by Tarah Benner
A moment later, another Humvee glides around the building. Colonel Sipps is in the driver’s seat, and Carl is sitting beside her.
I’d almost forgotten about Carl. He has the constant look of a washed-up drunk, a layer of scruff, and greasy skin. His pilot’s uniform is always wrinkled, and being stuck on the base has done nothing for his hygiene.
Sipps parks the vehicle and gets out, looking annoyed. “Are you ready?” she asks, as if we’re the ones who’ve been making her wait.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I have an air force–issued handgun on my hip and a smaller pistol concealed in my ankle holster, but those will be useless against the bots. The real weapons are the circuit stunners Jared is carrying in a musty motel pillowcase.
“The transmitter is already on the shuttle,” says Sipps. “Please take it directly to First Lieutenant Greaves. He will know what to do.”
I nod.
“I need you to communicate to the Space Force that they have the full backing of the US armed forces,” she says.
“Unless we can’t get Mordecai to surrender,” I add. “Then you’re going to kill them all.”
Sipps narrows her eyes in a way that says she’d like to give me a good dressing-down. “Everything will be explained,” she says tersely. “I just need to speak to Greaves.” Sipps lets out a stiff breath through her nostrils. “I’m sure it goes without saying that the maneuvers we discussed are classified, Sergeant. If you tell anyone what we discussed —”
“I know what classified means,” I grumble.
Sipps doesn’t rattle me. She may be used to making decisions without any regard for human life, but her authority over me ends the second I get on that shuttle. I stopped being a cog in the government’s war machine long ago.
The men in orange vests finish fueling up the shuttle, and Jared, Carl, and I climb on board. The pocket rocket is even smaller than I remember — just large enough to accommodate a stretcher in the event of a medical emergency. Part of me doubts it has the ability to escape the Earth’s atmosphere. I guess we’re about to find out.
“All right, dirtbags. Take a seat,” Carl grumbles as we shimmy into our flight suits.
I glance over at Jared, who looks incredibly nervous. I’ve flown with Carl once before, but if I’d seen him for the first time in broad daylight, I’m not sure I’d be up for this.
“You ready?” I ask before I put on my helmet.
“Oh yeah,” says Carl. “Bring on the suicide mission.”
To my relief and surprise, we manage to escape Earth’s atmosphere without burning up in a million pieces. The Swift 9 is small but capable, and I try to tell myself the worst is over.
After Carl’s doomsday commentary peters off, the flight goes pretty quickly. It takes about five hours to get from Vandenberg to Elderon, and my mind is racing the entire time. I keep thinking about what will happen if I can’t get past the bots. This mission could be scrubbed before it even begins.
Sooner than I’d like, I see the blurry shape of Elderon looming in the distance. From far away, it looks like three metal donuts stacked one on top of the other, but it’s spinning so quickly that I can’t make out any details.
“Well, we haven’t been shot down yet,” says Carl in my ear. The helmet I’m wearing is synced with my Optix, which still seems to have all its short-range comm capabilities.
My stomach drops. I imagine Mordecai sitting somewhere on the space station, watching Swift 9 approach on screen. I know we’re well within the range of Elderon’s missiles, but the fact that I don’t detect a satellite defense module must mean he hasn’t decided to kill us yet.
Still, we’re not out of the woods. Carl took the liberty of explaining everything that can go wrong whenever a shuttle attempts to dock on a space station that’s constantly in motion. (Apparently, a third of all shuttle accidents happen during landing — a fact that Maverick decided not to mention in any of their promotional videos.)
To dock successfully on Elderon requires a shuttle pilot to perform a tricky maneuver called the “golden-halo descent.” The idea is to turn off the engines close enough that the shuttle can make it to the correct bay but far enough that the shuttle’s momentum doesn’t cause it to crash into the space station. This is further complicated by the fact that Elderon is rotating at a speed fast enough to simulate the effects of one G.
When I flew to Elderon aboard the Impetus, it was impossible to see the mechanics of the actual landing. Unfortunately, in the pocket rocket, I now have a front-row seat.
“Elderon, this is Swift 9. Requesting permission to land. Over.”
We all wait, holding our breath.
“Elderon, this is Swift 9 coming in for landing,” Carl repeats.
Still nothing.
“Elderon, this is Swift 9. Please respond.”
Moments pass with nothing but radio silence.
“What now?” asks Jared in a petrified voice.
“We’ll just circle the block until they answer,” says Carl.
“Really?”
“No, asswipe. We’re landing whether we get permission or not. It’s not like we have a choice.”
I shoot Carl a glare that he cannot see. He may find it amusing that we’re at Mordecai’s mercy, but I don’t.
Carl tries several more times to reach the control room, but no one aboard Elderon is answering. An all-consuming chill settles over my bones. It’s like trying to reach a ghost ship. It feels as though we’re the last humans alive.
“Well, here goes nothin’,” says Carl, more to himself than to us.
I feel it all around me when he shuts off the engines. The low hum and the powerful force that was vibrating the entire shuttle is gone, and it’s as though he just turned down the volume.
I hold my breath as we approach Elderon. We seem to be moving way too fast. I can’t believe we’ll stop before we collide with the space station, and I brace myself for a sudden, painful death.
My whole body tightens in those last crucial seconds, but then our trajectory begins to slow. For the first time since takeoff, Carl doesn’t say anything. He seems completely focused on getting us into position so that he can extend the shuttle’s gigantic arms to lower us into the bay.
I feel it as soon as we merge with the space station. That sensation of weightlessness is gone, replaced by artificial gravity.
My heart rate picks up as the weight settles in my bones. Mordecai has to know we’ve landed. He must only be letting us dock because he needs the shuttle. He probably figures he can kill us more efficiently once we’ve boarded the space station.
“Well, we made it,” says Carl, touching several buttons overhead to complete the docking procedure.
“The Swift 9 has landed,” he says, speaking to the empty control room once again. “Requesting a jet bridge. I repeat: The Swift 9 has landed. Over.”
We wait.
“What happens if they don’t send out a jet bridge?” asks Jared.
Carl doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Jared must know what I know: that we’d be stuck in no-man’s land. We don’t have enough fuel to get back to Earth, and we can’t board the station without a jet bridge. We are at Mordecai’s mercy.
But a moment later, I see what looks like a giant accordion extending from the space station. Someone — or something — is listening from the control room.
It takes several minutes for the jet bridge to reach the door to the shuttle. When it does, Carl gets up and fiddles with the door to ensure the seal has made full contact.
I stow the transmitter under the seat, thinking that Mordecai will have no reason to send the Swift 9 to Earth. The transmitter will be safe as long as it’s here. I haven’t figured out how I’m going to get it to Greaves, but the first step is keeping it from falling into enemy hands.
“Ladies first,” says Carl, stepping out of the way so I can be the first down the jet bridge.
I hold back an eye roll but open the shuttle door. There�
��s nothing polite about Carl letting us pass. He just wants us to be the first to die if there’s an army waiting on the other side.
“Stunner?” Jared asks.
“Better make it two.”
Once we’re all fully armed, I take a deep breath and climb out of the shuttle. After watching the jet bridge roll out like a serpent, the carpeted floor feels flimsy underfoot.
I walk slowly down the dark tunnel, a fire smoldering in my chest. After everything Maggie and I tried, Mordecai was always one step ahead. We chased him down to Earth, and he escaped into outer space. He’s slipped through our fingers at every turn, but I feel myself closing in.
There’s nowhere left for him to run. Up here, he’s on my turf. If he stays, I’ll fight. If he flees, he’ll have the fury of the US military raining down on his head.
As we approach the docking zone, my heart starts to hammer against my ribcage. This is it.
I pull off my helmet and the uncomfortable suit. I grip my stunners and glance over my shoulder. Carl is useless, but Jared looks ready. If I’d had my pick of men to back me up as I walked into enemy territory, they’re probably the last people I’d choose.
I emerge from the jet bridge to the scene of my nightmares: a horde of bots surrounding the entrance, analyzing me with lifeless eyes. There have to be at least two dozen — way more than three humans can take. But I drag in a breath, ready to fight, and the colony erupts with a boom.
14
Jonah
I stagger as the force of the explosion shakes the room and travels up my body. My legs wobble beneath my hips, and I have to throw out a hand to keep from slamming against the wall. The shockwave travels up my forearm, and I hear a rumble like thunder in the distance.
The bots stagger to the side, but they right themselves almost instantly. I look to Jared, who was thrown back against the wall. His face is frozen in shock.
What the hell was that?
I look up. A fine white dust is raining down from the ceiling, but the sector still seems to be intact. I’ve experienced enough missile strikes to know what one feels like, and it can’t be a coincidence. The missile must have come from the air force.
Suddenly I’m filled with rage. Colonel Sipps never intended to wait for me to make contact with Mordecai. She was always going to fire on the space station. The colonel agreed to send us to Elderon so Mordecai would be distracted, and she fired on the station the second we landed.
I’m not sure which sector took the hit, but right now that’s the least of our problems. The bots seem to have recovered fully, and they’re converging all around us.
I square my shoulders and raise the stunner — ready to take out as many as I can. But then a deafening wail pierces my eardrums, and the emergency alarm over the jet bridge flares.
My body responds to the signal before my brain can process what it means. How many times did we train for this? The emergency deployment drill. I can’t believe that this is happening. The Space Force is summoning all operatives.
Just then, a bot lunges toward me, and I barely have time to activate the stunner. I shove the end into the bot’s chest, and I see the glazed look in its eyes when it goes offline.
I step out of the way so I’m not pinned by its falling body, and another bot shoots out of nowhere. This time, I’m not quick enough to stun it before it gets ahold of me.
Cold hands grip my shoulders, pushing me back against the wall. Pain surges through my skull as I collide with the plastic paneling, and stars erupt in my vision.
I grit my teeth and squeeze the stunner, but I can’t even raise my arm. The bot’s hands press down on my throat, but then Jared flies out of nowhere. He jumps on the bot’s back and hits it with the stunner, and the pressure on my windpipe subsides.
Jared and the bot both fall off me, and we turn around to face the rest. Carl is standing frozen with shock, and the bots have formed a tight ring around us.
I do a quick count and take stock of our stunners. We don’t have enough charges to take them all. I’m staring into the face of a blond and two of the coldest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Its hair is fluttering even though there’s no wind. Its long smooth legs are deadly weapons.
The bot’s twisted expression is so realistic that I almost forget it’s not human. It’s glaring down at me with what seems like satisfaction. The bots know they have us cornered.
But then another explosion charges through my body — closer and more deafening than the last.
I stumble back. My ears are ringing. My organs feel jarred from the shock. Flames erupt behind the bots, which turn to face the threat.
A flash of heat surges over me with the shock of a grenade. I duck down as another blast rocks the sector, and I hear footsteps thundering toward me.
Suddenly the bots scatter — fanning out around the room. I look up and can hardly believe my eyes. Space Force blues and combat boots are flooding into the sector.
At least fifty people are streaming down the escalator and marching in from adjacent hallways. The docking zone descends into chaos, and I hear officers shouting orders.
Somebody launches another grenade, and I feel the heat sting my face. I can’t believe they’re using grenades, but they seem to confuse the bots.
Men in blue are driving them back. Some of the bots’ limbs seem to have melted. Others are misshapen. Blobs of silicone hang from their bodies. The heat from the blast must have melted their skin.
The bots scatter around the sector, launching themselves at the nearest soldiers. The people I’ve trained with — the people I’ve trained — they’re all fighting by my side. They’ve armed themselves with pipes and crowbars, beating the bots with wild swings.
Jared and I jump into the fray, leaving a terrified Carl behind. I jump up behind a bot that’s strangling a private and jam my stunner into its neck. The bot freezes as the current runs through it before falling to the ground like a tree.
When I look up, I see Davis staring. His eyes are wide in shock. I give him a look that says “keep going” and turn back toward the fray.
I know I left when things were bad. Davis must think the worst. I don’t expect my squad to trust me. I don’t expect loyalty or forgiveness.
I charge another bot, but I’m too late. My stomach churns with disgust. The bot just drove an exposed titanium hand through the abdomen of a private. I don’t know her name — she isn’t mine — but I feel a swoop of sickness all the same.
The private falls to the ground in agony, and I feel an overwhelming sense of loss. She looks so young — freckles and all — and she’s staring up at me in surprise.
Suddenly I’m back in Siberia, staring into the face of a dead Russian boy. Blood is pouring from the girl’s abdomen, and the color is draining from her face.
She’s too badly hurt to be saved. There’s nothing I can do.
I turn on the bot in a numb, possessed rage, but it’s already merging with the crowd. I pick up the dying girl’s piece of pipe and charge at the bot with a wild cry.
The bot’s head snaps to the side, and its body pivots to face me. It’s staring at me with cold, dead eyes. It’s ruthless, ugly — programmed to kill.
I whip the pipe around again, but the bot’s hand swoops out of nowhere. It tears the weapon away with frightening ease, and I thrust the stunner into its chest.
It leaves me cold — the endless death. Killing is what I was trained to do. But no matter how efficient I am, my human-ness gets in the way. I see all their faces — the people I kill. I still see the boy in my sleep.
The bots were created to solve that problem. They aren’t haunted by remorse. The bots don’t feel. They just follow orders. They are the ultimate soldiers.
I look around, swamped by helplessness. There’s no ending this war. It doesn’t matter how many bots I disable. Mordecai can just build more.
The Space Force is falling right and left. They’re no match for an army of humanoids.
I rove around in a sort of fugu
e state, ducking as grenades are fired. Each explosion rattles the sector, melting the carpet and shaking dust from the walls.
When I run out of charges on my circuit stunner, I tuck it into my belt and start attacking with savagery. I clobber every bot I see, skewering a few clean through the middle. At this point it hardly matters if I disable them for good. I’m only concerned with saving my men.
Everywhere I look, people are dying. Bodies litter the floor. I’ve lost track of Jared in the crowd. I need another stunner.
The sector is quickly filling with smoke, choking out the oxygen and making my brain go fuzzy. I feel delirious from battle. I am moving through a fog.
Then another grenade goes off, and the force of the explosion seems to tip the floor sideways. I lose my balance and stagger into the reception desk, and a bot’s gaze locks on me.
The bot has identified me as a threat.
It’s on me before I can stand up straight — a female with silky black hair. The bot’s eyes are blazing with lethal purpose as it grabs me by my shirt and lifts me off my feet.
I feel the seams of my shirt ripping as my weight sinks into the fabric, and I reach out and grab the bot by the hair. I pull on it as hard as I can, yanking its head to the side.
I can’t let it get its hands on my throat. That is how they kill you. But this bot seems to be toying with me. I can almost sense enjoyment in its cold black eyes.
Just then, my shirt seams give out, and I’m slammed back onto my feet. I turn my torso and whip an elbow around, catching the bot in the jaw. I see a whirl of black as its hair flings around, and I follow my strike with a spinning back kick.
My kick drives the bot back and gives me a chance to scoop up my pipe. I whip it around with my left hand and kick the bot above the knee cap. The bot’s leg just cricks to the side, but it gives me a split-second advantage. I drive the pipe down on its head and continue to pummel it with rage.