“I’m hungry.”
“Get used to it,” Elias tells me grumpily.
“The swords draw a lot of resources,” Dee fails to make it better. “Raw materials. And energy. By contact.”
I see Bly on his back in the deadfall. He looks cold.
“We need to help him,” I insist.
Then I hear gunfire in the distance. So do Dee and the Brothers.
How long have I been out?
“Forty-seven minutes,” Elias tells me. Did he just hear my thoughts?
“We need to go,” Erickson insists, anxious, impatient. I’m getting up to join him automatically. I feel fine, just electric and starving. The blade feels really good in my hands, like it was made for me. I’m ready for a fight. But I look back at Bly.
“I’ll take care of him,” Dee assures me like he also knows what I’m thinking. “We’ll catch up. You’re easy to track.”
“Wei, stay with him,” I order. Then to Dee: “Take him out of here as soon as you can, back to the Leviathan.”
The machine nods.
“Are you okay to do this, Lieutenant?” Wei needs some reassurance.
I get myself on my feet, shake off the dust, move my limbs. They feel funny. Light. Stronger. They want to move. Fast. I feel like I could jump over these trees, or rip them out by the roots with my bare hands. I can barely stand still.
“I can fight. We’ll deal with the rest later. You just get back to Rios and report.”
“Everything?” he seems to need my permission.
“Everything,” I order, knowing I’m probably condemning myself beyond redemption or acceptance. But that’s not important right now.
The brothers turn east and start running, Erickson in the lead. I join them, like I don’t have a choice.
I can run really fast.
I’m confused: the battle sounds I hear north-northwest are definitely closer than those to the east, but east is the way we’re headed. I’m not sure if that’s Erickson’s priority (he’s still leading the way) or the swords’. (Are they looking for another useful host?) (How many of them are there?)
I keep my mind on the questions of the immediate as we fly through the brush—the forest (somehow it’s become a familiar place, normal, even comforting—though that last part may just be because it’s edible). If I think about what’s been done to me… I feel sick. Violated. Something’s gotten in me. Body. Mind. Right down to the bone…
It feels good. Maybe that’s to keep me from fighting it, though I can’t imagine how I could fight it. There are things—microscopic machines, run by their own intelligence—in every tissue, in my blood. And I don’t even know how they’ve changed me.
What I can tell: I’m having no trouble at all breathing this thin air. And despite the ridiculous full-out running, I’m not winded, not breathing hard, not fatigued at all. Nor am I breaking a sweat. (I also haven’t had the need to void, but that may just be too soon to worry about.)
Also, my uniform has apparently learned a trick: The original Mars desert-camo has shifted to a blend of ochres and greens, better matching the local environment.
One thing I don’t question: Where we’re going. The excuse is we need to help people in dire need, fight the enemy (and I can hear the encrypted chatter of the enemy’s signals in my head, leading me to them). But what feels most important is that there is a fight. That’s all that really matters. And my hunger burns harder every time I slow down, hesitate.
What am I? Am I? Am I just an appendage for this alien thing that’s latched onto me? Am I a puppet, a bot made of meat?
And adding what my father called “insult to injury”, it starts to sink in: I can’t go back. UNMAC would lock me in a containment cell, a secure Iso, like they did with Colonel Ava after she got “infected”. They’d experiment on me. Never let me out, let me serve. (And they’d try to take my sword away—somehow this feels like the worst thing.)
The sword in my hand seems to react to my building rage, channels it, focuses it: Serve. Save people. Kill the enemy. Kill them all. Never stop. Never go home. Never die.
(Elias said they can control our emotions, manipulate us.)
(I feel like I have to keep my own thoughts secret within myself. Is that even possible? Does the sword know what I’m thinking? Does it know everything I’m thinking?)
I can’t even calculate how fast we’re running. I’ve never moved this fast before, not even in a ground vehicle (certainly not in the Leviathan). I feel so light…
The sounds of violence get louder.
We clear the denser forest of the valley floor, skirting the northern slopes of a sharp-crested mountain range that runs west-to-east. I remember this landmark from the satellite maps, and generally know where I am. The battle we’re hearing and heading for is not far now, straight ahead. The telltale dust and smoke of explosions hang over the slopes. This fight has been going on for a long time.
We leap over rocks and ridges, giddy like children playing a chase game. The terrain is a blur under my feet. I feel like some kind of self-guided missile. I make it a race, try to beat my new “brothers”. Elias still looks permanently grumpy when I pace him, but Erickson flashes me a grin—he’s enjoying this. So am I.
The swords begin to sing louder in our hands, sing together.
I can smell the powder smoke in the air. The gunfire echoes crisp. I almost trip over the wreckage of a Bug bot. Slowing, I see what may be parts of two more, scattered over the lower slopes, as well as the still-smoking hulk of a burst Box. The terrain has been battered and broken by blast craters. Then I make out the telltale tracks of half-a-dozen Boxes, moving in a pack, headed the same way we are, east. The path of violence goes uphill…
Just ahead of us is a ridgeline, a crest branching north out of the main range, reaching into the forest valley as it descends. Over the crest, I see smoke.
We’re here.
We climb up to the sharp, rocky crest. This high ground has us looking down on a depression a few hundred meters across, a shallow U-canyon into the main range, a half-bowl, all old talus like it was formed by a big slide. Holding the slopes across from us, hunkered in the rocks, are a very few warm bodies (I can see their heat), taking cover in the bigger boulders. They’re holding off a force of four Box bots down in the bottom of the bowl that are almost-casually popping rounds at them from their chain guns. Two of the Boxes are smoking, damaged, but still functioning. I see a fifth Box, blown apart like the one we passed, and the remains of three more Bugs, chopped apart and scattered.
The defenders seem to be trying (needing) to conserve ammo. The bots have been stupid enough to get lured into a perfect kill-zone, but they have the advantage of firepower and damage-resistance. The Boxes appear to have their human prey well-pinned-down, and since they aren’t blazing away with their guns, I figure they’re also conserving ammo for a protracted siege. (I’m not sure why the bots haven’t simply tried to run over them—perhaps the talus slopes hinder them. I think I see bot-tracks going part-way up to the defenders’ line, then reverse. I also wonder why they simply haven’t brought the whole slope down with their big main cannons.) If the defenders try to retreat from their positions, they’d be cut to pieces before they made it over the crest above them. And even if they made it, the machines would just run them down.
I can’t tell from here if any of the fighters are wounded, but then I see bodies and what may be parts of bodies amongst the rocks, all the way up to the crest above their line, like some of them did try to run. Almost all wear Nomad cloaks, except for a pair of defenders down in the bottom of the bowl, hiding behind rocks in what looks like a blast crater on the bots’ forest flank: The bigger one wears heavy black armor and a dome-like helmet, while the smaller one is highly visible in polished silver and white (white that’s stained blood red in too many places).
I’m flashing on the slaughter that a single Box inflicted on my people at Industry. My rage seems to feed my blade, wet its appetites. In turn, it
makes me feel strong, invincible, fearless. I’m overwhelmed by a desire to destroy, to kill. I can feel it right down to my bones.
Then I see motion up-slope, above the defenders on their branch-ridge. The sight is instantly unsettling: It’s black, formless, moving like liquid, sprouting and re-absorbing tentacles as it moves. I think of Chang, when he forgoes his human shape, but this isn’t quite like that (and Erickson said Chang was probably dead, his lackeys now in control of his forces). It crawls and slides down through the rocks, coming down on the defenders. It doesn’t look like they’ve seen it yet.
“Boogie,” Erickson growls. I have no idea what that means, but he sounds like he knows what it is, and immediately starts running across the slopes of the U toward it. The Boxes soon see him, and the two closest start shooting upslope at him.
“Idiot,” Elias grumbles, then throws himself down into the depression at the Boxes.
I can’t think of a single reason not to join him.
Chapter 4: Siege Engines
Jonathan Drake:
At a full run, we manage to catch up to the Boxes headed around the point of the Spine and toward our people. The thick green seems to slow the big rolling bots down, and the wide crush trails they leave give us an easy path to follow.
To this point, Azazel has been leading the way, while Lux has run well ahead of us, hoping to catch the Bugs, which are much faster through the growth, able to scramble almost over the tops of it on their long multiple legs.
We’re soon running in the middle of the Boxes’ “pack”. The fact that they completely ignore us is a testament to their focus or their orders.
The Ghaddar stops short and un-slings her rifle, tracking one of the Boxes that passes close on our flank. But when she pulls the trigger, nothing happens. She looks confused, checks the weapon’s function, then sees that Azazel has stopped and has his hand extended at her as if he’s trying to touch her from a distance, signaling her to lower her weapon with his other hand. The Boxes are still ignoring us as they roll on—perhaps a potshot at them would have changed that. Azazel then points us upslope for higher ground.
Though he’s still got his full-head helmet on, I can see from the way he moves that the real reason he’s running at our pace is that he is badly hurt, and probably doesn’t have whatever his kind need to heal.
We hold position just long enough for the Boxes on our right to pass, then move quickly up the slopes, which get more rocky and uneven as we go. But it also takes us up out of the thick green, giving us a view over the forest. Azazel drops to a kneel behind a large boulder, levels his own rifle and fires. I see a Box burst a section as it rolls, damaged. We cling to cover in the rocks, expecting return fire, but it keeps rolling on, ignoring us, as do the others. (From up here, I count at least six—we can see them clearly now from above as they crush through the growth.)
I realize I hear gunfire and explosions from ahead of us. There’s smoke coming up over a ridgeline less than a klick from where we are.
I try my short-range link gear, but can’t get a reply, only static.
We get back to running, now keeping to the higher ground, changing canisters on the move.
By the time we make it to the fight, Chang’s bots have already found my people, and lives have paid.
We’ve managed to outrun the Boxes, but the Bugs arrived at least several minutes before us. Coming up on the ridgeline I’d seen before—a long sharp-crested branch that reaches north into the green as it descends from the heights of the Spine Range—I can see the broken remains of three Bug bots. Fresh battle-sign goes up to the ridge crest, along with many dozens of tracks, and I still see smoke and hear fighting from over it.
The pursuing Boxes catch us just as we make the crest. The Ghaddar and Azazel combine fire, covering our rear as the machines come up out of the growth at us. They focus on the lead bot, blasting at it, sinking explosive penetrators between its shifting sections, managing to stop it enough that I can pop out from the cover on the rocks and fling a demo charge under it. I have to grab cover again before I see what I’ve managed. When I risk looking, the cube-like machine looks hopelessly broken, tearing itself apart as it tries to advance. Its guns fire into the ground and sky, unable to aim. But then its fellows come to reinforce it.
Azazel holds our rear while the rest of us get over the crest. But that just brings us from one battlefield to another. We are looking down into a small rounded box canyon, a half-bowl cut into the range slopes, a few hundred meters across. Down in the bottom of the bowl are the Bugs: Three of them, though one is already hopelessly dismembered, and Lux is hacking at the other two while fire from up on the far slope tries to support him/her without hitting her/him.
Up the far slope, I see the mass of our people retreating, heading up and over the far crest, while perhaps a dozen hold off the bots from behind whatever cover they can find. Our retreating group is carrying or dragging several apparent casualties, some so still and limp that they may not be alive.
“MOVE!” Azazel shouts, still shooting. “We can’t hold here!”
Making his point, I hear Box guns rake the far side of the crest behind us as Azazel and the Ghaddar come flying over. Miraculously, neither appears to have been hit.
Murphy has already lent his gun (and his precious remaining HE ammo) to helping Lux cripple one of the remaining Bugs. I focus on the other Bug as we all run into the bowl, away from the greater threat. Lux looks to be slowing down, exhausted or injured or both. A surgical shot from Azazel finishes one of the Bugs, and he charges into the last one with his broad blade.
“GO!” he’s yelling at us. “Get cover!”
The three of us run upslope for our fellows as the two immortals decide to try to hold the bottom of the bowl. The rocks slide under my boots—this entire depression is scree, talus from an old slide. I see my father up in the rocks, at the center of our line.
“INCOMING BOXES!” I shout ahead, just as the machines roll over the crest behind me and tumble down into the bowl. Apparently the bots have poorer traction than we do, but Chang’s machines are designed to tumble. I don’t take the time to look back, but I can hear their sections rotate, bringing their guns around…
We get hammered by chain fire, but not our defensive line: the Boxes go for our retreating group. Rock and dirt and bodies come sliding down at us. All I can do is hunker down behind stone. I can feel the shells cutting the air over my head, bursting into rocks and dirt and (yes, I can feel the difference) flesh and bone.
Over the deafening buzz of the guns I hear a war-cry, look in time to see Azazel and Lux hacking at the Boxes’ guns. Only five Boxes have made it over the crest and into the bowl, and one of those is badly damaged. But each Box has one 20mm main cannon and two Gatling guns—they sprout from different rotating faces, so they can’t get more than one at a time on the same target, but what they can do is shoot in three directions at once. The immortals have to keep dodging auto-fire. (For some reason the Boxes haven’t used their big guns. They could certainly obliterate our positions if they decide to.)
My father signals our line to concentrate on the remaining guns, especially the cannons before they can be used. Thankfully, we’ve learned from prior encounters, developed our team tactics: Distract. Fire surgically. Put penetrators and grenades in the most vulnerable spots.
But the last time we faced this many machines we had well over a hundred guns—ours and the Knights—as well as an unknown number of “invisible” Shinobi. And we still incurred far too many losses.
In our favor: This batch of machines doesn’t appear to be nearly as sturdy as the ones we faced in Melas. Perhaps Chang is sacrificing quality for quantity.
It’s big gun broken, one of the bots tries to take a roll uphill at us, but the talus does prove a hindrance, letting us get grenades under it, tearing up some of its treads and wheels before sending it tumbling back down. Lux sees it coming, meets it with sword-point, pumps a charge deep into it before needing to jump free
. But then one of the bot’s fellows manages to rotate a gun, and Lux gets hammered with auto-fire. Azazel shoots the offending gun away, but then can only manage to drag his partner—his white robes now shredded and stained red—to the relative cover of some rocks before the other bots decide the immortals need discouraging. Their isolated and barely-adequate protection gets chiseled by multiple guns, until it vanishes from sight in the resulting cloud of dust. (Again, they don’t use their cannons. Are they lacking shells? Or are there other reasons?)
The bots stop firing, as if waiting for a target.
We take the brief respite to inventory what ammo, grenades and charges we have left. Too much of our original load—much of it from better times when Colonel Ram was still the Unmaker’s planetary commander, before they replaced him as soon as they returned—was poorly spent against the Silvermen. Those holding the line flash hand signals back to my father that say we’re all running low. We may not have enough to finish these machines, even being careful and lucky. If more come…
I realize that my father looks crushed, but it doesn’t seem like a shortage of ammo is all that’s weighing on him. He looks at me with a profound sadness that I’ve never seen, then turns his eyes back to peering at our metal enemies. I feel my gut twist, sick with dread. What happened before I made it back here?
I look across our line. I don’t see Terina. I expect—hope—she got sent ahead to lead our people to her home (assuming her home is any kind of safe haven). I also don’t see my first stepmother Fatima, or Sarai. I hope they made it over the ridge before the Boxes started their bombardment.
The Box guns rake our positions, but again just with their Gatling guns, not their cannons.
“Why aren’t they using their big guns?” I ask out loud. I see the Ghaddar look up, and she points to the sky. I don’t…
The God Mars Book Four: Live Blades Page 20
