Alien War Trilogy 3: Titan

by Isaac Hooke

  “I want to swing past the drop site,” Facehopper said after some time. “Before heading toward the booster rockets.”

  “Why?” Luxe said. “That’ll add another fifteen minutes to our journey.”

  “You forget,” Facehopper told her. “While some of your Marines might be armed, none of our mechs are. We’re going to make us a quick armament run.”

  “Is that really necessary, especially considering we’ll be leaving the planet shortly?” she asked.

  “You assume those boosters won’t be guarded,” Facehopper said. “Also, even if there is no resistance, you don’t know what we’ll encounter in orbit. There might not be any UC vessels left. We could have to board an enemy ship. I’d rather not do that unarmed.”

  “Who’s the negative one now?” Fret said.

  “I’m not being negative,” Facehopper said. “Just practical. All I’m saying is, don’t expect our escape to be easy.”

  “Should we be keeping our Implants active?” Manic asked.

  “No point in shutting them down now,” Facehopper said. “Not at this distance from the enemy.”

  “What about the nano-machine host you’re carrying?” Luxe said.

  “Damn it,” Facehopper said. “You keep bringing him up. We’ve already been through this. For the last time, I’m not giving up any of my men.”

  About fifteen minutes later, Luxe sent Rade a message directly.

  “By the way, LPO, thanks for what you did back there,” she told him.

  “What, the rescue?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You only had forty-five seconds to set us free. And you did it, at great risk to yourself.”

  “I wasn’t the only one,” Rade said. “TJ, Bender, and Manic helped. As did everyone else we let out.”

  “But you’re the one who came up with the idea.”

  “All in the line of duty, Sergeant.” Rade paused. “You know, I’ve never actually heard of the Storming Amazons before.”

  “That’s nice.” She sounded peeved.

  “I was simply curious,” he said.

  “Then check your Implant,” she replied. “You can read all about us in the offline data.”

  “I figured I would ask you, since you’re hitching a ride on my mech. Least you could do, after all.”

  “Look, I already thanked you,” she said. “That’s about as far as I want to take this relationship. You think we’re friends all of a sudden. That we’re going to have some male-female bonding going on?”

  “It’ll certainly help when we have to fight side by side,” Rade said. “And any relationship we develop is only going to be of the working kind.”

  “Oh I know that,” Luxe said. “But look, once we reach that booster rocket site, and fly back to our respective ships, we’ll never see each other again. Why expend unnecessary energy on needless conversation?”

  “All right,” Rade said.

  He marched on in silence.

  “The Storming Amazons were created forty years ago,” Luxe said out of nowhere. “It started as an experiment by a Lieutenant Colonel named Lucy Brownstone. She took the six best female Marines from her brigade and put them into an elite all-female unit. Basically a direct action implementation team, filled with combat soldiers who could go into those places that men couldn’t. Every year, she drafted six more females onto that team, until eventually she had enough to form a company, and then a battalion. We still have a small group within the battalion focused on direct action missions, mostly involving the infiltration of Sino-Korean targets, but as the battalion grew, we morphed into an infantry unit. One of the best. Every female Marine aspires to join the Storming Amazons during training. But not just anybody is allowed in. Only the best of the best become Storming Amazons.”

  “We’re in good company then,” Rade said. “Because only the best of the best become MOTHs.”

  “Every elite unit always thinks they’re the hottest,” Luxe said.

  “You’ve only figured that out now?” Rade said.

  “Hardly,” she replied. “I’ve worked with my fair share of elite units.”

  “Well so have I,” Rade said. “And I’ve come to accept the fact that there are other elite teams out there just as good as our own. It doesn’t affect the pride and sense of brotherhood I feel about my own team, not at all. That said, it remains to be seen whether or not your rifle platoons can be considered worthy of the title ‘elite.’“

  “Ha,” she said. “I was thinking the same thing about you and your platoon.”

  Rade waded on in silence through the deep snow. He switched to autopilot a few minutes later.

  The party made good time since there were no blizzards. Of course, the con to that was they were more readily visible. Rade often scanned the horizon for three hundred and sixty degrees around him, but he never spotted anything of note in the distance. He knew his brothers were doing the same.

  “It’s times like this where I envy the human ability to immerse itself in oblivion,” Harlequin said at one point.

  “Oblivion?” Fret said. “What’s the Artificial talking about? Death?”

  “He means sleep,” Bomb clarified wearily.

  “Bomb,” Manic said sarcastically. “What’s going on? This is the first time I’ve ever heard you refer to Harlequin as ‘he,’ rather than ‘bitch.’ And usually you interrupt the Artificial in mid-sentence.”

  “I know,” Bomb said. “I’m mellowing out toward the thing I guess. You didn’t see him fight at the drop site with us. I foolishly ejected at one point, trying to save a fallen Marine while my mech was supposed to guard my back. Didn’t work out the way I thought. I was separated from my Titan. Surrounded by hornheads. But Harlequin pulled a deus ex machina and saved my ass. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t still a bitch, of course.”

  “Thank you, Bomb,” Harlequin said. “For a moment there, I was worried you might have actually begun to call me something other than bitch.”

  “You’re very welcome, bitch,” Bomb said. There wasn’t any malice in his tone whatsoever. In fact, Rade thought he sensed amusement.

  “But actually,” Harlequin continued. “My aid could hardly be classified deus ex machina if you go by the strict definition of the word. A deus ex machina is when a completely unexpected rescue occurs. The term is in reference to the Greek tragedies, where the gods descend from the heavens at the end of the play and neatly wrap things up. Their appearance comes as a complete surprise to the audience: throughout the entire play, not a wink was heard from said gods, who then suddenly show up to save the day at the end. My rescue, while perhaps a surprise to you, was not completely unexpected as it was known to you that I fought nearby. In fact, you were probably hoping for it.”

  “I was completely taken by surprise actually,” Bomb said. “Nearly pissed my pants when your mech started cutting through them like some butcher excited by the new meat machine he just bought. But you saved me and I won’t forget it.”

  “You’re welcome, of course,” Harlequin said. “Though I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I was merely performing my duty.”

  “You’ll have to tell me what MOTH training was like for you sometime, Harlequin,” Lui said. “Was it really the breeze all of us make it out to be?”

  “The training was one of the easiest things in the world,” Harlequin said. “Physically. But the mental tests, on the other hand, were not so easy.”

  “What mental tests?” Bender said. “If the training was physically easy for you, I don’t see how your mind could have been tested whatsoever.”

  “The mental aspect came not from the physicality of the training,” Harlequin said. “The lieutenant commander never told you, but four other Artificials were in the class with me. They all dropped out.”

  “What?” Bender said. “No way. The lame-ass robots quit? Impossible.”

  “They quit,” Harlequin said. “Not because the physical part of the training was unendurable. But because of the way the other rec
ruits treated them. Remember the hazing you did to me when I first joined your platoon? Now magnify that by ten times, and you’ll understand what BSD/M was like. Whenever an instructor looked away, there was always a recruit with a shiv ready to stab into one of my servomotors. You thought you were resistant to having me in your ranks? You should have seen them. We had to be constantly on the lookout, ready to defend ourselves, because any damage we obtained wouldn’t be repaired until the end of each phase. We had to remain attentive at all hours, including throughout the night. Sometimes they ganged up on us, and we couldn’t escape the damage. It was like being in a prison. One of the Artificials became so damaged he had no choice but to quit. And I’m talking mentally, not physically. He had to get a complete personality wipe.”

  “If only wipes of human beings were possible,” Manic said. “I know a few people I could suggest for the procedure.”

  “I’d suggest you,” Bender retorted.

  “Thanks, Bender,” Manic said.

  “Very welcome,” Bender replied.

  “I’ve heard about certain rehabilitation sentences that allow inmates to reduce their prison terms,” Tahoe said. “Involving experimental personality wipes.”

  “I’ve heard about that, too,” Lui said. “The SKs have been experimenting with the tech for years. The new personality never sticks. The UC hasn’t been able to take it much further.”

  “Well anyway,” Bender said. “Getting back to Harlequin. Boohoo, robot. I’m glad you got at least some taste of what MOTH training is supposed to be like.”

  “I wasn’t whining,” Harlequin said. “‘Or trying to elicit pity. I was merely answering the original question posed to me by Lui regarding my training.”

  “So wait,” Mauler said. “About your earlier comment regarding the human ability to sleep. Can’t you shut yourself off? With a timer set to awaken you from hibernation after a given amount of time?”

  “Yes,” Harlequin said. “But hibernation mode is not a true power down. My AI core remains active. The only way to truly ‘sleep’ is by performing a hard shutdown. That is not something I can revive myself from on my own, unfortunately, so it doesn’t count as sleep.”

  “Sure that counts,” Bender argued.

  “If sleep was bashing one’s head into a brick wall to achieve coma, then perhaps,” Harlequin replied.

  “Do you have anything to add to that, Jerry?” Rade asked his AI.

  “No,” Jerry said. “Only that, I’m happy I do not sleep. I don’t envy the human ability at all. Oblivion of any kind is my greatest fear.”

  “Speaking of sleep and oblivion,” Facehopper said. “I’m authorizing a half hour nap. I’ll take the watch, along with Harlequin and Luxe. Rack out, mates. You too, Amazons.”

  “Wouldn’t it make sense to have more of my rifle platoons on the watch?” Luxe said. “Since you already admitted that you’re not armed.”

  “It would not,” Facehopper said. “Now instruct your platoons to rack out.”

  “As you wish,” Luxe replied.

  Rade set a timer via his local AI and then closed his eyes. He was out almost instantly.

  A FEW HOURS later the platoon members reached the drop site. After spending a few moments securing the area, those who were unarmed focused on retrieving what armaments they could. It was difficult to find anything under the thermal band, since all of the equipment was the same temperature as the surroundings, so they switched to the visual spectrum and set their headlamps on low.

  Rade swept the snow away from a few lumps protruding from nearby drifts and found the wreckage of a Hoplite. He tore away the cobra mount. The rear attachment functioned as a workable grip for his left hand, and the forward trigger stock fit his right hand. It felt a bit odd having his trigger arm held so far forward like that, but he knew it was better to have the trigger in the hand he was used to firing with. Muscle memory took a long time to change, after all, and it wouldn’t do to have his trigger finger repeatedly squeezing a bare grip during a time of crisis.

  The rest of Alpha similarly ripped weapon mounts away from other fallen mechs, which included the ATLAS, Hoplite and Cougar classes. Meanwhile, unarmed Marines secured rifles from fallen Centurions.

  TJ and Bender momentarily dismounted their units to apply elevation privilege hacks to everyone’s weaponry, allowing the triggers to work with their Titans. The end result was that all of Alpha Platoon carried mech-grade weapons: either a cobra, a Gatling, or a grenade launcher. Manic found himself a laser pulse platform, but unfortunately because of the weight it severely threw off his center of gravity; plus the vibrations from the large weapon destabilized his cockpit actuators. In the end he had to abandon it for a cobra instead.

  After arming themselves, they salvaged what little supplies remained from their earlier looting of the drop site: they recovered only a few tanks of jumpjet fuel and oxygen. They also found a previously hidden cache of food and water in one of the snow-buried carriers, and distributed the rations equally amongst themselves.

  Thus fully armed and adequately supplied, the group proceeded once more out onto the plains, heading toward the site of Luxe’s booster rockets.

  The men and women remained quiet over the comms. Rade doubted any of them actually believed they were going home. Not yet. Like Facehopper had said, it was very doubtful their escape was going to be easy.

  Something’s going to happen at those boosters. Either the rockets won’t be there, they won’t work, or we’ll be ambushed. One of those three.

  Rade took a deep breath.

  Stop it. You’re thinking like Fret.

  But though he tried, Rade couldn’t shake the feeling of doom.

  seventeen

  The first of the booster rocket beacons appeared on Rade’s overhead map when the party was five kilometers out from the designated site.

  “I’m detecting a booster rocket,” Snakeoil said.

  “I see it,” Facehopper said.

  As they proceeded eastward, more of the rockets filled the map, for a total of six. Rade continued to scan those nighttime plains for any abnormal thermal signatures, but there were none. If enemies were present, they had hidden themselves well.

  When the party was about a kilometer away from the nearest beacon, and no further boosters had appeared on the map, it became apparent that there were no more out there.

  “Only six of them,” TJ said. “That presents a small problem.”

  “Only six of us are going home,” Facehopper said. “Plus one passenger each.”

  “We can probably carry two passengers per seat,” Lui said. “The fuel requirements won’t be too much more, especially considering the weight we’ve lost with our weapons mounts. I’ll run the calculations.” A moment later: “Yep. We’re good with two. But three would be pushing it, especially considering the planned evasive maneuvers we’ll have to make during lift-off.”

  “All right, two per seat,” the chief said. “For a total of eighteen. That means twelve of us are going to have to stay behind.”

  “Ten of those twelve should be MOTHs,” Luxe said.

  “And why is that?” Bender asked. “Why should the Marines get preferential treatment?”

  “Do you want to give up your Titans to us?” Luxe asked.

  “If it means leaving this ice ball behind, hell ya!” Bender said.

  “And what about your exposure to the planet’s radiation?” Luxe said.

  “This far from the city,” Tahoe said. “It’ll be at least fifteen minutes, if not longer, before we receive a fatal dosage, thanks to our subdermals. We’ll be fine wearing jumpsuits in the passenger seats during take off.”

  “All right, whatever,” Luxe said. “We’ll all draw straws then to see who goes and who stays.”

  “Seems the fairest method,” Facehopper agreed. “Might as well do it now. Let’s not keep our platoons in suspense. I’m running the randomize app now. Transmitting the results.”

  The app worked by picking a decima
l number between zero and one for every member of the group. Those twelve whose numbers came in the closest to zero were the losers.

  Rade’s result came in.

  Loss.

  He smiled wanly. So he wasn’t going home after all. He supposed he had been right to feel doomed.

  He reminded himself that just because eighteen of them were launching into orbit, didn’t necessarily mean they were going “home.” There might be nothing left of the fleet up there. His brothers might be flying straight into enemy hands.

  Facehopper lost the drawing as well. Rade thought the chief must have rigged it to ensure he remained behind. Rade would have done the same: it wasn’t right for a commander to abandon his troops.

  “So, eight lucky MOTHs and ten Marines were chosen to launch into orbit,” Facehopper said. “I’m running the app again to decide who has to give up their mechs and ride shotgun when the time comes. The losers are: Mauler, and TJ.”

  “Figures,” Mauler said.

  The group continued toward the rocket site. That is, until Facehopper’s mech abruptly halted.

  “Chief, what’s wrong?” Rade sent.

  “Chief Facehopper is no longer conscious,” his AI returned. The Implant indicated its callsign as Moccasin.

  “Why, what happened?” Rade glanced at the chief’s vitals. They had changed to orange.

  “Unfortunately, during the escape from the city, Chief Facehopper exceeded the forty-five second exposure limit,” the AI responded.

  “By how long?” Rade said.

  “He operated outside his Titan for an extra thirty seconds longer than he should have,” Moccasin said. “He was exposed for a total of one minute, fifteen seconds, exceeding the saturation limits of his subdermals. He has received a fatal dose of radiation, and requires immediate advanced medical care.”

  “Why didn’t you tell any of us this before!” Rade said.

  “I was ordered to silence.”

  “Jerry,” Rade said. “Let me out! And open up the storage compartment!”

  The cockpit hatch fell open and, via the climbing rungs, Rade lowered himself to the compartment in the leg. He reached for the medkit.