Dynamo (Mech Wars Book 2)

by Scott Bartlett

  Chapter 48

  The Long-Term Doesn’t Matter

  Bronson gripped the Captain’s chair armrests until his knuckles were white and his hands shook.

  When the alien mech had managed to drive Price into the side of the destroyer, and his sensor operator reported they’d nearly punctured the hull, that had made his heart rate spike. The idea of two giant mechs inside his ship, tearing apart her guts with their fighting, did not help him to relax.

  Then, Price had managed to get the enemy mech away from the destroyer once more, back toward the comet. But the thing was delivering a beating to the boy, knocking him all around both ice and space, periodically hitting him with ordnance that sent him spinning wildly within the low gravity.

  In the meantime, the little robots continued to ravage the Javelin’s hull. Several of them had broken through, and Bronson had squads of marines roaming the corridors, engaging them whenever they found the things. It was imperative that his soldiers stop the robots before they managed to access vital systems and tear them apart.

  The things fought almost as well as they perforated destroyer hulls, however, and Bronson had already lost three people.

  The worst part of all this was his total inability to do anything about it.

  The alien mech had quickly grown proficient at anticipating and avoiding the destroyer’s heavier ordnance. If they could actually land a few more hits, this engagement would be going differently, but the thing was smart, and fast.

  “Try kinetic impactors again, Tactical,” Bronson barked. “This time, execute a two hundred meter spread, along a line that cuts across the alien mech’s likely trajectory. Without hitting Price!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Seconds later, the shot was off, the rounds speeding across the void toward the shape-shifting machine.

  But it had anticipated the volley once more, and it rocketed aside, the kinetic impactors screaming harmlessly into space.

  “Damn it,” Bronson spat. “Sensor operator, show me a zoomed-in visual of both mechs fighting again.”

  Soon, the main viewscreen once again showed the giant robots locked in combat—exchanging rockets and armor-piercing rounds, charging each other in turn, and maneuvering through space using their launch thrusters.

  It’s not just that the alien mech is stronger. Price has lost his spirit.

  The boy’s head simply wasn’t in the game anymore, and it had happened when the alien mech had knocked him into the destroyer’s hull. For whatever reason, that had screwed with his mindset, and he didn’t seem likely to regain it, barring something drastic.

  That gave Bronson an idea. He didn’t feel confident it was a great idea. In fact, he was pretty sure the long-term consequences would be bad.

  The long-term doesn’t matter if we lose in the short-term.

  He had no other option. And so, with the help of Engineering as well as the Javelin’s most advanced AIs, he began transmitting instructions to Price’s implant, without Price ever being notified that it was happening.

  God help him. God help me, after Price realizes what I’ve done.

  There was nothing for it. As always, Bronson did what survival demanded.

  It wasn’t in him to do otherwise.

  Chapter 49

  Lay Down Your Guns

  They admitted Rug and the other Quatro into the beetle bay without incident, and then the combined forces of Lisa’s militia and Rug’s people filed into the streets of Habitat 2 to begin progressing toward the freight elevator that would take them to the roof.

  They moved in two groups, separated by two streets at all times—the Quatro in one and Lisa’s militia in the other, with the exception of Andy, who was helping the aliens to navigate the city streets.

  Five blocks away from the beetle bay, they turned a corner to find an entire platoon of Darkstream soldiers, stretched across the street, with Commander Mario Laudano at their head. They’d erected temporary barricades to take cover behind.

  They must have been watching us on the security feeds. Anticipated our trajectory.

  “Going somewhere, Seaman Sato?” Laudano called down the street to her.

  Before answering, she subvocalized to Andy: “Have you encountered any resistance?”

  “Negative.”

  “We have. A whole platoon of Darkstream soldiers, led by Laudano. Do you have a viable route to flank?”

  A pause, then: “Yes, ma’am. We can cut through a couple alleyways then come at them from behind.”

  “Do it. But be careful. Judging by the barricades they’ve thrown up, they knew we were coming, which seems to suggest they know about the Quatro, too.”

  “Giving me the silent treatment today, Sato?” Laudano said. “I can simply order my people to mow yours down, if you like.”

  Lisa might have ordered her people to retreat, but that would have led to a confused mess, probably with discrete firefights occurring across several streets and alleyways. It also likely would have meant Laudano shooting some of her people in their backs.

  That’s no way for them to die. If they have to go down today, they’ll go down staring the company that betrayed them straight in the eye.

  “You’re with Daybreak,” Lisa said, proud that her voice didn’t waver as it rang out, though it reverberated against the nearby structures.

  “Yes,” Laudano said.

  A brief silence followed.

  “Did you expect me to deny it?” the commander continued. “Because there’s no point in my doing so. The outcome will be the same whether I confess it or not. You’re outnumbered, Sato. Even supposing your amateurs manage to defeat my force of professional soldiers—a laughable prospect, but I’ll humor you—it doesn’t matter. The rest of my people are helping Daybreak to lock down the city as we speak, and together they outnumber you four-to-one. This ends with you defeated and enslaved, with no system net access and no chance of rescue. Why not lay down your guns now and surrender? If you do that, I’ll see what I can do about keeping the worst of Cooper’s beasts away from you.”

  “We’ll take our chances,” Lisa said, sighting down her assault rifle at Laudano’s head and firing a burst.

  He was already making for the barricades, however, and his people had begun firing on Lisa’s, who made for what scant cover there was: a single alley, four doorways. Many of them simply huddled against the sides of the buildings themselves.

  Maybe I made the wrong call in not retreating.

  She saw two of her militia make for the same doorway at once, resulting in them both getting mowed down, their bodies spasming on the way to the ground.

  Lisa managed to make it to the alley, and she unclipped a grenade from her belt, pulling out the pin with her teeth and then lobbing the explosive at the enemy.

  It went off on the wrong side of the barricades, causing the Darkstream soldiers to duck momentarily, but doing no real damage.

  “Andy, how close are you?” she subvocalized.

  “Getting there, ma’am. Sit tight.”

  She felt her lips curl into a tight smile. Probably, she should have told Andy to stop calling her ma’am a while ago, but she enjoyed hearing him say it too much for that.

  Popping out of the alleyway again, she fired at the first target she saw, and this time she was rewarded by a Darkstream soldier’s face acquiring some new holes. Blood flew, and he fell backward onto Habitat 2’s simulated cobble.

  “We’re here,” Andy said.

  “Good. Hit them!”

  The rumble of the Quatro’s approach should have been audible to the Darkstream soldiers—hell, they should have felt the street vibrating through their boots, if nothing else. But none of them turned to face the Quatro. They just continued to fire on Lisa’s militia.

  Seconds later, Lisa learned why. Soldiers appeared on four separate balconies, eight of them in total, all bearing rocket launchers.

  They fired on the massive aliens before withdrawing into their respective buildings. A firestorm bl
ossomed in the streets of Habitat 2, well beyond Laudano’s fighters.

  “No!” Lisa cried, her voice coming out strangled and raw. “Forward! Forward!”

  She knew the impulse bordered on suicidal, but that was Rug and Andy over there, not to mention the rest of the Quatro, who had taken her into their subterranean spaceship and accepted her as one of their own.

  Lisa ran to the doorway that two of her soldiers had tried for before, taking it herself, firing around it at Laudano and his killers.

  “Andy!” she screamed, not bothering to subvocalize. “Andy?” Her insides felt like ice, and a cold sweat broke out across her forehead.

  No answer. “Rug?” she yelled. Nothing.

  She ripped another grenade from her belt, and this time she managed to get it behind the barricades. The Darkstream soldiers scattered, some of them back toward the dissipating rocket explosions, others out past the barricades, toward Lisa.

  She didn’t squander the opportunity. Instead, she took aim, felling the nearest Darkstream operative, then smoothly switching targets to another.

  Everything Tessa had taught her guided her now, the instincts her friend had instilled enabling her to deal cold death to the enemy.

  Tessa herself drew up beside Lisa, but they did not look at each other. Instead, they marched forward in lockstep, taking down everything before them that moved.

  The rocket launchers appeared on the balconies once more, and Lisa switched to targeting them. “Shoot the soldiers on the balconies!” she screamed over her militia-wide.

  Sniper fire took out two of them—that would be Phineas Gage and Bob O’Toole, from the rear of the militia’s formation, not that it could really be called that anymore.

  Five of the soldiers with rocket launchers went down in rapid succession…six…and then the remaining two loosed rockets straight at Lisa’s snipers.

  The final pair of balcony targets went down to her and Tessa’s bullets, but when Lisa tried to raise Phineas and O’Toole on the militia-wide, she got no response.

  Her fear had turned to rage, and now her veins ran hot with molten fire. She found herself stepping through the barricades, checking them one by one for enemies that remained.

  Behind the third, she found Laudano. He sprang up at her, combat knife in hand—he must have lost his gun in the panic after she’d thrown the grenade.

  Lisa put a round in his forehead, and that was that.

  As suddenly as it had started, the fight was over.

  “Andy,” she breathed, rushing forward, searching through the thinning smoke.

  If it hadn’t been for subvocalization, she never would have heard him call her name, his reconstructed voice sounding flat, detached.

  Seconds after he spoke, she located him, huddled against a building, face covered in streams of red. One of his legs ended at the knee, and the other was a mess of flesh, fabric, and blood.

  She bent down, wrapped her arms around him, and stood up, straining with his weight. “Oh, Andy,” she said, taking a step forward in search of her other friends.

  Many of them, she found sprawled across the street, inert.

  “Check them,” she called to the others of her militia. “See whether they’re still alive. Check every one.”

  “Lisa,” Tessa said.

  She turned, Andy’s weight pulling her arms downward. Gravity fought to take him from her.

  “What?” she spat.

  “We have to go,” Tessa said. “Right now. If we don’t, none of us will get to leave. We have no way to transport these Quatro, even if some of them do still live.”

  “Where’s Phineas Gage? Bob O’Toole?”

  “O’Toole made it to cover. The rockets got Gage.”

  Lisa’s throat clenched, and tears stung her eyes. She staggered down the street as the smoke continued to clear, her militia at her back.

  Large forms loomed ahead, resolving into Quatro. Rug was at their front—limping badly, but still alive.

  Handing Andy to Tessa, Lisa ran toward her. The Quatro lowered her head, and Lisa wrapped her arms around the alien.

  “Rug.”

  “Lisa,” the Quatro said, panting. Her breathing sounded labored.

  “We have to go.”

  They pressed on together, toward the freight elevator. Of the original forty-two, there were nineteen Quatro left standing, and Lisa’s militia numbered only nine, now. Everyone else, they’d left for dead on the streets of Habitat 2.

  There’s nothing we could do, she told herself. But she knew that today would rob her sleep for a long time to come.

  When the doors opened onto Habitat 2’s rooftop—to the waning sun, which cast red rays sideways across the metal—they found Darkstream’s ten shuttles prepped and ready to go.

  Laudano had them all prepared, so that they could leave the moment Habitat 2 was safely in Daybreak’s hands.

  Lisa’s security clearance still worked, and she used it to open the airlock of the nearest shuttle before the pilot could react.

  Once inside, she made her way to the cockpit, where the pilot was rising from his seat, his pistol in hand.

  He began to raise it, but Lisa was faster. She stepped toward him and placed the barrel of her assault rifle against his forehead.

  “You’re taking us off this planet,” she said. “Radio the other pilots and tell them their shuttles will be destroyed with them inside unless they cooperate fully. And drop that pistol, for God’s sake, before I paint this cockpit with your brain.”

  In short order, the remnants of her militia and the Quatro were all inside the shuttles. Lisa shared a craft with Tessa, Rug, and Andy, along with two other Quatro.

  They had no choice but to strap Andy into a crash seat for the takeoff, where Lisa planned to minister to him as best she knew how.

  As for the Quatro, they could only lie on the floor and hope their weight would protect them from the rigors of attaining orbit. Lisa thought that it should protect them, but there was nothing more that could be done, at any rate.

  “What about the others inside Habitat 2?” Andy croaked. “They’ll be slaves, now.”

  Lisa couldn’t believe he was still conscious.“We’ll come back for them,” she said. “As soon as we can.”

  Though she lay on the shuttle’s deck, Rug’s head was still level with Lisa’s. It swung toward her. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “To Eresos, Rug. You’re about to be reunited with your people.”

  Chapter 50

  Payload

  Jake was beginning to appreciate how Chief Roach had felt during his battle with the quad.

  The alien mech had almost total control over the engagement. It was everything Jake could do to evade its ordnance, and the act of trying to divide up his own shooting between his adversary and the robots attacking the Javelin resulted in doing very little damage to either.

  He tried keeping the alien mech at bay with his right rotary autocannon while using his implant to zoom in on the robots attacking the Javelin and firing at them with his left.

  That worked to neutralize two more of the robots, until his inability to split his attention resulted in the alien mech getting the better of him by rocketing to Jake’s right to come at him with a hammerhand that had a lot of extra mass, drawn forward from the mech’s forearms and biceps.

  Jake went spinning out of control from the blow, much faster than he had before, and instead of following him, the mech took a different tack.

  It spun around and started to help the smaller robots by pelting the destroyer with ordnance that resembled large, medieval-era cannonballs. The robots had disabled many of the Javelin’s point defense turrets, and most of the shots got through.

  As Jake stabilized at last, he watched as one of the Javelin’s main engines exploded.

  No!

  Apparently, the mech had figured out that if it neutralized the destroyer, then Jake, Bronson, and the crew of the Javelin would be stranded, and the robot army would be able to pic
k them apart at their leisure.

  At least, it certainly looks like it figured that out.

  Of course, Jake was the true lynch pin of his and Bronson’s defense. Without him, there was simply no way to deal with the robots crawling all over the warship, intent on ripping it apart.

  He was their key to victory. And he was failing utterly. Again.

  Rocketing at the alien mech, he turned his thrusters’ propulsion up to maximum for the first time since they’d started fighting. Before, he’d been too afraid of missing his mark and careening into space, spending precious seconds reorienting himself.

  Now, he understood that he simply had to take that risk. The Javelin was about to be incapacitated permanently, and when that happened, all would be lost.

  As Jake’s charge neared his adversary, the alien mech formed a giant metal fist, this time with its right hand only. Then it performed a complex rocketing maneuver that had it swinging around, its fist connecting with Jake just as he was about to collide with it.

  As fast as Jake had been coming at the mech, he now traveled that fast away from it, toward the comet, his attempts to make adjustments with his thrusters only increasing his wild spinning. Several agonizing seconds later, he crashed into the comet’s surface.

  He groaned, and a dark haze descended over everything he could see, which he interpreted as the dream communicating to him that he was nearing the end of his resolve—his will to fight—as well as the end of his energy, his stamina.

  Reluctantly, he got to his feet…in time to see the alien mech catch a Banshee missile with cupped hands, swing it around, and reverse its momentum back toward the destroyer, blowing a gaping hole in her side.

  With that, the mech did something as unexpected as it was devastating. It turned slowly in midair, toward Jake, but it didn’t fire on him—it was as though the mech was trying to tell him something with its cold, inhuman gaze.

  Then, it turned toward his father’s comet hopper and unloaded a payload of six rockets at it.