by Isaac Hooke
Outcome three: Both options one and two transpired. Maybe the oxygen from the bailout tanks contributed as well, if any of those vessels became punctured.
Outcome four: A whole lot of nothing.
Judging from the massive fireball of orange flames I saw, it looked like option three was in full effect.
I ducked my head.
The shockwave pulsed over me.
Rock fragments hit my suit. I felt stabs of pain all along my backside as some of those fragments really dug in. The shrapnel must have formed a seal, because I still had internal suit pressure.
The heat flared up inside my jumpsuit, and it felt like I was re-entering the atmosphere in my ATLAS again. Visions of being trapped in a burning box filled my mind, but I fought down the panic. I had to.
Then it was over.
The heat receded.
The jumpsuit had protected me. For the most part. There was a throbbing pain in my right buttock, likely from a piece of shrapnel that would have to be surgically removed later.
I burrowed out of the fragments that had buried me. The heat flash had caused many of those rocks to fuse into something resembling glass.
My vision was obscured—I wiped the lens of my facemask with a blackened glove, clearing away the soot or whatever it was, and I did the same for my helmet lamp. Even so, I couldn't see all that much in any direction because of all the airborne dust.
I climbed to my feet and turned around.
There were charred alien body parts strewing the tunnel behind me, amid the fragments of glassy rock. I couldn't see much else beyond the bodies, not yet. The tunnel was eerily quiet. The slug was completely gone. Dead and phased out of existence, I guessed.
There was movement on the ground beside me, and I spun my 9-mil toward it:
Alejandro emerged from the fragments of glassy shale. His jumpsuit was coated in the same black soot. A molten slag from one of the canisters protruded from his right shoulder.
He wiped the black stuff from his facemask and glanced at me. "Looks like a bunch of seagulls decided to use you as target practice."
"Yeah? You too." I nodded at the molten slag. "Except you got hit by bigger turds. How's the suit pressure?"
"Remind me how you ever talked me into joining up."
"I guess that means the suit pressure's fine."
Around me, my platoon brothers were burrowing free. I made a mental head-count. Looked like everyone was present, and uninjured.
The clattering started up anew and I saw, as the dust cleared, that the shockwave had pushed the enemy front back about ten meters. The three Phants had been shoved backward too—the stunned mists were only now re-coalescing.
"Ammo," I said distractedly.
"I'm almost out." Alejandro tossed me a 9-mil magazine anyway.
"Guys," Ghost said. "We did it."
I followed his gaze. The dust had settled enough to discern the blast site. The blockage had cleared, but only partially. Either more fragments had fallen from above or the blast hadn't been strong enough to move everything. Still, just half the tunnel was blocked now, with the fragments reaching about waist-high. Beyond, I could see light pouring dimly from the shaft. The jetpacks were gone—those that hadn't exploded were probably buried in the rubble.
"Now's not the time for dawdling boys!" Chief Bourbonjack said.
The platoon sprinted forward.
Alejandro and I got there first and started crawling through the gap. The rest of the squad followed in twos.
"Never thought I'd be so glad to see the light of day in my life," Ghost said, wriggling through the gap just behind me.
Tahoe laughed beside him. "Coming from an albino, that means a lot."
I got through, stumbled to my feet, and hurried the final distance to the shaft with Alejandro right behind me.
"At least Mao left the rope," I said, grabbing onto the cord that was still dangling down. The sun's rays, scintillating with motes of dust, pierced the darkness around me.
I started shimmying up the ten meters to the surface. Though Alejandro was right behind me, the whole time I had this creepy sensation that one of those crabs was just below, snapping at my feet. The feeling spurred me on.
I was glad I was leading the way out, and only partially because I wanted to get away from those things down there.
You see, I didn't want anyone to take Hornet. Protocol dictated that when under threat, and the designated ATLAS operator was not present, anyone could jump into the pilot seat.
No way in hell I was going to let that happen.
When I finally pulled my body over the lip and into the full light of day, it felt like a massive weight lifted from my chest. I was free of that hellhole.
And best of all, my ATLAS was waiting for me right where I left it.
The bullet-riddled jumpsuit of Mao lay beside it: The mech had mowed him down, as per my last order.
Quid pro quo, I guess.
I resisted the urge to run straight for the mech, and instead turned around to help Alejandro over the edge of the shaft. Just then Snakeoil roared out of the pit, carrying Bomb in one arm and Lui the other, probably expending half his jetpack fuel in the process. Too bad he was the only one left who had a jetpack, having opted out because of his communications rucksack...
I glanced down. The rest of the platoon was on the rope. Lieutenant Commander Braggs brought up the bottom, right behind Chief Bourbonjack.
I could already see the multi-headed alien crabs snapping at the air below him. Alejandro let off some shots, taking out two of the things.
To my left, Snakeoil landed, releasing Bomb and Lui. The two of them glanced at the unoccupied mech.
That was my cue.
I hurried over to Hornet.
"Unlock!" I shouted. "Load weapon patterns seven and five!"
I leaped into the ATLAS as the cockpit opened and the limbs swapped out. The left hand became a serpent rocket launcher. The right a gatling gun.
The cockpit's elastic inner material pressed into my body, and I flinched at the sudden pain in my backside: I'd forgotten about the shrapnel embedded in my butt. Ah well. I was a MOTH. Pain was a house guest. Sometimes uninvited. Always tolerated.
The windowless cockpit sealed up. Without the Implant I couldn't interface with Hornet mentally—all weapons-related commands would have to be vocal. And control of the mech would be via the pressure sensors that lined the inner material of the cockpit rather than by intention, and that would feel like wading neck-deep in sludge until I acclimated. As for my vision, while the helmet HUD was still disabled, the sight-routing mechanism utilized a secondary processor, so Hornet was still able to route what it saw onto my jumpsuit's facemask instead of my Implant.
"Gun in hand!"
The weapons swiveled so that the triggers were directly above my fingers. I walked toward the shaft.
Yup, without the Implant it definitely felt like I was wading through a bog. I fought for every step, but after a while I got used to it and the hindrance didn't seem so bad.
At the shaft, half the platoon was firing down, picking off crabs, covering the other half that still climbed.
My platoon brothers immediately made way for me.
Lieutenant Commander Braggs reached the halfway mark. Below him, the crabs had formed a body ladder, and the closest one snapped at his feet.
I fired my gatling at the alien ladder.
Every heard the phrase, mincemeat?
More crabs kept appearing at the bottom of the shaft, feeding my meat grinder. I was happy to show them what oblivion looked like.
Eventually the crabs got smart, and stopped coming.
I ceased firing.
Chief Bourbonjack was almost out of the shaft now, and the Lieutenant Commander was just behind him.
Two Phants appeared at the base of the shaft.
Feeling cocky, I fired off my gatling. A hundred holes appeared in the mists, and in moments the things had dispersed entirely.
All too easy.
Damn.
I fired again, in bursts, not giving the Phants a chance to coalesce, and taking out the crabs that had decided to show themselves. So far there was no sign of the giant slug those crabs were connected to. I guess it hadn't burrowed a passage through the waist-high gap in the blockage yet. Then again, it could probably just phase itself right through.
Alejandro and Facehopper helped the Lieutenant Commander from the shaft. He was the last one out.
"You think you can seal that opening Rage?" Chief Bourbonjack shouted.
"Absolutely."
I gave my brothers a couple of seconds to step back, then I unleashed hell into that shaft, expending rockets and ammo at the lower walls like there was no tomorrow. I switched my focus to the upper section, stepping back, slowly circling the shaft, glancing at my HUD map now and again to ensure I didn't step on anyone behind me.
The wooden frame that held the rope blew clean away under my assault, and the Geronium rocks around the rim fell inward. In moments all that was left of the shaft was a sunken crater sealed off from the rest of the world. Well, that and a plume of dust.
"Sealed!" I said.
I kept my gats trained on the opening, half-expecting the blue mist to seep through. Or for the crabs to smash their way out. Or for one of those slugs to phase-shift through the opening and rematerialize in full view.
Beside me, my platoon brothers stood in a circle around the crater, weapons aimed at the former shaft.
"Mierda!" Alejandro said finally. He seemed so small, standing there on the ground beside Hornet. "Puta madre! Me cago en todo lo que se menea! I shit on everything that moves! Shit shit shit."
He lowered his 9-mil. Others started to stand down around him.
"Hold..." Chief Bourbonjack said.
Those weapons went right back up.
We waited, just staring at the crater where the shaft used to be, watching the dust settle.
"Hold..." Chief Bourbonjack said.
A fragment of rock broke away near the tip of the crater I had made, and rolled down to the bottom.
"Back away, very cautiously," Chief Bourbonjack said.
We did, keeping our eyes trained on the crater the whole time. We convened about ten meters away.
"Sir, I still can't reach the ship," Snakeoil said. Like everyone else, he hadn't lowered his weapon, hadn't looked away from where the shaft used to be. "And I've lost contact with the MDV."
"Rage, see if you can reach either asset," Chief Bourbonjack said.
The wireless adhoc network built into the ATLAS 5s was a little stronger than the one that came with the jumpsuits and Implants, but definitely not as powerful as the InterPlaNet node Snakeoil carried around on his back. I doubted it would reach the ship, but the MDV was only half a klick away and definitely in range.
"Ship comms," I said to Hornet.
Static.
"MDV comms."
Static.
Now I was getting worried.
"Chief. I get nothing on both lines."
"There's some kind of EM interference originating from orbit," Snakeoil said. "I can't place it."
"I don't remember those clouds being here on the way in," Tahoe said.
I followed Tahoe's gaze. Black clouds filled the sky behind us.
"Do you guys feel that?" Bomb said.
I couldn't feel anything, but I was up in a gyroscopically stabilized ATLAS.
I heard something, though. A distant rumbling.
We all turned our eyes toward the crater.
The rumbling became louder.
Now I could feel the ground shaking.
"Fall back!" the Lieutenant Commander said. "To the MDV!" He led the way.
"I'll hold them off," I said.
Chief Bourbonjack stepped in front of me. "Rage, I can't allow—"
"Go, Chief. Trust me. I got this. Go."
"All right, son. But you better be right behind us."
He joined my platoon brothers, who were sprinting up the excavation site. Everyone had gone, now.
Wait, not everyone.
"Get out of here, Alejandro!" I said. "Go!"
"Rade. I can't let you stand alone. I've always been here for you. I can't—"
"I'm in an ATLAS 5! Go!"
He didn't move.
I softened my voice. "Alejandro. I promise you I'm not throwing my life away. I'll be right behind you. I swear I will. This isn't a last stand."
He seemed about to protest, but then he nodded and ran after the others. As the rumbling grew louder, I watched him weave his way between the mammoth dump trucks and hydraulic power shovels on his way to the top.
I swiveled back toward the crater—
The ground literally blew open in front of me.
Crabs exploded upward like a geyser, and fell down all around me.
The creatures started attacking immediately.
They didn't look much different in the full light of day, their dark hearts beating visibly beneath their black, semi-translucent carapaces. Their multiple heads twitched and jerked, mandibles swaying about, chomping at the air and the metallic skin of my mech.
I didn't use weapons to defend myself. There was no need. I simply splattered entire swaths of the things with every swing and downward thrust of my arms. I crunched two or three underfoot with each step. I was an alien killing machine.
But for every one I killed, five more piled out of the shaft.
Relentlessly.
Endlessly.
An entire section of rock around the shaft collapsed then, and a slug rudely burrowed out, slamming its huge hunk of a body onto the ground just in front of me. This slug was not black like the others my platoon had encountered, but white-hot, with silver steam flowing from every exposed portion of its body. It was in rock-melting or "burrowing" mode, I guessed.
I still had a gatling loaded on my right arm, and I let loose, just hammering that slug. I arrested its forward motion entirely.
I loaded the second gatling into my other arm, and fired with both.
I walked forward, whaling on the slug's body with my 6,000 rounds per minute weaponry, devastating any crabs that dared cross my path. The white-hot slug was retreating, shrinking from my onslaught, pieces of its steaming body just breaking off. That white skin was quickly turning black where my bullets struck.
"You evil maggot from hell!" I yelled. "You stinking mass of white pus! Go back to the pit you came from!"
It started to phase out.
"Oh no you don't!"
I swiveled serpent rockets into my right hand.
I launched one.
Two.
Three.
Huge chunks of flesh broke away, and black steam (blood?) filled the air.
Finally, the slug fell, and its dead body dematerialized.
I heard a high-pitched whistle, and realized that the gatling in my left hand was still rotating at 6,000 RPM, but was not firing.
I'd used up the entire belt.
I took my finger off the trigger, and rotated the incendiary thrower into that hand.
Another slug piled out of the sinkhole.
I backed away.
Another slug emerged.
Another.
All three were colored black—I guessed they weren't in "burrowing" mode.
Two hundred crabs were connected to each of them.
I glanced at my platoon brothers.
They hadn't reached the lip of the excavation site quite yet.
They needed more time.
I spun toward the crabs.
They were already all over me.
Pincers clattered against external pistons and compressor joints. Mandibles chewed at exposed tubing and wiring. Inside my cockpit it sounded like hail on a tin roof.
Warning indicators were going off all over the cockpit. Servomotor fluids in my left elbow joint were low. My right leg joint was damaged. My right eye camera was destroyed.
&
nbsp; I slammed the creatures off my body, swiveling about, unleashing a curl of flame. I ignited entire rows of the things.
One of the slugs was bearing down on me.
"Jumpjet mode!"
I activated my jumpjets using the manual controls that appeared on the inside of my palms, and I broke away from the mass of crabs. I reached the apex of my flight, and as I arced downward I positioned myself so that I'd land right on top of the slug.
It decided to phase out just then, and I fell right through it.
I followed the outline of the immaterial creature, beating away the crabs that swarmed-in on me.
The slug started to rematerialize around me. The crabs instinctively fled, but I kept moving, staying within the borders of its flesh, tearing a path through the soft tissue that was appearing. I was a bit worried that the thing's molecules would join with mine or something, but that didn't happen, maybe because I kept moving, never staying in one place.
The thing had fully materialized into this reality now, and I couldn't see a thing. Nonetheless I burrowed further inside, ripping and tearing and mashing. I let off gatling rounds and incendiary thrower bursts whenever I got stuck. I was starting to get worried, because I couldn't really plot a trajectory in here.
Thankfully I erupted from the thing soon thereafter, emerging like an exploding, puss-filled boil squeezed too hard. In my wake I left behind one very dead slug, its black guts bulging and steaming from a jagged, gaping hole in its side.
The two hundred crabs connected to it turned over and died.
"Rage," the Chief transmitted on the platoon line. I could barely understand him for all the static. "Where the f—" His voice cut out. "Are you?"
"Coming sir," I said.
I got a bearing on my team. Most of them had clambering over the lip of the excavation. All except Alejandro and Tahoe, who waited for me at the top of the excavation.
Damn it. "Get out of here!" I sent them, though I'm not sure if my words got through.
I made my way towards the pair, zigzagging between hydraulic power shovels and giant dump trucks, trying to do as much damage as I could along the way. The horde proved endless: more slugs had poured from the sinkhole while I was occupied with the disemboweling of the other. There were at least six more of its brethren out there now, along with a thousand crabs.
I was about to activate my mech's jumpjets to get the hell out when I noticed a metallic glint beneath the sun, to my left. That glint saved me.