Infliction (Mech Wars Book 4)

by Scott Bartlett

  Smiling, Jake walked over to his fellow mech pilot and slapped him on the shoulder. “No problem, Spirit. We’ll just lose, then. No big deal. Don’t worry about it—no one will blame you.”

  He turned away, leaving Marco wearing an expression that combined confusion and anger in equal measure.

  Jake left the control room to find five MIMAS mechs approaching down the corridor. He was about to scramble inside his own machine when he recognized two of the mechs as Ash’s and Beth’s. He strode out to meet them.

  His practiced eye told him that one of the mechs was unpiloted—it was operating under a basic tag-along command.

  “Who’s inside those?” he asked, nodding at the two new mechs that did have pilots.

  “It’s me,” said Lisa. “And that’s Andy.” The MIMAS’ giant hand gestured at the other mech.

  Andy remained silent, which made Jake reflect that now there were two mech pilots with whom relations were strained—he still didn’t feel comfortable around Beth, either, given that she’d recently tried to kill him. But I need to use every asset available to me.

  The realization that he was now thinking of his former teammates as “assets” made him feel too much like Bronson, and he had to suppress a shudder. Turning back to Ash, he said, “You recruited two other pilots as well, didn’t you? Where are they?”

  “Sato sent them with Rug to clear out Alpha Quadrant.”

  Jake nodded. “Are we putting Notaras inside the extra mech?”

  “Not so much,” Lisa answered. “She said something along the lines of ‘I’d rather be gunned down inside my own body, thank you very much.’”

  Tilting his head to one side, Jake decided not to comment on that notion. He immediately saw a couple things wrong with it, but it wasn’t worth arguing about right now.

  “Darkstream’s battle group is going to get here any minute,” he said. “We need to get to Landing Bay Theta ASAP. I’ve already secured it, and as far as I know, we still control it. I’ll make sure of that while we’re en route.”

  “If Darkstream’s retaken it, we’ll just take it back,” Lisa said.

  “Exactly. I need you to tell Rug to order the new pilots to meet us there. We’ll need every mech we have in the battle against the warships.”

  Other than glimpses of frightened civilians, either hiding from the mechs or fleeing, the trip to Landing Bay Theta was totally uneventful.

  That made sense to Jake. Watching five MIMAS mechs and one alien mech charging full bore across the space station likely didn’t do much for the enemy soldiers’ fighting spirit. Either way, Jake didn’t see any sign of hostiles.

  I guess they’ve given up the Core. He knew there were still pockets of defenders entrenched in the quadrants, but the mechs’ path across the center of the station was clear. Rug and Tessa probably had a lot to do with that—they each commanded a separate force, and were keeping the remaining defenders busy in the Alpha and Epsilon Quadrants.

  When they arrived at the landing bay, the other two MIMAS mechs were already there. “This is Maura Odell and Zed Gifford,” Ash said.

  Jake nodded. “I’m Jake Price, and this is Lisa Sato, Andy Miller, and…” He cleared his throat. “And Beth Arkanian.”

  By her stiff body language, Jake could tell that Beth was feeling just as awkward as he was. “Jake,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, okay? I was wrong to side with Darkstream against you. It’s just that I knew they had Ash, and all I could think about was her safety.”

  “That’s a pretty convenient thing for you to say,” Jake said.

  Inclining her head, Beth said, “I know. But it’s all I have for you. Besides, you need me.”

  “You’re right. I do need you. We all do.” He sighed. “We’ll figure out the other stuff after all this is over. Today is about survival—about pulling out of this mess as best we can.” He looked around at each of the mechs before him. “All I know is, it looks like Oneiri Team is back. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Chapter 31

  Make It Happen

  Jake rocketed out of the airlock with six MIMAS mechs at his back.

  “Now!” he yelled, and all seven mechs split off from each other, each adopting a different trajectory. There was no pattern to their movements, and to make them as difficult to hit as possible, Jake had ordered them to be ready to randomize their movements at a moment’s notice.

  Essentially, this was guns-D in zero gravity—the type of maneuver last pulled off by the Providence’s Condor fighter pilots, as far as anyone in the Steele System knew.

  Unlike those Condor pilots, each MIMAS had a tactical display more immersive than anything that had preceded it, which allowed the pilots much more responsiveness. They didn’t just see threats—they felt them, with a jolt of fear and instinct that carried a directional element. Such were the advantages provided by the mech dream.

  The warship closest to the newly reformed Oneiri team, a destroyer, loosed an opening salvo, with two Banshee missiles targeting each mech.

  They’re testing us. Seeing how we react. The destroyer was the Javelin, piloted by Bronson, who knew Jake had experience with space combat from when they’d fought a host of robots together out in the Belt.

  But he’s banking on my pilots not having any experience.

  And the man was right to do so. Outside sims, Oneiri had never battled with their mechs in space.

  Worse, half of the team was now comprised of rookies, which was underscored when the second missile targeting Zed Gifford connected squarely with his lower torso.

  “Gifford,” Jake barked over the team-wide channel. “Evasive maneuvers!”

  Gifford was changing his position relative to the destroyer, but his course took the form of a spiral that looked as awkward as it was predictable. “Sir, the blast affected my thrusters!”

  Jake was far from an officer, but he decided now wasn’t the time to correct Gifford about addressing him as “sir.” The Javelin had opened fire with kinetic impactors, bisecting Gifford’s wild circling in a way that was sure to hit him if he didn’t tighten up. “Your other thrusters are fully operational,” Jake said. “You need to compensate—”

  It was too late. Kinetic impactors slammed into Gifford’s MIMAS, taking out still more thrusters, and seconds later more rounds hit him, perforating the mech worse than swiss cheese.

  Gifford’s vitals went black, and he didn’t respond to further transmissions. The mech’s thrusters deactivated, giving the final sign that the MIMAS had become nothing more than scrap floating through space.

  Cursing, Jake rocketed toward the destroyer to exact some revenge. Oneiri Team had just reformed, and already Bronson had taken one of their members from them, knocking them down to seven including Marco.

  Beyond the Javelin, the system’s only missile cruiser was maneuvering to get into position to start firing on Oneiri. Apparently Bronson noticed that too, as the destroyer went fully on the offense, sending a cloud of missiles at Jake while attempting to hit him with lasers.

  Bronson remembers exactly what my mech is capable of doing to his ship.

  Jake reversed thrust abruptly, sending thin energy bolts to meet the missiles before they could lay him open.

  Then the missile cruiser, which Jake knew as the Alexander—its name had been changed to that when the planet, Alexandria, had received its name—moved into position and loosed two dozen Banshees straight at Jake.

  They know that if they take me out, we’ll fall apart. Jake wasn’t one to overestimate his own importance, but he knew it was true. He was the only one with space combat experience, and without the benefit of his orders, the others would likely fall. Plus he was now Oneiri’s de facto leader, and his mech was by far the most powerful.

  But he refused to let the attack stoke his rage to the point of clouding his judgment. Instead, he rallied himself, accelerating backward and picking off each rocket while conserving as much energy as possible.

  He opened up a channel with Marco, wh
ose likeness the mech dream inserted into the space before him, which was a bit jarring. “Spirit, why aren’t the station’s defense systems targeting these warships?”

  With a bitter chuckle, Marco said, “I told you how long this would take. It just can’t be done that fast.”

  “Marco,” Jake spat, dropping his teammate’s nickname, “your attitude right now is disgusting. What has being part of Oneiri taught us about facing impossible odds? Did it teach us to just lay down and die? Is that what you got from it?”

  Radio silence followed Jake’s words.

  “We’ve already lost a pilot,” he went on. “Within the first two minutes. We’re overpowered by just two ships, and more are on the way. One of our teammates is already dead!”

  “All right,” Marco said tersely. “All right!”

  “Make it happen,” Jake snapped. “Now.” He cut off the transmission, and Marco vanished.

  At a glance, Jake saw from the data breakdown of his omnidirectional tactical display that a destroyer was about to join the battle, with two corvettes due to arrive fifteen minutes behind it.

  Chapter 32

  Miracle Timing

  “We need to start hitting back,” Jake said over the team-wide. “Hard.”

  “Difficult to do without the station’s turrets backing us up,” Ash said.

  “I know.” Jake racked his brain for the optimal tactics for this situation. It was true that he had space combat experience, but outside of training and sims, he had zero experience with commanding a squad of mechs in space.

  “Odell, Sato, and Miller, you provide missile defense for Sweeney and Arkanian as they focus fire on that missile cruiser. It’s causing us the most grief right now.”

  “What will you do?” Andy said, and his tone had some bite.

  “I’m taking on the destroyer that just showed up.”

  The alien mech did everything it could to communicate the danger involved as he hurtled toward the newly arrived destroyer. Great, glowing rents appeared in the fabric of space, flashing with the red of hellfire. Insects covered him, their spindly limbs skittering over his skin, and together they writhed like a living coat. The discordant violin note he’d first heard out in the Belt rose sharply until it was earsplitting.

  But he was committed, even as the destroyer, called the McDougal, spat kinetic impactors at his mech, following up with lasers that played across empty space, trying to get a fix on him.

  Jake wouldn’t grant them that, nor would he provide an easy target for the kinetic impactors screaming his way, or the missiles that came soon after.

  He hurled energy bolt after energy bolt at the missiles, thanking God for the alien mech’s advanced targeting and predictive AI. Unlike the missiles, the energy blasts lacked the ability to alter their course after being fired, so Jake had to use everything at his disposal to anticipate where the missiles would be.

  It wasn’t long before the Alexander seemed to take notice of how close Jake was getting to the McDougal and sent an immense salvo of missiles his way. The destroyer sent its own barrage, and Jake knew immediately that he wouldn’t be able to pick them all off with his energy guns.

  So he lowered his guns and waited, continuing his course toward the destroyer but otherwise doing nothing to deal with the ordnance hurtling toward him.

  At the last second, he repeated a trick he’d picked up in the Belt. Thin spikes exploded from all over his body, but this time they flew through space to intercept the missiles, whereas before they’d remained attached to him, each impaling a Ravager.

  Within the space of twenty seconds, every missile was neutralized. The maneuver had cost Jake some of his mass, but he knew he could reclaim it, given access to the correct raw materials.

  But how in Sol did I do that? He’d hoped the move would be possible, but he hadn’t been sure. High-risk situations often seemed to bring out capabilities in the alien mech that he’d known nothing about.

  If we merge, you will have ready access to them all, the whispers told him, but Jake ignored them as he closed with the McDougal, the bullets from the point defense system smacking against him like gnats.

  Just before he landed, he sent an enormous energy blast at the hull, blowing open a hole wide enough for him to pass through.

  He found himself inside a mid-size cargo hold filled with towering stacks of metal crates. Knowing it wouldn’t be long before damage control teams arrived with marine escorts to seal the breach, he sprinted toward the exit, prying the doors open with wedge-shaped appendages he’d grown for the job.

  Marines were already in the corridor outside, and Jake made short work of them with high-velocity rounds.

  His journey toward the destroyer’s CIC went similarly. It reminded him of how depressingly easy it had been when he’d stolen the alien mech from the Javelin’s shuttle bay. Except, his success today was even more disproportionate. Now that he was inside the ship itself, there was almost nothing the McDougal’s defenders could do to stop him. They had no mechs of their own, and no tanks. Jake reached the CIC with ease, blasting apart the security door meant to protect the captain and CIC crew from intruders.

  Inside, almost all of the faces of the McDougal’s officers had gone white, and those that hadn’t shone with sweat.

  All except the captain, Joseph Baird. He appraised Jake coolly from the captain’s chair, eyebrows arched.

  “You’re at my mercy,” Jake told them all. “I wield the power to rip this ship apart from the inside. But I won’t do that if you do exactly as I say.”

  “I know you, boy,” Captain Baird said, sneering. “Bronson told me all about you, and I even came across you a few times during your training. You’re a lot of things, but you wouldn’t kill the crew of a ship you’ve taken hostage. You—”

  Jake planted a high-velocity round inside the captain’s skull, causing it to rupture like an overripe melon and spraying his Tactical and Coms officers with brains and blood. They recoiled, raising their arms and wincing.

  Shifting the gun toward the Tactical officer—a stooped, graying woman with red and pink speckled across her face—Jake said, “Commander Stephanie Yates, is that correct?”

  “That’s right,” she said, her voice shaking only slightly.

  “You’ve just been given command of this ship. Are you willing to do as I say, or do I need to give the command to someone else?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Jake nodded. “Hit the Alexander with twenty Banshees and follow up with kinetic impactors until she’s neutralized.” Turning to the sensor operator, Jake said, “Put up a tactical display showing the battle.”

  The sensor operator said nothing, but he did as Jake told him. A brief study of the viewscreen told him what he wanted to know: Marco had finally managed to compromise the safeguards for Valhalla’s defensive arsenal. The station turrets were already firing on the Javelin and the Alexander.

  The destroyer shook. “What was that?” Jake barked.

  “Valhalla’s turrets,” the sensor operator said. “They’re firing on us, too.”

  “Damn it,” Jake spat, opening up a two-way channel with Marco. “Spirit, I need you to stop the turrets from firing on the McDougal.”

  “Are you serious? I just finished convincing them that every warship it sees is an enemy! Now I have to persuade them that one of them is on our side after all?”

  “That’s right,” Jake said.

  “And what timeline would you like this miracle to adhere to?”

  “Five minutes ago would be ideal.”

  Chapter 33

  Gated Community

  Tessa popped over a low garden wall, sent an uncontrolled burst in the direction of the Darkstream soldiers entrenched around the entrance to the gated community, and then ducked back down in time to avoid the hail of bullets the enemy soldiers sent her way in return.

  She poked over the wall to fire again, but this time her SL-17 jammed, and she cursed, crouching to dismantle the weapon on the gras
s as quickly as possible.

  The force she commanded had hit an impasse, unable to push forward with the numbers left to them after the constant fighting they’d endured on their way across the Core and into Epsilon Quadrant.

  If she’d had more human soldiers, she might have been having more success—the cover available in this position was too squat and cramped to allow Quatro to push forward without taking unacceptable losses. Hers was the most advanced position, and the pressure the enemy soldiers was putting on her prevented her from retreating to join the Quatro in position around the homes behind her.

  There’s something inside that gated community. Something they’re awfully eager to prevent us from accessing.

  Tessa knew Darkstream. She didn’t just know their tactics; she knew how to read them, too. As she encountered more and more push-back during her advance into the Epsilon Quadrant, she’d become increasingly sure: there was something here that would prove decisive in the conflict being waged between the resistance and the corporation.

  Epsilon was home not only to Valhalla Station’s famous Endless Beach, but also its most affluent residents. Mostly Darkstream executives.

  Tessa highly doubted the company would keep sensitive data here, or valuable weaponry. Not so close to its top executives’ homes.

  No, she knew what she expected to find here: the members of the board of directors, huddled inside their homes within Valhalla’s most sumptuous gated community.

  Of course. Where else would they hide but the place they’ve always felt safest, the place where they were always able to keep the rabble out?

  “The rabble’s come for you,” Tessa muttered as she clicked the last part of her assault rifle into place, reloaded, and bobbed over the garden wall to fire again.

  “Tessa Notaras.” It was Rug, coming in over a two-way channel.

  Tessa crouched back down, mentally sweeping aside an alert from her implant that told her the ambient temperature was dropping steadily. “Rug. Do you have some good news for me?” She’d contacted the Quatro twenty minutes ago, about the possibility of sending more troops her way. At the time, nobody had considered it worthwhile to fight through the station’s residential areas.