by Isaac Hooke
“What are you doing?” The pilot. “We have to go, now!”
Rade dialed up the jumpsuit strength settings to maximum assist and tried again. He managed to push his chest half a meter from the snow before he toppled again.
Exoskeleton... must be... damaged.
That was when the delayed pain suddenly exploded in his chest. It was a terrible, burning agony, worse than any he had ever felt before. His vision dimmed. He felt like he was in a technician’s shop, and he had stepped in front of the blowtorch. With each breath, he sensed the bone grinding against the tendons of his ribcage, and the sinews against the fascia. The merciless treads of an invisible tank rolled across the insides of his lungs, each turn of the articulated metal tearing gristle, renting ligaments. His heart pounded frantically against his chest, striving to break free.
“We have to gooooo,” a distance voice said. The words sounded strangely sluggish and drawn out, as if time for Rade was passing at a much slower rate.
Lying there on the ground, Rade contorted his body like a dying worm as he struggled with the left pocket of his leg assembly. Finally he snatched the suitrep kit.
He fetched a vial of morphine from the kit and slid it into the injection slot above his glove. The sonic injector passed the analgesic into the dorsal venous network of his hand.
The pain faded mercifully as the morphine, sweet morphine, kicked in.
He grabbed a patch and reached behind his back, attempting to seal the suit puncture indicated on his HUD. He realized that a portion of the jetpack was blocking him: he couldn’t reach the perforation.
He unhooked the jetpack assembly and shrugged it off with difficulty. Then he reached behind his back again. He still couldn’t stretch far enough to reach the puncture zone. He had packed on too much muscle over the past year, and had paid for it with a loss in flexibility.
And then another jumpsuit stood beside him. The operator took the patch from him. He felt something press into his back, and a moment later the puncture warning ceased.
Tahoe?
He glanced up.
Harlequin stood there. As Rade watched, a hole appeared in Harlequin’s faceplate, and the skin at the center of the Artificial’s forehead curdled and blackened. Harlequin had taken a laser shot to the region, but amazingly didn’t fall. Instead the Artificial reached down and grabbed both Rade and Luxe, hauling them from the snowpack. Harlequin placed them together, in a hugging position, and maneuvered the pair in front of its chest, shielding them with its body. Harlequin held them tight as it proceeded toward the carrier.
The Artificial thrusted a few times to add to the forward motion, but the jetpack sputtered and died. The feed lines had been shot out, maybe. Harlequin continued toward the shuttle, bounding across the snowpack, still protecting the pair. Harlequin jerked oddly sometimes, and Rade realized the Artificial was getting struck repeatedly by lasers. Somehow the Artificial kept going.
The shuttle fired a Trench Coat multiple times. Missiles exploded all around the craft, sending up plumes of snow and smoke, carving big holes into the drifts. Scorch marks and burn holes marred the armored fuselage in multiple places, with new ones appearing all the time. So far the armor was holding up. But for how long?
The whole thing seemed so far away and distant to Rade. It was almost as if he were some impassive observer watching the most surreal of scenes unfold from outside his body.
About five meters from the shuttle Harlequin collapsed.
“I’m sorry, boss,” the Artificial said. “My legs are no longer functional.”
Rade drunkenly pushed himself up. The drowsiness from the morphine was kicking in. He grabbed at Luxe, and tried to drag her across the snowpack. She wouldn’t budge.
He glanced helplessly at the craft. So near. Yet so far.
On the right side of the shuttle entrance, Tahoe’s helmet momentarily appeared from inside. His friend quickly ducked out of view; bore holes appeared in the fuselage near where his head had been.
Paxon rushed out anyway. The Marine was mowed down. She fell in jerks, blood pouring from her lifeless lips when she hit the snow.
“No,” Luxe whimpered.
The automated miniguns on the left side of the shuttle abruptly cut out as the enemy lasers bored into them.
“I’m sorry,” the pilot transmitted. “I’ve waited long enough. I can no longer justify the risk to my passengers.”
The shuttle began taking off.
“No,” Rade said weakly. “We’re... almost... there...”
Something strong gripped him around the leg, and Rade was pulled backward like a rag doll. It was Harlequin.
The Artificial flung him forward with incredible force. The throw had the perfect trajectory and timing: Rade landed squarely on the closing ramp. An instant later Luxe crashed onto the ramp beside him.
“Harlequin...” Rade transmitted.
He was vaguely aware of the dizzying motion of the ground below—the shuttle was already banking to avoid the incoming fire.
“I am unable to propel my body in a similar manner,” Harlequin said over the comm. “You’re too far, now. Goodbye, boss.”
The ramp sealed shut and Rade slid to the floor. Luxe landed on top of him.
Powerful hands grabbed him. Rade wasn’t sure if it was Tahoe, or a robot, or what, but soon he found himself strapped into a seat, his head bowing forward. The cabin pressurized, and a Weaver began to work on him from the side. He felt an uncomfortable sensation in his lung area.
The surgical robot must have injected a stimulant of some kind, because a moment later the drowsiness evaporated and he felt wide awake. He noticed that the surgical robot had attached a miniature heart-lung machine to his chest assembly.
“Have I earned my callsign now, boss?” Harlequin asked, his voice distorting.
The powerful comm node in the shuttle had cut through the interference, then, granting Rade some last precious moments with the Artificial while the craft made its way from the scene of battle.
“You have,” Rade said. “More than earned it.”
“Would you mind telling me what it is, before I am completely lost?”
“Heart,” Rade said immediately. “Your callsign is Heart.”
“Thank you, boss,” Harlequin returned.
“I’m sorry,” Rade said, his voice breaking with emotion. “For taking so long to give it to you. You deserved it far sooner.”
“It’s all right, boss,” Harlequin said. His words warped badly because of the range. “I simply return my atoms to the universe. The aliens have it right, I think. The only way the universe knows it exists is through us. By the iterative loops our neural networks form, providing the illusion of consciousness. Whether blood pumps through our veins or electrons flow through our wires, we are all of the universe. We are all brothers. I am proud to have had the opportunity to be your brother, Rade Galaal. Thank you for this honor.”
Rade managed to get a hold of his emotions long enough to say: “And I’m damn proud to have had you as my brother. More than you know.”
The signal cut out.
Rade closed his eyes and thought of all those who had died on the mission. Grappler, Keelhaul. The Marines. And all the AIs beside Harlequin, such as Jerry and the other mech cores. Those were the real Titans.
When he opened his eyes, he realized Luxe was seated across from him with her helmet off in that pressurized environment. Another Weaver, held to the floor by a magnetized base, tended to her. Luxe’s eyes were open, and she had the strength to speak:
“For a dirt astronaut, you’re all right,” Luxe told him.
“And for a jarhead, you’re not so bad yourself.” He forced a smile, but his chin was doing an unexpected trembling thing, and the facade of strength he had put up all that time finally came crashing down. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks.
He was ashamed. Men like him, they weren’t supposed to cry. And why now all of a sudden, when he had composed himself so well for Harlequi
n?
“Bastard,” Luxe said, wiping the tears from her own eyes. “Why’d you have to go and cry?”
Rade chuckled softly and sniffed. He glanced at Tahoe.
His friend was having trouble keeping it together himself. Tahoe’s lips quivered, and he quickly looked away, trying to hide his face.
Rade nodded slowly. It’s done.
We survived.
epilogue
After several failed attempts, Rade finally finished the video messages to the parents of Grappler and Keelhaul. The latter proved the most difficult. It had been too hard to tell them he had killed Keelhaul. Instead, he told them Keelhaul had died heroically by saving the platoon from a booby-trapped booster rocket, and had succumbed to the wounds inflicted when it detonated. He submitted the messages to the lieutenant commander, unsure whether Braggs would make him redo Keelhaul’s and admit his part in the death, but five minutes later both messages were marked as approved and dispatched to the InterGalNet.
Rade composed another video message to Facehopper’s family, regarding the chief’s status. The chief was doing well aboard the sick bay of the cruiser Patriarch, and was expected to make a full recovery. Facehopper had been slightly pissed that he had missed out on the remainder of the mission, but he was glad to be awake and alive.
Rade had recuperated completely from his injuries. As had Bomb and Luxe. All thanks to Harlequin. Rade wondered if there was any family he should write to for the AI. He made an inquiry, but the Artificial was relatively newly manufactured and had no contacts, human or otherwise, listed anywhere in its profile. With a heavy heart, Rade closed the file.
He sat back and thought of what had happened over the past few days.
The robots, infiltration units, and other bioweapons had surrendered, as had the remaining enemy vessels scattered throughout the system. Representatives from both sides met to iron out a deal, and when the negotiations concluded a week later, the aliens, who called themselves the Mahasattva—Sanskrit for “great being”—were allowed to reside on the planet under several conditions, the main being that they never leave. They were quarantined as a race, denied space travel. Their remaining ships would be dismantled and destroyed. To ensure compliance, a UC observation base would be constructed in orbit around their homeworld. A rotating fleet of five destroyers would join the base, keeping vigil above the planet year round. If the Mahasattva ever violated the treaty, the UC would return in force to annihilate them.
Mahasattva. Rade wondered why the aliens had chosen a human word to name their race. Was it simply because the term seemed the most appropriate translation for their own alien designation? Or perhaps they chose it to evoke a sense of fellowship and empathy with the human negotiators. It could also be that humans composed so much of the alien collective consciousness that the human part had partially assumed control, as Adara had hinted, forming something that was not entirely alien but not entirely human, either: a trans-human species to whom such a term would make sense.
Whatever the case, Rade was just glad peace had been achieved. He didn’t believe all Mahasattva deserved to die. And given the grief they had caused, as well as their former plans to convert the entire human race into hosts, he didn’t feel the terms of that peace were overly harsh, not at all. A species like that didn’t deserve space travel.
Rade had shared Adara’s message during his debriefing with senior command, of course, and he liked to think her words helped open the minds of the UC negotiators. “Some of us want peace,” she had said.
Yes, he liked to think that he had made some small difference in the war.
And that it hadn’t all been for nothing.
HE WAS SUMMONED to the lieutenant commander’s office aboard the ship a few days later.
“Have a seat, Mr. Galaal,” Braggs said.
“Thank you, sir.” Rade sat across from him. No one else was present. He had half-expected Chief Facehopper to join them remotely via the sick bay, but it was just Rade and the LC.
“Today’s my last day as your commander,” Braggs said. “I’ve been promoted.”
Rade was taken aback. “That’s... congratulations, sir.”
“Yes. I’ve been trying to avoid it, but there’s really nothing you can do when the personnel department comes knocking.”
Rade nodded stiffly. He wasn’t sure he was ready for a new commander. While Braggs had his faults, Rade had grown accustomed to his leadership style, and worried his replacement would be much worse. Rade had heard enough stories to know that the quality of an officer was never guaranteed, and men like Braggs could be hard to come by. Then again, maybe the new commander would turn out just fine. It was simply human nature to fear change, after all.
“Facehopper has been promoted, too,” Braggs said. “He’s now master chief.”
Rade shook his head, and he chuckled slightly. “Everyone’s getting promoted today. It’s going to be a completely different team soon.”
“Yes, and I’m not finished yet,” Lieutenant Commander Braggs said.
“What do you mean?”
“I was impressed with your performance these last few runs,” the lieutenant commander said. “The position of chief is yours, if you want it.”
Rade considered. Did he really want to assume the extra duties? Even if he delegated tasks to an LPO, he was still responsible for the men in the end.
He wavered for several moments, but then realized he didn’t want to place the burden on anyone else. His choice became crystal clear. It had to be him.
Remember who you are.
“I’ll do it, sir,” Rade said.
“I thought you would,” Braggs said. “I’ll schedule the necessary exams before my transfer is finalized. Study up.”
RADE PASSED THE exams, of course. And he spent Friday night celebrating with the members of Alpha Platoon at the strip club. Virtual, of course.
Manic had borrowed a couple of six-packs from the supplies reserved for beer day, and they drank them liberally.
“So, now that you’ve made chief,” Manic said at one point. “There comes the question of who’s going to fill your shoes as LPO?”
“I was hoping TJ would step up for that position.” Rade glanced at the Italian.
TJ smiled. “Not a chance. I had enough the last time I tried. No. Not me.”
Rade looked to Tahoe. “How about you, Cyclone?”
“Me?” The big man shook his head. “You know I’ve never been good with authority figures.”
“Then be one,” Rade said.
“I’ll think about it,” Tahoe said. “But for now, the only authority figure I have to deal with is my wife. I have to figure out how I’m going to explain the four withdrawals from Lucky’s Strip Club on my cred account. She checks my statements, you know.”
“Just tell her you logged into the wrong virtual app,” Lui said.
“Ha,” Tahoe said. “If only it were that easy.”
“I don’t know what the big deal is,” Fret said. “They’re only virtual titties.”
“She gets jealous of porn...” Tahoe said.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something creative,” Rade said with a laugh.
As he sat there, watching his brothers enjoy themselves, he found himself reminiscing on the past, and the good men and AIs who were no longer with them. He resolved to continue fighting for as long as he was able. Otherwise, the sacrifices of those who had fallen were for nothing.
I’ll fight until I’m ninety-eight. And I’ll keep fighting, for as long as I can.
He ran his gaze across the platoon.
I’ll keep fighting for as long as there are good men like these who need me.
Thank you very, very much for reading.
I hope you enjoyed the Alien War Trilogy. If you’d like to read more about Rade and his platoon, consider checking out the ATLAS Trilogy, which details Rade’s early years on the Teams. Rade also makes an appearance a few decades later in the A Captain’s Crucible series as a MOTH c
rewmember stationed aboard the USS Callaway.
For more information on these and my other books, visit my website via the link below. Once there, you’ll also have a chance to sign up to my Readers’ Group for special discounts on new releases and other surprises.
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about the author
USA Today bestselling author Isaac Hooke holds a degree in engineering physics, though his more unusual inventions remain fictive at this time. He is an avid hiker, cyclist, and photographer who sometimes resides in Edmonton, Alberta.
acknowledgments
THANK YOU to my knowledgeable beta readers and advanced reviewers who helped smooth out the rough edges of the prerelease manuscript: Nicole P., Jeremy G., Doug B., Jenny O., Amy B., Bryan O., Lezza, Noel, Anton, Spencer, Norman, Trudi, Corey, Erol, Terje, David, Charles, Walter, Lisa, Ramon, Chris, Scott, Michael, Chris, Bob, Jim, Maureen, Zane, Chuck, Shayne, Anna, Dave, Roger, Nick, Gerry, Charles, Annie, Patrick, Mike, Jeff, Lisa, Jason, Bryant, Janna, Tom, Jerry, Chris, Jim, Brandon, Kathy, Norm, Jonathan, Derek, Shawn, Judi, Eric, Rick, Bryan, Barry, Sherman, Jim, Bob, Ralph, Darren, Michael, Chris, Michael, Julie, Glenn, Rickie, Rhonda, Neil, Claude, Ski, Joe, Paul, Larry, John, Norma, Jeff, David, Brennan, Phyllis, Robert, Darren, Daniel, Montzalee, Robert, Dave, Diane, Peter, Skip, Louise, Dave, Brent, Erin, Paul, Jeremy, Dan, Garland, Sharon, Dave, Pat, Nathan, Max, Martin, Greg, David, Myles, Nancy, Ed, David, Karen, Becky, Jacob, Ben, Don, Carl, Gene, Bob, Luke, Teri, Robine, Gerald, Lee, Rich, Ken, Daniel, Chris, Al, Andy, Tim, Robert, Fred, David, Mitch, Don, Tony, Dian, Tony, John, Sandy, James, David, Pat, Gary, Jean, Bryan, William, Roy, Dave, Vincent, Tim, Richard, Kevin, George, Andrew, John, Richard, Robin, Sue, Mark, Jerry, Rodger, Rob, Byron, Ty, Mike, Gerry, Steve, Benjamin, Anna, Keith, Jeff, Josh, Herb, Bev, Simon, John, David, Greg, Larry, Timothy, Tony, Ian, Niraj, Maureen, Jim, Len, Bryan, Todd, Maria, Angela, Gerhard, Renee, Pete, Hemantkumar, Tim, Joseph, Will, David, Suzanne, Steve, Derek, Valerie, Laurence, James, Andy, Mark, Tarzy, Christina, Rick, Mike, Paula, Tim, Jim, Gal, Anthony, Ron, Dietrich, Mindy, Ben, Steve, Allen, Paddy & Penny, Troy, Marti, Herb, Jim, David, Alan, Leslie, Chuck, Dan, Perry, Chris, Rich, Rod, Trevor, Rick, Michael, Tim, Mark, Alex, John, William, Doug, Tony, David, Sam, Derek, John, Jay, Tom, Bryant, Larry, Anjanette, Gary, Travis, Jennifer, Henry, Drew, Michelle, Bob, Gregg, Billy, Jack, Lance, Sandra, Libby, Jonathan, Karl, Bruce, Clay, Gary, Sarge, Andrew, Deborah, Steve, and Curtis.