Alien War Trilogy 2: Zeus

by Isaac Hooke

  Rade didn’t want to waste any of his precious air replying.

  He reached the next manifold, hooked up to Keelhaul, and waited until Tahoe had connected behind him.

  When he caught his breath, he addressed the crew members. “Why haven’t you made your way to the lifepods?”

  “There aren’t any left,” the one named Harley said. “Not at this station.”

  Rade checked his overhead map. Sure enough, the nearest evac station had zero lifepods available. The same thing was true of stations all the way to the drop bay. He checked the previous one near the berthing area he and his platoon had just abandoned.

  “According to my map, there’s still one lifepod remaining at the station behind us,” Rade said.

  “We know,” Harley said.

  “Then why don’t you go there?” Rade said.

  No answer.

  Then Rade realized: they were too scared.

  “You’re really going to just sit here,” Rade said. “And let the ship sink around you, when freedom is only a short walk away?”

  “Easy for you to say,” the one named Brown answered. “We can’t hold our breaths as long you.”

  “You morons went through bootcamp,” Rade said, wanting to sound as harsh as possible. “You had to earn those bars on your sleeves just like every other engineer. They wouldn’t have let you serve aboard a starship otherwise. So tell me, do you want to live or die?”

  Neither of them spoke.

  Rade sighed. “All right. TJ, lead the rest of the platoon to the drop bay. It looks like Tahoe and I are going to have to risk our lives to help these two physically inept morons to a lifepod.” He turned toward the icons of the two men. “I’m going to mention you two when I file my report. I expect, if you’re ever recovered, that your time in the navy will be short-lived.” It was an empty threat. Rade doubted his report would ever reach the eyes of their superiors. They were officers, after all, and he was a lowly enlisted man.

  “You should send me to escort them,” Harlequin said. “Your place is here, with the platoon.”

  “We’re going to need you to open any breach seals we find along the way,” Rade said. “TJ can lead the rest of you just as well as I.”

  “Rade...” Tahoe said. The accusation was clear in his tone.

  Act like an LPO.

  Rade sighed. “All right. Fine. Snakeoil and Mauler, I’ll give you the honor of holding the hands of these two bastards and leading them to the evac station. We’ll see you at the airlock to the drop bay.”

  “Aye boss!” Snakeoil said. To the engineers: “Come on, you landlubbers! You heard the boss man!”

  Rade watched their four icons vanish down the passageway, and he sincerely hoped nothing went wrong. Otherwise, he’d have to risk more men to rescue Snakeoil and Mauler. He wondered if he should have forced the Lieutenants to come with Alpha to the drop bay instead, but then decided that would be a bad idea. The last thing the platoon needed was to handhold two engineers all the way down to the surface. Best to put the pair in lifepods, eject them from the ship, and be done with it.

  Harlequin proceeded forward on his own, and after opening the next breach hatch, the Artificial announced over the local comm: “No smoke in the next passageway.”

  “Looks like the containment systems are finally doing their jobs,” Grappler said.

  Chief Facehopper’s indicator momentarily updated on the overhead display, but then vanished again as expanding smoke choked out Harlequin’s reception with the Li-Fi where he was.

  “I want you to stay there, Harlequin,” Rade said. “And shut that hatch when me and Tahoe are through.”

  As usual, Rade waited until he and Tahoe were the only ones left at the manifold. He glanced at his overhead map. The indicators for Snakeoil and Mauler had vanished from the display as they moved out of range of the Implants.

  Rade left the manifold and arrived at the breach hatch some moments later. The smoke had already expanded into the new passageway and he could barely see the outline of Harlequin waiting just inside.

  After Rade and Tahoe had passed through, Harlequin closed the hatch with a thud behind them.

  The air began to clear of smoke thanks to the working ventilation system in that area, so that by the time he neared the next manifold, there was no need to plug in. The passageway was dimly lit by the emergency Li-Fi lights overhead, and Chief Facehopper’s signal had returned.

  “Where the hell are you blokes?” Facehopper said over the comm. “This ship is going to break apart in a few minutes!”

  “Coming,” Rade sent.

  The other members of the platoon were waiting at the manifold, the masks of their EABs raised. Rade took off his own and gripped it in one hand. He deactivated the wireframe overlaying his vision.

  “Harlequin,” Rade transmitted. “Wait for Snakeoil and Mauler at the hatch back there, and let them inside when they arrive.”

  “You got it boss.” The Artificial hurried down the passageway eagerly. Harlequin wanted to earn a callsign for himself, no doubt. Rade would have to disappoint the machine on that front, because opening and closing a few hatches hardly qualified, even if done under a life-threatening situation. No, in Alpha Platoon, the only way to earn a callsign was in combat.

  Without all that smoke, the going became much easier. Rade secured the EAB to his belt and used all four limbs to navigate the zero g passageways. He developed a rhythm. Shove off one bulkhead, correct his motion by touching the overhead or deck as he flew, land, and then push off again.

  Harlequin remained in communication range during that time, thanks to the functioning Li-Fi in the smokeless passageway. Even so, he reported no sign of Snakeoil or Mauler, which was troubling.

  After surmounting two more breach seals, the platoon finally reached the airlock to drop bay five.

  “We’re here, Chief,” Rade sent.

  “About bloody time,” Facehopper replied. “Hurry up, goddamnit.”

  “You’re sounding more and more like Master Chief Bourbonjack all the time,” Rade said.

  “Now I know why he was always so grumpy,” Facehopper said. The chief authorized entry and the outer hatch of the wide airlock opened. The platoon members were able to squeeze inside eight at a time. The door shut.

  As Rade waited outside to enter with the second batch, Harlequin sent him a message.

  “Snakeoil and Mauler just popped back onto the grid,” Harlequin transmitted. “They should be showing up on your overhead map anytime now.”

  Rade glanced at it. “I see them. You know what to do. Snakeoil, any problems with those morons?”

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Snakeoil said. “One of them blacked out on the way. Mauler had to give him mouth to mouth at the manifold.”

  “Ooo Mauler,” Bender said. “I didn’t know you were that kind of man. You’re so big and strong. Such plump lips.”

  “I’m going to kick your ass when I get there, Bender,” Mauler replied.

  “But otherwise,” Snakeoil continued. “We successfully loaded the passengers into the lifepod.”

  “Well done,” Rade said.

  The outer hatch opened and Rade squeezed inside the airlock with the remaining members of the platoon. When the door shut behind them, the inner hatch opened immediately—the atmospheres on both sides were already equal.

  Rade saw the silver war machines waiting for them on the deck. They looked like broad-shouldered, humanoid robots, roughly three and a half meters tall. They possessed thickly armored arms and legs, and the hull ornamentations underneath the head regions reminded Rage of sagely beards. Large leg clamps kept the mechs secured to the deck in the zero gravity.

  “Bearded mechs...” Trace said, launching himself into the bay.

  Keelhaul followed him. “Bearded mechs for bearded pilots.”

  “None of our beards look so goofy,” TJ said.

  Lui floated by. “You sure about that, TJ?”

  Rade launched himself toward th
e jumpsuit closets, which were bolted to the deck. As he flew toward the farthest locker, he pulled up the specs on the war machines. His Implant identified them as the Zeus II class, a brand new type of mech untested on the actual field of battle. It was supposed to be based on alien technology the UC had acquired in a previous war, but Rade didn’t see any evidence of that.

  Similar to the Hoplite class before it, the Zeus did away with projectile weapons entirely. Also absent were any grenade launchers—some would argue that grenades counted as projectiles, after all. Instead, these war machines employed a single “cobra” infrared laser mounted on the left arm, beneath the retractable shield. On the right hand resided a rechargeable “zodiac” electrolaser, which utilized a directed-energy, laser-induced plasma channel to deliver a concentrated bolt of electricity containing upwards of one billion volts. Essentially, a lightning thrower. The name Zeus was fitting.

  But the armaments didn’t end there. Two shoulder-mounted missile launchers, one per side, contained five Hellfire H-7 minis each. On top of both fists were nozzles that acted as incendiary throwers: small conduits combined fuel from the jumpjets with an oxidant, allowing the mech to spout flames under void conditions if necessary. The incendiaries found on older model mechs had used their own combustive, but the new, streamlined design definitely saved on weight by siphoning fuel from the jumpjet system. Rade wasn’t sure that was the greatest idea, though he supposed it was good to have a flame option, given that he had to basically jury-rig an incendiary thrower during his last deployment.

  The metallic skin utilized a new camouflage tech that was supposed to smear the thermal band, but Rade wasn’t sure how well it would work in practice. According to the specs, the Zeus also contained the usual Trench Coat anti-missile countermeasure system, packed into small conical releases scattered at strategic points three hundred and sixty degrees around the torso. The cockpit was situated directly above the main reactor on the chest area, with a lightning bolt painted onto the entry hatch.

  “Nice touch,” Bender said, patting the lightning emblem of one of the Zeus’ as he floated past on his way to the jumpsuit closet.

  There were only sixteen of the mechs: Bravo had already departed. Facehopper’s callsign was displayed above one of the Zeus units: he was already suited up, loaded in, and revving to go.

  “Hurry up, blokes!” Facehopper said. “Atmosphere entry is imminent! Get suited up, damn it!”

  three

  Rade undressed in the zero gravity as he floated toward the jumpsuit closets. By the time he reached a free locker, he was naked saved for his skivvies. He unlatched and opened the door, then retrieved the leg portion of the cool vents—cooling and ventilation undergarments—inside.

  He kept having to grab the locker door and haul himself back because he constantly floated away. He eventually managed to shrug on the cool vents, then began donning the actual jumpsuit assemblies. The components attached to various steel hardpoints protruding from his body: wrists, elbows, shoulders, knees, and so forth.

  Those hardpoints were a recent innovation, and he had had them installed before the last mission to provide a seamless interface with his suit electronics, trimming several microseconds off the lag between mind and machine. It might not seem like much, but in the heat of battle, a small advantage could make all the difference, especially when one was fighting intelligent robots. The lag reduction carried over to any mechs he piloted, further boosting performance.

  Shaw, his on again, off again girlfriend, hadn’t been very happy with him when she had heard about that. He had known she wouldn’t approve, of course, which was why he had the procedure done when she was on the far side of the galaxy. His choice to do that behind her back was part of the reason they were currently in an “off” phase of their relationship.

  The individual jumpsuit assemblies all came in the same standard size, but shrank to fit the bodies of their wearers, using similar actuators found in the cocooning cockpits of the mechs. Even so, there was usually a small bit of padding left underneath the legs, which gave a feeling similar to walking on stilts, but that was something suit-wearers quickly got used to. The hardpoints helped with that, too.

  When he was halfway through suiting up, the airlock opened and Snakeoil, Mauler and Harlequin rushed inside.

  “There you blokes are,” the chief said. “Move, you slow-footed fecal maggots. Move!”

  Rade donned his helmet and the jumpsuit HUD—heads up display—activated on his faceplate. He felt a prick in his right hand as the suit injected the usual adaption accelerant into the dorsal venous network. He clipped on the utility belt and jetpack, then sealed the locker, turned around and pushed off. He flew across the drop bay and fired a quick burst of dorsal thrust to navigate toward his designated Zeus.

  The cockpit was already open and waiting for him.

  He hauled himself inside and the inner actuators immediately folded around him, swallowing Rade in darkness. It took a moment before the external video feeds from the top of the mech were piped to his faceplate, but when they were, he found himself looking down on the hangar from a height of three point five meters.

  “Welcome aboard, sir,” a deep male baritone said. “I am Sky, your AI.”

  “Sky, huh?” Rade said while he waited for the others to load up. “That’s a reasonable name. Suppose I won’t change it.”

  “Thank you, LPO.”

  “At least you didn’t call me sir,” Rade said. “You AIs seem to have a predilection for that.”

  “The programmers have learned noncoms don’t like that,” Sky said.

  “We don’t,” Rade said. “We also don’t like to be called noncoms.”

  “I know, Rage.”

  He frowned. “Let me guess. You have a sarcasm setting, just like the Hoplites.”

  “I do.”

  “I want you to reduce it to zero right now,” he told Sky firmly.

  “Done.”

  He nodded. “Thank you. While I don’t mind lip from the fighting men of my platoon, there’s one thing I can’t stand, and that’s lip from my machines.”

  “I should probably mention that the setting resets once a day,” Sky said.

  “Wonderful.”

  In moments everybody was loaded into their respective Zeus units, including the latecomers.

  “Not a moment too soon,” Facehopper said. “Opening bay doors. We’re leaving this trash heap behind.”

  “Warning,” a female voice intoned. “Depressurization commencing. Hangar atmosphere venting overboard. Warning.”

  The hangar doors opened.

  “Time to drop, people,” the chief said.

  “Which direction is the planet?” Manic said.

  There was no sign of it from inside the hangar bay.

  “You’ll see it soon enough,” Facehopper said. “We’re falling into the outer extremities of its upper atmosphere already.”

  Leg clamps began to retract; mechs floated into the air in turn and fired small bursts of aft thrust, accelerating through the hangar bay doors.

  “Release clamps, Sky,” Rade said.

  “Releasing clamps,” that deep voice responded.

  The restraining devices opened up and the Zeus lifted from the deck.

  “Take us outside,” Rade ordered, not trusting himself to fly the new unit safely through the tight confines of those doors, not while other mechs were airborne in the bay.

  The Zeus jetted through the opening and out into space.

  Below, the planet devoured the entire view. Facehopper hadn’t been kidding when he said they were falling into the atmosphere at that moment.

  Almost immediately Rade heard what sounded like light rain striking the hull; while the cockpit wasn’t currently oxygenated, the mech was configured to transmit any external vibrations, such as those caused by impacts with foreign bodies, directly to his helmet speakers as sound waves.

  He suspected the mech was being bombarded by tiny bits of debris.

  �
��We’re passing through a partial debris field,” Sky said, confirming his hunch. “Sourced from the Intrepid.”

  “Evade,” Rade said as larger chunks of metal and slag appeared ahead. “And put some distance between us and that ship.”

  Sky zig-zagged the Zeus between the debris, and Rade felt the G forces pin him in alternating directions.

  Rade bit his lip and said in a strained voice: “Get us out of this debris field as soon as you can, please.”

  “Trying,” Sky returned.

  The noise of the impacts against the hull ebbed and flowed, sometimes sounding like hail, and at other times becoming completely silent. Amid the torn metal the occasional dead bodies floated by. He knew that could just as easily be him out there.

  Sky nearly plowed right into one of the corpses.

  “Hey!” Rade said. “Have some respect for the dead!”

  “Sorry.”

  Rade glanced at the tactical display overlaid on his HUD, and he realized Sky was flying the Zeus crosswise and away from the ship. It seemed the best route.

  “We have cleared the debris field of the Intrepid,” Sky announced.

  “‘Bout time,” Rade said.

  He piped the rearview camera of the Zeus into the middle of his helmet faceplate and watched the wreckage of the Intrepid recede behind him. The damage was unbelievable. The overhead map hadn’t done justice to the severity of the attack. It was like looking at the cutaway of some giant model house. He could see the individual decks and the compartments stacked one atop the other, with pipes and conduits bending out into empty space. Sparks occasionally flashed from different portions of the exposed areas as severed power lines swung into portions of the deck. Along the entire length of the shorn side, the debris field formed a crescent of small, jagged shapes reaching at least a kilometer out from the vessel. Just beyond that field resided the other half of the Intrepid, which was enveloped in its own debris.

  Shaking his head, Rade assumed direct command of the mech. He fired off a few bursts of thrust, if only to convince himself that the controls were the same as what he was used to.