by Richard Fox
“No chance,” Makarov said.
“There is,” Roland said. “And we will hold what we’ve got until we can’t, then the Fleet guarding the Keystone will depart.”
Makarov’s jaw clenched and she shook her head.
“Would you stay and fight anyone else?” Roland asked.
“No, my love,” she said, her voice cracking. “For anyone else, I’d leave once the fight on the ground was lost. I wish the Lady had made me different, as perfect as other commanders.”
“Don’t orphan them,” Roland said quietly. “Don’t let them grow up like we did.”
Makarov broke the channel.
Roland put his hands on his hips and stared into the cup of cold coffee.
“Are you Armor?” Roland asked after a few seconds.
“No, sir, I’m just me.” Ely looked down in shame. “I don’t have any training and—”
“Then sending you to the fight would be a death sentence. The soldiers with you would be at risk as well. You understand why?” he asked.
“Soldiers are trained to fight together. I don’t have that training and I’d be a monkey wrench in the works,” Ely said. “I know machines, at least.”
Roland took a small communicator off his belt and handed it to Ely.
“Here. This comm will connect to mine. If our outlook down here changes, I’ll be in touch. If my wife is right, you might have the key to winning this war in your head. It comes down to a moon shot or certain failure…the Warsaw will come for you.”
“I don’t—”
“Not your call.” Roland held up a hand. “Makarov can hold out against hope. I can hold until the walls fall. You know machines? Go find Chief Sugimoto and have her put you to work. Stay busy, stay useful…and stay safe.”
“I get it.” Ely nodded and went to the doors.
“I met your father once,” Roland said.
“You did?” Ely looked back.
“I was a busboy at Deco’s. Big, fancy restaurant in Phoenix. I was about your age and due for my compulsory service. He asked what job I wanted in the military and he encouraged me to join the Pathfinder Corps.” One corner of Roland’s mouth tugged into a smile. “I didn’t listen. Went Armor instead.”
“How’d that work out?”
“Remains to be seen,” Roland deadpanned.
“I did a little bit of the Pathfinder thing in Terra Nova.” Ely shook his head. “Not as great as people make it out to be. It was mostly terrifying and horrible.”
“How’d Armor treat you?”
“Neither’s been a great experience, sorry.” Ely shrugged. “Orbital artillery. Nice and boring. Just you and a couple other techs in a big tin can waiting to shoot something.”
“We don’t have a lot of boring out here.” Roland drank the last of his coffee with a frown. “Move out. Draw fire.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 24
Getting away from the command center wasn’t overly difficult. The Crusaders working in and around the offices all looked sleep-deprived and gaunt—too many meals taken from the piles of food in the hallways and corners, which were mostly tubes of nutrient paste and soup that just needed hot water to be palatable.
In his simple fatigues and still-squishy boots, Ely stuck out like a sore thumb from the Crusaders. They were uniformly tall and spoke a language amongst themselves that didn’t sound at all like English or a Romance language. Marc Ibarra was from somewhere between France and Spain back when those countries still existed, but their gibberish was unintelligible to what little high school French he remembered.
Power-armored legionnaires let him out of armored doors and locked him out in an underground garage. The city above had moved below ground, with about as much grace and dignity as a crashed gypsy caravan. Families clustered in tents put up in empty ammo cases with whatever worldly possessions they still had.
Ely found signs on pillars and meandered a bit before figuring out the pattern. A staff officer in the headquarters told him that Sugimoto was in the same cemetery where he’d dismounted.
“Turning wrenches, OK,” he muttered to himself. “Guess I can finally do something useful instead of getting carted around…” His face darkened and he shoved his hands in his pockets. Partly to sulk, partly to keep his hands warm in the chill air.
Children stared at him as he went through the garage. He hadn’t seen many his age, and he assumed that they’d been drafted into the fighting.
A woman with a toddler sleeping on her lap studied him as he approached her hovel.
“Zein unitaterekin zaude?” she asked.
“No habla. No…wait.”
The little girl on her lap stirred awake and blinked at Ely.
“What unit are you with?” the woman asked. “Are you from an archived colony?”
The girl spoke and pushed hair out of her face.
“Terra Nova. No unit, sorry,” Ely said.
“Terra Nova?” The woman perked up. “Terra Nova is back?”
“Just me…do you know where bay Arrano 3-3 is?” Ely backed up slowly, realizing that mentioning the fabled world was probably a mistake.
The girl grew more excited, bouncing up and down on the woman’s lap.
“Ez, ez,” the woman said, giving her a hug. “She thinks you know her brother. He’s in the gold cohort. Perhaps you’ve run into them? Antton Duhalde?”
“No…sorry.” Ely shook his head.
“Pa pa?” The girl tugged at her mother’s sleeve. “Pa pa?”
“Pa pa…ez, Esan dizut…” The woman’s face was veiled in sorrow for a moment, but she forced the emotions down.
“Excuse me.” Ely hurried away and went into a stairwell that smelled of urine. He mashed the back of one hand against his nose and went down two flights of stairs to a new level that was even colder than the one he’d just left.
The word “Arrano” was over bay doors, and he went looking for the 3’s. There weren’t as many civilians around, probably because other floors were warmer.
“I bet Jerry’s doing a lot better than me right now. He was practically a Pathfinder the last time I saw him. Oh, he’d love being in that Armor. Like a fish to water, I’d bet. Course, even being in that suit wouldn’t protect him from Mom, soon as she heard he was running around a battlefield. Mom—”
Ely stopped as sorrow welled up within him. She must be so worried about him, worried for all those years he was in stasis. Did she fight to keep him back until the next wormhole connecting to Terra Nova opened, when the whole colony could have come back, or was he really that close to death that his parents had to risk sending him to Stacey Ibarra?
Admiral Valdar wasn’t here. There was no family. The cold creeped through his clothes and he felt utterly alone.
“What…what am I even doing here?” He rubbed his chest and felt the dog tags beneath his utilities. He fished the tags out and felt their weight in his hands. They were heavier than he remembered his father’s being. Ken Hale always wore a set to honor his Strike Marine years and kept one laced in his boots as Pathfinders had taken to doing.
The floor shook and dust scattered off the ceiling. The entire floor went eerily silent, then another bang echoed through the level.
An old man crouched against the side of a maintenance bay, his eyes wide with fear. He locked eyes with Ely, then turned and ran.
“Are we getting shelled?” He squinted at the ceiling. “I don’t even know how far down I am. If artillery’s landing on the surface…macro-cannon strike would crack the planet’s crust. Not that.”
A line of sparks exploded from a seam in the armored wall. Metal wires shot out and slapped down against the wall and it exploded a heartbeat later. A hunk of metal skidded past Ely and he dove for the space between the garages where the old man had been.
Squeals and squeaks came from the breach as Ely got his back to the thin metal of the garage wall, then peeked around the corner.
Tall aliens in flame-colored armor spilled i
nto the level. Their helmets looked like an angry mix of an iguana and a raccoon. The plates shifted between flecks of red, yellow, and gold as they moved. A white bolt struck the garage corner just above Ely’s head and he flinched back. A new, neat semicircle with a glowing red edge had been blown out.
More bolts spat through the thin walls and Ely crawled away as fast as he could. Cries and more explosions echoed off the low ceiling. He ran out between lines of garages and found Arrano 3-3. He sprinted across the access lane, feeling terribly exposed and vulnerable.
He slammed into the door and tried to open it. Locked. He heard shouting within.
“Let me in! Let me in! Sugimoto’s waiting for me!”
The door opened suddenly and Ely fell in. He looked up at a pair of terrified men, each armed with hunting rifles and clubs. He was in the cemetery where he’d dismounted from the suit a few hours ago.
“Sugimoto?” one asked.
“Is she here? Because there are some—”
“Sugimoto!” The one with a club pointed back at the catwalk. The suit that once belonged to Elias was there, but now it had a double-barreled gauss cannon on one forearm and a rotary gun mounted on a shoulder, muzzles angled up. The Armor had been cleaned; the suit gleamed beneath the lights.
There was no sign of Sugimoto. Morrigan’s suit was gone.
Civilians huddled around the Armor’s legs, many praying in Latin. Shots grew louder, the alien troops’ blasts mixing with the crack of gauss weapons.
“OK…now what?” Ely looked around, and he could smell the fear of refugees in the maintenance bay. Dozens were beneath the walkway, all staring at him.
“Armor?” The man with the club grabbed him by the shoulder. “You?”
“I’m no…” Ely looked at the far wall where the sound of fighting grew louder and the roof clanged from stray hits. The people all looked at him, their faces pleading for him to act.
“I’ll do what I can.” Ely ran up the catwalk and skidded to a halt in front of the suit. He knocked on the breastplate then picked up the control panel attached by a thick cable to the coffin.
“Ghost? Can you hear me in there? Open up so I can—why isn’t this in English!” Ely swore and shook the control panel in his hands. He pressed every button, then the breastplate opened with a hydraulic whine and the pod inside opened at the top.
“Here goes nothing.” Ely kicked off his boots, threw away his utility top, and crawled up into the suit. He slapped a thigh pocket and pulled out the communicator Roland had given him. He snapped it into a chipset on the inside of the chest housing, then slapped his other pocket and checked that his compound was still there.
Ely hopped into the pod and his bare feet slipped against the slick inner surface. He flailed about and finally got his neck into the collar and slapped it shut. He squeezed his eyes closed and braced himself against the pod.
Nothing.
Ely opened an eye and looked from side to side.
“Ghost? Aignar? What am I supposed to do?” He slapped the side of the pod. “Come on! There are people that need us. Ghost!”
The pod shut and Ely was locked in darkness. The collar tightened and a painful tingle spread from his spine. Ice-cold amniosis flowed into the bottom and Ely cried out. The fluid rose up, and Ely had new doubts about what he was about to do, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to accomplish.
His breathing went shallow and quick as the amniosis reached his mouth. Ely choked on the painfully cold fluid and felt like he was dying…again.
****
“What the hell do you want?”
Ely was in the meadow again. Ghost leaned forward and looked Ely right in the eyes.
“We’re under attack.” Ely extended his left arm and a wire diagram of the double-barreled gauss cannon was there. “You need to take control and—”
“I’m auxiliary systems, not an autonomous program,” the Ghost said. “I couldn’t use you as a long-term meat puppet.”
“That…sounds awful.” Ely reached to one shoulder and touched the holo of the Gatling gun. The barrels spun slowly then pulsed red and yellow. “Then let’s walk. Maybe I can hold them off. Get them away from the civilians. They need us!”
“Aggression.” One of Ghost’s fists blinked out of existence and returned with a finger pointed at Ely’s face. “Fury. Violence of action, Ely Hale. Armor doesn’t go to war to half-ass anything.”
“I can do something useful, probably.” Ely shook the arm with the cannon.
“Who are you?” Ghost put a hand to Ely’s chest and he felt his heart beating hard.
“Why do you keep asking?” Ely said. “I can’t even say my real name.”
Ghost shook his head and vanished.
****
Ely’s perception jolted and he was the suit again, seeing through the helmet optics, feeling the floor against the boots and the weight of the weapons mounted to his suit. Weapons fire echoed through the garage as targeting systems pinpointed the direction with ripples like a stone dropped in a pond on his HUD.
He shifted one leg and refugees scurried away in fright.
“Everybody move!” Ely shouted, grabbing the catwalk in front of him and giving it a shake. “How does this thing—”
+You’re not signed for it! Let’s go!+
Ely bashed a hip against the catwalk and a long segment broke off in front of him. He caught it before it could hit the ground and lowered it gently. Bent over, he saw a huddle of people in one corner.
“Sorry, I’ll…fix it later.” He went to the bay door and paused, waiting for a sensor to detect him and open it.
+Where did I stutter when I said fury and violence of action—+
Ely twisted at his waist then backhanded the bay door, crushing the metal to one side like it was a curtain. Civilian men armed with gauss weapons fired from behind a cargo truck, the far side blackened by flames.
A white bolt shot through the windows and took a defender in the upper chest, slapping him back. The last two defenders went to their comrade and dragged him away, both stealing glances at Ely as he stepped out of the garage.
“Double-barreled gauss cannon, check.” Ely extended his weapon arm and a bullseye reticle appeared against the wall of the next building. A solid line connected a barrel to the bullseye, while a dashed line from the other barrel ran parallel to that. “So how do I shoo—”
The gauss cannon snapped and a shell perforated the garage.
“Oops.”
+I’m adjusting your firing sequence. Open your left hand…good. Close to fire. Don’t have a lot of ammo on board, so pick your targets a little more carefully.+
The aliens in the flame-colored battle armor rushed the cargo truck and came to a sudden halt when they saw Ely. They opened fire, their energy bolts striking Ely’s arms as he crouched down. He felt the pinch of the impacts, but there wasn’t lasting pain.
Ely looked up over his gauss cannon at the aliens, who were shouting at one loading a shell into a launcher.
+That one will hurt more.+
Ely extended his arm out and the reticle floated over the group of aliens. He fired a hail of shells into them, blowing them to pieces and shredding the cargo truck. Gauss shells tore up the concrete floor and a haze of dust and atomized blood floated around the impact site.
The gauss cannon ticked, rocking from side to side.
+Unclench your fist before you blow out the mag rails.+
“Huh? Oh…” Ely opened his hand, unaware of what he’d done. A panel on his back opened and dropped an empty magazine. He felt something shift against his left side and the reticles blinked green.
+Reloaded. Now let’s go find some more.+
Ely stepped out of the garage and over the wrecked truck. The aliens were scattered about, some whole, some not as much.
“What are they?”
+Emerians. Bastard bunch of xenos the Geist found when they hit the Union. We had their world quarantined, and when the Geist offere
d to let them loose on humanity, they jumped at the chance. Don’t be taken alive by them.+
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ely ran forward, the slam of his boots against the ground loud and imposing. He reached the outer wall and followed it toward the sound of more fighting. A drilling machine—one end a corkscrew with crushing bits spiraled down the front cone and a body the length of a bus—stuck out from the wall, surrounded by mangled steel plates.
Emerians trickled out from the other side, forming up around one with a feathered headdress.
Ely quickened into a sprint, then lowered his shoulder where the drill cone met the body. He struck with a clang of metal and the alien machine broke open where it had breached the wall. The drill hinged to one side, slamming against the wall and crushing Emerians into paste.
Ely swung his gun arm across his body and sprayed the assembled alien troops with gauss shells. The few survivors scattered and Ely gave chase.
+No, we have to deal with the breach,+ Ghost said.
Ely felt like a hand had been thrust into his chest and he came to a stop.
+Go back to the drill. Punch your right arm through the gap I’ve marked.+
Ely turned around and there was a blinking yellow field on one side of the breach. The drill machine was broken open, the insides a sparking mass of broken capacitors and hydraulics.
“What about the survivors?” Ely asked.
+Onesie-twosie, the civilians will take care of them. You’re here to kill monsters, not crush ants. Now punch through!+
Ely rammed his arm into the gap and a flame icon appeared on one side of his HUD. There was pressure on the underside of his fist and the feeling of a hose filling up down his arm.
+Bunch more Emerians in that same tunnel. Right hand fist and let’s slow them down before they can get through.+
Ely complied and fire blossomed from gaps in the breach site. He could have sworn he heard screams mingling with the flames.
+Great, but that’s not the only place they came through. I’m not tied in to any of the comms, but there’s weapons fire along the perimeter.+
Ely pulled his arm out. The fingers of his hand were darkened, but they still functioned. He ran toward gunfire.