Task Force 7 (Doom Star 7)

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Sarge, if you hated someone bad enough, would you rather kill him and put him out of his misery, or would you rather lock him in a room where he had to suffer for fifty years in torment, knowing you put him there? If we destroy the planetary engines, there’s nowhere for the Web-Mind to go. It’s doomed.”

  Slowly, an evil smile spread across Chen’s features. “Keep talking about torment.”

  ***

  In times past, miners had drilled the access tunnel through Tyche’s indigenous rock. Moving through it sent the rad detector in Mule’s battlesuit clicking like crazy. Either this was a thorium mine tunnel or it used to be.

  Ahead of Mule, Chen loomed larger than normal as he carried explosives. Mule recalled a history lesson from his school days and a picture he’d seen of a Roman legionary burdened with excessive gear. The caption had been about one of Marius’s “mules.”

  Mule’s teacher back then had lectured about the ancient time and about the Roman commander named Marius, a precursor of Julius Caesar. Marius had reformed Rome’s legions, letting poorer citizens become legionaries. Until then, only citizens of means had been allowed in the heavy infantry.

  Marius hadn’t invented or originated the new system, as much as codified what had been happening for some time. People had called his legionaries “Marius’s mules” because he had done away with some of the mule allowances per certain number of soldiers. It meant each trooper carried more of his own supplies instead of shifting it onto the beast of burden. On the march, the legionaries had been loaded down like mules, and had thereby earned the nickname.

  Mule also carried explosives, picked up in the cyborg structure. The two of them had enough to bring down this tunnel. They maintained comm silence, as they had been doing for some time. The link-lines were still inoperable.

  Finally, Mule pointed at a spot. Chen nodded. They began using powered fists, slamming into the rock wall, punching holes deeper and deeper until they couldn’t reach any farther. Only then did they stuff a hole with explosives.

  Soon, dirt drifted in the tunnel so their helmet lamps washed through hazy air. They kept hammering until the Web-Mind must have decided it was time for another show-and-tell message.

  “Space Marines,” the emotionless voice said. “You have captured a single intact dome. It will not help you in your futile attempt to defeat me. You will end in the same situation as all your comrades in arms.”

  Video came to back up the boast.

  Mule switched on his HUD. He saw drugged Marines on conveyers. One or two men twitched as they moved along a cyborg converter.

  “No!” Chen said, switching on his comm. “Your abomination will not stand. You’re a dead thing, Web-Mind. We’re going to drown you.”

  “Ah, this is interesting.” The emotionless voice almost seemed to gloat. “Another of the lice speaks?” the Web-Mind asked.

  Mule motioned to Chen, wanting him to stop talking. The sergeant stood straight, glaring down the access tunnel toward the bigger tunnels that led to the planetary engines. Chen held explosives in his gloved hands, but seemed to have forgotten about blowing up the wall.

  “I’m going to kill you, freak!” Chen shouted.

  “How will you do that in the access tunnel?” the Web-Mind asked. “Yes, I now know where you are, mad-thing. You must travel to attack me, and you will never reach this far.”

  “You’re wrong,” Chen said. He threw down his explosives.

  “Sergeant Chen!” Mule said through his comm.

  “Yet another one of you lice lives?” the Web-Mind asked. “I’m surprised. But this anomaly will not last long. Even now, the situation is being rectified.”

  Chen roared with inarticulate rage.

  “Sergeant, I’ve found a flamer,” Mule said. “But it’s too heavy for me.”

  Chen whirled around.

  “We could use a flamer to kill the Web-Mind,” Mule said.

  “Yes,” Chen said thickly. “Get it.”

  “I need help carrying it,” Mule said over the comm.

  “I will help you,” the Web-Mind mocked—“onto a conveyer as I convert you into another of my melds.”

  “I want that flamer now!” Chen shouted.

  Mule ran up the access tunnel toward the surface. He glanced back and saw that Chen followed him.

  “You flee from me?” the Web-Mind asked. “It doesn’t matter any longer, now that I know where you’re hiding. I’m sending cyborgs to bring you to me.”

  “Where did you find a flamer?” Chen said, beginning to sound suspicious.

  Mule figured he didn’t have any more time to delay, as the sergeant had become too suspicious. “Get ready, Sarge.”

  “Ready for what?” Chen shouted.

  With a remote switch, Mule ignited the explosives in the rock wall behind them. A brilliant light glowed and the tunnel, the walls, trembled as rocks and dirt rained.

  “Run!” Mule shouted. “We have to get out of here before the cryomagma flows up to us and washes us down the tunnel.”

  The shaking worsened. It threw Mule off his feet. He got up and glided up the access tunnel, using his battlesuit at full power. He didn’t dare look back because he needed to concentrate on moving. The shaking, the falling rocks hitting his battlesuit: this was like Hell.

  “I’m going to kill you, Martian!” Chen raved. “You’ve blocked my route to the Web-Mind.”

  Mule didn’t use the open comm anymore. He didn’t want the Web-Mind to know what was in store for it. He finally glanced back, and he saw cryomagma flowing and gushing deeper into the tunnel. If the Web-Mind had sent cyborgs up the tunnels after them, the melds were about to receive the nastiest surprise of their lives.

  -10-

  Mule knew that one part of his plan must have worked. His battlesuit’s batteries slowly and relentlessly drained as he glided in fantastic leaps across the planetoid’s surface. He raced across Tyche, struggling to reach the skimmer park in time.

  The amount of explosions in the distance had lessened. How many Marines still survived on this rock? The desire to find and join others was a powerful emotion. Wanting to kill the Web-Mind was an even greater desire.

  This time the landscape lacked cryogeyser eruptions. They didn’t spew vapor into the atmosphere. They didn’t fume because the cryomagma flowed into the tunnels, draining the gargantuan chamber below the surface. Was there enough volume to drown the planetary engines and kill the Web-Mind? Mule very much doubted that. Surely, however, there would be enough magma to keep the cyborgs busy trying to stem the gushing tide.

  Sergeant Chen had stopped broadcasting threats some time ago. He, too, made one powered-armor leap after another. It would have been easy enough for Chen to raise his gyroc and kill Mule. That he didn’t, told Mule the sergeant had regained at least a modicum of control over his emotions.

  “I have decided on a new torture for you two,” the Web-Mind said. It had been silent since the magma-chamber rupture. “Ah…you have no words for me now. How very wise of you, if cowardly, Marines. You two are different from the rest. You know how to fear. Your masters must have forgotten to condition you for me.”

  Don’t answer, Sarge, Mule thought to himself. Don’t let the devil play with your mind.

  “Fear me,” the Web-Mind boasted. “Run away because you realize I am your moral superior.”

  Mule heard a sound in his headphones. It told him Chen had just switched on his comm-link.

  “We’re not running away!” Chen shouted. “We’re going to destroy you.”

  “Indeed,” the Web-Mind said.

  “Sarge,” Mule said. “It’s trying to use you. Don’t talk to it.”

  Over the comm-link, Mule heard Chen grinding his teeth.

  “Two cowardly Marines,” the Web-Mind said. “Admit the truth, at least. You flee from me.”

  “Nice try, cyborg,” Mule said. “You think you’re so smart, so wise, but we’re ensuring your extinction, the death of your entire species.”

&
nbsp; “You do this by running away?” the Web-Mind asked. “That is a novel tactic indeed.”

  “Do you think you can trick us into telling you our plan?” Mule asked. “That shows me how desperate you are. I hope you’re enjoying your magma bath.”

  “You are doomed,” the Web-Mind said, and it sounded angry.

  “You’re all talk,” Mule said.

  “Yes, just talk,” the Web-Mind said. “Enjoy my present, gnats.”

  Mule looked back over his shoulder. He saw a missile approaching. It streaked across the horizon for them.

  “Sarge,” Mule said.

  “I see it,” Chen said. “Yeah, I see it, Martian. It used my transmission to zero in on us. It played me for a fool.” Each of them made another bound. “No,” Chen said. “It isn’t going to win that easily. Good-bye, Sub-sergeant, I hope you kill the thing for the two of us.”

  Mule wanted to shout at Chen to stay with him. But he knew there was no tricking the missile away from them. One of them had to die. Mule couldn’t volunteer, because he didn’t think Chen would be able to complete the mission.

  Sergeant Chen veered sharply left, and he spoke on the comm. “We screwed with you, and we’re going to see you become a pile of smoking ash.”

  Mule knew what Chen was doing. The sergeant split up, and he talked on the comm, trying to get the missile to track him. If it was nuclear, it wasn’t going to matter much.

  Hardening his heart to the task, Mule turned off his comm-link and shouted incoherently. He leaped hard and far, stretching his bounds, trying to give himself distance. The sergeant did likewise. Neither could keep up this kind of traveling for long.

  On the comm, Chen berated the Web-Mind. He laughed at it. He raved and explained exactly what he was going do with each brain.

  “You have sealed your fate,” the Web-Mind said.

  “Good luck, Mule,” Chen said. They were the last words the sergeant spoke.

  The missile fell, streaking downward and reached ground level, exploding its tactical nuclear warhead.

  The radiation detector clicked wildly. Mule’s visor dampened the flash and he continued to leap for the skimmer park. He’d survived the tactical missile, for now. Who knew if he’d taken too many rads? If he made it back to Slovakia in time, he could get treatment, but first, he’d have to climb into a skimmer and get back into space. Then he had a Web-Mind to kill.

  ***

  Sub-sergeant Mule made it to the skimmer park; what was left of it anyway. The hanger was ruined, with several skimmers mere piles of junk. He found an underground garage. There, he refilled his battlesuit’s breathing tanks one more time.

  He checked a working base computer and found the supplies he needed. That included a missile pod for a cargo skimmer. In the pod were three Hornet anti-missiles. The real gold mine was a Zeno nuclear-tipped missile.

  Mule used a lifter and hurried the cargo skimmer to the surface. He had no idea how long it would take the Web-Mind to realize one of them still lived. A single missile to the skimmer park would end his chance at completing the mission.

  He couldn’t think about all the dead Marines. For all he knew he was the last human alive on this rock.

  The cargo skimmer was bigger than the car used to attack them earlier. It was more like a tugboat. This must have been a Neptunian vehicle first, as it had many systems made for humans. It had an enclosed pilot space and unused gear that Mule soon reactivated. He emptied the payload area of everything he did not need and dragged in extra fuel pods.

  After forty minutes hard work, he was ready. He engaged the engine, skimmed over the icy surface and began building up velocity.

  “One of you is still alive?” the Web-Mind asked. It must have sensed the moving skimmer.

  As the cargo hauler raced across the frozen surface, Mule pressed a switch, which activated a lone missile launcher back at the skimmer park. A missile like the ones once fired at him from a cyborg-controlled skimmer lofted from the park and headed in the direction of the Web-Mind. He hoped the missile kept the thing busy for a while.

  “You are a clever one,” the Web-Mind broadcast. “But it will not help you.”

  We’ll see about that, Mule thought. Driving for escape velocity, he increased speed, and then pulled up, aiming the cargo skimmer at the stars. As he gained enough speed, he saw an explosion in the distance.

  You’re welcome, freak.

  As he had hoped, Mule flew the skimmer off Tyche, as the sole Marine of his group left. Chen, Bogdan, Ross, Hayes: they were all dead or wishing they were.

  I’ll see what I can do you for guys.

  Mule glanced back and saw the planetoid loom, filling his view. He kept accelerating. The skimmer reached only a pitiful speed compared to what Slovakia had achieved to fly out here into the Oort cloud, but at least the vehicle was getting him off the surface.

  It was hard to believe he’d been lost in a magma-chamber not so very long ago. Inside his powered armor, Mule shook his head and blessed its makers, then turned his attention back to flying. It was time to concentrate and watch the skimmer controls. He would have three years to relax if he could do this right.

  Within his armor, he used his chin to press battlesuit controls and inject himself with stims. Ah…the drugs felt good, and they revived him.

  There came a bloom down on the surface, which might have been a launching missile. Mule watched the skimmer’s radar panel. His fears materialized. The Web-Mind had sent a present after him.

  Mule shut off acceleration. He’d made it into space and now coasted. Using attitude jets, he brought the stolen anti-missile pod into position, locked on, and launched one of the Hornets. It zoomed planet-ward at the upward-accelerating missile.

  Mule spun the skimmer and soon accelerated away once more.

  A bright splash on the radar screen showed him the Hornet had destroyed the enemy missile. Score another one for him.

  A second bloom from the surface showed him that the Web-Mind wasn’t finished yet. Mule knocked down that missile, too, leaving him one Hornet. It would probably come down to who had more weapons: the Web-Mind or him.

  Nothing happened for a time, and Mule could see Tyche now as a ball in space. He turned to travel around it, heading for the planetoid’s engine exhaust, the kilometers-wide port.

  At least the Web-Mind would never strap him in a chair and torment him. Cyborgs—manmade aliens—what a vile thing for scientists to invent. He wished he could line up every scientist who had helped create cyborgs. He wished he could line up every politician who had thought making Web-Minds was a clever idea. Once they were lined up, he would walk down the row, blowing each one away. They all deserved death and worse for what they’d done. Mars was dead. The Neptune gravitational system was gone. The entire Solar System still rocked from the worst war in history.

  I’m going to end it out here in the Oort cloud. It’s just you and me, Web-Mind.

  Mule’s palms grew sweaty as the giant exhaust port came into view. He didn’t wait. He didn’t believe he had the time. He armed his single nuclear missile…but then hesitated.

  The Web-Mind must have anti-missiles, too. The port would be the perfect place to install them.

  Pressing controls, Mule fired his conventional missiles first, one at a time. As each descended for the planetoid’s engine exhaust port, anti-missiles reached for them. Each of his missiles exploded long before getting to the port.

  Despite the seeming futility of it, Mule aimed the skimmer at the exhaust port and dove toward the huge target. A missile rose for him.

  Mule locked on and fired his last anti-missile. Seconds ticked by and there was a bloom, a hit. The last Hornet had taken out the enemy projectile.

  He launched the Zeno—the nuclear-tipped missile. Afterward, he turned the skimmer at maximum, enduring the high Gs. The hope he would kill the freak elated him.

  “Hey, Web-Mind,” Mule said over the comm.

  “Base creature. Your trickery will not help you.”r />
  Mule watched his panel. Anti-missiles rose from the port. He watched in sick despair. But the anti-missiles zoomed past the Zeno, and headed toward him.

  Why hadn’t the Web-Mind’s anti-missiles destroyed his Zeno? Mule tried to check his own Zeno’s readings. He found the missile broadcast heavy ECM, scrambling his sensors.

  Finally, something has gone my way. It was a good feeling, at least while it lasted. Apparently none of the anti-missiles had hit the nuke because they couldn’t find it. The Zeno’s electronic countermeasures had proved themselves too powerful for the anti-missiles to achieve lock-on.

  Mule didn’t think the chasing anti-missiles had the range to reach him now either. He felt good again, elated, and then he thought about his wife and children. How had they felt at the end?

  Mule turned on the comm. “Hey, Web-Mind,” he said. “I bet I know the safest place on the planetoid. Well, should I say in Tyche? If I were a Web-Mind, which I’m not, I would hide by the planetary engines. That’s the logical place, isn’t it?”

  “Self-destruct the Zeno,” the Web-Mind told him.

  “Say again. I couldn’t get your last transmission.”

  “Abort the Zeno and I will return your fellow Marines to you.”

  “Can you give me a video image of them? I want to make sure they’re all right.”

  “You must abort the missile now, Space Marine. If you do not…”

  “I’m waiting for your boast, your threat,” Mule said. “Aren’t you going to tell me what a gnat I am?”

  “You lack the hate-conditioning. Your voice patterns betray you.”

  “I’m not a pawn,” Mule said, “if that’s what you mean. I have free will. I’m a man, the one who’s going to destroy you.”

  “You do not understand the crime against intelligence you are committing. You are nothing but an evolutionary dead end.”

  “What does evolution have to do with you?” Mule asked. “Scientists cobbled you together in their craziest moment of hubris. You’re a foolish experiment gone wrong. I’m merely fixing things.”