Atlas

by Isaac Hooke

  They'd retreated back to the surface, leaped into their ATLAS mechs, and raced off, ordering the AIs of the remaining two ATLAS mechs to follow. The alien hordes swarmed out of the shaft after them, forcing them away from the MDV and the booster rockets that would get them home. They were harried and pursued for several hours, and lost contact with the two AI-driven mechs. When the alien creatures finally gave up the chase, Kasper and Pyro made their way back to the booster payloads, and launched the ATLAS 5s.

  Without a communications man to boost their InterPlaNet node signals, they hadn't been able to get in touch with the Royal Fortune until they were in orbit—at which point the limited range of the wireless adhoc network built into the ATLAS 5s took over. They arrived at the Royal Fortune just before the Skull ship appeared, while we were in that same mineshaft they had vacated.

  It was a strange, because our follow-up robots landed about two hours after Bravo Platoon had stirred the pot, so to speak, and everything seemed calm to us. Tahoe theorized that the behavior was similar to the defense reaction of a disturbed anthill or beehive. The ants would switch en masse to defense mode via chemical markers and stridulation, and when the perceived threat was neutralized, the ants would clean up their dead and then the bulk of them would immediately return to zombie or hibernation mode. To me, comparing an alien species to a colony of ants or bees was a bit short-sighted, but I guess Tahoe raised some valid points.

  Not that I cared all that much... my grief wouldn't let me.

  The day after I was released from the Convalescence Ward, there was a funeral service on board for our fallen brothers, comprised of the remaining members of Alfa and Bravo platoon. There would be another burial when we arrived on Earth of course, for the families. But this burial was for us.

  We gathered around an empty coffin, which would serve to honor Big Dog, Alejandro and the rest of Bravo Platoon. Lieutenant Commander Braggs gave a speech, but I didn't really hear it, lost as I was in my own memories of the man I had loved as a brother. Everyone here was a brother by now, of course, but Alejandro had been closer to me than anybody else.

  Lieutenant Commander Braggs wrapped up. "This is the part of my job I hate the most. Saying goodbye to my teammates, my fellow brothers. And I do so with a heavy, heavy heart. Farewell, brave members of Team Seven. You will not be forgotten." He observed a moment of silence. "Please, each of you step forward and tell us a little something about the men we all loved."

  And so we all took a turn, saying a few words or relating a short vignette, thanking the fallen for making a difference in our lives. Facehopper's eulogy for Big Dog was particularly moving. And TJ had some surprisingly heartfelt words for Alejandro. After each man finished, he tossed his golden MOTH badge into the coffin. That was one of the biggest honors we could bestow, offering up those badges that meant so much to us, those badges we'd earned through sweat and blood. Still, to be honest, it felt somehow like we didn't deserve those badges anymore. That we'd let our teammates down.

  At least, that's how I felt.

  Tahoe came forward. "I remember when me, Alejandro and Rade first joined Team Seven. We were so wide-eyed back then. We got hazed almost every day. And we got it good. One time, a couple of the senior members woke me up in the middle of the night, brought me out to the pool, and started 'drown-proofing' me. Alejandro had heard the commotion, and when he saw what was going on, he came right down to the pool and dove in with me to take the hazing. Can you believe that? He could've stayed warm in bed. Could've slept through it. Instead he got up and dove into the freezing cold and drowned right along with me." Tahoe gingerly lowered his badge inside. "I wish I could have been there for you when you needed me the most, my spirit brother. I wish I hadn't let you down."

  Chief Bourbonjack laid a hand on Tahoe's shoulder. "It's not your fault, son."

  It's not your fault...

  I stepped forward and approached the coffin. Fifteen golden MOTH badges caught the light inside.

  "Tahoe's words pretty much sum up everything you need to know about Alejandro: he would have drowned for any of us." I swallowed, fighting back the emotion. "And Big Dog, well, Facehopper's speech, can't top that." I kept my eyes on those badges. I didn't think I could look at anyone, not without choking up, surrounded as I was by the teary-eyed faces of men who never cried for anything. "I thought I was the one who'd have to shoulder the blame for both their deaths. I thought I was the one who'd have to suffer in my head for what happened. But I realize now that I'm not alone. We all feel it's our fault. We're all suffering in our heads."

  I slammed my MOTH badge into the top of the coffin, and let the pin embed. "Big Dog and Alejandro were the best of us."

  Shaw was waiting for me in the corridor outside, by a hull window. We'd patched things up since I got back, and she did her best to comfort me now. Not with words, but with her presence.

  She smiled at me, holding back the tears, and gave me a hug.

  "I don't know what I'm going to do without him," I told her.

  I gazed out the window over her shoulder, at the myriad stars, and I knew Alejandro had attained a star of his own.

  * * *

  Time heals all wounds, they say.

  It's true.

  Painfully, and slowly, but true.

  It took a whole seven days for me to make love to Shaw again, a whole seven days of regret and self-pity and guilt before I started to see a glimmer of light, of hope, and begin the long trek back to the world.

  I was in a deep, dark place, but I made it because of her. I talked to her about what happened almost every day. And she listened.

  That's all that really needs to be said on the subject. We've all known grief, some of us quite intensely. We cope. We have to. It's part of the human condition.

  Twenty days into the return flight, TJ and Bender (plus a couple of AIs and Fleet cryptologists) finally cracked the decryption codes on the SK Implants, and pieced together what happened eight months before we arrived.

  One week after the SKs had begun excavating the Geronium-275 from the site, the first attacks came. A sinkhole would appear, and alien crabs and slugs would start coming out. The SKs would beat them off, toss some plastic explosives into the sinkhole, and seal it up.

  The attacks proved little more than a nuisance at first, easily handled by rockets and gatling guns and the ample supply of SK bioweapons (which included, among other things, the hyena-bear creature we had encountered). There weren't any Phants in those early attacks.

  Eventually, as the raids picked up, the SKs decided to go after the source of the lifeforms. They drilled a shaft into one of the plugged sinkholes, with a plan to send a team down to place a low-yield nuke. No one wanted to go. So they sent robots down with the nuke instead.

  The robots didn't return.

  Neither did the nuke.

  The order came for another nuke to be placed, this time via human hands. The SK troops still refused to go down. Eventually, the officer-in-charge ordered the administration of scopolamine to an entire company, leaving the troops entirely helpless to his will.

  About two hundred of the company were sent down with the nuke.

  Not a single man came out.

  The nuke did explode, though.

  In addition to sending the radiation levels on the site through the roof, there was one unintended side effect.

  They'd awakened something.

  From the ashes emerged strange blue mists: the Phants (my name stuck, and seemed to be the official designation for these incorporeal aliens now). The alien beings assaulted the SK positions relentlessly. The mechs and other robotic defense units proved useless, and soon turned on their operators when the Phants possessed them.

  The Implant logs end there.

  We're not sure if the SKs encountered the Skull ship or not, but it's not hard to guess what happened next.

  The SKs fled the system, leaving behind half a company in their haste. They destroyed the Gates behind them, both the one in this sys
tem, and in Tau Ceti. They mined the natural Slipstream exit point and prayed that nothing ever came through.

  Let's just say, I wouldn't want to be living in Tau Ceti right about now.

  * * *

  The weeks passed, and on the fortieth day the Royal Fortune slowed in preparation for Gate traversal. The Skull ship had remained behind at the planet, Geronium, the entire time.

  That final day on this side of the galaxy found me sitting in the mess hall during some off-time. ETA to the Gate was approximately forty-five minutes. I was reflecting on everything that had happened. The discoveries made. The battles fought. The friends lost.

  I was about to return to the berthing area, not wanting to be trapped in the mess hall during the passage through the Gate, when Shaw pinged me.

  "Hey babe," she sent, audio-only. She was on the bridge, where she was needed.

  "Wassup."

  "Not much, just working." She sighed.

  "Why sound so sad?" I sent. "I'm the one who's supposed to be depressed, remember?"

  I treated the subject lightly, but I knew all too well how easy it was to plummet into the depths of despair. She wouldn't let me, of course. While Shaw was here, I'd never retreat to that deep, dark place I'd gone to after Alejandro died, that place of regret and guilt that not even meds could rouse me from.

  At least, I hoped I wouldn't.

  "Do I really sound sad?" she sent.

  "Yeah."

  "Oh. Well, there's something I have to tell you, actually."

  I laughed. "What? You're pregnant?"

  "No, silly. Can't you be serious for once?"

  I tapped out a staccato rhythm on the tabletop with my hands. She hated it when I did that. Probably a good thing she couldn't hear it. "Well, tell me what's on your mind. With your mind."

  "Okay. Do you remember when—" She paused. She did that now and again when we communicated like this, because while she was on the bridge astrogating, if the Captain or another member of the crew said something to her, she'd have to give them her full attention.

  I reclined in my chair, putting my hands behind my head, and watched the stars through the mess hall's main window. "So, less than forty-five minutes till we reach the Gate. You think we're going to make it? Or is that Skull ship going to show up at the last moment and block our way?"

  She didn't answer right away. "Of course we're going to make it. Most of us."

  "Yeah. Most of us." My thoughts drifted back to the planet, and I relived Alejandro's death all over again. It was funny how a word, or a turn of phrase, could send me right back.

  I remembered that purple Phant, coming on too fast. I remembered Alejandro leading it away to save Tahoe and me. I remember him...

  I blinked away the death. Such a waste. Such a horrible way to go.

  I wondered, as I often did, what made that purple Phant move so much faster than the blue ones. I wondered what I could have done to save him. If I hadn't let my mech get possessed...

  Speaking of which, whenever I thought about those possessed mechs, especially the Bravo Platoon ones, something tugged at the back of my mind. Something about what Pyro had said about his escape. Something important. But for the life of me I could never quite figure out what it was.

  "I don't know why I waited so long to tell you," Shaw was saying. "I should have said something last night, when we were together. It's so much better to deal with stuff like this in person. But, it's so hard, Rade, and—"

  "What? Did you just say something important?" I sent, distracted. The possessed mechs...

  "Uh. Rade. I—"

  Then it hit me.

  "Shaw," I interrupted her. "The Phants. I know why that Skull ship left us alone."

  "What? Why?"

  "Because of the ATLAS mechs."

  "I don't understand."

  I ran from the mess hall. "Remember how I told you that you can't tell when a Phant has possessed a mech? Because the profiles of the ATLAS 5s are too big, and completely hide the things? Well, guess what we have on board right now? Two ATLAS 5s, courtesy of Bravo Platoon's survivors."

  "But that doesn't mean there are Phants inside."

  "Yes, but something Pyro said makes me think otherwise. Probably should sound General Quarters. Send my Chief to the launch hangar, would you?"

  "Okay, Rade. But what are you going to do?"

  "Just checking something. Send him, please."

  A technician was running a diagnostic on Ladybug, Manic's ATLAS 5, when I got to the launch hangar. The repairmen had done a bang-up job on the thing—the mech looked like new, save for a few scratches and dents and a leg that seemed slightly off-kilter from the rest of the body.

  I glanced at the storage alcoves beside Manic's mech, where the two ATLAS 5s brought up from the surface by the survivors of Bravo platoon were moored.

  All three mechs looked completely normal.

  Yet any one of them could be housing a Phant.

  Maybe all three of them.

  I kept myself at a distance. "Shouldn't you be in your berthing area, preparing for the Gate jump?" I told the technician.

  "Just getting in some last minute fixes, sir," the technician said, with the usual respectful tone the crew displayed toward MOTHs. "Become a sort of obsession for me, fixing up Ladybug, it has."

  "You make it sound like you're the only one who's worked on the mech."

  "Well," he grinned sheepishly. "That's because I am, sir."

  I pursed my lips, and regarded his work. "Not bad. What's Ladybug's operational status?" I noticed that the weapons had been detached from the mech's arms. That was standard safety procedure during diagnostics. You didn't want weapons going off while you were working on a mech. There wasn't even a deployable ballistic shield. The other two ATLAS 5s had their weapons and shields fully attached however, but not in the "gun-on-hand" position.

  "Except for the left leg, she's running almost perfectly, sir," the ATLAS technician said.

  I started walking toward the far side of the hangar. I could see the dents and runnels torn into the deck from where we'd crash-landed the MDV on the return trip from the planet. "And what's the problem with the left leg?"

  "Well, I'll need to put in a new hip servomotor eventually. I salvaged a lot of parts from Aphid, and 3D-printed almost everything else. Unfortunately, we're low on printer material, and the Cap has ordered all nonessential print jobs placed on hold till we're back. For some reason repairing the ATLAS 5s is considered nonessential."

  "Yeah, sometimes priorities are pretty whacked shipboard, aren't they?"

  "Isn't that the truth. I— excuse me, sir, what are you doing?"

  I'd just opened up the jumpsuit closet.

  "I hadn't received word about a spacewalk," the technician continued.

  I didn't answer him. I put on the thermo body undergarment, then slid on the lower torso assembly. I shrugged on the hard upper torso and twisted it into place with the lower torso.

  The technician stood up. "Sorry sir, I'm supposed to order you to stand down."

  "Talking behind my back, are you?" I said.

  Keeping my eyes on the technician, who looked more afraid than anything else, I put on the arm assembly of the suit, followed by the gloves and boots. Finally I strapped on the rebreather subsystem and secured a jetpack. I twisted the helmet on and activated the oxygen.

  I was supposed to wait an hour for my body to adjust to the internal pressure of the suit. But there wasn't time. I could've tried to shoot out the brain cases of the ATLAS 5s instead of what I had planned, but that would have just caused the Phants to emerge.

  Right in the ship.

  Definitely not a good idea.

  Chief Bourbonjack burst into the hangar with three other members of Alfa platoon: Facehopper, Skullcracker, and Tahoe. A fire team. They all carried pistols.

  General Quarters still hadn't sounded, I noticed.

  "What's this about a Phant on board our ship?" the Chief said.

  "I'll show you." I
turned toward Ladybug and was about to activate my jumpjets when the fire team pointed their pistols at me.

  "Stay where you are, Rage," Chief Bourbonjack said. "I want you to take off that jumpsuit. That's an order." His voice softened. "Look, I told the LC we would deal with this quietly. I know you've been distraught over Alejandro's death. So if you do as I say, and take that suit off right now, I'll let this slide. No one else has to know beyond this room. Come on, son, take it off and we'll go see the doc."

  "The doc," I said, coldly. "You think I'm delusional."

  Chief Bourbonjack shook his head sadly. "You've been a wreck since Alejandro and Big Dog died. And now with what Shaw's doing, you've snapped."

  "What do you mean, what Shaw's doing?"

  Chief Bourbonjack scrunched up his nose, like he was confused. He glanced at Facehopper, who shrugged.

  I didn't have time for this. "Look, you've all fought at my side. You know me, and you know I'd never let you down. Believe me when I tell you that the ship is in danger. All of humanity is."

  "Rade," Tahoe said. Like Alejandro before him, he'd never quite gotten used to calling me Rage. "Listen to the Chief. We're here to help you, not hurt you. Take the jumpsuit off. We'll go back to the berthing area and sit the Gate jump out. We can talk about—"

  "There isn't anything to talk about. We have to keep those Phants where they belong, on this side of the galaxy. I'm not backing down on this."

  "You think there are Phants in the ATLAS 5s, do you?" the Chief said. He walked toward the mechs while the rest of the fire team kept their 9-mils trained on me.

  He reached Ladybug and rapped on the metallic leg piece with his knuckles. "Anyone home?" He glanced at me, eyes twinkling, then he turned toward the technician. "Open her up."

  The technician obeyed, and the cockpit folded open. The Chief climbed the support rungs on the right leg, and peered inside. "You see? No mist."

  "Look in the small gap beneath the open hatch and the hull. Is the brain case surrounded by blue, glowing mist?"

  The Chief peered into the gap. "Nope. The brain case is just fine."

  "What about the other two?"

  Chief Bourbonjack nodded at the technician, who activated the cockpit releases on the two Bravo Platoon mechs. The Chief climbed the rungs of each ATLAS 5 in turn and peered into the cockpits.