What would he think about?
Marten shook his head, trying to drive away the thought, but it hung there, taunting him, frightening him, reminding him that failure to take the beamship meant death.
He chinned his suit so it glowed with a bright blue color. Then he crawled out the hole, pressing his body against the rock as if he loved it. So very carefully, he moved one hand or foot at a time, crawling across the particle shield, making sure those deeply curved spikes had driven in as far as possible. Other shock troopers did likewise.
Meanwhile, the Bangladesh continued to flee from Mercury.
Marten glanced back over his battlesuit’s shoulder. An HB missile moved up. It terrified him. A red laser flashed out its cone. Marten shouted hoarsely. Then something exploded, a flash and then nothing, darkness. Other movement caught his eye. More torpedoes coming. Two blossomed in space, beam hit before they could burrow to safety. Marten groaned. Bile rose in his throat. That could have been him. He didn’t know why he was the lucky one. Then the surviving torps smashed into the particle shield that he was on. The shield shook, and that threatened to loosen his grip.
“No, please, no,” he whispered, as his right hand slipped up and then whipped off the rock, the nine-inch curved claws showing with their little barbs. His servomotors whined as he hammered the spikes back into the rock. Motion in the corner of his visor caused him to look to his left. Another shock trooper had lost his grip and shot backward into space.
“Help me, God,” Marten whispered. “Please don’t let me die like that.”
His helmet crackled. Garbled, static, scratchy voices sounded. For a brief, insane second he thought it might be God answering. The reality of where he was took over. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make out the words.
“One hundred and twenty-fourth Maniple, report.”
More static, then little tinny voices tried to respond.
“Basil here, Maniple Leader.”
Marten dared look around again. He saw blue-glowing shock troopers clinging to the particle shield as he did. A few had green-glowing numbers.
Right, right, he chinned his suit, turning all its colors on. A big green 101 would now be on his back and helmet. And that action seemed to let him think again. He dared dial himself another shot of neurostim. Riding the particle shield with one tiny wrong move that would lead to a lonely, terror-filled death by suffocation was simply too debilitating for normal thought. As the drug pumped into him, more anger, rage, washed through him. It made him mad that he was scared. Then he got pissed.
He started crawling—carefully! Yeah, yeah, he wasn’t that mad.
He avoided a huge laser-made hole. It was deep and big. He glanced around. A lot of those holes dotted the shield. He bet some went almost all the way down.
Marten tried the comlink. It crackled horribly, and he heard many tinny voices.
“One-oh-one, report,” he said. He repeated it several times.
“Marten!”
“Here, Lance.”
“Where?”
Marten wasn’t about to raise an arm.
“Look around. Do you see any one-oh-one’s glowing?” he said.
“Oh, right,” said Lance. “We’re supposed to chin on the numbers. Just a minute.”
Marten swiveled his helmeted head. He saw a green 101 pop-on thirty meters from him, on the other side of a laser pit.
“I see you,” Marten said. “Look across the pit.”
“Gotcha. Oh, yeah, there you are.”
“Let’s meet halfway,” Marten said. He started crawling.
Other maniples called in and now more of the shock troopers showed their numbers. A few of the battlesuits didn’t move. Maybe their owners were too terrified. Most of the men crawled toward their maniple leaders.
As he crawled, Marten noticed how shot up the particle shield really was. It could crumble apart at any moment. That meant—they had to get off it fast!
“Wu, here,” called a man. He was the mission’s second in charge.
“Kang, here, Wu.”
As the dreadful fear of the shield breaking up caused him to crawl faster, Marten also counted battlesuits. Maybe a hundred shock troopers had landed on this broken, battered particle shield. They all had to get off. A hundred was too many to lose. He dared lifted his hand and point to his maniple where to go. He did it as he slid his right hand forward to crawl another inch.
No, they weren’t his maniple anymore. They were Kang’s. He laughed harshly. “Screw you, Lycon,” he said.
The others, close now, crawling together, peered at him. He’d had his comlink open when he’d said that. He could see their questioning eyes.
“We gotta move!” Marten said. “We gotta get off this particle shield.”
“Wu gives the orders,” Kang said.
“Neurostim yourselves,” Marten said. “From here on in you’ll need anger, lots of it to drown out the fear.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Kang said. “I’m in charge of the one-oh-one.”
“Stay if you want, Kang.” To the others Marten said, “Follow me. The particle shield could break up at any time.”
“Wu,” Kang said via comlink.
Wu didn’t answer. Maybe he was out of range, maybe he had other things on his mind.
“The particle shield could break up?” asked Lance.
“Have you taken a good look at the shield?” Marten asked. “There are too many laser holes for my tastes. What if one section of the shield crumbles?”
Vip cursed in fear.
“Neurostim yourselves to a two-dose level,” Marten said.
“No,” Kang said. “Only one dose, as per HB orders.”
Marten hissed, “You’re a stupid idiot, Kang. It’s time to get mad. We gotta hustle off.”
“Three-oh-ninth leader here, Marten,” said a shock trooper. “What’s this about a crumbling shield?”
Marten told him. And so the word was spread.
Marten, getting the hang of it now, crawled faster than before. The horrible tug always dragged at him, threatening to tear him off for good. But like a big mechanical baby, he learned the crawling trick and had almost perfected it to an art.
“Come back here,” Kang said.
“Everyone else is following me, Kang,” Marten said between gasps. Even with the battlesuit, it was hard moving fast under eight Gs. “I suggest you do likewise.”
Kang growled, but he started after them.
In time, Marten reached the edge of the particle shield. He poked his head between the gap of this shield and the one beside it. What if the people in the ship banged the two shields together? Hamburger shock troopers, that’s what. He couldn’t see down to the ship. Six hundred meters, if he recalled this beamship’s specs right, that was the depth of the shields. He swallowed, and then he started down. It felt safer here, but that was an illusion he knew. If he lost his grip, the eight Gs would simply rip him up, up and up and maybe knock others off as well.
What a way to make a living.
His rage against the HBs grew. But he was getting tired, too. All those days locked up in the G-suit without exercise was having its effect.
Keep moving, boy.
“Uh, oh,” said Lance.
“What is it?” Marten said.
“We lost another one.”
Marten said a short prayer for the hapless victim. Then, “Is everyone else following?”
“Seems like,” said Lance. “Omi, can you see?”
“They’re coming.”
Down, down, down Marten crawled. His breathing was harsh in his ears. Then he reached the bottom of the particle shield. He checked his HUD radar, and saw giant struts attached to the inner beamship’s skin. He crawled under the shield, and now he could move faster because the Gs pushed him against the shield. Soon he reached the nearest steel strut, a vast girder that moved the particle shield around to wherever it was needed.
Spikes wouldn’t work on the girder.
; Marten cudgeled his wits.
Suddenly a man screamed. That cut through the static all right.
“PD cannon,” growled a shock trooper.
Marten peered at the inner armored surface. There! A cannon poked out the skin like an ancient pirate’s cannon had on those old wooden ships. Suddenly a ball of orange plasma roiled toward the PD cannon that spewed shots.
A second later, the plasma washed over and melted the cannon.
“Ten dead,” said a shock trooper.
“Keep your eyes open for more.”
“They know we’re here,” Marten said. Then he knew what he had to do. “Once you reach the girders put away your spikes.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Maybe,” Marten said.
He put one spike-pad away. Then he reached out. With full exoskeleton power, he clutched hold of the girder. His power-gloves bent the metal. It would leave a handprint, all right. He moved his left hand, and as he tried to slip off the spike-pad, it flew away. He sighed, and then he grabbed the girder with his left. He shimmied down the giant strut, wrapping his battlesuited legs around part of it.
“Marten’s a monkey,” Vip said.
“Just make sure you follow me,” Marten said.
A man cursed as two more PD’s popped up. Plasma rolled at them, but not before five more shock troopers died.
“Bastards!” cried a man.
We all are, Marten decided. Them and us, maybe everybody in the solar system.
Soon others crawled behind him and down the girder. Attached to their battlesuits were breach-bombs and plasma cannons, while hooked to their arms were laser tubes.
“This is thirsty work,” said Lance. He tried for levity. He sounded as frightened as Marten felt. Neurostim didn’t seem to last long while they were doing this.
Marten concentrated on crawling. His skin itched. He wanted more neurostim. No, no, keep your head clear now, Marten, my man. Just enough neurostim to dull the fear. Or maybe just enough to mask it.
The fear, dread, anger and hard work made him sweat. But finally, Marten reached the end of the giant strut. The inner armored skin of the Bangladesh had countless crisscrossing tracks, deep grooves. It was how they moved the shields around, he guessed. He licked his lips. He didn’t know if this would work. If it didn’t… the Gs would hurl him against the underbelly of the particle shield. If he landed with his feet, he might not die on the spot. Maybe crush his bones, though. He shook his head. This was all insane. They shimmied down a giant strut while the Bangladesh sped through space. Suddenly the strut vibrated.
“What was that?” Omi said.
“Why is it shaking?” whined Vip.
“Hurry!” shouted Marten.
“Use yours thrusters?” Vip said.
“No!” shouted Marten. “Don’t be a fool. The beamship’s fleeing at full acceleration.”
“If you use your thrusters,” said Lance, “you’ll barely crawl at one G, but the ship will move at eight.”
“Then it’s bye, bye,” Kang said.
Marten reached for the beamship’s inner armor. He also turned on the battlesuit’s magnetic-clamps at full power. His hand attached to the armor. The clamps were also on his elbows, belt, knee and toes. Like a fly, he attached himself to the beamship. Slowly, with a clang, clang, clang he crawled along the surface.
“Move,” he said to the others.
The ship underneath him shuddered. Marten looked over his shoulder. The struts trembled. Then his eyes opened wide. The struts, the giant girders, blew off and out of the ship’s grooves. The particle shield detached, and it began to tumble away in seeming slow motion. Over the comlink, shock troopers screamed in rage and fear. Some tried to jump, their thrusters burning hard, spewing out hydrogen particles. For a second a man actually crossed the meter of distance he needed to go. Then he stopped and flipped back hard into space.
In silence, the handfuls of shock troopers on the beamship’s armored skin watched their comrades recede into space. As the particle shield faced them, they saw other shock troopers leap off the shield as their thrusters burned. It was a pitiful sight. Hydrogen spray spewed out the packs, but it was much too little. They dropped farther and farther behind as the Bangladesh continued its acceleration at eight gravities.
“Poor bastards,” said Lance.
“What’s going to happen to them?” asked Vip.
“What do you think?” snarled Omi.
Then Kang reached them. His normally slit-shut eyes were as wide open as theirs. Through his helmet visor, he looked terrified.
“Wu is gone,” Marten said. “So now you’re second in command.”
“If Mad Vlad still lives that is,” said Lance. “If he’s dead then you’re the mission commander.”
“What do we do now, Kang?” asked Marten.
Kang licked his lips. He peered at the tumbling particle shield. Soon he faced Marten. “You got any suggestions?”
12.
Cheers and wild whooping filled the Bangladesh’s command capsule.
“Ha-ha, look at them go!” shouted the Pakistani First Gunner. “Bye, bye, you traitorous scum.”
“I love it. They’re trying to jetpack their way to us.”
“Good luck,” said the Tracking Officer.
“Enough of that,” Admiral Sioux said.
“What’s wrong, Admiral?” asked the Second Gunner.
“They’re soldiers just like us,” Admiral Sioux said. “We defeated that batch. And I’m glad for it. But let’s not mock brave soldiers.”
“They’re the enemy,” the First Gunner said.
“Traitors to Social Unity,” said someone else.
“Admiral, I detect enemy on the inner armored skin.”
“See,” the First Gunner said. “They’re still going to kill us.”
“Or they’re going to try,” said the Tracking Officer.
“That’s what I meant,” the First Gunner said. “I hate traitors. If we defeat them, I plan to cheer while Security teams hold them down and slit their throats.”
“What about re-education?” asked the Tracking Officer.
“Not for traitors,” said the First Gunner.
Admiral Sioux only half-listened. She couldn’t find it in herself to hate the enemy soldiers. Fight them, oh yes. But hate? She studied the situation through her VR-goggles. Some of the HB missiles had passed the Bangladesh. They rotated and watched, but didn’t’ fire the lasers. Why?
“Launch Tube Twelve in operative condition, Admiral,” a damage control officer said.
“Here are another swarm of missiles,” the Tracking Officer said.
The First Gunner swore in frustration. “Slitting their throats would be too good. Torture them first.”
“Better hope they don’t play back the bridge vid,” the Second Gunner said.
“Belay that sort of talk, mister,” the Admiral said. “No one is taking my ship.”
“Yes, Admiral. I’m sorry, sir.”
Admiral Sioux suddenly thought she understood the enemy’s plan. The HB lasers and other missiles weren’t firing because these soldiers were on the beamship. Not very many were on, but as long as the soldiers tried to breach the Bangladesh, it was safe from HB missile attacks.
“Pilot,” the Admiral said. “Get ready to rotate the Bangladesh one-hundred and eighty degrees.”
“Admiral?”
“Do it at my command,” said Admiral Sioux.
“What are you planning, Admiral?” the Tracking Officer asked.
“How much fuel do you think those missiles have left?”
“Not much,” the Tracking Officer said. “But what does it matter? It was enough to reach us.”
“Ready,” the Pilot said.
“Now,” said Admiral Sioux.
The Bangladesh’s mighty engines turned off. Side jets fired. The massive beamship rotated in space. Soon the front of the Bangladesh was aimed where the engines had been burning these many days. They were aimed at the
Sun. Then the huge engines engaged, pushing at eight gravities as the beamship braked hard.
The HB missiles coming upon the Bangladesh sped that much more quickly at the beamship.
“Enemy torpedoes are firing like before,” said the Tracking Officer.
“PD cannons ready,” said the First Gunner.
“Don’t fire!” shouted Admiral Sioux. “Let the enemy torps hit us.”
“There are fifty torpedoes, Admiral,” the First Gunner said.
“I can count, mister. Just make certain you don’t fire. Shield Officer, adjust Shield Three. Don’t leave any gaps between them.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
The huge beamship shuddered as the majority of the torpedoes slammed into Particle Shield 4, or what was left of it.
“They’ve landed,” said the Tracking Officer.
“Yes, thank you,” said Admiral Sioux. “Pilot, rotate us ninety degrees.”
“Rotating.”
The beamship’s main engines quit again. Side jets fired. Ponderously, the mighty Bangladesh rotated ninety degrees.
“Detach Shield 4,” ordered Admiral Sioux.
“Detaching,” said the Shield Officer.
On their VR goggles, they watched the huge hunk of rock blow off the Bangladesh and tumble away, although not very far. Some enemy soldiers leaped off the particle shield and jetted for the beamship. Both the shield and the beamship kept relative speeds.
“PD cannons fire at will,” the Admiral said.
“Firing,” growled the First Gunner.
All along the Bangladesh’s side spat PD cannons. Shock trooper plasma globs rolled at them, together with battlesuit rifle lasers. The PD cannons shrugged off the small lasers. The superheated plasma was another matter. It took out cannon after cannon. But not fast enough. Soon all the soldiers were dead, blown apart by point defense shells.
“Do we brake or flee?” asked the Pilot.
“Tracking?” asked the Admiral.
“A last spread of missiles is approaching fast, Admiral,” the Tracking Officer said.
“Let’s use the launch tube,” said Admiral Sioux.
“The lasers will take it out,” the Tracking Officer said.
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