ATLAS 2 (ATLAS Series Book 2)

by Isaac Hooke

  “Anyway, my job at Nova Dynamics was programming the cloud computing resources the delivery robos used. Petabytes, and I mean petabytes, of information were collected on every customer in the country, storing every kind of point-of-sale information possible. Every purchase the customer had ever made was stored: the who, the what, the when, the where, the why, and the how. And I’m not talking just food purchases, but every purchase. Online purchases for the 3D printers, retail purchases at the store down the street, the take-out order from the local pizza joint, the lap dance from your favorite stripper. That’s right, Nova exchanged cloud data with all the other merchant clearinghouses. Probably still does. Part of the ‘fair use’ policy when using their web properties. Cloud algorithms are in place to tag money launderers and other tax cheats, but a lot of the time that data is misused, and sold to other retailers so Net ads can be targeted to your buying habits, for example. Just hope you don’t get a stalker working at Nova Dynamics.

  “The age of robos heralded the end of the age of privacy. It’s a dangerous age, where robotic eyes observe your every movement. With robots and security cameras everywhere, you’re constantly recorded and analyzed by cloud computing resources, one wrong word or action away from being flagged and arrested. Let’s just say, it wouldn’t be a good thing for the robots to turn on us.”

  The unsaid reference to Geronimo was foremost in all our minds, I think. Because out there, eight thousand lightyears from home, our robot support troops had done just that, and turned against us.

  Snakeoil tried to lighten the mood. “And here I always thought Fret was our regional provider of doom and gloom.”

  Fret was still staring at the woman on stage as she gyrated to the hippie metal music. The lanky communicator was enraptured, and hadn’t heard a word of what was said as far as I could tell.

  “No, he’s just our village idiot,” Bender said.

  “That’s getting cold by the way.” I nodded at the basket of wings untouched in Lui’s lap.

  “Oh yeah. I sometimes forget about my stomach when I’m talking about things I’m passionate about.” Lui retrieved a light stick from his side pocket and flashed a bright beam at the chicken wings.

  “Are you taking pictures of your food with your Implant again?” Skullcracker said. The heavy gunner was relatively slight of build, but the daunting, realistic-looking human skull tattooed onto his face made up for any impression of weakness. You’d think the tattoo would repel girls. Not so. They were fascinated by him, and he had two dancers in his lap right then, though he didn’t seem all that interested in them, which was probably an act. “Sure, I could understand if we were ordering filet mignon or some exquisitely arranged sushi. But greasy, deep-fried barbecue wings piled into a basket at a strip club?”

  “Hey, I like food okay?” Lui said. “When we’re in space, cooped up for months on end, these pictures get me by. They give me a chance to plan out my food itinerary for when I get back. What buffets to hit. What diners. You know.”

  Skullcracker chuckled, the skull tattooed onto his face bending into a ghastly shape. “Food itinerary. I like that.”

  “I’m a foodie,” Lui said. “I admit it. And this is what we foodies do. Cuisine and the art of eating, the presentation of the food, it’s all very important to us. Even if it’s just a basket of wings. Besides, being a foodie is part of my cultural inheritance. You know that ‘how are you’ in Korean-Chinese basically translates to ‘have you eaten yet,’ right?”

  “You greet each other in Korean-Chinese by saying have you eaten yet?” Skullcracker shook his head. He turned to TJ, who sat beside him. “Hey, have you eaten yet?”

  TJ, our main drone operator, had a girl giving him a microcoin dance in his seat. That night he wore his usual tight tee that showed off the groove between his pecs and his bulging biceps to good effect. The olive skin of his left arm was tattooed to look like the arm of an ATLAS mech, replete with rivets and servomotors and swappable weapons. His right arm was inked with other military robots like the Centurion and Raptor, which competed for every square inch of skin. He also had an Atlas moth tattooed to his neck, the wings extending down his chest.

  The girl’s hand was also reaching down his chest as she ground against him . . .

  “TJ, bro, you eaten yet?” Skullcracker asked again.

  TJ leaned past his girl, spread his fingers in a V, and darted his tongue through the crack.

  Skullcracker glanced at the rest of us, an amused light in his eyes. “That means no,” he joked.

  My gaze was drawn to Ghost behind him, who, in the black light, looked like a glowing demon with his pale skin and white hair. He had attracted his own type of woman: a lithe, pale beauty with black hair. She lay in his lap with her eyes closed, her head resting on his chest, a contented smile curving her plump lips.

  The woman’s smile reminded me of Shaw. It was the same smile she would wear after our lovemaking.

  On the main stage, Fret’s girl ended her set and the cantina band took over.

  “You’ve been pretty quiet tonight, Rade,” Tahoe said abruptly, leaning close so that his voice carried to my ears alone. He was seated beside me, and up until this point he’d had his eyes unfocused, a sign that he had been inside his Implant.

  “What about you?” I said.

  “Writing the wife. My little girl turned three yesterday, you know.”

  “That’s great.”

  Tahoe nodded slowly. “Is it? I sometimes feel like I’m missing out on her life.”

  I had nothing to say to that.

  “But enough about me,” Tahoe said. “Obviously something’s got you down tonight.”

  I pressed my lips together and looked away.

  “We all miss them,” Tahoe said suddenly.

  I was glad I’d looked away, because I didn’t want him to see the rapid blinking those words brought to my eyes.

  We all miss them.

  He didn’t have to say who. I knew. I’d always know.

  I heard laughter to my right. From Dyson and Meyers. They were the new caterpillars assigned to the platoon, and they sat apart from everyone else.

  I didn’t like them.

  Actually, that was too mild a term.

  I hated them.

  What right did they have to come in here, thinking they could replace Big Dog and Alejandro? No one ever could.

  I had to remind myself that of course the caterpillars didn’t believe that. They were assigned to Alfa platoon by Lieutenant Commander Braggs and Chief Bourbonjack. But still, whenever I looked at them, I felt anger. I truly resented them.

  Dyson had two girls sitting in his lap at this moment, and he was smiling and joking away with Meyers. Skullcracker was allowed to have two girls in his lap, but not Dyson. Never Dyson.

  He thought he could laugh and have fun, did he? When good people had died so that he could be here?

  I’d see about that.

  I got up.

  “Rade,” Tahoe said, warningly. “Leave it.”

  I ignored him and stalked over to Dyson.

  “No girls for you tonight,” I said, forcefully hauling the dancers off him.

  “Hey!” one of the girls said.

  “Here.” I transferred some microcoins to her via my embedded ID. “Go play with yourself in the corner or something.”

  Dyson stood up angrily. “What are you doing?”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” I said, shoving him back down. “What right do you have to be here? You’re laughing, huh? It’s all fun and games, huh? What right!”

  Dyson stood up again. “I’ve paid my dues to get here,” he said carefully.

  My hand curved into a fist and I almost punched him right there. “You haven’t.”

  We stared at each other, our faces only a few centimeters apart as the cantina band played in the ba
ckground. His Asian American features were bunched up into a scowl.

  I was seconds away from starting an all-out brawl with him. Seconds.

  My fist tightened—

  Then his face softened, and he looked down. “Sorry, sir.”

  “That’s right. You’re a little caterpillar and I’m a seasoned MOTH. Now sit down and shut up.” I shoved him back into his seat and stormed away.

  I went to the men’s restroom and splashed my face in cold water.

  “You’ve had too much to drink.” Tahoe’s voice came from behind me.

  I dried half my face, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  Tahoe’s reflection smiled sadly. “You’re Rade Galaal. A man of dignity. A man of honor. More than a man. A MOTH.”

  “I was,” I said. I looked so much older. Had my face always had so many lines? “But not anymore. I left a part of myself behind on Geronimo. And I’m never getting that part back. I feel hollow inside.”

  “We all left a part of ourselves behind on that planet, Rade. We paid for our victory in blood.”

  My eyes had a haunted look now. The same look I had seen in Alejandro, when he was alive. He’d watched his whole family get gunned down. I finally understood his pain. “Was it a victory? I thought it was a loss. We were bloodied, and we ran away with our tails between our legs. We should have attacked that alien ship. We should have blown it out of the skies.”

  “If we’d tried that, none of us would be here today,” Tahoe said. “The deaths of our friends would have been for nothing.”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t bear to look at myself anymore, so I lowered my gaze, and watched a drop of water trickle from my chin into the sink.

  “You should really give the caterpillars a chance,” Tahoe said.

  “No I shouldn’t.”

  “They seem like good kids.” Kids. It was funny. They weren’t that much younger than us, though it seemed a lifetime separated us from them.

  “They’ll never replace who we lost,” I said. “Never.”

  “They don’t have to,” Tahoe said. “They only have to be there for us, when we need them most.”

  “Yeah.” I closed my eyes. “Just like I was there for Alejandro when he needed me most, right?”

  I felt Tahoe’s hand on my shoulder. “Rade. You have to stop blaming yourself. I know it’s hard. Hell, I still blame myself from time to time, even all these months later. But I take consolation in the fact that Alejandro wouldn’t have wanted us to keep grieving like this. He would’ve wanted us to move on, and live our lives.”

  And what about Shaw? I felt like saying. What would she have wanted? She died for us, too . . .

  Instead I said, “Yeah Tahoe. I hear you.” I patted his hand, then lifted it from my shoulder. “Gotta start living.” I don’t think I sounded too convincing, but maybe he’d buy it and leave me alone.

  “To that end, I believe it’s time you made some new female friends.” Tahoe dragged me from the restroom. I remembered a time when I called every restroom a “head” thanks to the indoctrination of Basic Training. Those were the good days. When Shaw and Alejandro were alive. Probably the best days of my life. Strange how when you’re living the best days of your life you don’t actually realize it at the time, not until it’s all over. And once you do realize it, you yearn for those moments more than anything, but they never come back. Not ever.

  “Come on, Rade. We’re going to introduce you to Misty Mindy over here.” Tahoe pulled me toward one of the dancers, who was performing atop a nearby table.

  I resisted. “I don’t want to meet Misty Mindy. I don’t want any new female friends.”

  “Which is exactly why you have to do it,” Tahoe said. “Besides, you’re not going to be mere friends with Misty Mindy. When you’re done with her, the Rade Galaal charm will have converted her into a fan.”

  He tore off his StripperAdvisor badge along with my own, then finished dragging me to the table where “Misty” was performing her little show.

  She was dressed in a skimpy bikini. Her hair was dyed purple at the top, transitioning to blue at the tips. She had random sparkles glued all over her tanned, athletic body, and she had tiny blue-and-white stars tattooed along the right side of her face. She wore sparkling white makeup around each eye, which was supposed to look like mist, I guess.

  Tahoe waved her over.

  The dancer slithered down toward us, and smirked. “Hey boys.” She rubbed a spot on her breasts just above her bikini top, suggestively circling her finger around the region. I made a point not to look.

  “Gonna buy my bro here a lap dance,” Tahoe said.

  “I’ll find you when I’m done with the table,” she said, giving me a wink.

  “This offer is time-limited and nonnegotiable,” Tahoe said. “You give him a dance, and you give it to him right now.”

  She frowned at Tahoe.

  “Do you see that ‘incoming bitcoins’ request on your Implant?” Tahoe said. “Do you see the size of it? I suggest you accept right now, because if you don’t, I’m going to cancel it. The house is going to be very disappointed when they review their logs and see the amount you declined.”

  Misty’s eyes defocused as she checked her own Implant. All dancers had civilian aReals implanted directly in their heads. Firstly, because they could afford it. Secondly, because they didn’t want to wear an augmented reality device that detracted from their looks.

  Misty glanced over her shoulder, waving with feigned regret at the other customers she’d been entertaining around the table, then she lowered herself to the floor.

  “Let’s go to the private dance room, honey.” She grabbed me by the hand and dragged me away. I glanced at Tahoe helplessly.

  The “private” dance room in this club was basically a shared room in the back of the cantina, with small partitions placed between stalls. There were no curtains or anything like that, so I could see into every stall as I walked by. I passed Fret on the way to my stall. He was getting a dance from the short girl he’d lusted over, and he slapped her naked behind while moaning, “Incoming!”

  Yikes.

  Misty sat me down, and started to take her skimpy top off.

  I held up a halting hand. “Keep your clothes on. I’m not a client.”

  She grinned suggestively. “Okay.”

  She plunked herself squarely in my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. “So, what brings you to our quaint little station?”

  “Oh, you know,” I said. “I’m part of a traveling space circus.”

  She giggled. “You’re not in the circus, silly.”

  “Yeah, how do you know?”

  She pouted, and brushed my cheek as she leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “Circus performers aren’t quite so handsome.”

  I ignored the compliment, which was probably fake. “I’ll have you know, I happen to be the greatest fire juggler who ever graced this side of the galaxy.”

  She sat back and smirked. “Really? What’s your stage name?”

  “Gaul the Great.”

  Her nose wrinkled up. “Gaul? What kind of a stage name is Gaul? That’s like, an ancient region in France.”

  France.

  Where Shaw grew up.

  The thought made me suddenly depressed again, and I felt the smile leave my face. Strange, how a word, or mere reference to a place, could bring all my feelings for her rushing to the fore again.

  I almost left.

  The dancer sensed it. “What’s wrong?”

  I hesitated. “Have you ever felt regret?”

  “That’s random,” she said.

  “Yeah. Never mind.” I became suddenly very aware of her arms wrapped around my neck, and I felt guilty.

  Apparently sensing my discomfort, she removed her hands an
d sat back in my lap.

  “So you’re a MOTH,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

  I didn’t say anything, though I wondered how she knew. I wasn’t wearing any badges, or a Navy uniform. As far as she was concerned I was just a heavily bearded civilian.

  “I can tell,” Misty said. “I meet a lot of people in my line of work. And men like you have a certain aura about them.”

  “An aura.”

  “Yes. A dangerous aura.” She ran a hand through my beard. “You’ve killed a lot of men.”

  I sighed. That was the kind of thing most people thought when they found out I was a MOTH. “So is this what you talk about with all your customers?”

  She twirled her hair with one finger. “I’m just making conversation. You won’t let me give you a proper dance, so . . .”

  I looked away, trying to think of a way to excuse myself without offending her. Although, I guess if I really wanted to go, I could’ve shoved her off and left.

  But I didn’t.

  Deep down, I yearned for female company, even if I wouldn’t admit it to myself.

  “What was the worst thing that ever happened to you as a MOTH?” Misty said.

  I met her eyes.

  “Asking a man about his worst experience isn’t the greatest stripper technique to use on a client, is it?”

  “You’re the one who said you didn’t want to be a client, remember? So come on, tell me.”

  “You don’t want to know,” I deadpanned.

  “Come on.” She continued twirling her hair, like a schoolgirl with a crush. Oh she was good at faking attraction, all right.

  “You’re quite the hustler,” I said. “Bet you have all the guys here under your spell. But I’m not buying it.”