Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1)

by Joshua Boring

  Nathen looked about for the answer. It took him a few seconds. Not much longer than that, though. The Commander turned, hands on his hips, and eyed Phillip as the tech locked down their tight beam. His eyes went from the gray-armored elite to the Yew all-purpose tank behind him. There were several other undamaged tanks still in their charging stations, waiting to be destroyed. Nathen chewed the inside of his cheek for a second.

  “Daytana,” he said. “Think you can operate that enemy armor?”

  Phillip looked over his shoulder at the tank, then cocked his head at his commander.

  “Do you think dung beetles have fine taste?”

  Nathen couldn't find it in him to groan. He settled for slapping his tech on the shoulder.

  “Get ready to move out,” he said, standing and touching the side of his head, dropping into the team comm. “Everyone, prepare to move out. We're heading North.”

  “North,” Kyler repeated, working out a map in his head. “Thet's away from ouh evac point.”

  “Change of plans,” Nathen said, glancing over the blue giant. “Where's your Blitz?”

  “Ovah theh,” Kyler said. He pointed the other way. “End ovah theh.”

  “Find a replacement,” Nathen said, turning away. “Gather weapons and ammo, Alphas!”

  Nathen knelt and detached the grenade launcher attachment from his split Coyote. The rifle was destroyed, but the launcher could still be fired, and he had two grenades left. He linked the launcher to his utility belt and hustled over to Doc, who was administering some painkillers to Jonathan. Trent was standing nearby, laxly, pistol hanging at his side. The sniper was oddly slouched, not his usual posture, taking weight off his left leg.

  “Get that looked at,” Nathen said, indicating his leg. Trent looked down, pretending he was just now noticing it.

  “Ah,” he said. “That Warhead had good aim. I just gotta move a little faster next time.”

  “Still got your Greylance?”

  Trent held up the bent shape of his rifle, in dismal condition. “Negative.”

  “Alright, forget it,” Nathen said. “Help the others get mobilized and rearm with whatever you can.”

  “Roger,” the sniper said, holstering his Wolfhound and running off with a slight limp. Nathen stopped next to the two remaining Elite Stellar Commandos, glad to note that Jonathan seemed more under control, if for no other reason than he was doped up.

  “How is he?” he asked. Doc looked up in a way that Nathen didn't need to see through his helmet to know he was worried.

  “Not good,” the medic said, sticking his tools back inside his sleeveless army jacket. “I managed to stem off some internal bleeding with the probe, but his condition is fragile. And I think his back may be... Well, that's where the ax caught him hardest.”

  “His gnot brghn,” gagged Jonathan, writhing and speaking a little like he had cotton wedged in his mouth. Nathen looked down.

  “What?”

  Jonathan coughed, and a second later, Nathen saw a red film appear on the face of the black Genesis helmet as a spray of blood phased through the alloy. The stealthist cleared his throat and lolled his head up at Nathen.

  “Dham panehillurs,” the stealth expert slurred. “His gnot, brugh-hen.”

  “He says his back's not broken,” Doc said. “But I have my doubts. I won't know for sure until the symbiosis ends.”

  “Is he safe to move?” Nathen asked.

  “As safe as I can make him,” Doc said, closing his medic's satchel and strapping it to his back. “But without divine intervention, he's not walking anywhere.”

  “We're not walking,” Nathen said, kneeling down and taking Jonathan's left arm. Doc got Jonathan's other arm, and together they half walked, half dragged the stealthist over to the others. They arrived in time to see Phillip back the gliding tank into position like he'd been doing it all his life. When the tank settled, Phillip popped a hatch open near the pilot's seat and waved.

  “Got the seat adjusted, just the way I like it!”

  Nathen helped Jonathan in through the back hatch, where he and Doc laid the stealth expert out on his back.

  “Stay with him,” he ordered, turning and leaving. Nathen emerged back into the alien daylight in time to see Helen slide down and leap onto the platform.

  “Trouble,” was all she said.

  “How long?” Nathen asked.

  “Five minutes,” she said. “Maybe less.”

  “You're with Doc,” he said, pointing to the Yew tank. Helen bounded over and climbed inside, dropping her Coyote next to Jonathan and folding her lithe form into the tank's ball-socket blaster turret. Nathen leaned on the entryway and called toward the front, to Phillip.

  “Get clear of the crater and post up on the main road. Anything comes down without an invitation, blast it.”

  “You got it!” Phillip saluted from his seat. Nathen stepped back and let the hatch close. A second later, the floating armor smoothly accelerated into motion, gliding toward the ramp that would let it exit the crater. Nathen turned away and joined Kyler and Calico, who were dumping armloads of Alliance arms and ammunition into a pile.

  “ 'Aight,” Kyler said, lifting a Golo's TAC cannon out of the pile and hefting it in his formidable hands. “Ain't much worth recoverin'. Doc 'n Helenade were pretty thorough when they torched the depot.”

  “I found these,” Calico said, sifting through two trips worth of power rings she'd snatched off dead Flogs. “Plenty of usable cell blaster rings.”

  Just then, Trent galloped up. “Here,” the sniper said, handing Nathen a Vorch wrist rifle. Nathen took the large, fully-automatic weapon and checked the ammo crown lodged in the back. It was still loaded up with cigarette-sized rifle rounds. Nathen, though he was primarily right-handed, stuck his left arm through the sleeve gun. The alien weapon, making little distinction between Vorch anatomy and Human anatomy, readily activated and hugged the forearm of its new wielder. Nathen swept his arm out, now a bit heavier, and tested the gun's phantom hologram sights, which were only visible when aligned. Satisfied, Nathen motioned at the pile of weapons.

  “Take it all,” he said. He turned and hurried over to the nearest Yew tank sitting in its charging station. He paused only long enough to disarm and remove the charge someone had planted on it earlier. Then he opened the back hatch and ducked inside.

  Nathen dropped into the pilot's seat, which was actually adjustable between three sizes and angles so it could fit Flog, Stelkan, or Vorch. Sitting just ahead and below of the turret, the pilot's station was operated by four levers on the ends of cranes. Stelkans used their arms and wing claws, Vorch used their hands and feet much like Humans would, and Flogs actually inverted the entire seat back to lie on their stomachs and operate the whole setup practically downside up.

  It took a few seconds to find the right startup controls. With what little Yew Alliance Common he could read, Nathen fired up the ion engine. A green light flashed. Nathen interpreted it as an alert. He killed a few switches and yanked on a master lever, and the tank jolted as it disengaged from its charging station.

  He fired on the repulsor treads, and the massive tank suddenly bobbed up like it was floating on the surface of still water. As the tank awoke under Nathen's direction, the wide “war helm” lit up, transmitting imagery from outside the tank to Nathen's full display. The horseshoe-shaped display provided perfect peripheral vision of his surroundings, without sacrificing an inch of armor to weakness. The windowless pilot's station seemed suddenly less claustrophobic as views of the devastated platform appeared around Nathen as if he could simply reach through the screen. The leader set his feet in the lower levers like stirrups as he grabbed the upper two in his hands. Thus set, Nathen spurred the tank forward.

  The Yew tank moved smoothly, and appeared deceitfully light. Nathen flicked the stirrups and suddenly the whole tank was sliding sideways, strafing around the wreckage to where the others were waiting. Nathen's tank pulled right up and rotated its tail to the ESC
s with another flick of the stirrups. Nathen anchored it in place with its landing claws and got out of the pilot's seat to dash back to the others. Kyler and Calico were already in through the back, stashing weaponry and ammo. Trent hopped on last.

  “Sharps,” Nathen said. “Take the turret.”

  “Roger,” the sniper said, squeezing past Kyler's bulky form. “Oh, and here.”

  Nathen turned to see Trent holding out his Denchura II by the barrel. The commander took it, checked and reloaded it, then put it back under his arm.

  “Thanks,” he said, jumping out. He quickly moved away from the idling tank, searching for something. After a few seconds, he found the discarded Pennington, along with its separate rocket pack. He hefted the rocket launcher and slung the extra rockets onto his back before returning to the tank. Halfway there, he paused, lingering several feet from the corpse of the Warhead.

  He waited, silently, pondering the fallen enemy, leaning on the upright Pennington. They weren't even technically at war, and yet it hadn't cared in the least. Even when it saw the Humans slaughtering their hated, longtime foes, it hadn't made a bit of difference to the monstrous Insectoid. He looked up at the sky, at the host planet, where somewhere there lurked an armada.

  Nathen sighed, bowing his head and closing his eyes. Somewhere out there, enemies like this were slaughtering Vigal, Sktish, and who knew what else by the droves. For so long, Humanity had pretended not to hear the cries of the Solar War. And while he knew this battle was critical to their success against the Yew, he still felt... empty.

  He heard the heavy footsteps come up behind him, but didn't look up until he heard the familiar Aussie accent.

  “One 'oh these days I'm gonna bag me one 'oh these baddies legit.”

  Nathen eyed the blue armored hunter as he propped his long TAC cannon up, resting his grizzly bear paws on the stock. Nathen cast a glance at the seeping black corpse before them, then he lifted the Pennington into a resting position on his shoulder.

  “You'll get your chance.”

  Kyler hesitated a few seconds, then turned and walked back to the idling Yew tank. Nathen didn't look back as he followed his gunner.

  No. This would not be the last time they fought the War Hive. Of that, Nathen was sure.

  Two minutes later, when the first Insectoid came over the edge of the crater, any trace of the ESCs was gone.

  Chapter 23

  The Flog engineers had carved a road that was functional but, in lieu of a better term, sloppy. From the gate built into the crater down the hillside, the road was ideal and well-kept. But when the gravtracks hit level ground, things changed. The reef had been recklessly shattered, bulldozed away, and only then had a precise swath been cut with lasers and saws. The result was a narrow passage, barely wide enough for the two tanks side by side, which felt like passing between two giant cheese graters. The fifteen-foot ditch was pocked on all ends with gaps and holes where flora tendrils had once stretched. The larger ones were filled in, again, with sloppily applied quick-hardening putty, but most of the original holes remained. This created a small orchestra of resonating thrums and whines as the gravtracks passed over them, forcing air through them like a pipe organ.

  As Nathen led the two-tank, single-file column, he heard Phillip's voice speak in his ear.

  “It’s got a nice rhythm to it,” the tech said from the other tank, jokingly referring to the thrumming. “Kinda like Talisman.”

  “I should have figured you'd listen to that dub-beat garble,” Helen scoffed. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Quiet down,” Nathen ordered, scanning the trench. “This is where ambushes happen. I want everyone on alert.”

  “Yes, sir,” Phillip replied. “Though I hope you understand, the only shot we have is right into your back.”

  Nathen sighed. “Understood.”

  The commander drew quiet as the trench finally came free of the reef and leveled into an actual road. Here, though, there were smokestacks the size of palm trees, and all of them had scores of heat-attracted fungus and moss, coloring everything shades of purple and yellow. Visibility was better than in the trench, but now distance vision suffered. It was hard to get lost, though, since the road was, at the least, very visible. As the two stolen armor units slid along, Nathen cast a glance over his shoulder. He could see under the pedestal that held the ball socket turret up. He couldn't see Trent; the sniper was enwrapped in the spherical housing. Kyler took up the entire rear half of the tank, going through and sorting weapons and priming ammo charges. Calico...

  Calico was sitting, with her knees folded into her chest, head bowed until the chin of her red helmet practically rested on her knees. In the softly lit tank interior, her red aura glowed like a smoldering candle, little more than dying embers on a wick. From his brief glance, Nathen couldn't tell what was going through her head. She could be resting, conserving energy, but there was a tight restlessness to her posture. The way she wrapped her arms around her knees spoke that she was uneasy. Nathen turned away, hesitated as the tank continued its smooth glide, then reached up and touched the side of his helmet.

  “Sharps,” he said, softly. “Private comm, please.”

  A second passed where Trent's comms linked mutually with Nathen's, their Genesis armor performing an alien handshake that locked out unwanted ears. When it was just the two of them, Nathen spoke.

  “Synced?”

  “I hear you,” Trent said, his voice coming through clear and vivid, even more so than if he'd spoken without the comms. “Are you worrying about the new girl?”

  Nathen blinked in surprise, but kept going. “Yes.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Don't you think she's been acting a little... off?”

  Trent sounded sympathetic. “It’s hardly my place to say. I'm no psychologist. But she has been acting differently ever since we left the crater.” A slight snark. “Ever since we left the ship, actually. Battle anxiety?”

  Nathen shrugged, glancing back again to see if Calico had moved. She hadn't.

  “If that's the case I can't say I blame her. Not many beings get that close to a primed Warhead and live. She's lucky.”

  “Still, you'd think she'd relax at some point,” Trent said. “She's been tense the whole mission. It’s almost as if she's deeply afraid of something.”

  “Gee,” Nathen said with a humorless smirk. “Who would have thought fear would have been an emotion on a rookie's first mission?”

  He joked, but it fell flat. Calico had proven herself to be bold enough in the line of fire. In fact, when she'd jumped up to engage that Warhead, Nathen had sensed a strong battle attitude in her. That attitude had changed when Jonathan had gotten hurt in her place. Now she was acting… pale; he used the word “acting” since he couldn't see her actual skin. But the more Nathen thought about it, the more it didn't sit well. This was not the attitude she'd presented to him when they'd first met, and post-battle blues was not an excuse that seemed to fly with her. There was definitely something deeper behind her strange demeanor.

  “Think she's got something to hide?” Nathen finally asked.

  “I dunno,” said Trent, from the turret. “But perhaps this isn't the best-Contact Twelve O'Clock!”

  The private comm sync broke in an instant as Nathen's focus was brought with a sudden slam to the bend in the road right in front of them. Not twelve yards ahead, an entire column of glossy Omnium Yew tanks came gliding into view. Nathen hit the brakes, hearing Phillip swear as he nearly rammed into his commander. Trent spoke rapidly, keeping his cool.

  “I can knock out the first one,” the sniper shouted, taking aim with the blaster cannon. “That'll give us a few seconds to-”

  “Hold fire,” Nathen ordered, loudly but not panicked.

  “We'll never make it before they-”

  “Nobody move an inch,” Nathen commanded over the team radio. “They'll fry us before we get a dozen meters.”

  “Theh gonna fry us enyway if we just s
it heah,” pointed out Kyler.

  “Fire unprovoked on their own tanks?” Nathen said, thinking fast. “I don't think so. Everyone, stay calm.”

  Down the road, the tank column pulled closer before the lead tank stopped, barring their way. Nathen kept an eye on the direction of the turrets as his mind raced. Both columns stood in the road, facing each other down. Several seconds passed, but the tank column did not open fire on the two strays. The tank commander was no doubt deciding on what course of action he would take, which gave Nathen a few precious seconds. He made the most of it.

  “Trast,” he said, sharply.

  Calico scrambled forward, moving with ease in the cramped confines of the tank.

  “Yes, sir?” she said, timidly. Nathen took gentle hold of her arm and pulled her in closer, pointing at the image of the tanks.

  “See that tank?” he said, pointing at the nearest one. “That's the column leader. Inside, there's a Stelkan captain, coordinating with his units. In a second, he's going to do one of two things. He's either going to realize something's up and open fire, or he's going to attempt to contact us.”

  Nathen reached over and pulled a Stelkan headset off the wall and handed it back to Calico while taking a Vorch-made headset for himself.

  “If we contact them first, we may avoid the impression that we're hiding something. I want you to talk this Stelkan into letting us through.”

  Calico looked down at the misshapen headset in her hands.

  “W-What do I say?” she asked.

  Good, Nathen thought. She didn't say she couldn't do it. She was at least confident in her vocal skills in Albiac, even if not totally confident in her negotiation skills.

  “Tell him... ah, forget it. Just hail him and get his attention first. We'll work the rest out as we go.”

  Without any further delay, Nathen reached down and sent a short-wave hail toward the lead tank.

  Calico didn't say anything.

  Nathen looked back at her, and Calico looked down at the headset, toward the live, beak-shaped mic. Kyler reached his foot out and gave her a helpful nudge. Calico embarrassingly cleared her throat and lifted the mic. The warbles and whistles that came from her were dry, and though Nathen couldn't speak Albiac himself, he knew that wasn't going to cut it. A second passed, then a confused, very real sentence of sing-song Albiac came back to them over the radio.