Steel Apocalypse

by Rodney Hartman

  Maggie tightened her lips and nodded. “I remember. I’ll admit those were tough times. I’m still surprised your mother let you keep entering the tournaments.”

  “Well, I’m not. Like I said, she was desperate. She had three mouths to feed, and our copper mine wasn’t earning enough to support us. Besides, those first few fights were just simulations. We didn’t start entering the tournaments that used real weapons until later in order to earn the better prize payouts.”

  Maggie regained her smile. “Yeah, those were the days. By the time you were sixteen, you and me were the best UHAAV team on Aretillo. If Commander Onstott hadn’t shown up when you were eighteen and offered you a job with the 57th, I think we could’ve gone on to be district champs.”

  Jake snorted. “District tournaments are to the death, in case no one told you. The commander’s job offer probably saved my life.”

  Maggie’s smile grew even larger. “See? Becoming a mercenary turned out for the best after all. Here we are earning credits as we speak, and basically all you’ve gotta do is make sure a mosquito or two doesn’t escape out of the swamp and bite you. What could be easier?”

  “Yeah, this time it’s easy,” Jake said, refusing to be waylaid by his AI’s attempt at humor. “We’ve had more than our share of close calls during the last four years. The life of a mercenary isn’t much better than fighting tournaments in my opinion.”

  Maggie lost her smile. “Then why stay a mercenary? Maybe we could try gambling a—”

  “No!” Jake said, spinning his chair to face back front. “No gambling ever again. I’m a mercenary. That’s my lot in life now. I’ve gotta send the bank another payment next week. Plus, I don’t want my brother and sister to wind up like me. Mom’s last two miners quit three months ago. Steve and Cathy have been working in the mine after school, trying to keep the auto-bots running. Mining is dangerous work. They deserve a better life than digging out low-grade copper ore with little or nothing to show for it. I’ve been setting credits aside each time I get paid so they’ll be able to attend a university. I’m going to make sure they have a better life than Aretillo has to offer if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Before his AI could argue, the cockpit’s intercom crackled. “Paladin zero-five, are you in position?”

  The noise coming over the radio was more static than words, but Jake made them out readily enough. After ten years piloting the Paladin UHAAV, he was used to the less than perfect clarity of its communications’ gear. Reaching out with his left hand, he slapped the top of the intercom box located on the control console in front of his seat. The static cleared. He pushed the talk button on the intercom switch of his control stick. “Roger that, Alpha One. I’m in position now the same as I was fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Don’t get smart-mouthed with me, Striker,” said Commander Onstott. “If you’d upgrade to a newer model cat like I keep telling you, then you’d be on the main defensive line instead of guarding that stink-hole of a swamp. I don’t expect any trouble from your side of the hyper-drive complex, but give a holler if you see anything usual.”

  “Wilco,” Jake replied, already bored with the conversation. He found discussions with older folks tiring at best.

  “The commander’s got a point,” said Maggie. “Perhaps you should upgrade. The newer model cats are faster and have thicker armor, not to mention more powerful weapons. Maybe I’m holding you back.”

  To give himself time to think, Jake adjusted the close-range sensors to account for the higher than normal titanium content in the swamp mud. The planet Thrakis was known for the high titanium in its soil. It was high enough to screw with sensors, but low enough not to be worth mining. Once satisfied the sensors were as tuned as they were going to get, Jake glanced at his cat’s AI. Like usual, her infectious smile made it hard to stay mad at her.

  He shook his head and smiled. “It’s way too late to start trying to sound heroic and self-sacrificing now, Maggie. I know you too well. You’d pitch a fit if you thought I was going to trade you in for a newer cat.”

  Maggie flashed a grin. “Humph. Shows what you know. Maybe I was just trying to get you to move on so I could get a decent pilot. My life would be a whole lot easier if I had someone with a lot of credits who’d keep me in the lap of luxury like I deserve. In case you hadn’t noticed, I could use a few upgrades.”

  “Oh, I’ve noticed.” He sighed. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t trade you in for a model half your age. With the new coat of paint Tilley and Jason put on you for this mission, you look better than a new Marauder right off the factory line.”

  Maggie gave a grin and a wink. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Tiger. By the way, your friends did more than give me a new paint job. Tilley salvaged that 75mm phase autocannon off Shantilis’s Long Cat. You’ve only got thirty rounds in the magazine, so keep it down to three-round bursts. The shock absorbers on my right gun appendage might fail with a longer burst anyway.”

  “Yes, Mommy,” Jake said as he thought of the modifications his ground crew and childhood friends Tilley and Jason had made to the Paladin. Between the three of them, they’d performed miracles keeping the old cat in good running condition. I’m lucky Tilley and Jason joined the 57th when I did. I’d have been hard-pressed trying to do it all on my own.

  He glanced down at the tactical hologram located between the two pilots’ seats. It was flickering like crazy. “The titanium in the soil around here’s wreaking havoc on our sensors. Jason’s got them tuned to ignore the titanium flakes in our armor, but I can’t adjust for the amount in the ground.”

  Maggie went through the motions of acting like she was adjusting something on her armrest. The tactical hologram cleared up a little. “How’s that? Better? You just gotta know how to sweet-talk the controls.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jake said, knowing full well his AI had done more than adjust the controls on her armrest. Between the multiple hologram projectors and tractor beams in the cockpit, it was easy to forget the Paladin’s AI wasn’t human, but he knew her seemingly physical actions was all show for him. She was doing a lot more behind the scenes than what her hologram form appeared to be doing.

  After checking his heads-up display, he turned to face the rear-access door to make sure the emergency egress explosives were in place. He glanced back at the tactical hologram to verify everything was as it should be. Twenty-four white dots denoting the other cats in the 57th Medium Mechanized Company were arranged in a semicircle on the north side of the main factory of the hyper-drive complex. Another ten white dots indicated the positions of smaller recon cats patrolling two kilometers out from the north perimeter. A lone white dot on the south side of the complex, next to the swamp, was his Paladin.

  Looking back at his AI’s hologram, Jake said, “I need you to get serious, Maggie. I can’t afford to have anything go wrong on this mission. It’s supposed to be a milk run, but I don’t want to take any risks. We need the credits.”

  The grin on Maggie’s face lessened but not by much. “Tell me about it, hotshot. The servo in my left leg is acting up again. I need a new one. Even a used servo costs four thousand credits.”

  “I know. Tilley, Jason, and I already talked about it. They’ve got a line on a nearly new servo from a salvage one of their friends made. It’ll set us back six thousand, but it’ll be worth it in the long run. I’m tired of replacing worn out servos every few months. That’s why I signed the contract for the ten-grand guarantee instead of opting for the three grand and one percent salvage option.”

  Maggie frowned. “You should’ve talked with me before you signed on the dotted line. I’d have told you to go for the salvage option. I keep telling you that you’ve gotta learn to take risks once in a while.”

  “I’m a mercenary cat pilot sitting in a fifty-five-year-old Paladin, waiting for someone to come and try to shoot holes in me. I’d say that qualifies as being a risk taker.”

  Pretending to play with the controls on the copilot’s console, Maggie
shook her head. “You can’t fool me. I know you took the ten-grand guarantee because you didn’t want to risk there not being any salvage. I understand why you don’t like to gamble, but sometimes it’s necessary.” She glanced up from the console and flashed a smile. “Haven’t I taught you anything over the last ten years?”

  “You can keep your philosophy-according-to-Maggie to yourself. Ten grand in the hand beats three in the asteroid belt any day of the week, in my opinion.”

  Undaunted, Maggie shook her head and sighed. “You’re becoming somewhat of a grouch in your old age. You wanna know what I think?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “I think it’s been too long since you made a visit to one of the comfort houses on Trillian. How long’s it been? Six months? Seven?”

  “Can it, Maggie. I’m not going to be lectured on my love life, or lack thereof, by a computer.”

  “Who said anything about love? I said you need to spend more time with a few ladies of the night. Or maybe with a couple of female mercs. I noticed troop-leader Romona checking you out the other day when the two of you were replacing my isotopic batteries. I’ll bet with a little sweet-talk you could have her in the sack in no ti—”

  Jake slapped the pilot’s console with his right hand. “Will you get off the subject? Geesh. I swear you nag worse than a copper-miner’s wife.”

  Maggie’s hologram stopped smiling long enough to feign surprise. She looked at him closer. “Are you blushing, Jake? Heck, sex is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just one of those things carbon-based life forms do to survive. Now, if you were—”

  Something beeped on the tactical hologram.

  Maggie dropped her smile and became dead serious. “Our short-range sensors are picking something up in the swamp. I’m having trouble narrowing it down due to the titanium deposits.”

  “Give me an analysis,” Jake said.

  “Insufficient data to comply. I’d need a full sensor sweep. I don’t think we can get a better reading from here. Do you want me to contact Commander Onstott’s tactical computer for orders?”

  Pride made Jake want to say no, but it was overridden by a sense of duty. His comrades’ lives were at stake. “Yeah, give the old man a heads-up that we have a possible bogey in the swamp. I think the most it could be is a few infantry. The muck on the swamp’s bottom is too deep for cats to move through, right?”

  “Affirmative. Small recon cats would be over their heads, and larger cats would be stuck in the mud. Even hover vehicles would have a hard time what with the trees. Since Paladins are an oddball size and weight, I might be able to get in a hundred meters or so before I’d get stuck. Still, there’d be hell to pay if I fell. The mud’s deep enough and loose enough, I doubt I could get enough leverage to get back on my feet without help.” Maggie adjusted the controls on her copilot station.

  I know her working the controls is just a psychology trick to make me feel more comfortable, Jake thought, but the strange thing is that it actually works. I do think of her as a real person most of the time. I guess Granddad knew what he was doing when he came up with the hologram idea.

  Looking up from her controls, Maggie frowned. “My connection to the tele-network’s being jammed. That doesn’t make any sense. We’re inside the complex’s force field. Any jamming attempts from outside should be null and void. Pirates don’t have the kind of advanced gear capable of jamming from outside an energy shield.”

  That bothered Jake more than the lack of sensor readings. “Can you compensate for the interference?”

  Maggie glanced at the copilot controls before looking back at Jake. The freckles on her nose stood out like they always did when she was concerned. “Negative. The titanium deposits in the swamp mud make it difficult for our sensors to work correctly. The gear of whoever’s out there should be having the same problem. That’s what concerns me. Like I said, the advanced equipment necessary to operate in this environment isn’t something the Balorian pirates should have. You’d be more apt to find that kind of gear in a mainstream special forces’ unit.”

  Making another attempt to adjust his sensors, Jake had no luck. “Special ops? That makes no sense. Pirates don’t have those kinds of units. Who do you think it is?”

  Maggie shrugged. “Beats me, Tiger. The titanium screws up most types of sensors. In my opinion, only sonar or sonic-based equipment would work effectively in this environment. The Balorian pirates are composed of mostly human stock. Their gear’s visual-based same as ours. Now if we were up against Crosioians or something like that, they’d be using sonar or sonic gear. Those human-sized bats would have no trouble operating in this swamp.”

  “Well, fortunately, we’re not facing the bats,” Jake said, growing more troubled with each passing second. “Our MI briefing said a battalion of Balorian infantry might, and I stress the word might, try to land on Thrakis and attack the complex to get some kind of prototype hyper-drive being developed here. A battalion of pirate infantry is no match for a company of UHAAVs. For once the 57th’s got the upper hand on firepower.”

  Maggie smiled. “Well, you know what they say about military intelligence. It’s an oxymoron. And don’t be so sure about the bats. I picked up an interview on the tele-network a couple of days ago by a member of the Imperial High Council. The interview was with one Councilwoman Janice Deluth. She’s an ex-wizard scout, and her husband’s Wizard Scout Thomas R. Jacobs. He’s the commandant of the Intergalactic Wizard Scout Academy on Velos.”

  Although he’d never met one, Jake had heard about the Empire’s famed wizard scouts while growing up. There weren’t many, but they were the best recon force the Empire had. “So what was the interview about? Why bring it up now?”

  A frown came over Maggie’s face. “Why? Because Councilwoman Deluth was concerned the Crosioians were shifting several fleets closer to the Empire’s borders. No one knows why. I’m just saying we don’t know who is in the swamp doing the jamming.” She shrugged. “So what’s it going to be? You want me to try walking into the swamp for twenty or thirty meters? That might be enough to get our sensors working.”

  An image of the Paladin stuck in the mud and at the mercy of whoever might be in the swamp popped into Jake’s mind. “No. I can’t risk losing you.”

  Eyes twinkling, Maggie beamed a smile at Jake. “So, you’re finally admitting how much you need me. You do care. Nevertheless, my question stands. What are you going to do? We could run back to the north side of the complex and give your report in person.”

  Unbuckling from his chair, Jake got up and opened the supply cabinet next to the access door. He pulled out an M63 lightweight plasma assault rifle and a bandoleer of extra isotopic batteries for the weapon.

  Maggie’s hologram got out of her chair and grabbed Jake, spinning him around. “Hold your pactars one blasted second,” she said, referring to a species of large rodent that recently came into vogue during a series of humorous commercials on the tele-network. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, then no stinkin’ way.” Her eyes turned a deep green and took on a shiny look. “I can’t lose somebody else, Jake.” She reached out with her left hand, cupped his chin, and seemed to stare into his eyes. “I just can’t.”

  Although Jake knew the pressure he felt on his face was the effect of one of several tractor beams integrated with the cockpit’s hologram projectors, he was still touched. “I’m coming back, Maggie.” He moved his head enough to make her hand drop free. “I’m only going into the swamp far enough for my portable sensor to figure out what’s there. I’m light enough to get in a couple of hundred meters without getting bogged down.”

  Maggie shook her head. “What if you step in quicksand? Or whoever’s there spots you? I’ll be too far away to help. That’s what happened with your grandfather. I’m not going to let it happen again.”

  Jake’s heart was beating faster than normal and his palms were sweaty, but he did his best to smile. “Relax. I’ll watch where I step, and I’m not planning
on getting in a firefight. I’m well aware I’m a cat pilot, not a space marine.”

  Maggie’s eyes lost their shiny look. “That’s for sure,” she said, giving a feeble smile. “If you insist on doing this, at least take off your flight helmet. It’s too heavy and will restrict your vision. And for Creator’s sake, leave your flight harness behind. I swear, a deaf pirate could hear you coming from a kilometer away.”

  Jake did as instructed, replacing his flight helmet with a headset and mike so he could stay in contact. Once done, he looked back at Maggie’s hologram. “How’s that?”

  Frowning, she walked around him one time. “Better, I guess. Jump up and down.”

  “Maggie, we don’t have time for—”

  “Do it,” she snapped.

  Jake obediently hopped up and down twice. The buckle of his M63 lightweight assault rifle’s shoulder strap bumped against the weapon’s stock, making a loud clink. The bottom of the holster for his Deloris blaster slapped against his thigh.

  Grabbing the rifle out of Jake’s hands, Maggie removed the strap. “If we had more time, I’d have you tape the buckle to keep it quiet, but this will have to do.” Shoving the weapon into his hands, she sat down in the copilot’s chair with her back to him and appeared to concentrate on the console. “Well, if you’re determined to go through with this, then get going. I’ll cover you as best I can until you’re out of sight.”

  Jake pressed the button for the access door. It slid open.

  Glancing out the windscreen, Maggie said, “For the sake of all that’s holy, tie down the bottom of your holster before you go.”

  After leaning his rifle against the doorframe, Jake secured the holster for his sidearm. Once it was fastened tight, he pulled out the Deloris phase blaster and chambered the first of the seventeen creallium-core rounds in the magazine. He patted his ammo pouch.

  “I’ve got two extra magazines,” Jake said, speaking to Maggie’s back. “That gives me fifty-one rounds. With the M63’s two thousand, two hundred, and twenty-six rounds in its isotopic battery and a bandoleer of extra batteries, I think I’m sitting pretty good on ammo.”