ATLAS 3 (ATLAS Series Book 3)

by Isaac Hooke

  The Phants didn’t obey. Maybe they didn’t understand, or maybe they thought the Chief was merely bluffing. Even so, I thought it odd that the Phants moved so slowly. They were capable of much faster speeds, especially the purple varieties.

  They probably intended to capture us.

  Tentacles still thrashed at us but Skullcracker handled them with bursts of his heavy gun.

  “I’m not kidding around here!” the Chief shouted. “I’ll blow it!”

  The Phants continued to close.

  They left the Chief no choice. Did the encroaching aliens really care so little about a nuclear device going off in their ship? Or maybe they actually preferred that we detonated the bomb here rather than next to their Observer Mind.

  “Lower the payload,” the Chief said.

  We did.

  Chief Bourbonjack promptly input thirty seconds into the command console and dialed the yield to full.

  “Warning, full-yield nuclear detonation in T-minus thirty seconds,” a female voice intoned from the payload.

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  The Phants continued to tighten the noose. The tentacles harassed us continually, but we all helped fend them off. Some of us fired at the Phants as well, but the bullets passed right through the gaseous entities.

  “This is it,” the Chief sent over the sporadic gunfire. “I’m sorry, people. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” I heard what sounded like a profound sigh over the comm, though it was hard to tell with the gunshots. “It was good working with you. You’re the best of the best. I’ll see you all in the afterlife reserved for men like us. That land beyond the stars where all the greatest warriors go.”

  I glanced at my companions. Their faces were grim, yet accepting, as they took their last breaths and fired at the enemy.

  So this was it. I never thought the mission would end like this, with us blowing ourselves up so far away from our objective. But what choice did we have?

  Still, I had to wonder how much damage we would really cause. What if our lives were spent for nothing? The Phants would almost certainly survive. They were interdimensional beings that existed only partially in this universe.

  But what of the ship? I thought of the malleable behavior of the surrounding bulkheads. Maybe when the nuke detonated, this part of the ship would rearrange itself to vent the explosion—though I highly doubted anything within the vaporization range would escape.

  Like ourselves.

  “Ten.”

  “Wooyah brothers!” Skullcracker shouted as he fired into the enemy. “To the end!”

  Was there truly no escape? If only we had more incendiary rounds . . . maybe we could use the heated outflow from our jetpacks to carve a tunnel through the deck? But given our relatively low fuel levels, I doubted we’d have enough to create a hole deeper than a few meters. Assuming of course that the gangway at our feet yielded in the same way as the bulkheads.

  “Five.”

  Here I was, still trying to find a way to cheat death, even down to the last few seconds of my existence. It was my fighting spirit, I guess. It refused to allow me to back down. But there were some things you couldn’t fight, no matter how badly you wanted to.

  “Four.”

  Suddenly I just let go. I surrendered. Accepted the fact that there was nothing I could do to get out of the situation. Not this time. We were going to detonate that nuclear warhead and die.

  “Three.”

  We all knew there was a chance something like this might happen while on duty someday. We accepted that burden each and every time we went out into the field.

  Vaporized by a nuke, lightyears from home.

  Well, at least it would be quick and painless.

  I took heart in the fact that we all died here for a reason. That was more than most men could say.

  “Two.”

  My only regret was that I’d never see Tahoe again.

  Remember us.

  Remember me.

  I’m coming, Shaw.

  “One.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tahoe

  I plunged backward into the abyss in my ATLAS 5. The superslug consumed the view above me. It was probably around a tenth the size of the shaft. I say probably, because I couldn’t see the extents of the rock around me; save for the nearby wall, most of the abyss was shrouded in darkness.

  The slug squirmed as it fell—transversal muscles elongated and shrank its body, lateral muscles bent it left and right.

  Crabs were released en masse from the slug’s flanks. These smaller creatures slowly drifted upward away from us, cords trailing beneath them like the ripcords from parachutes.

  Below, the darkness remained impenetrable, hiding the eventual terminus of our fall. Because of the murk, it didn’t seem like we were plummeting at all, and it was deceptively easy to believe we were on some mech spacewalk instead. That said, the sole wall visible beside us provided a reference point, and all it took was a glance at the blurry surface to remind ourselves that we were indeed falling. Fast.

  Inside those ATLAS mechs, my brothers and I basically dropped like boulders. Without jumpjet fuel we couldn’t change our horizontal vector. This was entirely unlike jumpsuit-only freefall, where the positioning of our bodies and limbs readily influenced the drag we experienced. Our mechs were far too heavy for that. Only when our air brakes were active would we have any horizontal control.

  “Um, so what’s the plan?” Fret sent.

  “Maybe we can latch onto the wall?” Trace transmitted, in reference to the blur of rock beside us. “Then climb up?”

  “Good luck with that,” TJ sent. “You want to pulp your mech, by all means try it.”

  “What if we attempted an emergency landing?”

  “On the wall?” TJ sent. “Still too fast. Look how rocky it is. Like I said, you’ll pulp your mech, if you don’t end up tangled in the cords of your chute first.”

  “TJ’s right,” Facehopper’s voice came over the comm. “We can’t use the wall.”

  “But we are going to make an emergency landing, right?” Fret sent.

  “At the bottom of the abyss, yes,” Facehopper responded. “It’s all we can do.”

  “I wouldn’t suggest attempting an emerg while we got a superslug hanging above us,” Bomb transmitted.

  “We’ll have to get on top of the thing,” Facehopper agreed. “Use your air brakes, mates. Rendezvous topside.”

  My brothers began snapping upwards around me as if some giant, invisible hand plucked them from view one by one, when in reality all they had done was activate their air brakes.

  I engaged Wolfhound’s own braking system. Articulated flaps immediately swung wide from my legs and upper torso. I felt the sudden change in Gs as Wolfhound reoriented and flung upward. In less than a second my motion was checked. However, I had slammed into the slug’s underside.

  Damn.

  Glued there against the dark flesh by the massive creature’s downward velocity, I retracted my air brakes and shoved against the slug to turn myself around, wanting to face it.

  I unleashed my Gatling at close range. Threads of superheated bullets harmlessly embedded into its flesh, and to the slug, I was sure, it felt like little more than the equivalent of an insect bite.

  I alternately dragged, alternately rolled myself along the slug’s skin, making my way toward the outer perimeter. The creature had stopped struggling so much during the free fall and only occasionally squirmed.

  Not far from me I saw TJ and Bomb, also caught beneath the slug. It was comforting to know I wasn’t the only one who’d miscalculated and slammed into the thing.

  The two of them shoved off from the slug’s far flank and out into empty space. Then they reactivated their air brakes and vanished from view. I checked my HUD, and
on the map I saw their green dots reposition above the slug. Almost everyone else had gathered there by now, just within signal range topside. Everyone save me and Mauler. The rest of my brothers had obviously retracted their air brakes and were waiting for us.

  I spotted Mauler’s mech underneath the slug nearby. He was struggling with his payload, which had snagged against the creature somehow. He fired his Gatling into the thing’s flesh but still couldn’t tug the bomb free.

  I drag-rolled myself to him, well aware that the abyss could bottom out at any second.

  “It’s stuck!” Mauler sent as I came close.

  The payload seemed embedded in a giant gill of sorts. Mauler tugged at the device repeatedly but the heavy warhead still wouldn’t move.

  I grabbed the far side. “On three. One. Two. Three!”

  We both pulled.

  It still wouldn’t budge.

  “Cyclone and Mauler,” Facehopper transmitted, his voice crackling with static. “Where the hell are you? The cave floor could be coming up any second here.”

  I didn’t want him to send anyone down to get us, needlessly risking another brother’s life. So I returned over the comm: “We’re on the way, Facehopper.”

  “You better be,” Facehopper sent back, the doubt obvious in his voice. He knew me all too well. “Ghost and I will wait for you. Everyone else, begin emergency landing procedures.”

  I bent toward the edge of the payload where it was snagged in the gill. One of the mech-sized handles had lodged beneath a skin fold. I tried to reposition the device but it was held fast.

  I could see the bullet holes where Mauler had unleashed his Gatling. He had missed a key, fleshy pouch. I extended my own Gat and let off several bursts, cutting away said pouch.

  The bomb broke free.

  Mauler immediately dragged the payload toward the slug’s right flank.

  I went to his side, intending to help him, but he sent, “I got this, bro.”

  The two of us approached the slug’s rounded flank. I waited for Mauler to shove off. He did so, and drifted out into the empty air before engaging his air brakes and vanishing above me.

  I jumped next. Wolfhound moved outward and upward, away from the slug.

  The rock wall beside me was coming up a bit too fast. I engaged my air brakes and as my descent slowed, I steered away from the rock.

  The slug plunged past on my left . . .

  A resounding boom filled my cockpit and the G forces abruptly shifted horizontally.

  Apparently the slug had decided to convulse its body just as I passed, striking me with its flank and sending me careening straight toward the wall.

  Spirits help me!

  The ATLAS 5 bounced off the rock with a loud groan of metal. Wolfhound spiraled in place a few times and some dizzying moments passed before the air brakes attained the proper orientation to reengage. I flew up and out of the way just as the rearmost section of the slug took another pass at me.

  The trailing umbilicals of the crabs were all around me by then, like thick, carbon-fiber elevator cables.

  “Watch the cords, Cyclone,” Facehopper transmitted.

  I tried to avoid them but there were too many around my current position. I brought my Gatlings forward to fire but I was too late: I struck one cord, then two, and before I knew it I was entangled.

  I tried shifting my arms, intending to mow through the cords with my Gats, but I couldn’t move. I was wrapped too tightly.

  Gatling fire came down, cutting the cords just above and below me, and I was free again.

  Thank you, Facehopper.

  I sloughed the umbilicals from my body and changed the angle of my descent so that I moved away from the cords and the crabs connected to them.

  A crab suddenly careened from a bulge in the rock wall and came spinning toward me.

  I tilted backward and the drag from my airbrakes allowed me to narrowly avoid the entity.

  Above me, almost everyone else had already initiated emergency landing procedures. Their green dots were frozen on my HUD map, out of range. Only Ghost and Facehopper remained; their air brakes were disengaged while they waited, plummeting fifty meters above me.

  As I neared, Facehopper said over the comm, “I’m reading a problem with your emergency parachute system, Cyclone. I want you to try to initiate an emergency landing.”

  Each mech contained a set of three emergency parachutes as a backup in case the aerospike thrusters on the feet of the mech malfunctioned (or the mech exhausted its jumpjet fuel supply, as was our case).

  I pulled up Wolfhound’s diagnostics on the HUD. The emergency parachute system was flashing red, among other warning lights. That didn’t bode well. Guess I took more damage than I thought when I hit the rock wall.

  Keeping my air brakes engaged, I instructed Wolfhound to release the emergency parachutes.

  The expected gut slam of G forces didn’t hit. The parachutes didn’t deploy.

  I tried again.

  Nothing.

  “Cyclone? Sitrep?” Facehopper sent.

  “Emergency chutes are out,” I told him.

  My air brakes alone weren’t going to cut it. I’d never slow down enough to survive. Facehopper and Ghost activated their own air brakes to remain close to my side. Below us, the slug and its crabs dropped away. I still couldn’t see the bottom of the abyss through the murk but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there, lurking just out of sight.

  “All right, here’s what we’re going to do,” Facehopper transmitted. “Ghost, you’re going to activate your own emergency landing system. I want you out of here and secured.”

  “What about you?” Ghost returned.

  “I’m going to latch onto Cyclone’s mech and engage my own chutes, bringing him down with me.”

  “Even if your air brakes weren’t damaged, three parachutes aren’t enough to support the both of you,” Ghost commented.

  I hadn’t noticed the damage to Facehopper’s air brakes before, but taking a closer look at his mech I saw the bend in the upper left articulated flap. To stay balanced, he had to orient his body at an odd angle.

  “Three parachutes are enough,” Facehopper insisted. “Look at Trace and Mauler. Neither of them needed help with the nuclear payloads.”

  “Not yet, anyway. But if the payloads prove too heavy in the end, Trace and Mauler can simply drop them.” That was true: There was no chance of payload detonation, not when the nukes weren’t armed. Plus, the activation mechanism was rated to survive a fall from up to three klicks. “But we can’t just drop Cyclone. So, I’m going to have to insist that we distribute his load between us.”

  I slid my eyes downward. No sign of the ground, yet.

  I decided to intercede. “If you distribute my weight between the two of your mechs, you risk both your lives. I won’t allow it. Besides, that close together, it’s too easy for your chutes to get tangled up. If that happens all three of us are dead.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Facehopper said. “I’ll carry you alone.”

  “Wait, what if I eject?” I said. “You can carry me down as a passenger. There’s no risk that way.”

  “But then we lose a mech,” Facehopper returned.

  “Not necessarily,” Ghost sent. “Let Cyclone eject, but while he rides in my passenger seat, I carry his mech all the way down. If his ATLAS proves too heavy, I release it. If not, I hang on. Either way Cyclone survives.”

  “That’s actually reasonable,” Facehopper transmitted. “But I’m going to be the one to do it.”

  “Boss,” Ghost sent. “Your left air brakes are damaged. You know your weight is unbalanced. As far as I’m concerned, any extra drag you add at this point is an unnecessary risk. You’re our LPO. I can’t let you put yourself in danger like that. I got this. I’ll carry Cyclone and his mech down. There’s no more time to
decide.” Ghost tilted the angle on his air brakes, edging his ATLAS 5 toward me.

  Facehopper hesitated; I thought he was going to disagree, but then he said, “All right, carry his mech then. But I’m taking Cyclone as my passenger. Less weight for you to shoulder.”

  “Again I have to disagree.” Ghost latched onto my mech. “Any extra weight will unbalance you, boss. We can’t risk it. I got this. Trust me.”

  Facehopper sighed over the comm. “Fine. Take him. But if you’re descending too fast, I want you to drop his ATLAS like we agreed. Understood?”

  “Got it.” Ghost positioned his steel arms around my waist, just below the cockpit hatch. “Ready, Cyclone?”

  I hated having to give up my mech, even momentarily, but it had to be done. I didn’t want to be responsible for any of my brothers losing their lives. Just as they wouldn’t want to be responsible for me losing mine.

  “Wolfhound, open her up,” I instructed the AI of my ATLAS 5.

  The cockpit hatch unlocked and the inner cocoon released me. Because I was facing the drag, the hatch didn’t fall open right away.

  “Ghost—” I started.

  He seemed to know exactly what I wanted because he swung his mech around so that the two of us faced upward. I gave the hatch a kick and immediately it flung open, hitting Ghost’s metal hands, which were wrapped around Wolfhound’s waist.

  I crawled out of the cockpit in my jumpsuit and then carefully climbed onto the arm of Ghost’s mech, Antares. The moment I went out there, the first thing I was aware of was the all-consuming sound of the rushing air, as relayed to my helmet from the external microphone. I activated the noise-canceling tech in my aReal and instantly muffled the sound.

  I grabbed onto the servomotors, actuators, and fluid tubes around me for purchase, and pulled myself onto the shoulder of Antares. I used too much force and almost swung my body right off the mech. As my boots were yanked into the air above me, I wrapped my gloves around a nearby fluid tube, hoping it wouldn’t break. I gingerly reached past the upper left air brake, grabbed onto the housing unit behind it, and hauled myself over. Once there, I grabbed onto the topmost edges of the passenger seat behind Antares’s head and dragged myself down.