Jon alerted the sergeants to the possible danger. “I don’t know what or how,” he told them. “I want your scouts more alert, though.”
“If I tell them to watch more carefully,” Stark said, “they’re going to start firing at shadows. The men are wound tight, sir. This place is a hellhole.”
“Do as you think best, Sergeant,” Jon replied.
In the past, the colonel had warned Jon more than once that micromanaging one’s troops was a mistake. As long as one had good sub-commanders, one needed to trust their judgment, particularly when it came to running their own men.
The minutes passed as the regiment snaked deeper into the huge and seemingly endless corridor. Finally, Jon began to wonder about Da Vinci’s so-called discovery.
“I have a situation,” the Centurion radioed curtly. The sergeant was farther up near the front of his company.
“Give me details,” Jon said.
“My scouts see motion ahead of them. Wait… People, sir, my scouts see approaching people.”
“I’d like to see this if I could,” Gloria told Jon.
“Flash me a visual,” Jon ordered.
The Centurion only hesitated for a moment, letting Jon know that the professional worried about enemy cyber-warfare.
“Coming through,” the Centurion said.
On Jon’s split-screen HUD, people hesitantly peered around a vast corner. It seemed as if the people were studying the approaching battlesuited scouts.
“Notice,” the mentalist said. “None of them have breathing gear.”
“Are they escapees from the aliens?” Jon asked.
“No…” she said. “I doubt it.”
Five people—three women and two men—stepped around the corner and approached the slowly advancing scouts. They wore silver suits with red ties and dress shoes. They seemed like Neptunian executives from a luxury habitat.
“Notice their eyes,” Gloria said.
Jon peered more closely at his HUD.
“Vacant-seeming,” Gloria said, “like they’re drugged or hypnotized. I don’t like this. It’s possible they’re in communication with the aliens.”
“Tell those people to stop,” Jon said.
The Centurion passed along the order. The scouts clicked on their helmet-speakers, telling the five to stop. They didn’t stop, or even hesitate, but immediately walked faster toward the scouts. Two of the five waved as if they couldn’t believe their luck at finding fellow human beings here.”
Scowling, Jon said, “Tell them to shoot one of the men.”
The lead scout hesitated. The second one raised a rifle.
The five broke into a sprint, running at the lead scout. Two seconds later, the second scout fired a gyroc round. The shell caught a silver-suited man on the red tie, blowing him off his feet and blowing away his chest. The second man went down under a second gyroc round.
The first woman reached the lead scout. He finally raised his weapon. She grabbed it, yanking herself closer to him. At that point, she detonated. It was a vicious explosion, and she disappeared in a spray of skin, blood and bone.
On Jon’s split-screen HUD, the lead scout staggered backward. Incredibly, the battlesuit was still intact, although it was scarred and dripping with gore and clinging pieces of flesh.
The remaining two women lay on their backs, hurled to the deck by the blast. One had died—she detonated in the same way. The last woman had sat up. She rolled backward several meters from the second blast, a bundle of shredded flesh. Her interior bomb, if she had one, did not detonate.
The last man tried to surge up off the deck. A gyroc finished him.
At that point, thirty silent people broke around the corner, charging the scouts. They ran with vigor, their eyes bulging as if with pain. They sped up as they got closer—
The scouts fired round after round, taking down as many as they could. But the two Black Anvils couldn’t quite take down all the determinedly charging Neptunians fast enough. A man reached the lead marine, clutching him like a biological landmine.
The man detonated.
The space marine toppled backward, hitting the deck.
At that point, a marine squad arrived and reinforced the scouts. Their combined fire obliterated the Neptunians until the corridor was thick with dead.
“Halt,” Jon ordered the regiment.
“What’s wrong?” Gloria asked over the landline.
“Wrong? We can’t wade through hundreds, maybe thousands of people like this. Killing endless mobs will demoralize the men.”
Inside the supply vehicle, Gloria bent her head in thought. “You have a problem then. The aliens undoubtedly know our route. Logically, they will continue using wave-assault tactics.”
“Right,” Jon said. “We have to outmaneuver them. Centurion. I need you back here with me. We have to talk.”
“I’m right here, sir.”
“I want to talk on a secure line. I have the feeling the aliens are monitoring our channels.”
“Yes, sir,” the Centurion said. “I’m on my way. Oh. Sir, I have a report. One of the scouts found something. You should see this right away.”
“Patch me through to the scout’s camera.”
A portion of Jon’s HUD wavered. On the split-screen, he saw a dead Neptunian sprawled on the deck. The back of his head lay exposed. In the skull was a metal unit with wires embedded in the exposed brain matter. On the outer portion of the unit was a small bent antenna.
“Do you see that, sir?” the Centurion asked.
“I do,” Jon whispered. The aliens or AI had inserted some kind of control unit directly into the Neptunian’s brain. That’s how the extraterrestrials had forced the people to attack. Not only did the captives have embedded bombs…they had this too.
“The people were drones,” Jon said in shock. “They were drone-bombers.”
“I’m on my way, sir,” the Centurion said.
Jon heard it, and it twisted something in his gut. For the first time he could remember, the Centurion sounded frightened.
-9-
A terrific explosion breached a small part of the huge corridor’s bulkhead. Behind the blown area was wiring, tubing and something similar to ablative foam. Battlesuited marines with old-fashioned axes moved in, hacking at the wires, tubes and foam, tearing everything out. Finally, the marines reached another bulkhead. Presumably, on the other side was another vast corridor.
“Blow it,” the squad leader ordered.
The marines attached heavy charges to the new bulkhead. They activated the timer and backed away. Soon, the charges blew. As the smoke cleared and the debris quit bouncing everywhere, several cautious marines poked through the rent into another huge corridor.
“All clear in here, so far,” a scout marine radioed back.
Jon told Gloria the news. She told him it was a wise maneuver, as making a new layout worked to the regiment’s advantage.
“That’s my plan,” Jon told her. “I’m going to keep our enemy guessing.”
The regiment no longer moved in a straight line toward the center of the ship. It hopped corridors. It blew bulkheads and sometimes it blew them three in a row. A few times, marines blew bulkheads, but the regiment did not use the new route.
An hour later, Jon called a halt, giving everyone a rest.
Unfortunately, the number of irradiated sick kept rising. So far, the badly sick could ride the supply vehicles. Soon, though, there wouldn’t be any more room on the vehicles.
As he stood beside the Centurion’s supply vehicle, Jon noticed that Da Vinci still sat hunched over his panel. The little Neptunian had been busy for some time on something.
“Hey,” Jon said. “Are you listening to me?”
Da Vinci stiffened, but he didn’t look up.
“I’m talking to you, Da Vinci. Look up here.”
Under the canopy, the thief raised his head. He looked like a dog about to receiving its beating.
“I’ve come to believe that the Bre
zhnev’s self-destruction helped us,” Jon said. “What I’m saying is that I forgive you. I don’t hold it against you anymore. Next time, though, tell me what you’re planning.”
“Would you have agreed to my plan if I’d told you ahead of time?” Da Vinci asked.
Anger flashed through Jon. “Don’t push your luck, little man.”
Da Vinci bobbed his head. Yet, Jon’s outburst seemed to have erased the hangdog look more than the verbal forgiveness had.
“Sir,” Da Vinci said. “I’ve been studying a background signal for some time. It’s…different from the other signals I’ve seen. This one has gotten stronger lately, as the regiment has approached nearer its locus point.”
“What do you think it is?”
Da Vinci shrugged.
“Are you suggesting we investigate it?” Jon asked.
The thief tapped his fingertips together, finally nodding. “I should add that the signal is similar to the one urging on the people earlier.”
“Why haven’t you said anything before this?”
“We all realized the captives had become drones, or fleshly robots, if you will. Besides, you were mad at me. I don’t want to risk more of your anger.”
“This is all so backward,” Jon said, as if speaking to himself. “We’re not vermin. The aliens are the problem. What did they transmit into our ship computers before?”
“I keep wondering the same thing,” Gloria said, chiming in. “It is a puzzling quandary. They corrupted the ship computers, but not our smaller and weaker battlesuit computers. I would think it should be the reverse. The ship computers had better software defenses.”
“About the alien signal, sir,” Da Vinci said.
Jon eyed the Neptunian through the bubble canopy. Da Vinci seemed shiftier than usual. That meant— “There’s something else,” Jon said. “What are you trying to tell me?”
The thief tapped his fingertips together before saying, “I…I’ve been switching on a directional finder now and again. Each time I do, I get a terrible image. It shows me the Commander Superior for just a moment. Then, jamming hits, and the image vanishes.”
Jon couldn’t believe this. “Tech Corporal, you will no longer work in secret.”
“What if I’ve found something useful?” Da Vinci whined.
“You’re part of the regiment, not an individual scrounger. Your instincts are wrong. You’re more concerned about yourself than the regiment.”
“But that’s only natural, sir. That’s basic human nature.”
“No!” Jon said. “You’re part of the team. You have to be a team player. Otherwise, over time, you become a liability to us.”
“I thought you forgave me for the Brezhnev.”
“I did!” Jon said, as he felt his temper slipping. He took a breath, struggling to keep control. “Listen, you little thief. If you pull a secret stunt that gets some of my marines killed, I’ll kill you. If you want to stay alive, you’ll start working for the team.”
Da Vinci bobbed his head up and down.
The gesture didn’t convince Jon. But he wondered if a thief’s instincts didn’t better serve the regiment in the guts of an alien vessel. Da Vinci was a plunderer by nature. The man loved his skin more than he loved honor or glory. In the end, the Neptunian was simply another regimental tool.
You need to use all your tools, Captain. Don’t let your temper get the better of you.
“Da Vinci,” Jon said more softly.
The scrawny Neptunian looked up.
Da Vinci’s rat-like appearance always struck Jon, perhaps because he’d been a stainless steel rat in New London Dome. The aliens thought of humans as vermin. Sometimes, rats caused fires that burned down human homes. The rats didn’t do that by physically defeating the stronger humans but by chewing insulation so wires shorted out and started a fire. Maybe to win on the alien vessel, they should use rat tactics, stainless steel rat tactics to defeat the interstellar invader’s “home.”
“Use that sly brain of yours,” Jon told Da Vinci. “But use it to help us win. If we do win…I promise to reward you more than you can imagine.”
Da Vinci’s eyes widened. “I can imagine pretty big, sir.”
“Do you believe I’m a man of my word?”
Da Vinci shrugged.
“Of course he is,” Gloria told Da Vinci.
“Sure,” Da Vinci said. “That’s why you threaten me all the time.”
“On the regiment’s honor,” Jon said. “If you help us defeat the alien—to destroy it—I’ll reward you to the best of my ability.”
“Will you also allow me to leave the regiment?” Da Vinci asked.
Jon had to smile. He’d be glad to get rid of the Neptunian. But he said, “If that’s what you want at the time.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal, sir,” Da Vinci said, as he rubbed his thin fingers together. “You have a deal indeed.”
-10-
The enemy hit from all directions using the bulkhead-blasting tactic against the regiment.
The regiment had been marching through the corridors like a metallically articulated snake. Some sections of the “snake” were nonexistent, while others were thick with marines.
Jon was staying with the Centurion’s supply vehicle. Nine battlesuited marines either sat on the tank or lay half-draped on it. The Centurion was closer to the scouts up front. The Old Man still had rear guard.
Above them, in the ceiling, a titanic blast blew down a section of the bulkhead. The metal section crushed three space marines. The section then bounced up and to the side, caroming off a wall. Four marines ducked before the blown section could cut them in half.
Floating robots dropped down with weapons ports blazing. Rays flashed in the sudden darkness, as the corridor lights had gone out. Bullets hissed and rockets whooshed. It was pandemonium.
Although the enemy had caught the marines by surprise, the Black Anvils reacted fast. They raised their weapons and began firing back.
The rays, flashes and explosions made the corridor seem like a madhouse. In the confusion, Jon realized the fighting robots seemed familiar. They were not huge and impenetrable like the massive one earlier. These were—
“They’re Neptunian battle bots,” Jon said.
More gyroc rounds slammed into the bots. HEAT missiles caused terrific explosions. Grenades sent the robots slamming against a bulkhead.
In the end, it was a short and savage battle. Soon, the last bot drifted as its lights flickered out.
Jon didn’t wait to count the dead or wounded. He rapped out orders, sending scouts leaping up into the ceiling breach above. Then he divided the remaining marines, sending some up to reinforce the Centurion and others to reinforce Stark behind them.
The aliens had attacked up and down the sinuous snake of Black Anvils.
“What should I do?” Gloria asked.
“Keep your main gun trained on the hole above us,” Jon said. “Scout leader, what do you see?”
“A maze,” the scout radioed. “Wait! I see more robots coming. They’re moving fast, sir.”
“Right,” Jon said. He went to a dead marine and took the man’s 100mm HEAT launcher. Gathering his battlesuit, building up power, he leaped, floating up to the scouts in the ceiling breach.
Hands pulled Jon up. There was some wiring and tubing here. Mostly, there was lots of open space.
A battlesuited marine pointed into the far distance. A glimmer showed approaching bots.
Jon raised the launcher, aimed and fired.
The 100mm shell zoomed through the space, and struck the lead robot. The shell vaporized the robot and knocked others backward. Some of those stayed down. A few knocked others backward like carom shots in billiards.
Jon fired again, sending another shell humming through the emptiness.
He was mindful of their limited supply of munitions. If he were to guess, the head alien had gathered a robot army to try to take out what was left of the regiment all at once.
&n
bsp; “Behind us, sir,” the scout said.
Jon shuffled around. He was receiving constant reports as he fought up here. Probably, he should hand off the launcher and go back down. A commander was supposed to direct his men. He needed concentration for that.
“Here,” Jon said, shoving the 100mm launcher to a scout.
The marine’s helmet nodded.
Jon slid to the ceiling opening, let his armored legs dangle and slowly lowered himself. Finally, he pushed off, drifting to the deck below. Soon, he magnetized himself to the supply tank.
“Who can walk?” Jon asked the sick on the tank.
They all raised their armored hands.
“Help the wounded,” Jon said. “See who’s dead.”
The sick slid off, staggering at times. One sick marine dragged himself along the deck.
Jon nodded. Good. They needed everyone to do his part.
From the supply vehicle, Jon concentrated on the command channel. After listening to the reports, he ordered more help up to the Centurion.
All at once, the corridor shook.
“There’s another ceiling breach,” a marine radioed.
“Gloria,” Jon said. “Get ready.”
“What’s going on?” Da Vinci wailed.
“Hop back onto the tank,” he told the sick marines.
Those that could hurried onto the supply vehicle, unlimbering their weapons.
At Jon’s orders, Gloria revved the engine and clanked as fast as the vehicle would go. Turning a corner, Jon witnessed hundreds of robots pouring down into the corridor from another ceiling breach.
“Go back, go back!” Da Vinci howled. “I’m just a cyber-tech. I’m not a fighter.”
Without waiting for instructions, Gloria fired the main cannon, sending a shell screaming amidst the floating robots.
“Back up,” Jon ordered. “We need the supply vehicle intact.”
At that point, two of the sick marines jumped off the tank. They both began to race at the cluster of robots ahead.
The supply vehicle backed around the corner as robot weapons filled the corridor with beams, bullets and rocket rounds. The explosions shook the corridor. Fortunately, Gloria had obeyed on the spot.
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