right at me. He held a doll of some kind in his right hand.
“Uh, Chief,” I sent over the comm.
The kid took
off immediately, scrambling up the black mass caking a nearby building.
“Talk to me, Rage,” Chief Bourbonjack returned. “What’s going on out there?”
“Civilian sighted, Chief,” I transmitted. “A kid.”
“We’re on our way.”
A few moments later the Chief, crouching, joined me at the entrance. “So where’s this kid?”
I pointed out the building across the street. “Zoom in on the second window from the top, three from the right. Just above the resin.”
The Chief followed my instructions, focusing on the broken window three stories up, at the upper edge of the black mass encasing the building. The kid was peering past the bottom of the window frame. “I see him.”
The rest of the group joined us, crouching in a file behind the Chief.
“Viewing” icons activated on my aReal, indicating which other members of the squad were observing the scene from my point of view.
“What are we going to do?” Lui said.
“Nothing,” Bender spat. “We’re soldiers, not babysitters.”
“We can’t just leave him,” I said.
“Why not?” Bender said. “Could be a trap.”
“A trap?” Snakeoil said, sounding exasperated. “The invaders wouldn’t use a kid as bait.”
Bender cocked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t they? I’m sure they’re familiar with human psychology by now. They know how to press our buttons.”
“The Phants wouldn’t need to set up such an elaborate trap,” I said. “With all the robots they’ve possessed, and all the crabs and slugs probably swarming in the warrens underneath us at this very moment, why bother? There are only eight of us. The enemy could overwhelm us at any time.”
“Have to agree with Rage,” Skullcracker said. “When the enemy chooses to attack, they’ll attack openly. We can’t leave the kid.”
“But that’s not our mission,” Bender insisted stubbornly.
“We don’t have a mission anymore,” I said. “Other than saving lives.” I glanced at the Chief for support.
Chief Bourbonjack nodded slowly. “We’ll do our best to help the kid. Manic, Lui, I want you to enter the building from the other side. Climb the resin to the third floor, get in and camp out in the hallway outside the kid’s apartment. We’ll give you five minutes. Once you’re in place, we’ll flush the kid your way.”
Manic and Lui hurried into the street and vanished around the corner of the building.
I kept my eyes on the window, observing the kid via the zoom in my helmet aReal. He remained crouching behind the window frame the entire time.
On my HUD, the dots representing Manic and Lui promptly froze on the other side of the building, and I knew they were out of comm range. Even so, I had absolute faith they’d be in position when the time came.
“I hope you’re right about this not being a trap . . .” Bender said.
When the assigned five minutes had passed, the Chief ordered Hijak and me forward to flush the kid out.
The two of us hurried across the street at a crouch. We reached the black resin at the base of the apartment building and began clambering up the lumpy surface. Dark caves led down into the resin at random intervals around us, but we continued upward, ignoring them.
I glanced at the window above but couldn’t discern any sign of the kid from this angle. He had probably moved farther inside already.
I reached the broken window at the top of the resin and peered in.
It was a bedroom. Animated posters depicting Chinese superheroes covered one wall. A nightstand lay just below the window, and beside it, a single bed: the comforter had a bunch of tiny ATLAS mech designs sewn into it. Child-sized clothes from a wooden dresser had been dumped onto the floor.
“No sign of the kid,” I sent. “Going in.”
I was just at the edge of comm range and couldn’t make out Chief Bourbonjack’s reply through the static. I glanced back and waved. The tiny figure at the entrance to the armory waved back.
I looped the sling of my rifle over my shoulder assembly and carefully lowered myself first onto the nightstand and then onto the floor—a tricky task, given the bulk of my jumpsuit. I assumed a guard position at the entrance to the room as I waited for Hijak to follow me inside.
When he was in, Hijak knelt to peer under the bed. He glanced at me, shaking his head.
Next Hijak searched the closet, but again found nothing.
I left him guarding the area and I moved out into the corridor. I made my way toward the front of the suite, pausing beside every room along the way to scan the contents. I didn’t see the kid, but I noticed plenty of places he could be hiding. I wasn’t going to check those places just yet, however.
At the vestibule, I halted. Because of their close proximity, the dots of Manic and Lui had updated, so I already knew they awaited on either side of the door outside.
Without opening the door I sent: “Any sign of the kid?”
“Nope,” Lui returned.
I told Lui to join me and, leaving Manic at the entrance, we split up to properly search the apartment. We left the front door tantalizingly open.
I found the kid in the study, cowering behind a desk.
He was shaking, and his were eyes wide with fear. He hugged a small toy to his chest—it looked like a miniature ATLAS 5.
I held out a gloved palm to him.
He glanced at my hand with those fearful eyes but didn’t otherwise move.
I beckoned slowly.
He bit his lower lip and shook his head.
And then the kid tried to run past me.
“Oh no you don’t.” I sprung forward and caught the boy by the arm. He twisted frantically, as if trying to rip his own arm off. I hastily stepped forward and hugged him to my chest so that he wouldn’t hurt himself. He continued squirming in my arms.
“Calm down,” I said. I switched on the Korean-Chinese translator, since my command of the language was fairly bad. “Calm down.”
The child kept struggling. I was never really all that good with kids. Especially crazy ones.
I moved to the corner of the room and set him down. I crouched, extending my arms, blocking any avenue of retreat.
“Look, I’m here to help you,” I said.
Shielding his head with one arm, the kid curled into a ball against the wall. When he glanced up at me he whimpered softly. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
I had no idea what to do.
“I’m Rade,” I said.
The child didn’t answer.
I pointed at myself. “Rade.”
Still nothing.
My eyes focused on the toy the kid gripped tightly in one hand. A miniature ATLAS 5.
“You see that?” I pointed at the toy. “I pilot those. ATLAS mechs.” The kid’s eyes drifted to the doorway behind me and then he shielded his face once more.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Lui there.
“Maybe I should try?” Lui said.
“No, I got this.” To my helmet AI, I added: “Feed nozzle, extend.”
Lui snickered. “Don’t tell me you’re going to try giving him some of your MRE?”
“Why not? The kid must be starving.”
“Sure,” Lui said. “But that’s an MRE. Not food.”
“Hey, if we can eat it, it’s good enough for a kid. Probably tastes better than what he’s used to, anyway.”
Lui seemed affronted. “That better not be some kind of racial stereotype you’re throwing out there.”
“Not at all,” I said, thinking fast. “I meant, you know, the food in the aftermath of the invasion.”
Lui seemed satisfied with that answer.
I returned my attention to the kid and waited for him to look at me. When he did, I pointed at the feed nozzle in my helmet. Exaggerating my
gestures, I took a sip on the straw-like extension, drinking the banana-flavored gruel. The smell permeated the room.
“Mmm.” I said, trying to pretend it tasted really good. I circled a gloved hand over my belly.
I turned the feed nozzle toward the kid and took a step forward, but the child cowered lower.
“He’s never going to let you bring that close to him,” Lui said.
I shot Lui an annoyed look and then gazed at the child once more. Lui was probably right, I had to admit.
So I activated the nozzle and let a substantial amount of liquid meal replacement pour onto the floor instead. Then I backed away.
When the child looked up, I pointed at the goo. “Eat.”
“That’s disgusting, Rage,” Lui said. “Even I wouldn’t eat it.”
I glared at him. “Will you just—”
The kid abruptly dashed forward and began licking the liquid MRE from the floor like an animal. He kept his eyes on me the whole time.
“Told you he was hungry,” I beamed.
“You could have at least grabbed a cup from the kitchen or something,” Lui said. “We’re not barbarians.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “Would you mind?”
Lui rolled his eyes and walked out.
When he came back with a cup, I filled it up with MRE liquid and placed it on the floor in front of the kid—the child had finished my first offering a while ago and had returned to his spot in the corner.
I stepped back.
The child snatched up the cup and eagerly guzzled the contents. Yellow gruel trickled down his chin. When he was done, he wiped the liquid from his chin and swallowed it, then licked the inside of the cup. The kid kept his eyes on me the whole time.
When he set the cup down between us, I held out my glove.
“Take my hand,” I said.
He shook his head.
I took a step forward—
The kid tried to dart past again.
I grabbed him.
Once more he flailed in my arms, this time stronger than before. I was starting to think it had been a mistake to feed him.
“It’s okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice soothing. “I’m going to get you out of here. I’ll bring you to your family.”
