Atlas

by Isaac Hooke

  Alejandro forced a smile. "Of course. Everything's going to be just like it was." He didn't sound like he believed it. He took a long drink. His eyes looked as haunted as ever. "Rade, when I thought you were dead during Trial Week, when they pulled that crap with the aReals, it was just the worst feeling in the world. It brought me back to the day my family was gunned down. And I realized I did the right thing, by joining up. I had to make sure you were all right. No matter what." He finished his drink. "I don't know what I'm going to do if they separate us."

  "I don't know either." I met his eyes. "But Alejandro, you're going to have to understand, someday there will come a time when you can't protect me. No matter how much you might want to."

  "You're wrong," Alejandro said. "I'll find a way."

  I sighed. There wasn't really much I could say to that.

  I joined the Navy because I wanted to get a chance at a better life.

  I joined the spec-ops because I wanted to see if I had what it took.

  Losing my friends to other Teams was just part of the price I'd have to pay, I guess. That was life, after all. You met people at work or play, they joined your social circle or you theirs, and eventually you moved on because of your choices. You had to live your life. No one else could do it for you. As for Alejandro, he'd just have to learn that I wasn't that little kid from the barrio anymore. That I was big enough to protect myself. He'd have to.

  Still, I'd miss him and Tahoe. And everyone else.

  At least I'd answered the question.

  Was I capable of becoming more than a man?

  I was.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Incredibly, the next day all three of us were assigned to Alfa Platoon, MOTH Team Seven, Naval Special Warfare Group One. Based right here. I think the powers that be saw what a great team we made and wanted us kept together. Kudos to the Navy for the best decision ever made. And kudos to our detailer for a job well done.

  Alejandro, Tahoe and I received our "moths" that afternoon, golden badges embossed with the broad wings, stout body, and hairlike antennae of the Atlas moth. I'd checked out pictures of the Atlas moth on the Net, and the designers of these badges had gotten the clear "windows" in the fore- and hind-wings right, but the snake's head at the tip of the fore-wings was completely exaggerated. Though I guess the overemphasis was done on purpose, because I had to admit it looked pretty badass.

  "Welcome to Alfa Platoon," an officer said when the three of us walked into the barracks lounge carrying our spacebags. He had a slight British accent. His sunburned face was well-proportioned, and I thought women probably found him handsome. His blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he stood up from the table to shake our hands. "I'm Facehopper. Your LPO." Leading Petty Officer.

  Another MOTH dressed in a gray-and-blue digital camo nodded his head in greeting. He had his feet up on the table and his arms were crossed. He reminded me of Branco a little because of his tank-like build. What stood out the most for me were his forearms, basically these steel girders.

  "And this is Big Dog," Facehopper said. "Best heavy gunner this side of the galaxy. The bloke shoots almost like a sniper with that M60 of his. Plus he can wrestle his way out of a roomful of enemy drones. Definitely don't want to mess with him."

  "Uh, what's a bloke?" Alejandro said.

  "Means dude." Facehopper laughed. "My British accent gets the best of me sometimes."

  I shook Big Dog's hand. I don't think I've ever had my hand crushed so readily in a handshake. Big Dog's expression proved unreadable, but I had the definite impression he was judging me and my friends.

  "You Columbian?" Big Dog asked Alejandro after they'd shaken hands.

  "No, why?" Alejandro said.

  Big Dog frowned, but didn't say anything more.

  "Big Dog here has a thing for Columbian women," Facehopper interjected. "His next question would have been, 'do you have a sister?' He's Brazilian by the way."

  "I would have never guessed," Tahoe said.

  Big Dog glanced at Tahoe and looked him up and down. There was a hint of contempt in his eyes. "What are you trying to say, red man?"

  Tahoe looked affronted. "Nothing."

  "Easy, Big Dog," Facehopper said. "Now's not the time for hazing the caterpillars."

  "Now's always the time for hazing the caterpillars," Big Dog said. "In fact, I think we should duct tape them to the table and start the waterboarding right away. Get it over with."

  "Excuse me?" I said, exchanging a nervous glance with Alejandro and Tahoe.

  Big Dog erupted in a hearty chuckle. His massive chest moved up and down. "I'm kidding." The humor abruptly fled his face, and his gaze locked with mine. "Mostly."

  Facehopper shook his head. "Not in the mess hall, Big Dog. Last time we hazed the caterpillars here we basically destroyed the place. The Lieutenant Commander wasn't very happy about that."

  Big Dog shrugged. "Hey, that's why we call it the 'mess' hall isn't it?"

  "All right." Facehopper forced a smile and started walking away. "Moving on..."

  Big Dog watched us leave the lounge with an evil grin on his face, like he had all these nasty things planned for us.

  Alejandro lowered his voice. "Maybe being assigned to Team Seven wasn't the best idea..."

  Facehopper overheard. "Ah, don't worry about it. Big Dog is just trying to scare you. We haven't waterboarded anyone in what, two years now."

  "Reassuring," I said. "What uh, other kinds of... hazing... can the new people expect?"

  "Oh, you know, the usual. Random chokeholds, sucker punches, crazy instructions, wild goose chases. You're basically our servants and we can do whatever we want with you."

  "I see. And how long is this 'hazing' supposed to last?"

  "Not long," Facehopper said. "Usually the first few months. Sometimes into the deployments, depending on your character. Basically it lets us get a feel for who you are, and whether or not we can rely on you when the feces hits the fan."

  "What exactly do you mean, depending on our character?"

  "You'll get a feel for the Team culture soon enough, mate, don't you worry," Facehopper said. "Come on, let me introduce you caterpillars to the rest of the platoon."

  "Caterpillars?"

  He smirked. "Baby moths."

  Facehopper took us to the berthing area, where most of the team members resided at this hour.

  The first room we went to had only one man present, and it was otherwise empty save for a bed with pale sheets, and a white desk. It had a very surgical feel to it, almost like a hospital room.

  The occupant faced away from us, seated with his shoulders hunched and his chin bowed. I couldn't see his face. His whole posture screamed weakness, and I would've never guessed he was a MOTH, which was odd because every MOTH I'd met up until that point had looked the part.

  "This is Skullcracker," Facehopper said. "Like most of us, he doesn't live on base, in case you're wondering at his spartan lifestyle. Come on Skullcracker, don't be shy. Get out of your aReal and say hi to your new platoon mates."

  Skullcracker slowly turned around in his swivel chair and looked up.

  When I saw his face, I stepped back a pace, and Alejandro actually gasped beside me.

  "Caramba," Alejandro whispered.

  Skullcracker had a very realistic-looking human skull tattooed onto his face. When he met my eyes, he offered me a lopsided grin. "Hey."

  I recovered quickly, and went forward to shake his hand.

  Despite his looks, his grip actually felt tighter than Big Dog's. I was going to seriously get some broken bones in my hand if this kept up. When he released me I rubbed my palm with the fingers of my good hand and didn't take my eyes off him. This was one dangerous man.

  "You wouldn't guess it by looking at him, but Skullcracker is our second heavy weapons operator," Facehopper said. "You should ask him to tell you why we call him Skullcracker sometime."

  "No, don't ever ask me that," Skullcracker said. He sounded extremely weary all of a su
dden.

  Facehopper looked the three of us over. "Actually, probably best if don't ask him, mates. I'll give you a hint, it's not because of the tattoo."

  "Wooyah," I said.

  Skullcracker lowered his eyes and turned his swivel chair away from us, signaling that this meeting was done.

  When we left the room, Facehopper turned to me. "One thing. Don't say wooyah anymore, okay mate? No one says wooyah anymore, and doing so will just further hammer your caterpillar status into everyone's head, and may instigate a hazing on the spot. Also, we don't call those spacebags anymore either." He nodded at my spacebag. "They're just plain ol' rucksacks now, like they should be. Got it?"

  "Yes sir. But I didn't say anything about the space... er, rucksacks."

  "Exactly."

  Facehopper brought us down the hall to another spartan berth. A vertical pile of metallic spheres (inactive drones, I believed) rested in one corner, while two men were seated at a desk between perfectly made beds. Both wore mirrored sunglasses, hiding their eyes. They manipulated invisible objects with their hands.

  The first MOTH was olive-skinned (Italian, I thought) and wore a tight V-neck tee shirt; the sleeves barely constrained his bulging biceps, and his low V collar showcased the deep grooves in his pecs. His entire left arm was tattooed with what looked like the rivets and servomotors of an ATLAS mech. His right arm was inked with renditions of other military robots including the Centurion, Raptor, and Equestrian. The tattoo of an Atlas moth decorated his neck, the dark ink of its wings reaching down his chest.

  The second MOTH was a Black man with several gold chains around his neck and big hoops hanging from each ear. He had gold piercings on the outer tip of each eyebrow, a gold labret stud beneath his lips, and several gold rings on each finger. He was even more muscled than the first guy.

  As soon as we entered, a miniature Rottweiler I hadn't noticed before started barking softly on the table. Obviously a robot, judging from the size of the thing.

  Both men froze and looked up.

  "TJ and Bender are our drone operators," Facehopper said. "TJ is the one who looks like the tattooed son of a fashion model and a football player. Bender is the muscular dude who looks like a rapper. And though they may not seem it, they're also leaders in the AI field. They've helped improve the combat algorithms used by the T-2 Praetors, for example. Probably were working on their latest neural designs when we came in." Facehopper picked up the miniature dog from the table. It started growling at him. "Did I mention they're in love with their machines? Though I have to give them some credit—given the choice between five women and five drones, they'd take the women every time. Though I have to wonder sometimes, given the five drones they have stacked up in the corner."

  Neither TJ nor Bender said a word. They didn't offer to shake our hands. They just sat behind their sunglasses, scowling.

  "I like your tattoos," Alejandro tried.

  TJ's scowl deepened.

  "As I said, love their machines." Facehopper leaned into me and added, "Don't worry, they'll warm to you once you've seen some action. They just don't like caterpillars is all."

  I shook my head. "I wish you wouldn't call us that."

  He gave me a brotherly squeeze on the shoulder. "Don't take it personally. Until you've proven yourself, all you really are is a CWC. So get used to it."

  "CWC?"

  "Caterpillar Without a Callsign."

  "I ain't ever warming to these dudes," Bender said suddenly, revealing a flash of gold teeth. "Look like they're from the Army. And you know I hate Army."

  "They're not Army, Bender," Facehopper said, soothingly. "I guarantee you."

  "Then why are they looking at me like that? Like they think they know something I don't? Looking at me like Army."

  "Stop looking at him like that," Facehopper said to me.

  "Like what?" I had no idea what he was talking about.

  Bender pursed his lips, and tutted. "Giving lip already. Look at that. Can we haze them, sir?"

  Facehopper actually laughed. "All in good time, Bender."

  "Dammit. Why'd you bring them in here then? Just to bother us?"

  Facehopper sighed. "I figured I'd introduce you guys, you know, so that when you passed them in the hall you'd know they weren't Army?"

  Bender shrugged. "Not going to stop us from hazing them."

  Facehopper glanced at me, and smiled. "No it's not. TJ and Bender do love a good hazing. They got it pretty good themselves when they first joined up."

  "Damn right we did," Bender said, shaking his head enthusiastically. "And I swore when my turn came, I was going to give as bad as I got. Baby, was I gonna get my hazing done. I was gonna make those caterpillars sorry they ever joined the military. Sorry they decided to pick the Teams. Sorry they were ever born!" He was standing now, and repeatedly jabbing his finger in the air, toward me.

  "All right Bender," Facehopper extended his arms around us in a protective gesture, and backed us out of the room. "We'll see you at PT."

  Next we were introduced to Manic, Bomb, and Lui, our resident ATLAS operators. These were the guys I wanted to be hanging out with, in and off the field.

  "Yo what's happening?" Bomb said. Instead of a handshake, he gave me a fist bump. He was Black, like Bender, but didn't wear a single item of jewelry. He had his head shaved on both flanks, and down the top of his head he'd dyed the remaining hair blond.

  Lui was an Asian American with an easy smile that belied the dangerous MOTH glint in his eye. He moved like a dancer, and I knew right away he was an expert ATLAS pilot. "Nice to meet you." Very mild mannered, too.

  Manic was lanky, and like Skullcracker, lacked the usual muscular definition I'd come to associate with MOTHs. Too much time spent in the ATLAS mechs, maybe. The most distinguishing feature on his face was a small port-wine stain above his eye, vaguely reminiscent of a moth (the insect). "So you guys are the new caterpillars eh?"

  I answered. "We are."

  "Got your first hazing yet?"

  Alejandro threw up his hands. "Hazing hazing hazing, that's all anyone ever talks about! Caramba. I wish you'd just haze us and get it over with!"

  "Where's the fun in that?" Manic said. "It's all about the build-up. When you least expect it, you know?" Manic cracked an abrupt smile. "Just kidding. I love psyching-out the newbies. So what's your name again?" He was looking right at me.

  "Rade."

  "Oh yeah. Rade." Manic nodded. "Rade's an interesting name. Galaal, I see. Ah, you immigrated. Illegally."

  "Come on Manic, you know it's rude to read someone's personnel file when they're in the same room as you," Facehopper said. "Better to do it in private." He winked at me.

  That was one feature of these military aReals we had in our heads. You could go beyond the public profile associated with a given embedded Id and get someone's full governmental record, assuming you had the necessary rank and security classification. I pulled up the list of Ids in the room, and focused on the one associated with Manic. His public record appeared before my eyes. I delved deeper.

  Entered MOTH training at age 17.

  Mediocre PT scores.

  Mediocre swim scores.

  Mediocre spacewalking scores.

  Outstanding ATLAS scores.

  I compared his ATLAS aptitude scores with mine, and I edged him out, but just barely. Out of curiosity I checked Lui's and Bomb's. Again, my scores were slightly higher.

  "Uh uh ah," Manic said. "I've set up a trigger, so I know when someone accesses my full record. You see this?" He tapped the moth-shaped port-wine stain on his temple. "That's right, I'm a MOTH. Knew I'd be one since I was a kid. You can't pull a fast one on me." He leaned forward with a sour look on his face, and I thought he was going to stand up and hit me.

  Then he was all smiles again. "But I actually don't mind. I scope out the full record of every caterpillar who comes my way, to see how they measure up and all, so feel free to scope me right back. Though I prefer when chicks scope me out,
if you catch my drift. Speaking of chicks, you coming out for beers later? We know this place, got the best hops in town. And chicks too. You're going to love it. Oh, unless you have a squeeze already? Well if you do, bring her. We don't mind. We love girls. Especially strippers. We wouldn't touch your girl if you brought her along of course. Well, unless she was hot. But even then we'd ask for permission first. From her. And what about you guys?" He spun toward Alejandro and Tahoe. "You got some chicks to bring? If you don't I'll introduce you to some tonight. I'm big at opening chicks. I'm the one who gets half the guys laid around here. Did you know most of the guys on the platoon are really shy? Why, I once—"

  "All right mate," Facehopper rested a hand on his shoulder. "I want to introduce the caterpillars to the rest of the platoon sometime this year." He turned toward me. "I guess you can see why his callsign is Manic. His frenetic energy translates really well on the battlefield, though."

  Next up were Snakeoil and Fret.

  "Meet our commos. These guys carry rucksacks full of communications equipment into battle. This in addition to the usual weapon and ammunition loadout. Each pack contains the equivalent of an InterPlaNet node, so we'll always be in touch with HQ no matter if we're in the heart of the jungle or the farthest reaches of space. Fret's the tall guy who looks like a giraffe."

  I reached up to shake his hand. Fret towered over me, at six feet five inches. His forearms weren't big, but they were definitely corded.

  "Snakeoil's the shorter guy," Facehopper said. "Kind of looks like a cross between a midget and a bear."

  Snakeoil shook my hand. Though his arms were the biggest I'd seen on a MOTH so far, his grip was also the gentlest. "Hey," Snakeoil said.

  I noticed a small puckered scar beneath his right cheek.

  "Snakeoil took a bullet in the face on his first deployment. Came out just under his ear. He got up again and kept right on fighting. He ended up commandeering an ATLAS mech, and fought off an entire company of insurgents to save the rest of us. Most heroic thing I've ever seen. He's not wearing it now, but he was awarded the Navy Cross for combat heroism by the Commander-in-Chief."1