ATLAS 3 (ATLAS Series Book 3)

by Isaac Hooke

  “But the emitters will be of help against the Phants,” Ghost insisted.

  Fret was gazing in the forward direction, away from the Phant. He shielded his eyes and squinted. “Is that side passage glowing up ahead?”

  TJ, the closest to the indicated tunnel, moved forward. He paused beside the side passage.

  His eyes abruptly widened.

  “Guys,” TJ said. “Run!”

  The squad erupted in a sprint. As I raced past the offshoot tunnel, I saw a purple, glowing mass inside, one that consumed the view as far as I could see. It surged forward, literally carpeting the cave floor: hundreds and hundreds of Phants.

  I ran a few more meters and glanced over my shoulder again. Beyond Mauler, who yet brought up our rear, the new Phants joined with the first, becoming a single liquid entity. It was like watching a purple river in full spate, swelling far past its boundaries.

  Mauler steadfastly guarded our backs, holding the emitters on both sides of his body, keeping that river at bay.

  The tunnel continued widening, unfortunately.

  It wouldn’t be long before that deadly river slipped past him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Rade

  The squad had gathered near the center of the cavern. It was an unusual spot for an assembly: The jagged teeth of stalagmites and stalactites surrounded us, making it feel like we stood in the maw of some alien life-form. The towering golden mech inhabited by Azen standing at our fore could have been the tongue of that maw, while the two mechs behind him might have been the tonsils.

  I stood near Shaw but I was very careful not to look at her. I was trying to pretend, for the sake of my squad brothers, that nothing had happened between the two of us when we’d gone off together. I was doing a terrible job of it.

  “I had hoped to give you good news,” Azen said, commencing without preamble. “I had hoped to tell you our ship has completely obliterated the two vessels sent against humanity. But the truth is, we have fared poorly, despite the element of surprise. The ships, Bogey 1 and Bogey 2 as you call them, have abandoned each moon to fully engage our vessel in orbit. We are outgunned and losing.”

  “What about our fleet?” Lui said. “Is it still intact? I’m sure they’d help if you asked.”

  “Earth vessels are present, yes. Including the one you call the Gerald R. Ford. For the most part they are staying out of the way. Which is for the best, because there is no real aid the human ships can render us.” Azen glanced at Chief Bourbonjack, who had been involved in a private debriefing of some kind with the alien earlier. “Your Chief has shared with me certain specific details regarding your mission, and the mission of your companion squad, Digger. If Digger manages to destroy the Tau Ceti II-c Observer Mind, disabling Bogey 1, that is one less threat for us to deal with. Unfortunately, given the damage our vessel has taken, the chances of success against the remaining ship, though vastly increased, will still be minimal. And if Digger squad fails we have no chance whatsoever.”

  “They won’t fail,” I said.

  Azen’s mech swiveled its expressionless head toward my voice, focusing that cyclopean vision sensor on me. “Just as your own mission did not fail?”

  I had nothing to say to that.

  “Those of us marooned on this moon will not sit idly,” Azen continued. “We have decided upon a contingency plan. A way to swing the odds in our favor. My faction has recently developed an experimental high-energy particle bomb, a weapon whose yield has the potential to take down an entire ship. One of these can vaporize a planetoid one-fourth the size of your Earth.

  “Unfortunately, if we launch this weapon toward Bogey 2 using conventional means, the enemy coronal defenses will prematurely detonate it. And we cannot simply use an Acceptor on our own ship to access a teleporter on the target vessel, as we do not have the linkage codes—our embedded operatives have failed to secure them. This is why we had to use a drop shuttle to arrive on this planet, incidentally.

  “However, the Acceptors installed on this moon are still linked to the source vessel, and with them we can teleport the weapon directly to Bogey 2. It is with this purpose in mind that we have brought along one of our experimental bombs.”

  “Didn’t Shaw try something similar on Geronimo?” I said. “She placed a bomb on a teleporter but couldn’t get it to go anywhere.”

  “Of course not,” Azen said. “Triggering the Acceptor requires a modulation of the micro-Slipstream, something that Shaw could have never achieved on her own.”

  “Wait a second,” Manic said. “Just wait. What exactly do you want us to do? You do want us to do something, right? Because you wouldn’t be going into so much detail unless we had a part to play.”

  “You are correct,” Azen said. “In an effort to improve our relationship, I have decided to allow your squad to join us on this mission.”

  I exchanged an eager glance with my brothers. So we’d be participating in a direct action operation after all.

  Azen raised a lithe metallic hand. “I am transmitting the mission waypoints for integration into your HUD maps.”

  The Chief nodded toward Snakeoil. “Send it to Snakeoil. He’s our middleman.”

  “Middleman?” Azen said, sounding puzzled. “You will have to trust us at some point.”

  “We’ve been burned by so-called allies in the past,” the Chief said. “So you won’t mind if we use an intermediary for now.”

  “As you wish.”

  Snakeoil nodded a moment later. “The data seems clean. Relaying.”

  Waypoints appeared on my HUD map.

  Azen continued. “Within an ATLAS factory at the center of town there is a sinkhole.” On the map, I zoomed in on the specified factory, labeled Waypoint One. “At the bottom of this sinkhole lies the target Acceptor.” Waypoint Two, in the warrens. Seventy meters underground. “Once the surface temperature normalizes, we will take Waypoint One by storm and descend to Waypoint Two. We will place the particle warhead on the Acceptor, at which point I will arm the weapon, initiate the teleport, and eliminate Bogey 2.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” Manic declared. “It’s our original mission on steroids.”

  “These missions always sound easy at first,” Lui said. “I’m just waiting for Tinman here to tell us the kicker.”

  Azen swiveled the expressionless head of his mech toward Lui. “It will not be easy. While Bogey 2 cannot strike at us with its coronal weapon—the ship is too far away now—we will face opposition. Once the enemy realizes the previous attack failed to wipe us out, Bogey 2 will dispatch shock troops, likely utilizing our target Acceptor at Waypoint Two for their transport. We must eliminate those troops before we can place the bomb.”

  “What kind of troops are we talking here?” Bender said.

  “Highly trained units, bred for fearlessness,” Azen answered. “You have seen them, I believe. They wear the standard jumpsuit exoskeletons supplied to the organics the empire has absorbed.”

  “Jumpsuits topped by glass domes?” Lui said.

  “The very same. We may also encounter enemy mechs. In both cases, their particle weapons will be capable of disintegrating our own units, as well as triggering the bomb.”

  “Triggering the bomb?” Manic said in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Yes. If a particle weapon is fired into the core of the warhead, it will detonate, taking out the entire city, along with a massive chunk of the moon. While it is unlikely the enemy will purposely target the bomb due to the significant investment they’ve made in the area, accidents can happen. We must be mindful of the warhead at all times.”

  Lui shook his head. “Like I was saying, dudes, always a kicker.”

  “By the way,” Azen added, “your own weapons will be useless against the shock troops.”

  Lui threw up his hands in exasperation.

  �
�Why the hell would you bring us along if our weapons are useless?” Bender said.

  “Because,” Azen answered, “you will pilot our mechs alongside us.”

  That came as a shock. I glanced at my brothers. The stunned looks were quickly replaced by guarded expressions, but I could see the gleams of excitement in their eyes. Like me, I’m sure they were all thinking the same thing.

  Bring superpowerful alien mechs into battle? Hell yeah.

  “How easy are these mechs to pilot?” Lui asked, trying to act casual, and failing. “What’s the learning curve?”

  “These particular mechs are based on your own ATLAS models,” Azen answered. “It is part of the tech that was to be given to humanity once we absorbed more of your colonists—you would have piloted these mechs into battle against your homeworld. You will not need to be provisioned to operate them. Like your own ATLAS 5s, simply step into the cockpit, let the internal actuators envelop you, and the onboard AI will transfer command over to you.”

  Shaw grinned. “They’re actually easier to pilot than ATLAS mechs. It’ll be a breeze for you boys.” She gave me a wink.

  “Yes,” Azen agreed. “Be that as it may, one thing I will tell all of you now, which you may or may not approve of, is that a member of my own race will be present in each mech, acting as overseer. As such, you will be required to physically remove the EM emitters from your jumpsuits before stepping into the cockpits.”

  “An alien overseer present in each mech?” Hijak said. “Somehow that last bit ruins the whole thing.”

  “It is a necessary precaution,” Azen said. “We cannot have you running off with our technology when this is done.”

  “How do we know you won’t incinerate us the moment we tear off our EM emitters?” Hijak insisted.

  “Why would we bother, when we could have disintegrated you on sight with our particle weapons?”

  Hijak opened his mouth to answer but shut it immediately.

  “Shaw Chopra can vouch for us,” Azen continued. “She has ridden in this mech with me, and as you can see, she is entirely unharmed.”

  Hijak gave Shaw a sideways glance. “I still don’t like it. Sharing a mech with a Phant? Gonna be creepy.”

  Shaw shrugged. “You get used to it.”

  I had my own reservations. “These onboard Phants aren’t going to wrench control away from us during critical junctures, are they?”

  Azen’s head swiveled toward me. “The mechs are entirely yours to pilot and will remain so unless you become incapacitated, or otherwise do something that puts the mission at risk. The Phants are meant more as observers.”

  “And you complain that we have trust issues,” Lui muttered.

  “Better watch out, people,” Manic said. “This sets a bad precedent. He says the onboard Phants are meant to be observers. Makes you wonder if the political observer he installs in our government will behave the same way—ready to take control in case our government fails or does something the Phants don’t agree with.”

  “The political observer will have no such powers,” Azen said. “I assure you.”

  “We’re all recording this,” Manic said. “Our leaders are going to see it. We’ll let them draw their own conclusions.”

  “What’s the chain of command supposed to look like?” Snakeoil said, steering the conversation back to the mission.

  “I will be in command of the entire unit, the CO as it were. I plan to divide the group into three squads, which will be led by other members of my team. You will report to these members.”

  “What about Chief Bourbonjack?” Snakeoil said, ever the loyal one.

  “I’m just another grunt on this one, boys,” the Chief said. “And that suits me just fine.”

  “Step back for a second,” I said. “To the Acceptors. The Chief told us earlier that nothing can teleport if the target Acceptor is blocked by something, like an object or a trooper.”

  “Your Chief is correct,” Azen agreed. “The teleported shock troops must move off the Acceptor before the next batch can teleport down.”

  “I’m more worried about the target Acceptor aboard Bogey 2,” I said. “How are you going to guarantee the enemy won’t block it, preventing us from sending the bomb? Maybe they might even do it unintentionally, as the next batch of ‘shock troops’ wait to teleport down.”

  “I have operatives in place aboard Bogey 2. At my signal, they will stage a surprise attack to clear the target Acceptor. They do this, knowing that their representations in this universe will cease to exist once the bomb detonates, and they will eventually starve to death.”

  Well, at least this Azen had planned ahead.

  I realized something. “Your agents will attack at your signal . . . but it takes twenty Stanminutes to communicate between Phants. You’ll have to notify your agents twenty minutes beforehand.”

  “Messages between Phants require twenty Stanminutes, yes. But I will be utilizing AI-to-AI communications, directly signaling the mechs my operatives inhabit on the ship. Thus my agents will receive the signal near instantaneously. This is something we can’t always do with human technology, due to the EM interference caused by our mere presence.”

  “Why choose that specific Acceptor?” Manic said. “Why not use the one we arrived on? Seems to me it’s closer. Not buried inside a sinkhole in some ATLAS factory, anyway.”

  “There are two types of Acceptors,” Azen explained. “One is bidirectional. The other unidirectional. The Acceptor you used to arrive here is unidirectional. There’s no way for us to send anything back. Also, if it was exposed on the surface, it likely suffered damage during the coronal attack.”

  “What’s the range of these Acceptors?” Hijak said.

  “Most Acceptors are limited in scope to the local system, but because of the Slipstream nature of the devices, the range can be extended galaxywide to any equivalent destination Acceptor—with the correct link codes. It is somewhat similar to the Gate technology you humans employ, except the Acceptors create micro-Slipstreams on the fly rather than building atop preexisting Slipstreams. These micro-Slipstreams are too small to transport any of our ships, of course, hence our use of ‘hop’ technology and our reliance upon established Slipstreams. Incidentally, I used a galaxywide Acceptor to bring Shaw Chopra away from her captors to my homeworld.”

  “That reminds me of something I’ve been itching to know,” I said, glancing at Shaw. She purposely didn’t meet my gaze. “Why did you save her in particular?”

  “I needed someone who could pass for a possessed human host,” Azen answered. “Certain clandestine activities of mine required it. Also, I wanted somebody who could prove to the rest of humanity that our intentions were honorable. As she was the closest available unintegrated human, I chose her.”

  “So the right place at the right time, then,” I said. “Guess I was hoping for a better reason.”

  Shaw finally met my eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Azen.”

  I nodded slowly. That wasn’t something I would soon forget. I owed this Azen, whether I liked it or not, despite that he had picked her out of convenience.

  Azen directed that red vision sensor across our ranks. “Any more questions?”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, this is maybe only peripherally related to the mission, but since you’re answering our questions so willingly: What’s the difference between the Phant types? The red ones, the purple ones, the blue ones . . . Shaw tells me you’re green, for example. Is that related to your particular faction?”

  I caught Chief Bourbonjack looking at me and I realized he probably knew, either from the classified information extracted from Lana or from his private conversation with Azen.

  Well the rest of us were about to learn, too, then.

  Assuming Azen answered me.

  The alien took its time. Finally: “Imagine a beehive
. Blues and grays are the equivalent of worker bees, reliant on the Observer Mind for direction. Reds are specialized units, called the Learned. Consider them the scholars of my race—the scientists and engineers responsible for, among other things, probing captured tech and turning it into something my species can use. It was the Learned who built the original prototypes of these mechs, for example, integrating the Mason and human designs. The Learned are also given integration priority when new species are found, as they are the ones best equipped to use the information gleaned from fresh hosts.

  “Purples comprise the fighting class, and it is they who devise the strategies, politically or martially, for conquering other species. Greens are amorphous, not bound to any particular hive or hierarchy, or any specific societal role. We greens often move from hive to hive, assuming the duties most of interest to us. There are other colors and classes, such as the orange-yellow of those born into the Observer Mind hierarchy, but these comprise the majority.”

  Azen paused, as if considering whether or not to relate something else. “There was a movement to purge all greens some millennia ago, since we deviated so greatly from hive norms. In a campaign known as the Great Cleanse, greens were culled from the hives and tossed into prisons at the heart of gas giants and stars, where, deprived of geronium, they eventually died.

  “Those of us who escaped the slaughter created a homeworld specifically for greens, where we lived in secret for many millennia. Ours was not a complete hive, and we created no offspring. Meanwhile, those greens born into other hives were systematically put to death. The practice ended when a botched invasion against a particularly warlike species managed to wipe out half our numbers. All classes were needed to rebuild, including the greens, who were suddenly prized for their role-shifting abilities.

  “Ever since then we have maintained an uneasy alliance with the rest of our species. Greens born among other hives are allowed to depart after a set period, whereupon they make the journey to our homeworld. However, the rift between us never truly healed, and our mistrust of the other classes has impelled us to relocate our homeworld every few decades. It should come as no surprise that those of us involved with the splinter faction are composed entirely of greens.”