ATLAS 3 (ATLAS Series Book 3)

by Isaac Hooke

  Aiding our wounded brothers, we limped up that escalator, the ominous clangs of the enemy still some distance behind us. We all had rad-induced nosebleeds by then. The intense radiation affected the robots too, I was sure, because a group of fully powered Centurions would have easily overtaken us by then.

  We emerged into the ash-covered terminal area of the port and hurried past the smashed, unmanned kiosks. It was unnerving that we never once encountered any human bodies. I supposed those uncaptured refugees whom the Phants didn’t incinerate had been vaporized by the nukes of the Brass instead. That, or fed to the Queen.

  We passed through the unmanned security checkpoints and inactive scanners and burst onto the tarmac outside.

  Everything was destroyed.

  And I mean literally everything.

  Blast craters littered the runways. Pieces of what must have been spacecraft strewed the asphalt. Some spaceliners were partially recognizable as such, though invariably had missing wings or broken fuselages. I spotted a large shuttle nearby, torn in half. On it were written the words “Juneyao Spacelines” in English beneath the Korean-Chinese equivalent.

  Radioactive fallout sheathed the broken craft in a thin film of white ash so that the entire runway appeared a graveyard filled with giant, prehistoric bones. A ribcage here, a thigh there. Bones, bones, and more bones.

  Of course any intact liners would have long ago left this moon. What the hell were we thinking by coming here?

  There was nothing for us at this port. Not a thing.

  We wouldn’t be getting off the moon after all.

  Despite everything we’d been through, our journey would end there.

  It hardly seemed right.

  The spirits certainly had an odd sense of humor.

  The spirits . . . I’d be joining them, soon.

  The only regret I had was that my children would be growing up without a father.

  I used to worry that without an aReal I wouldn’t be able to remember their faces before I died. The worry proved unfounded, because I could see them as vividly as if they were there right beside me. I even saw Tepin: she looked down at me, smiling proudly, eyes wet with tears.

  Forgive me, Tepin.

  A wave of dizziness overcame me and I collapsed on the tarmac, sending up small particles of white ash. The rad poisoning was getting to me. That, or the hopelessness of it all.

  Beside me, other members of the squad exhibited similar signs of defeat: Bomb sat down with a huff; TJ uttered a quiet prayer.

  I gazed skyward at our coming doom.

  The Skull Ship filled the entire horizon.

  So this was what it was like to know you had only a few minutes left to live. To be lying on your deathbed with the respirator disconnected and fully aware of your last moments. Knowing that there were so many things you still wanted to do in your life. So many things left unfinished.

  And yet you were out of time.

  I pushed away the thoughts of hopelessness and self-pity. Those things didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was that I spent my last few minutes fighting.

  With my brothers.

  Mauler helped me to my feet.

  “Let me go,” Facehopper told Fret, who had been acting as his crutch the whole while.

  Fret complied, letting Facehopper stand on his own.

  Our leading petty officer passed his gaze from face to face. “It was a pleasure fighting with you all. The greatest pleasure. I know some of us have had our disagreements”—I suspected those words were for me—“but we’ve always been there for each other, in the end. Always. Just as we’re here for each other now.” Facehopper limped to a nearby blast crater and dropped. He trained his rifle on the terminal behind us. “Let’s show the enemy what it means to be MOTHs, mates!”

  “Brothers to the end,” I said.

  “Brothers to the end.”

  We all followed Facehopper’s example and assumed firing positions inside the shallow blast crater, sending ash into the air as we dropped. We aimed our rifles at the terminal: when the Centurions came, they’d step headfirst into facefuls of lead.

  Beside me, Mauler tossed aside the two EM emitters. We had no need of those anymore.

  I ran my gaze across my brothers, wanting to see them all one last time before I died.

  Ghost. Trace. Mauler. TJ. Bomb. Fret. Facehopper.

  The incoming gunfire began.

  Brothers to the end.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Rade

  The three alien mechs stood on the Acceptor with their weapons pointed down at the teleportation device. They intended to destroy our only means of harming Bogey 2. We couldn’t just shoot them down—all of our own weapons had overheated. Nor could we tackle them, because two ranks of crabs stood between the mechs and us.

  But we weren’t helpless.

  Not by a long shot.

  Acting on instinct and a sense of determination that spat in the face of all despair, I unleashed a horizontal jumpjet burst and broke through the crab ranks. I smashed into the first mech and on impact I redirected its cannon up and to the side.

  The ZEUS activated its weapon and the ensuing particle beam cut the closely spaced second and third mechs in half, disintegrating the Phants inside.

  I got lucky, and not just because of the shot: The alien operators aboard had likely been disoriented, and hadn’t noticed that their mechs had teleported. If I had reached them just an instant later, the mechs probably would have succeeded in destroying the Acceptor.

  I landed on that first ZEUS, pinning the enemy beneath my mech. I forced its weapon arm upward, keeping the cannon pointed away from the Acceptor and my allies.

  Before the black mech could fire again, a particle beam activated from somewhere behind me and disintegrated most of the enemy’s weapon, rendering it useless. One of my allies had a working particle cannon again.

  The enemy mech shifted beneath me and managed to plant a metallic foot firmly against my chest. Before I could do anything I was rudely shoved backward.

  The ZEUS rose.

  I got up, too, expecting a fight.

  But the black mech turned around and barged through the crabs that thronged the Acceptor. It was running away, apparently afraid of the working particle weapon one of my companions possessed.

  That particle beam activated again. Azen himself was firing.

  Two crabs between the black mech and Azen were cut in half; Azen steered the beam toward the fleeing enemy, but the black ZEUS had time to activate its energy shield and deflected the blow. The mech seemed headed for Fan and his team, and probably intended to reinforce them.

  I remained on the Acceptor. I wanted to block other shock troops from teleporting down. The two dismembered black mechs were still on the disc, but the crabs, taking a cue from the combat robots before them, were already trying to drag the parts away. I fought off those alien entities, refusing to allow the damn things to gain a foothold.

  I glanced toward the intact black mech in time to watch it reach Fan. The weaponless ZEUS knelt and, incredibly, opened its cockpit to allow Fan inside.

  “Azen, shoot down that mech!” I transmitted.

  “I am sorry, Rade,” Azen returned. “My cannon has already overheated again.”

  So much for the vaunted alien weaponry.

  I heard a racket of clattering pincers and mandibles behind me. Turning around, I watched as a thick mass of crabs surged from a side passage, cutting me off from the rest of the squad.

  Something tackled me from behind and I landed facedown on the Acceptor. Before my aggressor could pin me, I slithered from its grasp and spun to face it; expecting a large crab, instead I found myself opposite the black mech, now piloted by Fan. That red, cyclopean sensor glowed in malevolent anticipation.

  I swung my useless particle weapon into t
he black ZEUS like a club and the mech fell backward. I hit the giant form again and again, as hard as I could, but I didn’t make a dent. I kept glancing at the “overheated” indicator on my HUD, hoping the weapon would become available.

  Eventually I had to take a step back—I was tiring myself out. Inside the cockpit sweat trickled down my face and along my ribs, and my breath came in ragged gasps.

  Fan’s mech lay prostrate before me at the edge of the Acceptor. One of its dark arms fumbled for something beyond the rim of the disc. I couldn’t see what he was reaching for from here—maybe a crab body part to use as a club?

  “Fan,” I said, using the external speakers. “If you’re still in there somewhere, the human part of you, resist. Fight against your possessor. We can still save you.”

  Nearby crabs attempted to haul me off the Acceptor and I repelled them before turning back to Fan.

  And then I saw what he had been fumbling for: His mech had retrieved a swordlike particle weapon from the severed arm of a shock troop my company had taken down earlier. And though somewhat small for the mech’s large metal hands, Fan managed to wield the weapon like a pistol. He sat up and immediately pointed it down at the Acceptor.

  I moved forward and kicked his arm upward just in time. The particle beam narrowly missed my head, cutting a runnel into the ceiling.

  Fan rose, barreling his mech into me. I stumbled backward but managed to stay on the Acceptor as he walloped my ZEUS several times. Evidently he was waiting for his newfound weapon’s recharge period to pass. The inside of my cockpit rang with the blows.

  He stepped backward abruptly and pointed the swordlike object right at my chest.

  My arm unexpectedly shifted upward of its own accord and my energy shield activated.

  Fan fired a millisecond later—the shield absorbed the blow.

  “You’re welcome,” Surus said via the cockpit speakers.

  “Don’t ever take control without my permission again.” I dashed forward and pummeled into the black ZEUS, forcing it to the ground.

  “Humans,” Surus said as I fought. “Your species is so unappreciative.”

  I dug my knees into the chest area of the enemy ZEUS and struck the head a few times with my makeshift club. Then I folded the cannon away and, covering the mech’s cyclopean vision sensor with one hand, I reached for Fan’s swordlike particle weapon, intending to wrench it free.

  A crab decided to latch onto my leg just then and I was unceremoniously hauled from the mech.

  Before I could escape from the crab, the black ZEUS lifted its swordlike particle weapon toward me—

  I rolled to the side, bringing the crab with me, and activated my shield.

  Those pincers abruptly lost their grip. They had been severed from the rest of the crab’s body, which didn’t exist anymore.

  Thanks, Fan.

  I kicked the pincers toward Fan’s mech but the ZEUS was already running at me. Fan struck my body just as I stood up and, before I could react, he lifted my mech over his head and smashed me down on one knee. The crook of my lower back landed squarely against the metal, and the internal cockpit cocoon bent my body backward to match the outer posture of the mech. The alien tech seemed to be missing the injury-prevention safeguards found in regular ATLAS 5s, because the actuators bent me so far backward it felt like my lower back was going to break.

  The black ZEUS released me and I landed flat on the Acceptor. My back throbbed.

  I tried to get up, but I moved sluggishly because of the searing pain.

  Fan lifted his swordlike particle weapon toward me . . .

  Shaw’s mech thrust into him from the side. She had finally broken through the thickened alien ranks.

  Two crabs abruptly latched onto my ankles, one on either leg, and began dragging my ZEUS from the Acceptor.

  I still couldn’t get up. My back hurt too much.

  “Do you need assistance, Rade Galaal?” Surus said, maybe remembering my previous reprimand.

  Exhausted and in pain, I felt like telling Surus to pilot the mech, but I wondered whether I’d actually get control back if I did that. Besides, my pride wouldn’t let me.

  “I’m good,” I told the green.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yeah, I got this, damn it.” I’d just have to fight through the hurt. I was used to doing that, after all.

  I struggled against the pull of the crabs and managed to remain on the Acceptor. But I still couldn’t get up. I watched helplessly as Fan and Shaw wrestled. Fan appeared to be winning. His ZEUS repeatedly slammed hers into the disc.

  “Give me control,” Surus said. “When you have recovered, I will return command of the mech to you.”

  “I said I got this!” My gaze was focused on Fan. He was battering Shaw. My Shaw.

  Anger bubbled inside me, though it was quickly quenched when I tried to sit up and the pain stabbed me anew.

  I glanced through the crab ranks, desperately looking for my squad brothers, but I saw only a thick, seething mass of mandibles and claws.

  “Guys, we could use some help here,” I transmitted through gritted teeth.

  “Doing our best, Rage,” Chief Bourbonjack returned. “Damn things keep trying to drag the bomb away.”

  Translation: No help was coming from that quarter.

  “Obviously you do not ‘have this,’ as you say,” Surus persisted, “if you have to ask your squadmates for help.”

  Surus was right. I might have to let the green take charge after all.

  No. You can do this, I told myself.

  Fan continued to pound Shaw’s ZEUS.

  My limbs began moving of their own accord, and I knew Surus was wrenching control of the mech away from me again.

  The anger arose once more, stronger this time, fed as much by Surus’s disobedience as my outrage at seeing Shaw beaten.

  No one pummels my girl.

  Ignoring the throbbing pain in my back, I broke free of my crab captors and hauled myself upright, tearing control of the ZEUS away from Surus.

  Fan aimed the particle weapon at Shaw’s cockpit—

  I plowed into his mech, knocking the swordlike weapon away. The two of us fell onto the Acceptor.

  “You will ask your squadmates for help, and yet you won’t accept mine,” Surus said peevishly as I pounded Fan’s mech.

  “Quit whining.” I barely blocked a return punch from Fan’s ZEUS.

  “Rade, my cannon has power again!” Shaw sent.

  I wrapped my hands around the hips of Fan’s mech and I swung around so that he was on top of me. Straining against the pain, I lifted the torso of his ZEUS to give Shaw a clear line of fire.

  She unleashed her particle cannon.

  The upper half of Fan’s mech disintegrated. Inside the cockpit, all that remained of the pilot were two severed feet.

  Shaw’s blood-soaked ZEUS came to my side. She gazed down at him.

  “I had to do it,” she sent, sounding contrite. “I had to.”

  “There was nothing you could do,” I agreed, clambering to my feet. The pain in my back had diminished somewhat, thanks in no small part to the adrenaline I was sure. That, or some analgesic administered by my mech’s cockpit.

  Worried that some Phant might still possess the brain case of the enemy unit, I latched onto the metallic shell of the damaged ZEUS and swung it over the heads of the crabs. The thing landed out of view in their midst.

  I retrieved the swordlike particle weapon and used it to hold the crabs at bay. Shaw fought by my side, though she was careful not to use her cannon, apparently worried it would overheat.

  Other particle beams sporadically swept through the horde, so I knew firing capability had intermittently begun to return to my brothers; unfortunately, those cannons quickly overheated again. Even so, in a few moments the remainder of the co
mpany had joined us on the Acceptor and the bomb was placed.

  “Time to finish this thing,” I said.

  “Move off the Acceptor!” Azen sent. “Unless you care to teleport with the bomb! Form a ring around the disc—keep those crabs at bay!”

  We fought our way off the disc, forming a “ring” with our mechs as Azen had requested. Shaw was on one side of me, Hijak the other. I wouldn’t have preferred it any other way.

  The crabs continued their assault, joined occasionally by ATLAS mechs and Centurions, which we either had to wrestle or disintegrate, depending on our weapon status.

  I lost the swordlike weapon shortly after stepping from the Acceptor, no thanks to Surus. A crab had moved into my path, and Surus immediately overrode control of my arms and torso, swinging the weapon toward the creature. But I’d already spotted another crab approaching from the side, and by pivoting our torso like that, Surus had effectively placed the weapon in the second crab’s claws. The creature promptly accepted the gift, wrenching the swordlike object from my grasp and tossing it over the horde so that it landed somewhere on the far side of the chamber.

  “Sorry,” Surus said sheepishly.

  My main particle cannon was still overheated, so it was back to battling claws and mandibles with punches and kicks, then.

  I bashed aside the two crabs and glanced over my shoulder. Everyone had evacuated the Acceptor so that only the bomb remained.

  “Now would be a good time to send up our little parting gift, Azen,” Chief Bourbonjack sent.

  No answer. I glanced at Azen’s blood-splattered mech. I knew it was his because of the label my HUD placed above the unit. Like the rest of us, Azen defended the disc, helping prevent the crabs from reaching the bomb and hauling it away.

  A claw struck me hard in the face and I tumbled backward onto the Acceptor. The crab tried to pin me down. I struggled, worried that I would be teleported up to the ship with the bomb.

  In that moment the “overheated” indicator vanished from my HUD; I mounted the particle cannon.

  “Wait—” Surus said.