Robot Planet, The Complete Series (The Robot Planet Series)

by Chute, Robert Chazz

  My recon mission falls under the Battle Effects Division AKA the Death Inspectors. If most of our satellites weren’t little bits of shrapnel spinning in decaying orbits, the war wouldn’t need me to confirm drone accuracy. I could be back in Topeka finding new boyfriends. Or lounging in a cafe in Buenos —

  “Chutes open soon. Hang in there, Avery.”

  “Received and minding the mission.”

  “Pulse is still fast. Copy?”

  “Yeah, well…” I’m still falling, dipshit! My right hand hovers over the red lever, ready to pull the pod and glide. I’d still be behind enemy lines if that happens, but I hope I’d be far enough from the action for a quick drone pick-up.

  “Can I get a picture of where I’m headed?” I ask.

  “Negative until you’re dug in, Avery. Orders from Sec Head.”

  “Received, Control.” I sigh and remember the last latte I had. It was in Buenos Aires. Since they constructed the new dikes to hold back the rising water, life is almost like before the Fall in Palermo.

  “Comm signal test coming in,” Thomas says.

  Ping.

  “Ping is confirmed, strong and five by five.” Somewhere behind my oxygen tanks, supplies, ammo feed and thorium whisper engines, there’s a big comm relay in my hull. My Sand Shark was built to be a war machine that could swim the desert, almost like a submarine cruises the ocean. The comm relay keeps me in touch with Thomas and relays coordinates. I’m the human part of the quality assurance equation — Eyes Underground. That’s the Battle Effects Division jargon for my role in the Sand Wars. That sounds a little better than coffin jockey, anyway.

  “Thirty seconds to go,” Thomas says. “Please ensure your seat belts are fastened, do not hit eject and try not to scream in my ears all the way down.”

  “Turn down the volume at your end,” I say, “just in case.”

  I wish Thomas hadn’t made that joke. It reminds me of Phil Sakaguchi. Sak was a guy I knew who named his shark, Vlad the Impaler. Real macho type. The trouble was, Sak did too many tours with the Battle Effects Division. The word was that he sabotaged his own chutes. Sak rolled out at high altitude and started screaming half way down. If he changed his mind, the red lever malfunctioned. We never knew for sure. Under those circumstances, it’s a long suicide. He should have just used his sidearm without bothering to get out of his bunk that morning. A Sand Shark is basically a long, reinforced tube with a drill for a nose. Sak hit the desert floor at terminal velocity. He became a meat bomb in there.

  The techs said that they could refurbish Vlad the Impaler. The insides of Sak’s Sand Shark were painted with Sak. The electronics were all fried but the frame was salvageable. A day after Sak ate it, the squad made jokes about him trying to drill his way to Hell.

  “We’re already there,” I told them. I laughed along with the rest, of course. That’s what you do when someone you know does something stupid and abandons the cause. You pretend it doesn’t matter. You pretend you aren’t scared. You pretend you’ve never thought about doing the same.

  “Pulse is still high and you’re running hot, Avery. Can I offer you a cocktail?”

  “Save it. I may need it later.”

  “There’s plenty,” Thomas says. “It’s just a mild dose. You’ve done plenty of sleeping and it’s time to go to work.”

  “I’m wide awake, tanned, rested, ready.”

  “That’s fine. After being put to sleep for nine hours I would hope so. Now I need you focused. Coming up on the count in a few seconds.”

  The bastard had already pushed the plunger. Our superior officers said we wouldn’t know the difference when the Control pushed the bio-hack buttons. However, our superiors didn’t know what they were talking about. After traveling around the world for deployment at high altitude, those med packs get cold. I could feel the icy drip at the base of my neck. As the dose slides through my neck port, it’s so cold I’m shivering.

  “Dammit, Thomas!”

  “You’ll thank me in five!”

  I take my hand off the ejection lever because I’m about to get jerked hard in my seat.

  “And four, three, two, open!”

  There’s a slight delay and I almost break the rule and seize the red lever again. The chutes pop like they’re supposed to and I’m jerked back like a mean dog on a short leash.

  “Descent is slowing.” Thomas says. “Altitude is good.”

  Lucille’s heavy nose comes up. I reach for the lever, just in case.

  “Altitude and attitude are good. Go, go, go badger!” Thomas says brightly.

  Looks like the mission is going to proceed, after all.

  “Received and relieved, Control.” But my heart rate still doesn’t lie.

  Thomas takes care of me. I feel more cold liquid pump into the hack port. The protocol is to use the minimum effective dose. Thomas is loose with the drug protocol. I don’t scream once as I drop into the desert. I relax my grip, slowly let go of the ejection lever and brace for a rough landing.

  2

  If not for the strap holding my helmet fast, I’d get whiplash from the sudden deceleration when the chutes pop. Breathing slower, I can finally breathe deeply as my Sand Shark descends blindly towards the target.

  “Welcome to the theater, 12,” Thomas says.

  “Thank you, Control. I’ll put on a good show.”

  “12. I’ve got enemy Autonomous Offensive Weapons less than two kilometers from your drop zone.”

  “Repeat that, Control. AOWs in my area?” I can’t believe Battle Effects has dropped me on top of trouble. How could Thomas have missed the enemy so close to the drop zone? I will have a soft landing so the fall to Earth won’t kill me. Other dangers await in the desert, though, and way too close. “I’m still in the blind, Control. Light up my cams.”

  “Negative until you are in position, 12.”

  Damn the Sec Head and screw Thomas. I’m here to observe and they won’t even let me see my death coming. “Are they on the move yet?”

  “Negative. They haven’t spotted you — oh. Affirmative. They’re on the move to your position.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’ve got air support in the area. First things first. Stand by for landing.”

  That’s what fighting by the book means: the Army insists you panic in an orderly manner.

  My altimeter clicks on so late I almost don’t need it. The pads and springs in my seat compress hard as I slam into the ground. Despite the bio-hack drugs — or maybe because of them — it takes me a few seconds to recover from the impact.

  The dashboard and my HUD light up brighter. Lucille is fine. Despite the cocktail and the cushioning, I feel like an egg rattling around in a tin can.

  “Status report, 12.”

  “Operational. What about that air support?”

  “Eight clicks out.”

  “Bogies?”

  “Closing fast.”

  I don’t wait to give Thomas the breakdown. I peer at the ant cam feed. The sensor array in the nose is above and behind the drill. In the original design specs, ant cam is written in full: anterior camera. Of course, any somewhat clever allusion to insects that travel underground was irresistible. The sensor array was designated the ‘ant cam,’ ever after.

  A dune looms ahead, two hundred meters at 2 o’clock. I’m not just along for the ride anymore. I fire the thoriums. The drill in the nose begins to turn and Lucille lurches forward on her treads.

  The first bogey shows up on radar along with my air support. “Control! Contact!”

  “Have you got eyes on, 12?”

  “Eyes up, Vegas. It’s big.”

  “Affirmative. I count three. Go badger.”

  Aside from dropping out of a huge aircraft, above ground and in the open is where a Sand Shark is most vulnerable. I shove my levers full forward but only Lucille’s treads roll. Lucille can’t go as fast as I need her to until I can deploy the paddles and start swimming underground.

  “Control, what’s
the ETA on that intercept?”

  I’m sure air support will arrive too late. The sensor array on the ant cam is not precise. It’s shielded against debris so clarity is not usually achieved through its feed.

  “I see what you see, 12. Check your sat feed for a better view.”

  “Right. Switching.” I turn on the sat feed and gasp.

  Somewhere in high orbit one of the satellites that still works shows me the visual I didn’t want. Three tall bipedal mechs stride across the landscape. It’s strange seeing Lucille from this third party perspective, but that’s me in that little dot trying to get to the safety of the dune at 12 o’clock. All three mechs have spotted me and are headed my way. I push harder on the accelerator levers but the mechanism can only be shoved forward so far. I am already at top speed and too slow.

  I glance from the sat feed to the ant cam just in time to see a huge metal foot stamp the sand directly in front of me. Dust blows up and I feel the rumble through the chassis. It’s a Zilla Class mech, built to level cities. These bots do a really good job of terrifying humans and, despite the drugs in my system, I’m certainly scared.

  Lucille’s drill smashes into the killer machine’s ankle before I can turn. If that goes on too long, I could damage the drill. If that happens, it won’t matter much if I can get to the dune. Still, I have to risk it. I double down on danger and start burning through the mech’s works.

  There are three Zilla Class mechs. It only took a couple of dozen of these machines to destroy Johannesburg, Edinburgh and Sydney. They might try smashing me to pieces. Or, like kids tossing a ball back and forth, they might lift me in the air and drop me over and over until Lucille’s armor cracks. By the time they get to me, the mechs will pour what’s left of my liquified body out into the sand.

  “Control! I’m — ” I was about to say, “dead.”

  “Incoming, 12,” Thomas says.

  High above me, at least one missile strikes the mech blocking my path to the dune. Lucille’s nose lifts and crashes back down. If Thomas had sent drones, I’d be dead. He has sent missiles which, lucky for me, are much faster. Lucille’s drill rips free of the big machine as the giant stumbles backward.

  I’m sweating hard and straining to feel positive effects from my cocktail as I move forward. “C’mon, c’mon! Go, Lucille! Go! Go!”

  More missiles strike the mechs. I chance a glance at the sat feed. The battle scene looks like a sandstorm from orbit. I switch to ultra-infra in time to see the first Zilla go down.

  “Good effects on the first target, Control,” I report.

  “They’ve got some kind of scattering tech, 12. The missiles can’t get a lock. This goes beyond old stealth tech. Their camo cloak defeated thermal and visual imaging.”

  “You’ve hit to kill. How’d you do that if you couldn’t get a lock, Control?”

  “I locked on your position and then aimed twenty stories up, 12.”

  That’s clever and terrifying. I’m still not safely underground and missiles are targeting my vicinity.

  “The two remaining mechs are firing on our incoming missiles,” Thomas says.

  “What’s this about a scattering field? I didn’t get a hint about that capability in my briefing.”

  “Up until now, cloaking tech has been mostly theoretical. I guess that’s why we didn’t pick them up before the drop. Somebody smart figured something out. Unless they’re moving, they blend in topographically.”

  “Come again, Control? They’re giant mechs that have camouflage unless they’re moving?”

  “You heard me right, 12.”

  “We’re playing blind man’s bluff with missiles over my location, Control. Danger close.”

  From the sat feed and vibrations rumbling through Lucille, I know explosives are detonating above me. Layers of insulation and armor separate me from instant death.

  “How is it, 12?”

  “Raining,” I say.

  The drill in the Sand Shark’s nose enters the border of the dune and I deploy the paddles. “C’mon, Lucille. Time to go!”

  I overestimate how deep I am in the dune. I know I’ve finally reached my destination when the revolutions per second on the drill slow ten percent, then twenty. The Sand Shark lurches a little and then I know for sure I’m digging. “Going badger, Control!”

  “Good job, 12.” Thomas sounds relieved. “That was a little hairy there for a minute.”

  “It still is.”

  “Well, yeah,” he admits. “The workday is only a few minutes old. No coffee break, yet.”

  My sat screen goes black. I can’t get a visual in badger mode but I’m content to leave the big mechs behind. I mute my mic for a moment, take a deep breath and let it hiss out through my teeth.

  I switch the mic back on. “No problem, Control. You weren’t really nervous, were you?”

  Thomas laughs. “Little bit, 12. Little bit. Proceed to cruising depth and give me a seismic on the two bogies. One down. Two to go. Good job, Deb.”

  3

  Lucille’s NAV calculates my course. For a faster swim, my cruising depth varies depending on the terrain. Sand Sharks don’t travel in straight lines unless they go deep and slow, but geological conditions have to be hospitable.

  The NAV plots course and speed depending on the density of the medium I traverse and various topographical factors. I let Lucille take the wheel while I scan my readings for the giant mechs’ positions. At first I get nothing. Then they move and the seismics light up. Their new tech is clever, but it can’t disguise the tonnage behind every step.

  “I’m getting some confusing readings, Vegas. There are too many readings here for three mechs. Have more arrived?”

  “Negative, 12.”

  I switch my HUD back to visual. The sat comm array in Lucille’s fin is sub-T so I pull back on the stick and edge upward one meter for a peek. My visual goes from grainy to clear as the tip of the fin skims the surface.

  The fallen mech is damaged and thrashing, striking the ground with its feet and six arms. It looks like a dying spider.

  “Sitrep, 12?”

  I tweak the visual for a closer look. I’m close enough to the surface that Thomas can get my feed. He sees what I see. “Looks like the mech is FUBAR, 12.”

  I squint at the vid. “Negative, Vegas.”

  “Say again, 12?”

  “It’s damaged but it’s not that damaged. These things have taken heavy fire in attacks on cities. That — ”

  My proximity alarm sounds and Lucille dives before I can give the order or touch a lever. I’m pushed into my seat. The seismic screen in my HUD ripples with vibrations behind me and Lucille is rocked from the impact.

  “Avery? Are you damaged?”

  “Negative, Vegas. That bitch was playing possum.”

  “What’s your status? Is…? Can you…evasive man — ” With the quick dive, our connection is breaking up.

  I grab the stick, level out and climb a little to report.

  “12? Come back?”

  “Still here, Control. The bot was using seismic masking, giving me false positives.”

  The damaged mech put on quite a show for me, luring me closer. The fallen machine had made all that seismic noise to disguise the movements of the other two mechs. One of them tried to take me out. If the sat comm fin had been damaged, my mission would be over.

  I might have been caught by a digging claw, too. In Battle Effects Division, the brass called that horrific possibility an exhumation. Coffin jockeys call that attack maneuver a clam bake. To be dug out and yanked from the sand, helpless in the claws of a Zilla Class mech? That’s the stuff of nightmares.

  “They’re getting smarter,” I say. “Be sure to enter that in the log and pass it up the line so nobody else gets sucked in like I nearly did. Lucille saved me.”

  I’ve always pictured Zilla Class mechs as the lumbering monsters of AOWs. I thought they were built to destroy soft stationary targets, like a city packed with civilians. If that had been
true, it wasn’t so anymore.

  “Are you still diving, 12?” Thomas asks.

  “Leveling out and plotting a course back for a height charge.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that, 12?” Thomas’s tone is grave. “Your orders were to observe, not to engage.”

  “Standing orders are to destroy the enemy when time and opportunity allow. I’ve got time and I’m right here, calling my shots on the ground…or under it.”

  “There are three of them, Avery.”

  “There won’t be three in a minute.”

  “I wouldn’t advise this course — ”

  “Run silent. Run deep. Kill or be killed, Control. Banzai and all that shit.”

  The first thing you learn in Basic is you don’t have to share everything you think. In fact, it’s wise not to. What I don’t tell Thomas is, “You’re in Las Vegas sipping coffee. You aren’t here and you didn’t nearly get killed twice already before breakfast.” His caution isn’t wrong but I’ve been plenty scared already. Anger feels better.

  I calculate my course and start my attack run. One hundred meters out from the target’s last known position I pop the locks on the height charges and click off the safeties.

  The seismics light up as echoes of two of the mechs depart, one toward the south and the other walking east. That leaves the damaged Zilla on its back. The downed mech stops thrashing and goes silent.

  It appears the undamaged mechs are trying to lead me away. The giant I drilled in the ankle pretends it’s a rock. Clever and interesting, but not clever enough. I stay with the surer kill instead of chasing after the ones trying to distract me.

  Swimming on instruments alone, I can’t see the world above me, of course. However, I imagine the subtle shifts in the sand as Lucille’s drill and paddles pull me along, revolutions high, thorium whisper engines thrumming.

  The display in my HUD lights bright green as I reach for the firing button. To my left, the letters read, MAGMA CHARGES ARMED: 1, 2, 3, 4.