by Isaac Hooke
Spherical objects began to emerge from the bulkheads beside them.
“Trap!” Hicks announced.
The spheres launched energy webs at the Bolt Eaters. Two of them struck Eric. His force field activated, shielding him. But the “protection level” indicator on his HUD quickly drained. He sliced out with his Wolverine blades, and cut away the nets, stopping the drain. Then he slammed his blades into the sphere on his right, withdrew them, then stabbed the sphere on his left, putting them both out of commission.
The other Bolt Eaters similarly handled the other spheres, and the party continued onward.
“Don’t ‘trap’ me,” Slate said. “Ain’t such a thing as a trap when you got the Slate in the house.”
“The Slate,” Eagleeye said. “So you refer to yourself in third person now.”
“Back in the day, all rappers did,” Slate said.
“Yeah, you know, I’m kind of glad rap music fell out of style,” Eagleeye said. “I mean come on, it’s not even real singing. You just got a guy talking over a beat.”
“Oh, you’re a real bitch,” Slate said. “You don’t know shit about rap. It’s real singing. It’s poetry, bro. And it never fell out of style. Never will. Rap is going to be around for the end of time. ‘Specially my songs.”
“Then how come I never heard of a rapper named Slate,” Eagleeye said.
“Doh, cuz I use a pseudonym, bro?” Slate said.
“Quiet,” Marlborough said.
Eric and the Bolt Eaters continued their advance, fighting their way deeper into the airship. Occasionally they came upon a sealed door, and cut their way through. Alien platforms dropped from the ceiling, and they took them down. Other robots occasionally blocked their path: milk robots, Sloths, a tentacled tank. But the team made short work of them. The energy shields and other alien tech augmenting their mechs certainly helped, that and the fact resistance was relatively weak: evidently most of the troops aboard had been dispatched to the planet below, with only a small number remaining behind to offer any sort of defense.
There were two automated turrets guarding either side of the control room. The team took cover at the far side of the corridor leading to said room, and fired around the bend. Slate and Hicks, at the forefront, had to throw their spears to penetrate the shields protecting the turrets. The defensive protocols went offline immediately thereafter, and the pair retrieved their spears with their Cicadas, and then cut through the doors.
The control room proved undefended inside.
“Well, that was a breeze,” Slate said.
“The control room aboard the mothership will be a bit harder to breach,” Manticore said.
“Is that sarcasm I detected in your voice?” Slate asked.
“You’re good.” Manticore walked to a hexagonal-shaped pedestal.
“How are you going to interface with that shit,” Slate said. “You don’t even have any alien cables with you.”
Manticore glanced at Slate, and then one of the scouts that revolved around his mech left formation, and hovered above the top of the pedestal. A small limb telescoped from underneath the alien sphere, and slid into a slot on the pedestal.
“Oh,” Slate said.
“I’m in control,” Manticore said. “Sharing the external video feeds with Frogger.”
“Data is clean,” Frogger said, and he rebroadcast the share with the rest of the team.
Eric accepted the streaming data, and piped it to a quarantine buffer for virus scanning. The clean data output from that quarantine accumulated in another buffer, and he fed that to a video window in the upper right of his vision.
In that manner he was able to watch as the airship climbed through the atmosphere. The human jets made a show of attacking the vessel—the hope was that the Banthar hadn’t detected the loss of the airship yet, so why give it away by letting the vessel get away without a fight.
The airship avoided two missiles, and Manticore shot down one of the jets with a plasma stream, as per the plan; the rest of the jets scattered and fled.
The terrain became a patchwork of grays and browns as the craft moved higher, and the damage to New York became evident. Half of the city was essentially in ruins, from the coast to the city center. The steel and glass ruins of skyscrapers fanned out across the different streets. Skeletal husks of buildings thrust out from the rubble. A few structures in the affected area remained standing, but were the exception rather than the norm. Most glaring of all were those sections completely devoid of any buildings, with entire swaths of land covered only in dirt and mud where the micro machines had devoured them. Near the swaths he could see the feed troughs the bioweapons once used to feed upon the organic gels synthesized from human beings.
“That’s going to take a helluva lot of work to repair,” Mickey said.
“No,” Eric said softly. “There’s no repair work here. They’re going to have to start from scratch.”
The city continued to shrink below them, until the airship rose above the clouds, and the ruins vanished from view. Soon, Eric could see the Earth curving from horizon to horizon below him, and the layer of atmosphere above it. Beyond that, stars. An infinite number of them.
“You know, I didn’t even think these craft were space capable,” Tread said.
“Of course they was space capable,” Slate said. “They got inertialess drives, man. How could they not be space capable?”
Eric felt no change in gravity—he was still glued to the deck. Obviously artificial gravity of some sort had kicked in.
The view changed as the camera rotated forward, and Eric could see the black mass of the mothership floating against the backdrop of stars. A darker mass than the darkness of space, it looked like a giant amoeba because of the micro machines that covered the hull.
“I’m sending the docking codes,” Manticore said. He paused. “You wouldn’t believe how many Essentials I had to capture until I finally got those codes.”
“Ten thousand,” Slate said.
“Only a hundred,” Manticore said. “But I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Rule of thumb, when you have to guess, always estimate too high,” Slate said. “Always deflates the ego of the person who wants you to guess. Because they think, shit, I thought a hundred was high, but he just guessed ten thousand, so a hundred isn’t that great after all.”
“Okay, thanks for that explanation into how you think, Slate,” Eagleeye said. “Can we just watch the feed here, and see if this plan actually works?”
“Oh sure, of course,” Slate said. A moment later he added: “Bitch.”
On the video feed, giant arms seemed to emerge from mothership, as thousands of the space termites made to intercept the airship.
“Don’t think it’s working, mate,” Dunnigan said.
“It’ll work,” Manticore said.
The termites continued to approach until they were almost touching the airship.
“You know, if they do touch this ship, alien or no, they’ll begin breaking it apart,” Bambi said. “They won’t touch us, thanks to our emitters, but that won’t help us. We’ll be left floating in space along our current trajectory. Forever.”
Eric watched as the termites continued to flow inward. Wrapping around the camera…
“It looks like they’ve already reached us,” Eric commented.
“They’ve hit the ship,” Manticore agreed. He didn’t say anything more.
“So what’s going on?” Tread asked.
“What do you think?” Manticore answered. “They’re beginning to convert the alien hull into more termites.”
“So much for this plan of yours working!” Slate said. “Lying bitch.”
Eric listened closely, and he thought he could hear a distant crinkling, like an ant crawling across a piece of crumpled aluminum foil. It might have been his human imagination. But then again, it could have been the sound of the airship’s exterior slowly being digested.
Eric waited for the camera
feed to wink out, knowing that it wouldn’t last long given its external position on the hull. But then, as Eric watched, the black arm of termites began to withdraw.
“They’re leaving,” Brontosaurus said.
“Yes,” Manticore said. “I figured out what I did wrong with the codes. They have a timestamp, based on femtoseconds, representing the current date. I forgot to adjust that timestamp.”
“Nice one, bro,” Slate said. “See, this is the problem with relying upon one dude. He makes a small mistake, none of us can correct it.”
“It won’t happen again,” Manticore said.
“So you say,” Slate commented.
The airship continued forward, and the termites parted from its path, spreading apart to reveal the hull of the mothership below. A hexagonal door spiraled opened, revealing a docking bay beyond. It was relatively dark within, but he could make out the shapes of other airships inside, ready to deploy. The Brass had been right about the aliens having more craft in reserve, which only made sense. The Banthar, or rather the Essential instance in charge of the vessel, could launch them at any time. The mothership had to be dealt with as soon as possible.
Well, that was why Eric and the others were here.
12
Eric felt the deck shake as the airship attached to one of the docking clamps. The video feed switched to an aft camera, and he watched the hexagonal door spiral closed. When it shut entirely, the camera view went black.
“Did we lose the feed?” Brontosaurus asked.
“No,” Manticore said. “No lights aboard the mothership.”
“That’s not true,” Eric said. “There are a few. I remember standing in a hangar bay before deploying. It was well lit.”
“The Essential may have placed temporary lights for your sake, then,” Manticore said. “But obviously there aren’t any in this particular bay.” The alien scout above the pedestal retracted its telescoping limb, and returned to revolving around Manticore. He glanced at Marlborough. “Ready to deploy when you give the word.”
“Bolt Eaters, move out,” Marlborough said. “Slate, you’re on point. Manticore, remain in the center of the platoon.”
Slate led them back the way they had come, until they had reached the glowing bay at the bottom of the airship. The doors were still blown open, and from the light produced by the bay, Eric could see portions of a metal walkway below.
“We’ve got atmosphere seeping inside,” Bambi said. “Contents are consistent with the Banthar homeworld. Oxygen. Carbon dioxide. Hydrogen. Methane compounds.”
“Oxygen is good,” Slate said. “It means we can make things go boom.”
“Activate masking emitters,” Marlborough ordered.
Eric and the others turned on the masking emitters Frogger had designed, which made them all appear as Sloth units. Manticore had a freshly printed exoskeleton added to his own mech, so that he, too, could give off the same emissions.
There was some debate among the platoon about whether the masking emitters were even necessary, given that the Banthar had already installed identification tech as part of their augmentations to the mechs, but eventually Marlborough decided that those identifiers had been negatively flagged after Eric and Manticore freed the platoon from enemy influence.
Those emitters only worked from afar; at close range, enemy units would be able to visually identify the Bolt Eaters as intruders. When that happened, the platoon would be flagged, and they’d have to fight their way the rest of the way forward.
“Slate, Brontosaurus, clear the area,” Marlborough commanded.
Slate and Brontosaurus leaped onto the waiting walkway with loud clangs. They vanished into the looming darkness, each footfall resounding across the metal surface.
“Nothing on thermal,” Slate announced. “Permission to switch to LIDAR?”
“Permission granted,” Marlborough said. “Limit the range to five hundred meters.”
Eric switched to Slate’s viewpoint and saw the white wireframe of the walkway pop into view. That viewpoint shifted as Slate examined the immediate area.
The walkway resided inside of a cavernous hangar bay. A railing girded either side of the path, and beyond it was empty space. At the limits of the LIDAR, more walkways awaited on either side, along with other docked airships.
When Slate looked down, Eric could see another set of walkways about four hundred meters below, leading to three more docked airships. Remembering what he had seen before the hexagonal door shut and blocked out all light, Eric knew there were other levels down there beyond the range limits of Slate’s LIDAR.
“Clear,” Slate said. “So far, anyway.”
“Dunnigan, take us out,” Marlborough ordered. “Let’s join Slate and Brontosaurus.”
Led by Dunnigan, the platoon members leaped down in turn onto the walkway and advanced into the darkness to make room for the others behind them.
Eric’s turn came, and he jumped out, landing with a vehement clang. Artificial gravity glued him to the surface of the metal walkway. It was slightly weaker than Earth’s gravity.
Eric shared Slate’s LIDAR data feed so that when he advanced, clanging, into the darkness he was able to do so without hitting any of the other mechs. The walkway could hold two of them abreast.
When he had moved a sufficient distance from the airship, Eric stopped, turning back to gaze at the dim pool of light emitted from the opening. He watched as the remainder of the Bolt Eaters exited the craft. Bambi and Crusher had emerged next, and positioned themselves next to Eric; because of the size of Bambi’s Crab unit, no one could stand beside her.
“Manticore, mark the control room as our target on the map,” Marlborough said. “And plot a course.”
Eric accepted the share request, scanned the data for viruses, and then allowed it through. He glanced at his overhead map, which was already filled out with the entire blueprint of the mothership. A waypoint appeared about a kilometer into the ship. A thin blue line weaved between the different corridors, scuttles, and compartments, connecting the team’s current position with that of the waypoint, and illustrating the course they would have to take to reach it.
“All right, Manticore, I want you to continue to remain at the center of the platoon,” Marlborough said. “You’re the most important member of our team at the moment. If you fall, we all fall.”
“Understood,” Manticore said.
“Slate, Brontosaurus, take us forward,” Marlborough ordered.
The Bolt Eaters advanced into the dark. Eric and the others continued to stream their LIDAR data from Slate so that the wireframes slowly filled out ahead. The walkway reached a bulkhead and soon the platoon was traveling along the curving inner wall of the bay. The walkway hugged that wall, along with the railing.
Slate paused beside the outline of a triangular door. “Manty Bitch’s path says we have to travel through this door, but it’s not opening. Want me to shoot through it?”
“No,” Marlborough said. “Manticore?”
One of the alien scouts left its orbital position around Manticore, and approached the door. A telescoping limb emerged from the righthand side, and inserted into a slot next to the door.
An alarm sounded.
Defense turrets unfolded from beside the door.
“Whoops,” Manticore said.
“Bitch, you did that on purpose!” Slate told him.
“Not at all!” Manticore claimed.
Energy bolts slammed into Slate, causing his energy shield to materialize in convex flashes.
“Shit!” Slate swung his alien blades into the closest turret, and cut through the force field that appeared around it. He slammed the spears into the muzzles, cutting them away, and then stabbed them into the turret on the opposite side of the door.
Even though both weapons were now disabled, the alarm continued to sound.
“Looks like the gig is already up,” Dickson commented.
“No thanks to Manticore!” Eagleeye said.
&n
bsp; “I told you, that was an accident,” Manticore said.
“How many more of these ‘accidents’ do you think we’re going to stand for, huh?” Slate asked. “It’s obvious to me that you’re trying to deceive our collective asses. You want us to get captured again.”
“Why would I go through all the trouble of rescuing you, only to let you get captured all over again?” Manticore replied.
“Cuz you’re insane?” Slate said.
“That’s enough,” Marlborough said. “Manticore, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fuck up, going forward.”
“I’ll do my best,” Manticore said.
“Notice how he doesn’t even call you Sarge ever?” Slate commented.
Marlborough didn’t answer. But obviously if he hadn’t noticed before, he did now.
“Shoot through the door,” Marlborough ordered.
Slate and Brontosaurus aimed their energy weapons at the door and blasted it. As soon as the metal had melted away, the two entered, with Slate going high, Brontosaurus low.
“Clear!” Slate shouted.
“Eagleeye, send some of your modified drones forward to act as scouts,” Marlborough said. “Manticore, I want a couple of yours ahead of the unit as well.”
Eagleeye sent some of his modified drones forward to act as scouts, while Manticore did the same with his alien spheres.
“The rest of you, let’s go!” Marlborough said.
Eric and the other Bolt Eaters followed. They all had their ballistic shields deployed, as a backup measure in case the energy fields failed.
The corridor was triangular, like the door had been, with the flat side on the bottom. It was wide enough to squeeze-in two mechs, so they traveled abreast, except for Bambi, who had to advance alone because of her bigger width. Eric streamed Slate’s LIDAR feed, as did the others, given the bulkheads, deck and overhead an eerie polygonal quality.
“Feels like I’m playing some 80s video game,” Frogger said.
“No shit,” Mickey said. “I’m just waiting for the wireframe enemies to appear.”
“Only 80s I know are the 2180s,” Slate said. “And no video games ever looked like this.”
