by Isaac Hooke
Nothing.
“Facehopper,” Rade sent over the comm. “Sky hasn’t given me control.”
“I think for the moment it’s better that your AI remains in command of the Zeus,” Facehopper said.
“But I’ve neutralized the impostor,” Rade said. “Helped Cyclone free TJ. What more do you want from me?” He paused. “I’m going to get Sky to send over a biometric analysis comparing my current measurements to those made over the past several days. The AI is also going to transmit a similar comparison performed against the impostor. This will verify without question that I am who I say I am. Do it, Sky.”
“Do you wish me to comply, Chief Facehopper?” the AI sent.
“Go ahead,” Facehopper said.
Rade couldn’t see the comparisons for himself, since Sky wouldn’t grant him access, and for a moment he was worried that the impostor’s measurements would be closer to his own biometrics than he had thought. Had the clone studied his natural inflections and tonalities enough to mimic him down to the voiceprint level? It seemed absurd, but he couldn’t be sure, not with these aliens...
But then Facehopper said: “I’m satisfied you are who you say you are, Rage. Cancel previous standing order, Sky. You may allow the real Rage to pilot the Zeus.”
thirty-one
And then, just like that, Rade had control again.
“Thank you, Sky,” Rade said. “It’s good to be back.”
“It’s good to have you.”
Rade smiled. “You say that now, but a moment ago you wanted nothing to do with me.”
“We AIs are a fickle bunch.”
The only issue Rade experienced while piloting the mech without a helmet was that those inner actuators pressed right up against his face and painfully caught the hairs of his beard, making him reluctant to turn his head too far left or right. A minor problem.
The platoon reached the muster point and the mechs continued putting distance between themselves and their pursuers, so that soon the foremost kraks were a kilometer behind. So far, no enemy robot units had been dispatched from the city to deal with them. The eastern edge remained one and a half klicks to their left.
“Just talked with the LC,” Facehopper said. “He made it out. The situation in orbit is uncertain at the moment, but he thinks the fleet will be able to hold out long enough to retrieve any stragglers. He agrees with me that the downtown FOB is our best option at the moment, since he can’t spare any craft to retrieve us at the moment. Once we reach it, if there are no available shuttles, we’re to radio him and he’ll advise us of the next steps. Comm coverage is going to grow real scarce down here momentarily: he gave me the coordinates of a geosynchronous repeater drone in orbit. I’m forwarding it to you, Snakeoil.”
“You know,” Lui said. “We should really head to the mountains and wait there for a pickup at some future date. Because does anyone really think any shuttles will be left downtown?”
“I agree,” Bomb said. “We go to the city, we enter the hornet’s nest.”
“We have to try,” Facehopper said. “If we retreat to the mountains, and the LC can’t get approval for a shuttle, we could be fending off the enemy for days out there.”
Behind them, the kraks began to abandon the pursuit, turning instead toward the city and the promise of the easy mayhem that awaited them there.
“Looks like they’re not even pursuing anymore, Chief,” Lui said. “What was that you said about fending off the enemy for days?”
“I’ve made up my mind,” Facehopper said. “Besides, the lieutenant commander wants us to look out for any stragglers needing assistance along the way. We still have a few vacant passenger seats, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Two kilometers passed without incident. The chief had the platoon turn westward, toward the outskirts of Radiance. They passed into the hydroponic farmsteads that bordered the eastern side; all of the farms had been cut down by the enemy during the initial invasion. The ruins of long central towers plowed through the dirt alongside the platoon; large glass domes lay shattered and burned on all sides, their sharp pieces stabbing into the ground. If Rade had visited the city only a month before, those structures would have towered into the sky, the greenhouse domes spreading outward like the branches of giant oaks blooming with life. But that day, there was only death upon those farmsteads.
As the platoon members advanced, they surveyed the ruins carefully, leery of ambush.
“Wish we had some HS3s to scope out the place,” Bomb complained.
“Oh sure,” Fret said. “We saw how reliable those HS3s were the last time...”
The mechs soon reached the city. Facehopper had them keep strictly to the streets, wanting to conserve jet fuel.
“So, if I recall, we’d only liberated about eighty percent of the city before the latest turn of events,” Bomb said. “And the last enemy holdouts resided in the northern parts. With the Marine division evacuated, those holdouts have free rein of the city.”
“Good point,” TJ said. “We’re going to have to be vigilant for tangos making their way south.”
They maintained their traveling overwatch formation and hugged the travertine buildings. Bounding overwatch was used in particularly sensitive areas, such as crossing major streets. The mechs could no longer rely upon their built-in camouflage because of the alien blood that smeared their hulls and effectively disabled the feature. Not that it was all that helpful in the first place.
Far to the south, smoke plumes arose where the invaders wreaked destruction near the old base.
The downtown core remained oddly quiet. There were no other blue dots on the overhead map, other than those belonging to the platoon members. The last stragglers had already been evacuated, it seemed. Either that, or no comm nodes existed in the immediate area to repeat the signals. Glancing overhead, Rade realized not a single HS3 hovered up there, nor any Raptors or other units. The enemy had either eliminated all of the air support, or attacked with such ferocity that the UC was forced to withdraw them. It was a good thing the LC had sent the coordinates of that repeater drone in orbit, because on its own, the comm node Snakeoil carried in his Zeus probably wouldn’t be powerful enough to reach the fleet. But by sending a focused, precision beam to that drone, Snakeoil could maintain communication with the lieutenant commander.
At one intersection, the group was forced to retreat into the rubble of an office building as a squad of Zeus-sized robots journeyed south. They were accompanied by a platoon of scorpions.
When the enemy had passed, Grappler gave the all-clear, and the platoon crossed the intersection in bounding overwatch formation.
The skyscrapers of the downtown core soon thrust into the air before them, structures of steel and glass at odds with the low-slung travertine homes the party had passed thus far. Roughly a quarter of the high-rises had collapsed. Another quarter remained standing, though appeared badly damaged, with twisted metal randomly protruding, windows shattered in large swaths, and entire floors burned out. The last half of the buildings were relatively intact, with only minor mars on their surfaces.
The multilevel roadways that stretched between the skyscrapers had collapsed in several places; the damage to those streets was consistently random, and didn’t depend on whether the buildings beside them were still standing.
That n-shaped structure formed by the toppling of one building against another had remained since the beginning of the operation, and in latter days had served as a landmark pointing to the second forward operating base: the base was situated inside a diminutive office building three blocks to the east of the n shape.
As they neared that building, the blue dots of friendlies appeared on the overhead map, approaching from a side street.
“Snakeoil, identify friendly units,” Facehopper said.
Snakeoil replied a moment later. “They appear to be an infantry platoon from A Company, 1st Battalion 2nd Marines. They were separated from their unit, and claim they’re trying to reach the s
econdary FOB.”
“Tell them to join us,” Facehopper said.
The Marines met up with them moments later and loped alongside the mechs in their jumpsuits.
The two platoons reached the forward operating base, and jetted their way to the three-story rooftop.
“There, happy?” Lui said when they attained the rooftop. “Nothing left. Every last evac-capable craft has been taken. And, unsurprisingly, there are no booster rockets to launch our mechs into orbit.”
He was right. All that remained on the rooftop landing zone were a few M139B pulse platforms set up around the perimeter.
“Snakeoil,” Facehopper said. “Advise the lieutenant commander that there are no shuttles to bring us home. Ask him if he can drum up an exfil for us and a Marine platoon.”
“The lieutenant commander tells me the LZ is too hot for an extract,” Snakeoil replied a moment later, referring to the landing zone. “He’s dispatching booster rockets to a plateau on the outskirts of the north-south trending ridge outside the city instead. They should drop within a five kilometer radius of this area.” Snakeoil highlighted the region on the map. “As for the Marines, he says load them into the passenger seats of our Zeus mechs, and take them up into orbit with us.”
“I seem to recall saying something about the mountains being the safer bet,” Lui said. “But did anyone listen to me? Noooo.”
“Feels good to be proven right in the end, don’t it?” Bomb said.
“Hell ya.”
“Wait, why can’t the lieutenant commander have the booster rockets dropped closer?” Fret said. “Like in our current neighborhood, for example? Save us the trip...”
“Do you want the boosters to be shot out of the sky on the way down?” Tahoe said.
“Good point.”
“Chief,” one of the Marines said. The aReal labeled him Corporal Powell. “My platoon just got clearances for two shuttles.”
“What? How?” Facehopper said. “My lieutenant commander just told me the LZ is too hot.”
“Not according to our lieutenant colonel,” Powell said. “It’s up to you, though. If you want to leave, go ahead. But we plan to wait for the shuttles.”
Facehopper hesitated. “What’s the ETA.”
“Five minutes.”
“We can afford to wait five minutes,” the chief said.
“Do you want me to tell Braggs to cancel the drop?” Snakeoil asked.
“Negative,” Facehopper replied. “A little tidbit I learned from previous deployments: never close the back door.”
Rade surveyed the street and buildings below from a prostrate overwatch position at the edge of the rooftop. He had changed his point of view to the sights in the cobra.
“Should we check inside the base for any stragglers?” Trace asked.
“They’d be showing up on our overhead map by now,” TJ said. “If there are any stragglers, they ain’t here. But I agree we should send some men down to clear the building, to prevent an ambush from that vector.”
“We’ll handle it,” Corporal Powell said. He assigned two fire teams to secure the building, and the involved Marines promptly vanished through the rooftop door.
On the overhead map, Rade watched their blue dots descend through the stairwell for a few moments, and then he returned his attention to the street.
“Building is clear!” Corporal Powell announced at the five minute mark.
“Quick son of a bitches,” Bender commented.
“Where are those shuttles?” Tahoe said.
“They’re coming,” the corporal replied. “Two minutes.”
The fire teams returned to the rooftop and resumed their places along the perimeter.
“There they are,” Manic said.
Two shuttles came into view, heading in from the northeast, hugging the ground as they swept over the city.
“I’ll bet anyone a quarter of their monthly pay that those craft will be shot down before they reach us,” Bomb said.
No one took him up on the bet.
“Well I’ll be,” Bomb said when the shuttles arrived at the building without incident.
The two craft landed on the rooftop in succession and their ramps lowered.
A Marine clad in a full jumpsuit emerged from either one and waved them forward.
“Dismount, mates!” Facehopper said. “Let’s load up!”
“Good luck down here, Sky,” Rade said.
“It has been a pleasure serving with you,” the AI replied.
Still prostrate, Rade rolled the mech onto its back to open the cockpit hatch and then he disembarked. He had Sky open up the storage compartment, and he retrieved the blaster stowed there.
After Rade cleared the Zeus, Sky flipped the mech onto its chest and resumed scanning the streets.
Blaster in hand, Rade hurried across the rooftop toward the closest craft; he noticed that the Marines illogically weren’t breaking from their perimeter positions.
“Someone tell the Marines we’re going!” Bender said.
Rade noticed something else odd, then. While the two Marines beckoning from the ramps of either shuttle appeared on the overhead map in blue, the shuttles themselves didn’t show up at all.
“Chief,” Rade said, coming to a halt. “Why don’t the shuttles show up on our HUDs?”
When the words left Rade’s mouth, Facehopper also came to a stop. At a minimum, an unidentified shuttle would appear in red. Never would it be completely absent.
Not unless some major signal spoofing was going on.
“Everybody freeze!” Facehopper said.
The Marines on the ramps abruptly swung the rifles down from their shoulders. They aimed at random members of Alpha Platoon.
“Take cover!” Facehopper said.
Most of Alpha was near the center of the rooftop, and they either dropped or leaped behind nearby superstructures.
Rade dove to the deck as the Marines unleashed their weapons. As he rolled behind a small air outlet for cover, he realized other Marines were turning on them from along the entire perimeter of the building.
“They’re all infiltration units!” Rade said.
He aimed his blaster toward the closest targets—two Marines who had taken cover behind an intake vent and heat pipe. He aimed squarely at the intake vent and fired. Unsurprisingly, at that range the laser bored right through the thin metal and struck the target. The man collapsed dead onto the rooftop.
Rade realized the futility of the cover in that moment: every last one of the combatants, even the members of Alpha Platoon, may as well have been hiding behind pieces of paper.
The Zeus units abruptly intervened, firing lightning bolts and lasers at Marines scattered along the perimeter. The mechs seemed to be using the blue positional indicators of the enemy to their advantage, extrapolating where the Marines were hidden behind the different superstructures and then firing right through the obstacles.
The surviving Marines concentrated their fire on the Zeus units, which they apparently deemed the greater threat. This allowed Rade and the others to readily fight back.
The mechs received minor damage, but the blue dots of the Marines were quickly winking out.
Before victory could be attained, the roof collapsed in several places along the perimeter. Some of the Zeus mechs were swallowed, along with the Marines. Both shuttles crashed inside.
From the gaping holes, ATLAS mechs scrambled onto the rooftop.
And then all hell broke loose.
thirty-two
Rade dropped lower behind his cover as one of those mechs unleashed its Gatling in his direction. The air outlet above him was sawed entirely in half.
Taking cover behind paper.
The incoming threads of gunfire let up, and he leaned past to aim his blaster at the ATLAS: a blocky, humanoidal shape three times the height of a man and ten times wider. Steel rungs climbed the legs to the thick torso, where the cockpit was situated above the main fusion reactor. The head was relatively s
mall and pinched in comparison to its wide body, and a red visor with two yellow glows composed the eye area.
Rade unleashed a shot directly at the red visor of the visual center, and took cover once more, dropping to the roof. He glanced in the rearview camera provided by his HUD, and what he saw there caused him to immediately roll to the side and point the blaster between his legs.
He aimed at another ATLAS there; it was occupied by incoming laser fire to the right and had unfurled its shield to protect itself.
A Marine crouching on the ground beside it abruptly leaped up; the cockpit hatch opened and swallowed the soldier. When the ATLAS moved again, Rade assumed the soldier was in control. He noticed that the Marine’s indicator immediately vanished from the overhead map once the soldier was inside the mech; Rade realized that none of the new mechs showed up on the HUD, either.
He carefully aimed his weapon at the eye region of the piloted ATLAS and fired.
Incoming fire once more ate into his cover and he ducked. The bullets slowly bit downward, heading straight toward him. He swiveled his body to the right and fired his jetpack, the chest piece of his jumpsuit screeching across the rooftop. He fired a ventral burst, pushing off from the surface, and cut thrust to land in the passenger seat of one of the attacking ATLAS units.
The mech reached up, trying to grab him, but Rade dropped out of the passenger area and slid down onto the jumpjets of the ATLAS. The exposed fuel lines of these older mechs were particularly vulnerable to external tampering: he tore out said lines and fuel dripped onto the roof. Rade kicked away from the mech and activated his jetpack. In midair, he aimed his blaster at the source of the leaking fuel and fired. The resultant explosion sent the ATLAS flying off the rooftop.
Rade landed rolling on the rooftop and took cover as jellied gasoline sprayed the area around him. The small superstructure that shielded him began to collapse as projectiles tore into it.
“Sky!” He said over the comm. “Where are you?”
And then the Zeus was standing in front of him, protecting him with its tall shield. The metal of that shield was partially eaten away by acid from the previous encounter, and parts of it didn’t hold up very well to the projectile onslaught.
