by Jay Allan
"I will grind you into the dirt, Petty Officer. That's a promise." He glanced at one of the privateers behind him. "Grab Mr. Hacksaw."
The privateer bowed, and left.
Mao Sing Ming grinned ferally, his silver-plated teeth glinting once again in the light. "Mr. Hacksaw is our resident interrogator. Can you guess what tool is his specialty?"
I sent a message to Big Dog via my Implant. Now, Big Dog.
"Proximity cameras detecting multiple bogeys, Captain!" an SK privateer near the silver box said in Korean-Chinese.
Mao Sing Ming stood the ATLAS to its full height, and spun his torso toward the man. "What? How did they get through the automated defense system?"
"I don't know, Captain. The defenses are firing, but the bogeys seem unaffected!"
Amazing the trouble a dozen fist-sized drones could cause. They could dodge into and out of weapons range with ease, dropping out of sight to the surface for ten seconds then oscillating right back up again.
Well done, Big Dog!
"So the rest of his platoon presents itself," Mao Sing Ming said. "Gather up the men and meet me at airlock five. I'll handle this in person." He turned toward me. "I'll deal with you later, MOTH scum." He shoved one of the mech's arm-sized fingers into my chest.
I was still on my knees, and the sheer force of that blow just slid me straight back, giving me friction-burns all along my knees, front calves and upper feet, with a throbbing pain in my chest where that metallic finger had jabbed me. I slumped down on my butt, and collapsed.
Nerdy and Cross-eyed hoisted me to my feet and led me away from the "throne room," heading back toward the janitorial "brig."
Eyes open, I sent to my fire team. Target is on the way out. In the ATLAS mech.
That ATLAS was going to cause serious trouble for my teammates. I wasn't about to sit back while the lives of my fire team were at risk.
No.
While I still had breath in me, I would help my team.
I waited until the two privateers had me right beside the janitorial room.
Then I made my move.
I turned to the right and slammed the flat of my left palm into Cross-eyed's larynx. He hit the wall, but I kept turning so that I could give Nerdy a nasty ridge-hand strike to the brain stem. He collapsed like a rag doll. A brain stem strike could be fatal, but I'd controlled the blow. Though he was unconscious, Nerdy was still breathing.
Cross-eyed seemed to be having trouble though. He was grabbing at his throat, wheezing beside me.
I knelt beside him. "Breathe mate. Breathe. It will pass. Breathe." These were privateers, sure, and they'd killed people, but I followed a personal code, and one of the rules was: do not kill unless absolutely necessary.
I wouldn't stoop to their level.
Cross-eyed shook his head. His face was all red. That meant some air was coming through. If he couldn't breathe, his face would be turning blue.
"That's the way, mate. Breathe. Breathe."
I couldn't wait here much longer. When I was sure he was all right, I grabbed the rifle from where he'd dropped it and brained him with the butt. He'd live.
I scooped up Nerdy's rifle too for good measure. Wouldn't do for him to shoot me in the back when he regained consciousness.
During that little fight, the adrenalin had masked my joint pain, but now it came back with a vengeance. If I lifted the rifle higher than my elbows, my shoulders screamed. Well, nothing like a little pain to let me know I was alive. I'd gone through worse in training.
Retracing the original path I had been taken on when I first entered the base, I hurried through the mess hall and reached the door labeled "Control."
It was locked. Needed a keycode to access.
"Help!" I yelled in Korean-Chinese. "The prisoner is loose! Let me in!"
The door slid open. Typical privateer operation. Unorganized, cheap bastards. Didn't even have an internal camera system. There'd only ever be problems outside the base, right?
Nicely done.
I ran inside and with a few threats had the operator shut down the external defense systems, then I knocked him unconscious with the butt of my rifle. I didn't think Mao Sing Ming was outside the base yet, because he would have ordered the defense systems shutdown beforehand.
Defense systems are offline, I sent to my fire team. Proceed to base. Repeat. Proceed to base.
I returned to the airlock I'd used for entry. I paused to read the numeral inscribed on the airlock. Korean-Chinese characters were tricky, but with help from my Implant I translated it as "two."
My opened jumpsuit was right where I'd left it.
Like I said, typical unorganized, incompetent bastards. If Mao Sing Ming ran his ship as badly as he ran this base, he would have been caught a long time ago. Then again, you were only as good as the people under you. Maybe he kept his best men on the ship during these outings.
I put the jumpsuit on and sealed the helmet, leaving behind the osmium weight attachments. I was supposed to wait an hour to accommodate to the lower pressure in the suit, "pre-breathing" as they called it in astronaut lingo. Well, I was already experiencing decompression sickness. Couldn't get any worse, right? There was really nothing I could do about it: I wasn't going to face Mao Sing Ming without a proper jumpsuit.
Currently pursuing target, I sent to my fire team.
I ran through the passageways and compartments, looking for airlock five. But it turned out I didn't have to do much searching, this was a small base after all, and the next passageway I turned onto offered me a view clear to the other side, right through three passageways and two compartments, where an ATLAS mech and four men in gray jumpsuits were preparing to enter an airlock.
Target in sight, I sent to my squad. Repeat. Target in sight. Taking him down.
I aimed through my scope and fired off a shot. The recoil buffer on Nerdy's rifle was turned off and I felt the full force of the kickback, but I barely noticed it. My attention was all on the hit:
One of the fluid tubes that fed the servomotor of the ATLAS mech's right knee burst.
That got his attention.
Mao Sing Ming swiveled his ATLAS around and started running straight for me.
"Oh... shit."
I fired off two more shots, aiming for the cockpit, but I missed both times, and the bullets ricocheted off the armor. No. This wasn't going to work. I needed armor piercing rounds not this birdshot.
I turned and ran.
Currently being pursued by target, I sent to my squad.
A MOTH jumpsuit was basically an exoskeleton that enhanced one's natural strength, which had the nice benefit of boosting one's top running speed, so I was able to make good time away from the ATLAS. I could hear it stomping through those tight passageways behind me though. I knew Mao Sing Ming would have to move slowly in some sections if he wanted to make sure he didn't accidentally rip his little base open. He probably hadn't fired at me yet for the same reason: Gatling guns and rockets could do a fine number on these thin bulkheads.
I ended up in the shuttle hangar. There were two guards watching the shuttle, and I was forced to shoot them. I felt a pang of regret, but it was either them or me, and it definitely wasn't going to be me.
The shuttle down-ramp was conveniently deployed, and by the looks of it, the robotic arms had just finished loading the vessel's cargo bay with fuel canisters for the mothership in orbit. I hurried up the ramp and made my way to the cockpit, a small two seater. I sat down and stared at the slew of controls arrayed before me.
I'd only trained in UC shuttles, so of course all these controls were foreign to me.
"Gatlings," I said. "Come on, where are the gatlings?"
My skin was starting to itch around my face and neck. Yet another sign of decompression sickness. Felt like insects were crawling over my cheeks and into my ears.
I ignored the sensation. Since I didn't have the serial number for the shuttle, I got my Implant to pull up the closest matching SK cockpit, then had i
t point out the fire and thrust controls to me.
I glanced out the thermoplastic windows, which faced the hangar entrance. I could still hear that distant stomping, growing louder with each moment. Mao Sing Ming would appear at the entrance in his mech any second now.
Wincing at the pain in my shoulders, I wrapped my fingers around the gatling triggers and aimed the turrets at the entrance.
The ATLAS emerged.
"Right on time," I said.
I pressed the triggers.
"Invalid fire authorization," a friendly woman's voice intoned in Korean-Chinese. "State password."
"What!"
I tried again.
"Invalid fire authorization. State password."
I could see Mao Sing Ming grinning in the ATLAS as he approached.
I tried activating the shuttle's thrust.
"Invalid thrust authorization. State password."
I got my Implant to list the makes and models of half a dozen SK shuttles, then had it playback the default passwords the shuttles shipped with. I read those passwords aloud in turn, my hands still tight around the gatling triggers.
"Linebacker."
Denied.
"Mini-ap."
Denied.
"Admin."
Denied.
Mao Sing Ming's ATLAS was halfway to the shuttle.
"Diamond."
"Change-me."
"Change-me-two."
The ATLAS was a quarter way to the shuttle.
"Root."
"Blender."
"Default."
"1234."
The ATLAS was right at the shuttle.
"Private."
"Password."
"Fire authorization granted," the cheery female voice said.
Password.
Like I said, unorganized, incompetent bastards.
The gatlings positively ignited.
Unfortunately, I hadn't updated the turrets' aim all this time, so Mao Sing Ming had time to leap aside. The gatling fire tore through the hangar and ripped open the bulkhead.
An anti-breach seal slammed down over the entrance as the hangar compartment explosively decompressed. The shuttle and its contents weren't affected, despite the open ramp, nor was the ATLAS. But some barrels and other loose items in the hangar were sucked through the rip. I was safe in the pressurized environment of my jumpsuit of course, just as Mao Sing Ming was safe in his ATLAS cockpit.
I sealed the ramp and activated the shuttle's vertical jets, lifting off. I swiveled the shuttle along the yaw axis, firing the gatlings the whole time. My guns trailed the ATLAS, which was basically circling me. Bloody mech could move fast when it had the room.
Abruptly the shuttle slammed into the concave overhead of the hangar. I hadn't been paying attention and had risen too far. I lowered the shuttle, pitched its nose downward, and swiveled further on the yaw axis, trying to aim ahead of the ever-moving ATLAS. I realized what he was doing now. Those orbits he was making around the shuttle were tightening with each pass. Mao Sing Ming was moving in for the kill.
I fired off a rocket. I missed, blowing a large hole in the hangar bulkhead.
The ATLAS leaped right at me—
I applied full forward thrust, passing through the gaping hole I'd just made. I heard the edges of the hole scrape against my ship. It sounded a little like the scraping of nails down a blackboard.
The instant I emerged from the base's artificial gravity field, the shuttle shot forward. Too much thrust. I cut way back on the throttle and started to turn the shuttle around.
A warning klaxon sounded. One of the engines was on fire.
That's when I saw a blurry metallic line streaming past from behind me.
Mao Sing Ming was firing his own gatling guns.
I tried to steer away from that deadly line of steel, but I'd basically lost control. The craft was spinning away from the asteroid. I was about to eject when something smashed into the shuttle and the vessel plunged back toward the surface. I saw a large metal hand wrapped around one wing.
Mao Sing Ming wasn't going to let me get away so easily.
Probably wasn't a good idea to eject just yet. A man in a jumpsuit in open space, equipped only with a cheap privateer rifle, versus a fully armed ATLAS.
Not good odds.
He could have destroyed me back there. I was defenseless, spinning away in a disabled shuttled. But he wanted to toy with me. Wanted to rip my wings off one by one.
I was going to stay inside the shuttle as long as possible.
He continued to apply the ATLAS jumpjets, forcing the craft toward the surface. The shuttle crashed into the asteroid a few seconds later.
I felt a terrible jar as the cockpit depressurized and crumpled around me.
I was in darkness.
The red emergency lights activated.
At least the warning klaxon shut off.
I undid my seatbelt and launched myself into the air just as the cockpit windows smashed in and a large metal hand reached inside. I floated toward the back of the downed shuttle thanks to the low G, and went past the toppled fuel canisters toward the exit ramp. I tried the manual release.
Jammed.
The ATLAS directed one of its gatling guns inside and pointed it right at me. And then I saw him there, Mao Sing Ming, sitting pretty in his cockpit before the smashed shuttle window, wild feral smile on his face, silver teeth glistening in the emergency lights. I was pretty sure that was the last image I would have in this life.
What a way to go.
Then a small circular hole appeared in the mech's cockpit glass. The inner atmosphere gushed out, misting ever so slightly.
Mao Sing Ming slumped in the cockpit.
I edged toward him.
Abruptly the chest cavity of the ATLAS opened up and Mao Sing Ming ejected, launching himself toward me and into the shuttle. He was protected from the ravages of space by a gray jumpsuit. SK make. There was a small hole in it, near (I thought) his solar plexus, and globules of blood pulsed out. When someone's suit depressurized, normally the skin formed a seal, along with the coagulating blood. I didn't know what was happening inside his suit right now, but I did know that he was coming straight for me.
I launched myself from the far wall and we collided in midair.
He tried to unlatch my helmet. I fought off his arms and spun him around. In one smooth motion I snapped the cord that fed his rebreather and gave him a good kick.
As fast as it began, it was over.
Mao Sing Ming floated away from me, struggling to reconnect his rebreather, not realizing that the cord was fatally torn. Globules of blood continued to float from his chest wound. His movements slowed as the seconds passed, until finally he ceased all motion. His lifeless body floated to the far side of the shuttle and stayed there.
"Nice of you to keep us updated, sir." Big Dog peered through the broken shuttle window, and squeezed past the ATLAS to crawl inside.
"Sorry. Thanks for that." I nodded at the immobile mech.
"Don't thank me. Trace fired the kill shot."
I was going to say it wasn't the kill shot, but bit back my words. Let Trace take the credit for it. That's how I'd let it stand in the official records. Maybe he'd get a medal. I certainly didn't want one. Just doing my job.
So ended Mao Sing Ming, privateer extraordinaire, kidnapper and murderer, Malefactor of the East. No passenger ship would have to fear his like in UC space again. We hadn't been able to get to the privateer vessel in orbit, but we'd already gone above and beyond the call of duty as far as I was concerned. We'd dealt this group of privateers a heavy blow. They'd be severely demoralized with the loss of their Captain, not to mention the ATLAS.
We secured some C4 to the ATLAS and detonated it. Trace and Ghost retrieved Mao Sing Ming's body while Big Dog lent me two of his osmium weights. Then we space-hopped toward the dark side of the asteroid, heading for the pickup point.
All the excitement had made me forget the decompression si
ckness symptoms. But I remembered now, don't you worry. The joint pain, the headache, the itching skin. And this was new: Incontinence. Yup. Both number two and number one. Good thing I was in a suit and that stuff just went right out into space. But still.
I couldn't wait to get myself to a hyperbaric chamber.
Ah well.
Just another day in the life of a MOTH.
I lived for this.
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Thank you for reading!
I hope you enjoyed this short story from the ATLAS universe. "ATLAS," the full-length military science-fiction novel, is available now. Snakeoil, Lui, Facehopper, Big Dog and Fret all make an appearance when Special Warfare Command sends Alfa Platoon on a covert operation 8,000 light-years beyond the furthest reaches of explored space, on a mission that could save humanity. Or destroy it.
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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 blogger, cyclist, and photographer who resides in Edmonton, Alberta.
His experimental genre-bending action novel THE FOREVER GATE was an Amazon #1 bestseller in both the science fiction and fantasy categories when it was released in May 2013, and was recognized as Indie Book of the Day. His military science fiction novel, ATLAS, became a similar bestseller one year later, attracting the attention of 47North. ATLAS 2 is due out December 2, 2014, with ATLAS 3 coming summer 2015.
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To be notified when his next novel comes out, click here to sign up for his New Release mailing list. You can unsubscribe at any time. Here is the link again, spelled out for easy cutting and pasting: http://bit.ly/atlaslist
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You can keep in touch with Isaac or his writing through one—or all—of the following means:
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