Mech

by Isaac Hooke

  “But we’re still grounded…” Rade said.

  “That’s right,” the lieutenant commander said. “The Brass isn’t comfortable having you remain on active duty, after what happened. Not just yet. Given the loss of life—thirty-one men, and twenty-two Centurions—they’re reluctant to ‘reward’ you with another mission. You’re our best team, and man, you sure showed it when you nearly took control of this ship.”

  “Yeah, but you could have destroyed our shuttle well before we arrived,” Rade said.

  “We could have,” Scotts admitted. “But we didn’t because of the transmission we received, in your voice, promising to surrender. I’m the one who convinced the admiral that you were being sincere. That almost cost me my commission, considering what happened after you docked.”

  “Sorry,” Rade said.

  “Don’t be,” Scotts said. “I’d probably do it again.”

  “So, you’re bringing us back to Earth then, or…” Rade asked.

  Scotts shook his head. “Can’t. The Nemesis are attacking another, larger colony nearby, with far more ships and troops than were seen here. This fleet has been called in as part of the reinforcements. We’d drop you off at the closest colony, but there aren’t any, so you’re coming with us. You’ll remain aboard during any fighting, however.”

  “Well, that sucks,” Bender said.

  “What happened to the Anarchist?” Rade said.

  “The alien has been reactivated, and we’re studying it in a controlled environment,” Scotts said. “The techs have removed its comm nodes, so it can’t initiate remote communications with any of our interfaces. They’ve also disabled its external body, physically cutting all the electro-actuator leads. The ‘Anarchist’ can, however, answer our questions. And it’s been doing so. It helps, I suppose, that we’ve got its AI core opened up. And Bender’s hack has certainly proven immensely helpful.”

  “I saved the day again, as always,” Bender said.

  “I contributed as well,” TJ said.

  “Nope, it was all me,” Bender quipped.

  “You realize that the Anarchist is in charge of the Nemesis, right?” Tahoe told the lieutenant commander. “Or did the captain not let you listen in to the conversation we had with the alien?”

  “Oh, I heard,” Scotts said. “And I realize the Anarchist is behind it all. Or rather, the main Anarchist entity. Not the independent offshoot we captured.”

  “There has to be a way to track down all the different nodes the Anarchist has on planets in the region,” Lui said. “We can start with the colony worlds where Draactals attacked.”

  “Easier said than done,” Scotts said. “Already we have hunter killer teams searching the planets and moons in question, but it could take a very long time to find our adversary. If it’s true that the entity fled the Draactals and avoided detection from them for thousands of years, it’s certainly going to take us some time to ferret out the enemy.”

  “You also captured some alien technology along with the Anarchist’s mech,” Rade said. “Will that help against the other Nemesis units?”

  “Probably not,” Scots said. “So far, it seems little more than a black box to us. Cynthia has been cooperating, sharing what information she has on the device. It seems that it was mostly the Anarchist who guided her when she initially hooked it up to the Hoplite’s AI core, and she was simply following its directions blindly.”

  “What’s going to happen to our mechs?” Rade asked.

  “We already applied the inoculating code the military developed to protect their other mechs,” the lieutenant commander said. “It deleted the virus the Anarchist installed. The techs have cleared them for duty, however as a precaution, the Brass also wants them to sit out the next battle. They probably won’t be placed on active duty until we return to Earth.”

  “So that’s how it is, huh?” Bender said.

  “I’m sorry,” Scotts said. “Just be glad a court-martial isn’t in the works. Do you realize how difficult the captain’s job is at the moment? He has to send messages to the families of everyone who fell.”

  “I’ll do it,” Rade said. “It was my fault, if indirectly.”

  “No,” Scotts said. “It wasn’t. You couldn’t have known what the Anarchist did to you. Like the rest of us, you’ve come to rely on technology, trusting that everything it feeds your brain is true and accurate. Usually, it is. But in this case, the technology failed us, with devastating consequences. I think it’s probably for the best, that you’ll be sitting the next one out.” He turned to go. “As soon as the techs reactivate your Implants, I’ll send someone down to escort you to your new berthing area.”

  “We won’t be returning to the Harbinger?” Rade asked.

  “Since you’re not going to be participating in the coming battle, there’s no reason to move you,” Scotts said.

  “That seems… odd,” Rade said. “It doesn’t mesh with the usual military protocol.”

  The lieutenant commander shrugged. “Even though your Implants will be given a clean bill of health, the Brass plans to play this one with an abundance of caution. I don’t blame them. Do you? During the fighting, you’ll be staying here, aboard a ship with no mech launch bays, your Brigands in permanent storage.”

  “A Barracuda is a support ship,” Rade said. “It will mostly stay back, if there is any fighting.”

  “That’s right,” Scotts said. “Anyway, I’ll be in touch. Expect my robo assistant in a few hours. That’s when Tech One plans to reactivate your Implants.”

  With that, the lieutenant commander departed.

  Unsurprisingly, it took more than a few hours for the Implants to reactivate. Rade timed it, and counted seven hours and thirty-three minutes.

  After activation, the robotic assistant arrived to escort them from the brig to their new berthing area—the guest quarters. They found Skullcracker waiting in one of the two quarters. There were three pairs of bunks in each, with a lone cot near the toilet, and just a little more standing room than in the cells they’d left behind in the brig.

  “Now I have to share my suite with you guys,” Skullcracker said. “That’s too bad. I was enjoying the solitude.”

  “We’re in the military, bro,” Lui said. “Solitude is a luxury we rarely get.”

  “True, that,” Skullcracker said.

  Skullcracker, Manic, Lui, Bender, Tahoe and Fret roomed with Rade. They let the chief take the cot. In the adjacent room, Snakeoil was given that honor, since he had seniority in grade.

  Ordinarily, as chief, Rade was supposed to have his own quarters, or at minimum a room he shared with another chief, but there weren’t that many berthing areas on a ship of this class. Besides the brig.

  From the robot assistant, Rade learned that the fleet was already flying toward the closest Slipstream. Apparently, the colony under attack by the Nemesis was two jumps, and fifteen days away. It would take six days to reach the necessary Gate that had been constructed in front of the Slipstream, plus another four to reach the next Gate in the adjacent system, and five to reach the colony.

  The team spent most of its days working out or running battle simulations in VR. There weren’t any mech simulator pods available to accurately depict the physics involved in mech combat, nor virtual kill houses for them to practice small unit tactics, like aboard a super carrier, but VR sufficed. And at least the ship had a small gym they could use to maintain their physiques. They went during off hours so they could hog the equipment.

  One particularly quiet day found Rade alone in the berthing area while the platoon worked out in the small gym. Rade ordinarily would have joined them, but he’d torn a shoulder muscle. He was waiting for the robots in sickbay to call him down—he had to place himself in the queue like the rest of the crew.

  He got bored of playing three-dimensional chess against the ship’s AI, and when he dismissed the augmented reality overlay, a glance at his overhead map told him Rex and Praxter were next door. It was normal for Praxt
er to stay behind when the team went to the gym—the Artificial didn’t need to work out. But Rex?

  Rade decided to pay them a visit.

  “You’re not working out in the gym today?” Rade asked Rex when he arrived at their berthing area.

  “Hey Chief,” Rex said. “Nah. It’s too crowded. I decided I’m going to go after some of the others start getting back.”

  Rex had the same shaven head in person as his avatar, except the stubble was about twice as long. His brows were shaven as well, and he wore that now familiar nose ring. He had a few blemishes, and a scar under his eye that was absent from his avatar, however.

  “Even though you’ve proven yourself in battle, there’s still a pecking order, isn’t there?” Rade said. “They won’t let you have the weights you want.”

  “There is,” Rex agreed. “And they won’t.”

  “Has Tahoe assigned you and Praxter new callsigns yet?” Rade asked.

  “We told him we wanted to go by our existing callsigns,” Praxter said. He looked like the same prim gentlemen his avatar had portrayed: short-cropped hair, plain features, and sporting a tight gray T-shirt. His build underneath that T-shirt looked deceptively skinny, at least compared to the rest of the team. Fret was the closest, build wise.

  Rade pursed his lips. “Really? It’s tradition around here to receive a new callsign when one has graduated from caterpillar to MOTH in battle. They gave you these original callsigns to mock you.”

  “I don’t feel mocked,” Praxter said. “In fact, I kind of like it.”

  “It’s based off the word Poindexter…” Rade said. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “A socially inept person,” Praxter said.

  Rade turned toward Rex. “And you like yours?”

  “Why not?” Rex said. “It kind of suits me.”

  “You know it means a guinea pig breed with very fine, very short fur, right?” Rade said.

  “It also means king in Latin,” Rex said.

  “Well, if you’re fine leaving yourself open to future insults, then I’m okay with it,” Rade said.

  “I’m completely fine,” Rex said. “More than fine.”

  “T-Rex might be better,” Rade suggested.

  Rex shook his head. “You told me, when they first gave me this name, that I’d have to rock it. That I’d have to wear it like a badge of honor and not let it get me down. That if I did, the team would tease me relentlessly, looking to take advantage of any vulnerabilities they detected in my armor. Well, I took your advice to heart. I rocked it. And now I’ve become Rex. I can’t see myself with any other name.”

  “Nor I Praxter,” the Artificial said.

  “You guys have heart,” Rade said. “You really do.” He looked at Praxter. “When you saved Bender, you really pissed him off.”

  “Oh, I know,” Praxter said.

  “I think Praxter did that on purpose,” Rex said. “Because he wanted to piss off Bender. To show him Artificials were better than him.”

  Rade shook his head. “Make sure you never say that in earshot of Bender. He’s had inferiority complex when it comes to AIs all his life.”

  “That explains why he’s so aggressive around me,” Praxter said.

  “He’s also pissed, because we lost another Artificial in the last Alien War and he feels you can’t measure up to him, let alone replace him,” Rade said. “It’s a feeling I’ve had myself when it comes to other team members. Hell, most of the team feels the same way whenever someone dies. It’s almost an insult for the Brass to assign someone to replace who was lost, as if the caterpillar could ever replace him. That’s partly why we treat newbies so badly, hazing the hell out of them.”

  “Well I can understand that for Praxter,” Rex said. “But what about me? I wasn’t filling in for a dead MOTH. I heard the man I replaced quit to join a private security consulting company.”

  “You’re talking about Trace,” Rade said. “Our sniper. And yes, he did quit to become a hired gun. But the resentment was still there among us. I know I felt it. Your sniping skills were far inferior to Trace’s. No one can replace a man like that.”

  “I never claimed I could,” Rex said. “I only offered me, and the particular skills I bring to the table. Nothing more.”

  “I know,” Rade said. “And I’ve gotten over that little resentment hump. Seeing your performance in battle certainly helped. It only proved to me that the instructors are still churning out only the highest of quality MOTHs.” He paused. “Are you looking forward to seeing your wife when you get back?”

  Rade didn’t know much about Rex’s family, other than the names he’d read from the man’s embedded ID.

  “Very much so,” Rex said. “I have a little girl who really wants to see her daddy. Though of course, that could be a while yet, considering the fleet isn’t headed home. Makes me feel kind of powerless. We’re headed toward a fight, and we won’t even be participating in it. All we can do is sit back, and hope the captain doesn’t get this ship destroyed.”

  “We will, at that,” Rade said. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve experienced that same helplessness while waiting to insert for a deployment. Our lives, and the lives of the crew, are literally in the hands of the captain and the AI running the ship. It isn’t really the best of feelings. It’s going to be even worse this time, knowing that there’s no end in sight. We’re trapped here, with no insertion coming.”

  “I guess it was just my lot in life to be part of a doomed mission,” Rex said.

  “Is that how you look at it?” Rade said. “I think the mission was a success. We escaped with our lives. Secured a piece of alien technology. I’ve been on some missions where a whole lot worse happened.”

  “But what about the cost in United Systems lives?” Rex said. “The lives that we took?”

  “The guilt is still eating at you?” Rade asked.

  “Of course it is,” Rex said. “How couldn’t it? I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Just tell yourself it wasn’t your fault,” Rade said. “That’s what I do. Because it’s true. There was nothing we could do. The Anarchist hacked us.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Rex glanced at Praxter. “How are you handling it?”

  “Just as the chief mentioned,” Praxter said. “I know it wasn’t my fault. I can’t possibly blame myself.”

  “But you were fully aware of what you were doing,” Rex said. “The Anarchist didn’t alter your vision in any way. The hack allowed it to take control of your AI core.”

  “Not take control,” Praxter said. “But override the chief’s orders. It told me to kill the humans and Centurions I encountered, so I did. I don’t blame myself, because I know I was powerless to resist those orders.”

  “Wow,” Rex said. “I wish I had the same cold ability to override my own conscience like that.”

  “Transfer your mind to an AI core, and then you will acquire this ability,” Praxter said.

  Rex crossed his arms. “No thanks.”

  “So,” Rade said. “Let’s see her.”

  “Who?” Rex said. “Oh.”

  A request appeared on the HUD overlaying Rade’s vision, and he accepted. A hologram of a little girl appeared in front of him. She was smiling brightly next to Rex, her big eyes gazing up at Rade shyly.

  “She’s beautiful,” Rade said.

  “Thanks, Chief,” Rex said. “She’s all of eight years old.”

  “Does she have a name?” Rade asked.

  “Jenny,” Rex said.

  “Daddy!” she said, and leaped into Rade’s lap to give him a hug. Rade felt nothing of course, but he tried to return the hug nonetheless, albeit hesitantly.

  When she vanished, he glanced at Rex, who shrugged.

  “That was part of the program,” Rex said. “She likes to engineer little surprises. In the video messages, she’ll stare at me for a good twenty to thirty seconds like that, and then do something unexpected, like jump on me, or pop a balloon sh
e had hidden behind her back, and so forth. It’s quite entertaining.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Rade said.

  “Why don’t you ask him where he got that,” Praxter said. The Artificial touched his own face beneath the eye, to indicate the scar Rex had in the same location. “You’ve never asked him about it.”

  “No, he hasn’t,” Rex said. “I always wondered why.”

  Rade shrugged. “A man’s scars are his own business.”

  Rex nodded. “A good policy.”

  Rade studied the man. “I have to admit, I am curious…”

  Rex seemed suddenly abashed. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “We have time,” Rade said. “Praxter, I assume you’ve heard it?”

  “I have,” Praxter said. “It’s a good one.”

  Rade stared at Rex expectantly, and the man shrugged. “All right. Well, me and my brother, we’re from southern Florida. I don’t know if you know much about Florida, but a lot of areas have swampland. And these swamps tend to have a few gators in them. More than a few. Now, us kids, we liked to taunt the gators. We had a game where we’d throw pieces of meat into the edge of the swamp, to see if we could draw any of the gators out. It was great fun to see them emerge, jaws snapping as they chomped the meat out of the air.

  “One day, there was this huge gator lounging just inside the water next to the shoreline. Biggest gator I’d ever seen. We threw our pieces of meat at the gator, but it ignored them, and just sat there, lounging in the shade, while the meat piled up on shore. I’m not sure why it didn’t move… maybe it didn’t want to leave the shade. Or maybe it had already eaten a big meal and was digesting.

  “Whatever the case, we soon ran out of the meat we’d brought along for the day. Disappointed that we hadn’t provoked a response, we were about to go home when my big brother insisted we try again. There were lots of pieces of meat just lying about on the shore in front of the gator, after all. Why let all the meat go to waste, my brother asked. Why let the gator have a feast for free after we were gone? It had to work for its meat, he declared.