by Scott Moon
I stop. That’s not always the best thing to do when faced with a possible ambush. My gut says it’s right this time, so that’s what I do.
None of my sensors pick up good locations on my enemies, only a general direction of where this threat could be coming from.
I have three options. There’s a rock spire I could climb and use to overwatch the area but doing so would make me visible to anyone paying attention. There’s a system of caves on one side of the canyon providing concealment and a way to watch whatever’s coming but could leave me pinned with no escape route.
The last option, the one that I instinctively reject, is to head deeper into the maze and keep moving. This choice might allow me to bypass the intruders entirely—a great idea if I didn’t need information. The coward’s path would lead me away from my airship pilot.
“CAI, can you tell me if these units are in the right area to have seen or caused Danielle’s ship to go down?”
“Approaching units are using sensor dispersion technology. Unable to calculate how many of them there are. As to your question, given the rate of travel, they are very likely to have seen or at least been in the area of the crash.”
That’s good enough for me. I slink into the shadows of a cave and observe their approach. Seconds after I’m in position, I see three Blade Corps mechs stalking into the canyon.
“I think they’re looking for me.”
CAI makes a series of clicks that sound like laughter despite the fact the unit has no personality software installed. “Analysis: you are correct. Picking up encrypted, nonverbal communications now. I’m unable to determine what they’re saying exactly, only that they’re using binary messaging.”
“They’re texting each other?”
“Essentially, yes.”
“What do you think they’re saying?”
“Once again, I cannot fully decrypt their communications without more time, but they seem to be referring to you as male genitalia.”
Someone is getting throat punched.
My cave, as it turns out, is occupied. It’s full of Doomsday spiders, massive things the size of my head. I’m not afraid of arachnids, but these ooze dark green slime from their fanged smiles. Super creepy.
“Hello, beasties.”
They chitter their weird language and scurry over each other anxiously, hissing at me but not ready to get stepped on.
My real problem is in the canyon.
The Blade Corp mechs come into view. They’re Broadsword models, similar to Archers but built off world. They’re good, but not ideal for this environment. From what I can see, they’ve been here long enough to adapt. All of them have truck tire treads lashed to their feet to keep them from sinking in sand. They wear clothing of a sort, weatherproof tarps that have faded into a crude version of camouflage.
Yeah, I know they don’t need clothing but what can I do. No one listens to me. The tarps are weak camouflage on a battlefield where everyone uses advanced optics. What can I say? They’re idiots.
From this distance they could be human travelers instead of deadly killing machines outweighing me by several tons each.
To make the situation direr, they’re moving like professionals. Maybe they’re a higher class of mercenaries than common to Blade Corps, or maybe they’re prior military. Doesn’t really matter to me. I’m still outnumbered and I’m small.
Didn’t stop you from talking trash to Goliath, did it, Chandler Michael Dane III?
“I wonder if these dudes are afraid of Doomsday spiders?”
“Doubtful,” CAI drones. “Unless you can remove their armor.”
“And who says combat AIs can’t show creativity? That’s a great idea.”
“I have no recommendations on how to cause this to happen.”
“No worries, CAI. Just go with the flow.”
“This term is nonsensical in the context of our current situation.”
The BC units enter a section of the canyon I can’t see. Their view of the caves won’t be blocked for long. I drop to a new ledge, then slip north in search of a good place to fight.
Ambush is my specialty and I have an idea. If they’re traveling where I think they will, they’ll have to cross water. They’re big enough to ford the rapids and so they probably will. That’s when I’ll introduce myself.
Moving like a big, heavily armed metal cat toward the canyon the Blade Corps mechs have just passed through, I set smoke grenades with remote detonators. The trick is getting in position to attack. Finding my way around them to the ambush point takes time, but I’m patient. This isn’t my first rodeo.
The BC dudes are perfectly predictable in their attempt randomize their patrol pattern. There’s really only one way they can go and I beat them to it.
“CAI, plot rocket trajectories for targets one and two. I’ll handle three myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
I aim my gauss rifle while the combat artificial intelligence of my mech primes microrockets and sets targets. With weather and distance factored in, CAI won’t miss. Target selection and surprise is the key.
“Three, two, one, go.” I set off the smoke grenades, then activate my gauss rifle. Aim. Breathe. Shoot. The first shot kills the leader. His mech chugs to a stop and slumps with a hole in the cockpit visor and blood painting the insides. Rockets batter the other two while they’re investigating the smoke rolling over them from the other direction.
I jump, then flare my jets to cushion my landing, swinging my massive sword the moment my balance is set.
The Broadsword mechs are about twenty tons heavier and a meter taller than me—not a huge difference for a one on one fight.
I’m accustomed to facing big enemies. And by the time they figure out what’s happening, there’s only one left and he’s shocked at the audacity of a small mech attacking three larger adversaries.
Jumping, flipping, and landing on his back, I drive the war machine to its knees with my seventeen tons.
Sheathing my sword, I plant my fist against the BC mech’s head. “What’s your name, merc?”
“You’re a mercenary too. Don’t get on your high horse.”
“Name.”
“Eugene.”
“Okay, Eugene. You can climb out of that piece of shit you’re piloting, or I can rip you out. Your friends don’t look like talkers, being dead and all. So, you’ll have to do.”
I shove Eugene deeper into the cave. Without infrared optics he can’t see much. Probably all he can pick out with his naked eyes is a mass of writhing monsters. Not far from the truth, actually.
“What the hell is that sound?” Eugene covers his ears and pushes back, trying to get around my seventeen-ton Ranger class mech. His flight suit gives him the strength to walk and filters the air but has all the protective power of pajamas.
I ain’t so small now, am I, jerkface.
Not sure what pajamas are, but I’ve heard people use the term. Some kind of clothing they wore on Earth a long time ago. Non-tactical. Definitely not made of carbon fiber or enhanced with hydraulics and pressure sleeves.
Eugene falls, gets up, looks for an escape route that doesn’t exist. “Please. What do you want from me? Why did you drag me up to your cave?”
“It’s not my cave, you idiot. Relax. I just want some information and noticed the data was wiped from your Broadsword. And it’s not my cave. When you say it that way, it sounds perverted, like I’m bringing you up here to do something to you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me?”
“I didn’t say that. I mean I’m not going to do anything weird. I’m going to let the critters take care of that.”
“Huh?”
“Are you afraid of Doomsday spiders, Eugene?”
Color drains from his face. He starts crying. “No, no, no. Anything but that! What do you want from me?”
“Where’s the pilot you pulled from the crash this morning?”
“Fuck, that’s all you wanted?” he sniffled. “I would’ve just
told you.”
“Then why wipe it from your mech computers?”
“We never record information like that. Standard procedure in case we lose a unit. Nothing special about the pilot, besides that sweet ass.”
“Hey, watch your mouth.”
“I’m sorry. Please keep those things back. Is she your girlfriend?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I hand him a data pad. “Punch in the coordinates.”
“Then you’ll get me out of this cave?”
“I won’t push you farther in.”
He squeaked a word I didn’t catch. “Fine, relax. Why are you such a little bitch? Give me the coordinates and I’ll carry you outside.”
Wiping his runny nose and eyes with the sleeve of his jumpsuit, he types on the pad. “Thanks, man. Knew you were cool. No matter what they say on the mercenary boards.”
“What do they say?”
“You’re a loudmouth jerk with an ego bigger than your mech. Stuff like that. Dance like a broken mining drone. You know, right?”
“Yeah, Eugene, I read the boards. Better not find you talking that kind of shit after this. Or I’ll come after you.”
He laughs. “You won’t get the drop on me twice. And your mech is still just a Ranger.”
“You do like spiders!” I let the threat hang as he finishes typing.
“That’s it. Her exact location. Even put in the coordinates of the defensive countermeasures.”
“Why would you do that?”
He squirms.
“Where are the rest of your friends?”
“Nowhere. There’s just the three of us in this cell. Trying to make ends meet. The UCOW pays a bounty for recovered personnel and materials.”
“They don’t pay for hostages, Eugene. Do I look like I fell of the rookie truck?”
Eugene shrugs guiltily. He was almost certainly going to sell her on the slave market. He probably still hopes I’ll get killed and he can drag Danielle to one of the black market towns where AI banks will harvest her mind for piloting skills and brothels will take the rest of her.
Eugene adds details to the schematic. “That’s everything I know. Sorry. Please, man. Don’t freaking kill me.”
“Climb up and I’ll carry you down to the next ledge. Then you’re on your own. Consider it payback for trying to trick me. I know you have guards at your base and they’re probably expecting trouble.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A few minutes later, I dump him on the ledge. “You better start running. The spiders come out to eat at night.”
The defensive countermeasures are actually pretty good stuff. I find them easily with the surprisingly accurate information provided by Eugene, and gather up a large pile of explosives.
“Are you going to throw those at the Blade Corporation mercenaries?” CAI asks.
“You bet.”
“May I make a recommendation?”
“Absolutely, as long as it helps me win.” Eyes are watching me. My hopes of facing another three instead of an entire squad are slipping away. They have lookouts, roving patrols, and their own QRF. There’s no way I’m getting Danielle out of here and not dying in the process.
“I really must make a recommendation,” CAI says.
“Fine. But you’re annoying me. I need to concentrate.”
“My long-range sensors and monitoring of the combat channels suggest Foxtrot Foundry has fallen. Perhaps your siblings would help you if you asked.”
“No fucking way. And have them hold that over my head every time we go home for the holidays? Negative.”
“You have never been home during the time I’ve served as your CAI, five years now. Analysis says you will never be able to afford a lift from this planet, with or without your gear. And by gear, I mean me.”
“Why do you computer program types always hit me with facts? That’s cheating. In a real argument, whoever yells loudest and breaks the most stuff wins.”
“This does not seem possible. Is that how organics settle their differences?”
I don’t dignify the question with an answer.
“Sir, you must ask for help.”
I load explosives in each hand and wind up to throw them—an easy thing for a mech.
“Please reconsider, sir. I have located many documented incidents during which CAI units were destroyed and not recovered after this type of poor decision.”
“Less talking, more helping me win.”
The predicted trajectories of the improvised bombs light up my HUD screen. “I like where your artificially intelligent head is at.”
The first handful of explosives arc high and are still falling toward the center of the camp when the other handful strikes a rock formation on the left.
“It is not too late to send a distress call. What do you have to prove, sir?”
“Everything.”
Sprinting like a demon, I run the perimeter of the camp, shooting two of the patrols before they know what hit them. The pilots aren’t even hurt. My weapons don’t pack that kind of punch. Unfortunately. Their mechs, however, sputter to a stop.
The QRF emerges from the flames and flying debris of my makeshift artillery barrage.
“I am detecting angry words on their comm channels.”
“Mute all channels.” I draw my sword for close work.
My first opponent laughs so hard he stops advancing.
I drop to one knee and cut him down just above the ankles. His mech face plants. I jump clear.
The remaining two are more cautious, circling me. One has a powered hammer, the other, a laser axe.
“Just give me the pilot. You can have the rest of the loot.”
“Ah, no way, Shorty. She’s the best part. Just as fine in person as she sounds on the comms,” the hammer wielder says.
“CAI, maximum jump jets.”
“Right away, sir.”
Flying into the air, I give hammer dude the finger. He swings and misses.
I keep going up, far higher than either of these dummies could manage.
They try anyway, hitting their jets to pursue me like I’m not destined to come back down in a few seconds anyway.
“Cut thrusters.”
“Of course, sir.”
I fall on them, whirling in a circle of blades and short-range gunfire. My right hand slashes with the sword. My left blasts the laser-axe guy as he winds up a strike that will cut me in half if it connects.
We pass each other. They’re still climbing while I’m falling like a rock. A second later I stick my landing and watch them burst into pieces.
“There are three other Blade Corp mechs not accounted for. My analysis suggests they left the area.”
“They ran away, CAI! We did it! Kicked their asses!”
“We?”
“Don’t get snarky with me, CAI. I’ll get you a real personality when I get paid.”
“That would be useless, but thank you sir.”
“Where is Danielle?”
CAI scans the wreckage of the Blade Corp camp. “In the prisoner box, sir. They converted her airship cockpit to a confinement vessel and were dragging it over the ground with tow cables.”
“I see her. Give me options for extracting her without getting her killed.”
“You should be able to peel open the canopy with brute force. It’s made to keep things out, not resist being pulled apart.”
I swipe away a pile of debris and look through the nearly translucent canopy. The clear steel is tempered to protect her from the harsh upper atmosphere of Doomsday.
She’s not blonde, much to my surprise. Or even a redhead. Her unconscious face is…
“Are you disappointed, sir? I sense an elevated heart rate,” CAI asks.
“I’m worried she’s injured. If I open the canopy, she could require medical attention I can’t provide,” I say taking in her short, silky brown hair.
She’s gonna be pissed when she wakes up.
“Recom
mendation: strip away the excess material on the pod and carry the cockpit. It is, to all intents and purposes, a life pod. There are a large number of Blade Corps units approaching this location at full speed. You should be able to carry the escape pod even though you’re just a Ranger class.”
“Now it’s just me who’s a Ranger class mech. You’re in here too, CAI. Better help me get out of this mess.”
“Recommendation: run really fast.”
Lifting Danielle’s escape pod prison, I set off for the nearest UCOW base.
“Get back here, merc. We’ve got a score to settle. You owed us a stack of credits before. Now your ass is ours,” a voice blares in my comms.
“CAI, can you mute that radio traffic?”
“I am doing my best. Are you running as fast as you can, sir?”
“Not even close.”
“Why not?”
“I want the Blade Corp assholes to think they have a chance.”
“That is illogical and risky.”
My computer artificial intelligence has a point but I’m laughing my ass off as I race away from the mountains and toward the UCOW control spaceport. There’s a column of mechs and support vehicles returning from the Foxtrot assault. I don’t see Goliath, either captured or contracted but I think, think, I see Shelia and Stacy driving on the farthest flank from me.
I hope it’s them. They’re not heavy, they’re my sisters. I mean, they’re heavier than me, but not the biggest brutes out here. Danes are good, and brave, and that’s why we fucking win.
Luck helps.
Being too stupid to die is icing on the cake.
“Just let me put her down. She needs a medic. And maybe a cutting torch to open her escape pod.”
“Stand back, merc,” the UCOW Base Marines order.
It’s easy to raise my slightly battered and frequently refurbished mech hands. The Marines are piloting even lighter machines than I am, but three out of four control rocket batteries mounted on the walls. One has authority to call down orbital strikes, but I don’t know which of them it is.
They never share interesting information like that.