by Isaac Hooke
Rade watched the orbital entry and atmospheric descent via one of the external cameras, which Bourbonjack had granted him access to. There was no pilot in the cockpit—the Dragonfly was controlled by the onboard AI.
As the craft closed with the shattered dome below, Rade felt his heart rate increase. The shuttle slowed down, weaving past a pair of broken glass panels and into the punctured dome environment. As the craft swooped low across the buildings, he could see walkers and treaders on the rooftops targeting his shuttle and Bourbonjack’s, the turrets swinging to keep the vessels in their sights.
In a few minutes both shuttles had set down on an L-shaped, four-story apartment building.
Rade’s craft remained sealed. He rotated the external camera toward the second Dragonfly and watched the ramp lower. Bourbonjack emerged, flanked by two of his mercenaries. More of Bourbonjack’s men fanned out behind him, along with the merc Centurions.
Rade noticed that the two shuttles had been strategically placed so as to block the view from other nearby buildings. The entire rooftop was still visible to two small drones flying overhead, however. On his HUD map the drones were indicated as two red, hovering dots.
Bourbonjack’s group walked toward the center of the rooftop, where Falon was waiting with his own robot troops. The Artificial was not wearing a jumpsuit.
“What do you want, Bourbonjack?” Falon asked.
“As I told you earlier, I found something in the wreckage,” Bourbonjack said. “Something I can only show you in person.”
“What?” Falon said.
“Not until you dismiss the drones.” Bourbonjack beckoned skyward. “This is something you won’t want your Phant friends to see.”
Falon frowned. “This better be important, Bourbonjack.”
“I assure you, you’ll be very pleased,” Bourbonjack replied.
Falon regarded him suspiciously a moment longer, and then the red dots representing the drones on the overhead map departed.
Rade saw Bourbonjack’s text over the private line. Activating shuttle jamming devices. That would prevent Falon or any of the robots from getting a signal out over the next few moments.
“What are you doing?” Falon said.
“Giving you your present.” Bourbonjack smiled, then from the holster on his back he produced the non-arcing stun rifle that Rade had provided, courtesy of Surus.
Bourbonjack unleashed the weapon. The muted blast drifted through the air; bolts of electricity traveled up and down Falon’s stiffened form, and he collapsed.
Meanwhile the combat robots and mercenaries with Bourbonjack opened fire on Falon’s robot escort, terminating them all in short order. One of the Centurions with Bourbonjack fell as a defender managed to get off a shot, but otherwise the mercs suffered no casualties.
While Bourbonjack and his mercenaries guarded the rooftop, two Centurions dragged the stunned Falon toward Rade’s Dragonfly. The ramp lowered.
Surus opened the Phant trap and the Centurions tossed Falon inside. Surus sealed the container. Falon’s prostrate form floated toward the center of the trap and began to rotate horizontally. The container emitted a rising hum as Falon’s spinning body became a blur.
Meanwhile other Centurions and mercenaries carried the robot wreckages to Rade’s shuttle and piled them inside next to the trap, hiding the evidence.
Inside the container, green drops began to seep out of the spinning Artificial, and started coalescing into a sphere above the blurry body. Soon the last of those drops emerged, and the globe ascended to the black box in the ceiling, which sealed around the Phant.
The trapped Artificial became visible as its rotation slowed; the humming sound diminished, fading entirely as the body came to a halt. The Artificial floated back down to the bottom of the container.
Surus opened the trap and dragged out the stunned Artificial. From her jumpsuit boot, the green liquid that was Surus flowed out, and diffused into the Artificial via its exposed hand. A few moments after the last of the liquid disappeared inside, the eyes of Falon’s male host momentarily glazed over with green droplets. Then the Artificial blinked twice, clearing the residue, and stood.
“I’m in,” Falon said. Or rather, Surus.
“Deactivating jamming devices,” Bourbonjack said over the comm. “Prepare for return.”
“Good luck,” Rade told Surus, watching the Artificial walk down the ramp. Meanwhile Algorithm, free of Surus, took its place in an empty seat once more.
Surus paused to glance back at Rade over one shoulder.
“As you are so fond of saying, I don’t need luck,” Surus said. “Tell Bender to enjoy the new weapon.”
“I’m sure he will,” Rade replied.
Bourbonjack, along with his mercenaries and Centurions, loaded onto the second Dragonfly, then the ramps of both craft closed.
The shuttles departed the rooftop, leaving Surus behind in her new body.
twenty-five
The two shuttles docked with the Piranha shortly afterward. No alarms had been raised. All was going as planned. For the time being.
Rade waited in the mech hangar bay with the other Argonauts for news. They all wore their jumpsuits, but the faceplates were currently open to save oxygen. They sat on the large metal feet of their mechs; the lot of them were nervous, and impatient for the call to action.
Fret tapped his boot up and down. A soft rap-a-tap echoed repeatedly from the deck.
“Can you stop that, bitch!” Bender said.
“Sorry,” Fret said.
Fret stopped. But a moment later he started up again.
Bender lifted the arms of his jumpsuit in frustration, and Rade thought the man was going to leap on Fret, but then the latter activated his noise canceler, muting the tapping sound.
Bender relaxed visibly behind his faceplate. “That’s a good bitch.”
Rade ran his gaze across the men. These loyal, ass-kicking men who would follow him to the ends of the universe. And as he looked at their brave faces, he couldn’t help but feel that someone was missing.
Rade tapped in Shaw.
“Hey my warrior,” Shaw said.
“Hey,” he replied.
“It’s that quiet time before the big mission,” Shaw said.
“You know it,” Rade said.
“How are your nerves?” Shaw asked.
“As good as can be expected,” Rade said.
“Are the men up to their usual shenanigans to distract their minds?” Shaw asked.
“Surprisingly, no,” Rade said. “I haven’t heard a peep from Manic or Bender. Well, other than a quick outburst over Fret tapping his boot.”
“I wonder if we should be worried,” Shaw said.
“I don’t know,” Rade said. “Maybe we’ve just been in too many battles. And nothing can really distract us from the truth anymore. Maybe we’ve come to accept that we’ll either live, or we’ll die, and while we have training that will help skew our chances of survival, we all know the end could come at any time. Either to us, or any of our brothers, human or AI. And that’s a sobering thought.”
“Maybe the tension is made worse because you’re facing Phant shock troops once more,” Shaw said. “Something you haven’t seen in a very long time.”
“The images brought back disturbing memories, I have to admit,” Rade said. “I probably shouldn’t have shared the video with my men. Then again, they need to know what we’re facing.” He paused. Then: “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
“I have the twins to guard,” Shaw said. “Now, of all times, that’s my role. If something goes wrong, I want to be the one who shoves them into the lifepod and gets them to safety.”
“Cora or Dora could do the task equally well,” Rade said.
“Maybe,” Shaw said. “But they are my children. The duty is mine.”
Rade nodded to himself, though she couldn’t see it.
Shaw spoke again. “It sounds like you actually want me to come on this mission.
”
Rade sighed, laughing softly. “You caught me.”
“That’s a change,” Shaw said. “Usually you’re always pressing for me to remain ‘safely aboard,’ as you call it.”
“I know,” Rade said. “I guess… I feel your absence more keenly because the last time I fought against Phant shock troops, you were there with me.”
“I see,” Shaw said. “And what about those missions I joined you on more recently?”
“I’ll admit I miss those days, too,” Rade said. “It feels like you were meant to fight by my side, as much as I hate the thought of you getting anywhere close to the line of fire. I can’t explain it. My feelings are in conflict, dueling with each other. On the one hand I want you here with me, and I find myself missing the old Shaw. On the other, I’m happy you’re staying aboard, protecting the twins.”
“You are a complex man,” Shaw said.
“Am I?” Rade said.
“Yes,” Shaw replied.
“I think I’m just a simple man,” Rade said. “An ordinary man, who sometimes finds himself placed in extraordinary circumstances.”
“You’re not an ordinary man,” Shaw said. “Never an ordinary man. You’re a MOTH, remember?”
“Ex-MOTH,” Rade clarified.
“Well, as the men would say, once a MOTH, always a MOTH,” Shaw said.
Rade chuckled. “You’re sounding more and more like them everyday.”
“Is that a good thing?” Shaw said.
“I don’t know,” Rade said. “I’d like to think so.” He sighed. “Well, I better clear the line. The order to drop could come anytime.”
“All right,” Shaw said.
“Thanks for calming my nerves,” Rade said.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Shaw replied.
He was about to disconnect when she spoke again.
“And Rade,” Shaw said.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Give those Phants hell,” Shaw told him.
He grinned weakly. “I love you.”
He waited for her to reply in kind, but all he got was a disconnect notice. For some reason that stung, even though he knew she probably hadn’t heard him, likely having already issued the disconnect command as he said the words.
Love you, her text came a moment later, and all was made right in the universe.
Rade leaned back, resting his helmet against the metal leg of his mech, and looked up at the Hoplite he would take into battle. Would Electron be enough against those shock troops? And what about all the robots the Phants had amassed? There was a veritable army of them out there.
Rade sighed.
For once he would have liked the odds to be a little more even.
Why do we always seem to be a few men going up against an army?
Bourbonjack visited the hangar bay in person a few minutes later.
“I wanted to personally see you boys off,” the mercenary chief said. “Falon, I mean Surus, tells me it’ll be any time now.”
“Is the Piranha in place?” Rade asked.
“It is.” Bourbonjack had positioned the Piranha in the best possible location for a surprise attack against Ghal’s Corsair, the Salient. Meanwhile, the unarmed merchant vessel, the Crab Apple, would be out of the Piranha’s line of sight in the initial bombardment, but Bourbonjack promised he would disable it after the Salient was out of action. Assuming the remaining members of Bourbonjack’s team aboard the other Corsair, the Raccoon, pulled through. Speaking of which...
“Have you told the crew of the Raccoon your plans yet?” Rade asked.
“No,” Bourbonjack said. “While in theory they work for me, like I told you before, I’m still not sure how much I can trust them, especially if Ghal has waved a bigger paycheck under their noses. I’ll tell them about my planned attack maybe twenty seconds before we engage with the Salient. And if they decide to turn on me, then I’ll deal with them.”
“I hope so,” Rade said.
“You hope they turn on me?” Bourbonjack said. “Or that I’ll deal with them?”
“The latter, of course,” Rade said.
Bourbonjack smiled wistfully. He knew that Rade’s children would remain aboard, along with Shaw. “I’ll protect them.”
“You will,” Rade said. “Or you know what’s going to happen to you, don’t you?”
Bourbonjack raised his hands. “If anything happens to them, you have my permission to hunt me down and string me up like a chicken.”
Bender perked up. “Did someone say chicken?”
Bourbonjack glanced at the man, and chuckled. “Never changes, does he? Hey, Bender, are chicken chips still your favorite food?”
“You know me too well,” Bender said.
“When this is through,” Bourbonjack said. “I’ll buy you a whole cartload of chicken chips.”
“I won’t say no to that!” Bender said. “All you need to do now is throw in a skin musician massage at a flesh parlor, and I’ll be set for my next liberty!”
Bourbonjack grinned, then walked over to Nemesis. His Implant would have reported the Hoplite as empty—since Shaw wasn’t coming, Rade planned to let the AI operate the unit. Though if Bourbonjack wanted to pilot it, Rade might have just let the man.
Bourbonjack longingly reached a hand toward the mech, stopping before his fingers made contact with the hull. Nemesis would have allowed the man to touch it, of course; the Machine Constitution prevented the mech from harming the man. But if Bourbonjack had been marked as an enemy unit, that was a different story altogether. Ah, the much vaunted-military version of the Machine Constitution, humanity’s guarantee that their war machines would never intentionally harm them—unless of course the robot in question assigned them to the wrong team. Or a Phant inhabited the AI core.
“I really should buy some of these mechs for myself,” Bourbonjack said. He sighed loudly, and then turned around. “You know, I really wish I could come along. It would be just like old times.”
“Sure you remember how to pilot one of these, old man?” Bender taunted.
“Come down to the simulator with me, and I’ll show you,” Bourbonjack said.
“Oh-ho!” Bender said. “The simulator doesn’t make one a pilot! Put your first officer in command of this tin bucket you call a ship and come down with us. Then we’ll see if you still got the goods. Or if you’re just another pussy in a mech.”
“Do you still talk a bigger game than you actually play?” Bourbonjack said.
“Trust me, my game is far bigger than my lips,” Bender said.
“He means his labial lips!” Manic chimed in.
“Yeah bitch, my labial lips...” Bender said. “It’s definitely bigger than that. Considering I don’t have any!”
Bourbonjack walked away from the mechs, obviously disheartened. “Well, this is all talk anyway. Because I’m not going. My place is here, with my men.”
“I remember a time when we were your men,” Rade said.
Bourbonjack smiled fondly. “So do I.” He abruptly raised a halting palm, and then held the other hand to his ear. “Falon, or I mean Surus, is reporting in. She’s disabled the surface-to-space defense system. And placed charges at the shipyard. It’s time for you to drop.” He entered the airlock and turned around to face the squad. “Kill a ton of bugs for me.”
“You can count on it,” Rade said. “Argonauts, we launch!”
twenty-six
Rade and the Argonauts closed their faceplates and loaded into the Hoplites.
Rade’s cockpit hatch sealed, and the inner actuators cocooned him. The external camera feed piped into his vision.
“Welcome back again,” Electron said. “Will you stay a little longer this time?”
“Only a little,” Rade said.
“I’m looking forward to our planetary excursion,” Electron said.
“Well, at least one of us is, then,” Rade said, waiting for the hangar bay atmosphere to vent. “It’s like taking the dog out to walk, I suppo
se. The dog is always more excited than the master.”
“I’m just a dog to you, is that what you’re saying?” Electron replied.
“Basically,” Rade joked.
“But if I’m a dog, then that makes you a flea,” Electron said.
“I suppose it does,” Rade said. “But this flea is in control of the dog.”
The hangar bay opened.
“Argonauts, go!” Rade ordered over the comm. He took a running leap into the void and issued decelerating thrust to begin the descent.
The Piranha hurtled away above.
He saw flashes overhead as Bourbonjack launched missiles and Vipers against the nearby Salient; the mercenary chief would be concentrating on the weapons and engines, with a preference on the former, at least in the initial few moments.
But then several more flashes came as a broadside hit the Piranha on the opposite flank. Apparently the Raccoon had decided to throw in its lot with Ghal after all. Bourbonjack was in for a fight then.
No doubt he was having the time of his life.
Rade only hoped Shaw and the twins would be all right. But he dismissed those thoughts: he had to concentrate on the coming battle.
The conical aeroshell deployed underneath him to protect him from the heat of atmospheric entry; as the orange flames subsided, the heat shield broke away, blackened and depleted.
Rade mentally prepared himself for what was coming. This was not a stealth mission, like the last one. In the First Alien War, humanity had devised special emitters for their mechs; when the tech was installed, it allowed the units to sneak past other Phants, who would believe the mechs possessed by their own kind. Surus had explained that the Phants had since learned how to differentiate between the signature of a real Phant and a false one, so those emitters wouldn’t be of much use to the team here. Of course, the Hoplites still had the Phant-repelling tech installed, which would at least protect the AI cores from possession.
So yes, it was not a stealth mission. Rade and his Argonauts would hit the ground hot.
He glanced at his overhead map. The blue dots of the Hoplites dropped within a one kilometer radius around him. Three kilometers behind were the dots representing the descending booster rockets; those payloads would land outside the dome, about half a klick to the south. No shuttles containing HS3s or Centurions accompanied them—those units would be relatively useless in the battle to come, little more than cannon fodder.