To Well And Back (The Deep Dark Well)

by Doug Dandridge

  The wall receded and an armored suit came into view in the cubby revealed. Pandi twisted around and fell back, her legs and arms fitting into the limbs of the suit. In her younger years she had remembered watching a movie about a man who had built a suit of super armor that basically fitted itself to his body. This was the realization of that dream, a suit of battle armor that unfolded, then folded over her limbs and body. The seams disappeared as soon as it was in place, the built in nanosystems erasing any opening and making it one seamless piece of metal. A helmet lowered onto her head and locked in place, while gloves moved into position and sealed onto the arms of the suit. Sweet cool air flooded the armored suit, and the woman took great breaths through lungs that still hurt.

  Should have had the damned thing on in the first place, she thought, walking out of the cubby in the fitted armor that moved with her motions. Watcher will give me hell about that when I get back to the Donut. Assuming I get back.

  Pandora tried to call up the link to Watcher as power came back to the bridge systems. But there was nothing there.

  “Computer,” she said, frowning as a mental link wouldn’t come up. “Computer. What is our status?”

  Receiving no answer she walked over to the control panel and breathed a sigh of relief that there were still functioning systems onboard. She called up a holo of damage control, and almost screamed when she saw all of the flashing red lights on the schematic of the ship. Touching a gloved finger to the schematic, she activated a vid of the wormhole gate room, and swore as she looked at the ruin of what was once a portal back to home. The framework that held the negative matter was gone, with the exception of a couple of twisted pieces. And there were holes in the hull where powerful lasers had eaten through.

  “Now what the hell am I going to do?” she asked herself, and about jumped out of her skin when she received an answer.

  “What are your orders, Mistress?” said the voice of the ship’s computer.

  “Why didn’t you answer before?”

  “I was offline momentarily,” said the ship’s avatar. “But I was able to reboot and activate the comp in your suit, now that you have decided to wear it.”

  “Don’t be a wiseass,” she told the machine with a feeling of embarrassment. The damned machine is right, much as I hate to admit. “What is our status?”

  “We are in bad shape,” said the computer, its voice no longer completely calm.

  It’s an avatar after all, thought the organic member of the team. Programmed to act like a real person. But the old station comp also acted like a real person, up to the point where it killed to stay aware. “Define bad shape.”

  “There is only one functioning engine,” said the computer, sounding like a man ticking off points on its digital fingers. “All weapon systems are off line, though I should have the forward laser partially functional within the next twenty minutes. All wormhole links are down.”

  “That sounds bad, but at least we are alive and out of reach of those fanatics for the moment,” said Pandi, pushing the nagging worry to the back of her mind.

  “And the antimatter storage unit is going to lose containment within one hour and forty-eight minutes.”

  “What?” shouted Pandora, a chill running up her spine as her guts roiled. “How the hell did that happen? What can we do about it?”

  “The power connections to the containment unit were severed by a PB. The same blast also took ninety percent of the crystal matrix batteries with it.”

  “Can we jettison the unit?”

  “Negative,” said the computer. “Both outer and inner hatches are jammed and welded shut. And the door to the MAM compartment is also closed off from melting and structural sagging.”

  “Can you get a robot in the compartment to do something?” asked Pandora, her own mind now on overdrive, even as she realized the comp would have thought of everything that she would.

  “All of the repair bots in the compartment have been knocked out of service,” said the computer.

  “How long to get one to cut its way in through the hull?” she asked, her heart sinking as she thought of the thick hull metal that could withstand all but the most powerful of lasers and particle beams, like the ones that had savaged her ship.

  “Longer than we have.”

  “Crap,” screamed Pandora Latham, smacking the hard hand of her suit onto the panel. She walked around for a moment, trying to come up with something. “What about the nanites? Can’t they reconstruct the power feeds?”

  “All nanites within the MAM compartment have been destroyed,” said the computer.

  That was the problem with nanoscale robots. There was no way to shield them, and any kind of strong electromagnetic pulse could fry their systems. “And I’m guessing that the backup nanites were destroyed as well.”

  “Yes,” said the computer, a bit of exasperation creeping into its generated voice. “All four of the shielded backup chambers were destroyed. And any attempt to inject more nanites into the chamber will meet with failure. There is just not sufficient time to build up to adequate levels within the chamber. Besides which, the radiation levels in the MAM chamber are too high for nanites to function in.”

  And that was the other problem with the ubiquitous tech. It seemed capable of doing anything and everything. It was so easy to depend on, that one sometimes forgot its limitations.

  I can always abandon ship, and hope that someone friendly comes along before I run out of air. Of course it’s more likely that someone unfriendly will come along, and then I will wish my air was gone.

  “How long to get to that planet?” she asked, turning back toward the control board.

  “At current velocity and orientation, twenty-six minutes and five seconds,” answered the comp.

  “And what would be our velocity when we reach the atmosphere?”

  “Point two one c,” answered the computer.

  “So we burn up in the atmosphere?”

  “That is the likely outcome,” answered the computer. “I would not recommend that course of action.”

  “No shit,” said Pandi, grimacing. “And how long to get there with sufficient decel to make a planetfall?”

  “One hour and forty-three minutes.”

  “Then set that course and get us going,” said Pandi, a smile creasing her face, again feeling hope. “Lickity split.”

  “The Nation of Humanity Ships will be in proximity to the planet when we arrive.”

  “We’ll deal with that when we need to,” said Pandi, looking at the hatch that led from the bridge to the rest of the ship. “Just get us moving, and I’m going to look into some preparation.”

  * * *

  Fleet Admiral Nagara Krishnamurta cursed again under his breath as he looked up at the bright sun and wiped the sweat from his brow. He had only been on the ground for about an hour and already his uniform was soaked. The men around him in battle armor seemed to be doing better. Their suits had environmental controls, but they would not have power forever, especially since they had a limited supply of power cells.

  Why the hell didn’t I get into my armor? thought the Admiral as he scanned the landing field with the glasses he had commandeered from the shuttle. But things had happened too fast, and he had never taken the time to get into the armor that was both spacesuit and battle harness. More fool I, he thought, cursing again. They had seemed safe in orbit around their base planet, and then all hell had broken.

  The flash of an explosion over the field pulled his attention back to the here and now. Seconds later the crack of that blast reached his ears. Men and women were fighting and dying on that field. The Suryan Marine contingent on the base was contesting the landing forces of the Nation of Humanity. Already the Nation had landed several hundred troops in a half dozen shuttles. One shuttle sat on the edge of the field as a burned out hulk. A couple of Suryan shuttles also sat on the field, empty. Smoke was rising from the jungle a couple of kilometers away, where his flag officer’s shuttle had gone down
to explode on contact. And with it, his flag officer, Lieutenant Commander Klish. What do I tell the boy’s family, he thought, then laughed. Why do I think I’ll ever get the chance to tell them anything?

  “The Marines are about to retreat from the field entirely,” said Lt. Commander Dasha Mandrake, once Tactical Officer of Aneus, now the Admiral’s Executive Officer by default, crouching next to him in full battle armor. “The Major says there is no way they can hold.”

  A pair of ground attack shuttles came roaring over the field at that moment, dropping bombs and firing rockets. Explosions rippled along the field, the concussive blast reaching into the surrounding jungle as balls of fire rose into the air. Behind them came another pair of assault shuttles, slowing rapidly and dropping to the field on fans. As soon as their landing pads touched ground men in battle rig were pouring from the vehicles. A few were shot down as they looked for cover, but the great majority of the fifty newcomers made it to protection.

  Something streaked through the sky, and a bright flash twenty kilometers away was followed by a ground shaking rumble. Hitting us with kinetic rounds, thought the Admiral, shaking his head. Whenever they can find a concentration of us. Which meant he had to either get under some cover that would spoof their sensors, like this very thick jungle they were in, or maintain close contact, like they were on the landing field. And close contact was just another kind of death. They were outnumbered and outgunned, and it was only a matter of time. Then we’ll take the time, thought the Admiral, who had boxed at the academy and had no quit in him.

  A pattern of mortars rippled across the advancing enemy. Counter battery took the Suryan mortars under fire, followed by the roar of a kinetic round striking from space.

  “Tell them to get those indirect fire weapons back,” he yelled at Mandrake. He looked up at the sky again, wondering when they would be picked up by those eyes in the sky. “And get yourself under cover,” he said, looking back at the woman. “No telling how long before they pick up your electronics out here in the open.”

  “Then you need to get under cover as well, sir,” said the officer, motioning toward the path down from the hilltop back into the jungle. “You really can’t do much out here.”

  Krishnamurta nodded his head, then took another quick look through the glasses. Some of the structures at the edge of the base were going up in explosions, the last cover for his marines before they were forced into the jungle. Then it would come down to guerilla warfare. So be it, thought the pugnacious Admiral, putting the glasses away and following his officer into the shadows under the enormous trees. His ancestors had won a planet, taking it away from despotic rulers. And he could bleed his enemy, if nothing else, and make him regret coming down to the surface to challenge the Suryan forces.

  * * *

  “The Marine commander says he has the enemy on the run,” said the Liaison Officer, looking up from his station on the flag bridge. “He says that the base is ours.”

  Admiral Miklas Gerasi smiled as he looked at the orange tinted planet on the viewer. I’ve won a great victory this day, he thought, turning to look at another screen where two of his battleships were cruising beside his, moving toward orbital insertion. I took some losses, but that was really because of that devil from the Station interfering. Quick thinking on Midas’ part, and he deserves the credit for that. Otherwise we would have been the debris floating in space, and not the Suryan force.

  “Now that they’re under the cover of that jungle we can’t pick them up from space,” said the Liaison Officer, shaking his head.

  “We can’t pick up their heat signatures?” asked the Admiral, looking from screen to the Marine Lt. Colonel, and then back again to the screen.

  “No sir,” said the Marine, shaking his head. “That’s Maurid jungle down there, and the vegetation is exothermic. And the metallic composites in the leaves reflect back any of our active sensors. So there’s no way we could look through their heat unless the enemy happens to build fires, or set up some heat generating equipment.”

  And they’re not likely to do anything that stupid, thought the Admiral, glaring at the viewer. Be nice if they would, but those Heretics are at least as smart as we are. And they have to know more about that jungle than we do, since they built the base here. The Admiral thought for a moment, not used to considerations of ground combat besides what he had read about.

  “Tell the Major that we are sending another force under Colonel Quaid to the north of him in a blocking position,” said Gerasi, looking at a screen that displayed the area of operations on the surface. “He is to drive the enemy into the Colonel’s force.” There were some other dots indicating enemy that were out of the area, or at least where they were thought to be from their landing zones, and he knew that Midas’ ships were bombarding them from space. He would worry about them later.

  “Major Dumas acknowledges the order sir,” said the Liaison Officer. “He is ordering his force to push into the jungle.”

  “Tell him no hurry,” said the Admiral, smiling again. “I want those Suryans, but not at the cost of more men. He can take care.”

  And I know how those Marine fire eaters will take that command, thought Gerasi, staring at the world they were approaching on the main viewer. He will want to win glory, to steal it away from his superior officer, even at the risk of his men. Well, let him. My order makes my ass well and truly covered.

  “She’s back,” yelled out the Tactical Officer, and the scene on the main viewer changed. A small ship weaved and juked as it approached the planet.

  “I thought we destroyed her,” yelled the Admiral, glaring at the ship. “Open fire on her. Get in touch with Midas. Let him know he has company coming.”

  “Aye, sir,” called out the Com Officer.

  I thought we had your ass, thought Gerasi, ordering up a still on his repeater that showed the severity of the damage to the vessel. But whether we get you in space or on the planet, we will have you. That I swear by God Almighty.

  * * *

  “Motherfucker,” cursed Pandora Latham in a loud voice as she threw the robot arm across the bay. “Son of a bitch. I brought a hundred of you mother’s with me for a reason. Because I needed a hundred of you.”

  But there were only twenty three functional battlebots on the ship. Of the rest, maybe thirty could be repaired, given the resources of a shop and someone who knew what they were doing, which didn’t include her. And the rest were probably only good for scrap. The bay itself was full of so many holes that even if she had a functional repair bot it would take days to seal it. And the damage the lasers and particle beams had made to the robot bay was unnerving. If that had been the bridge this here girl would have been cooked meat, she thought, a shudder passing through her body at the image.

  Yes, she had been a spacer, and a damned good one. But this had been her first ship to ship battle, and she didn’t like it, not one bit. It was fun while she was the one doing the hitting. Getting hit back was not fun, and she could almost sympathize with the Nation of Humanity crews she had shredded or vaporized. Almost.

  Well, I only got what I got, thought Pandi, looking at the bots. “All of you’all get your gear and report to the stern cargo room,” she ordered, watching as all the multiple eyes on each bot lit up and turned her way. That’s kind of creepy, she thought, backing out of the room and stepping out of the way. The first robot walked past her, carrying a good weight of weapons and equipment on its back pouches, supplementing the ordnance it carried internally. It scrambled down the hall on its six legs like some scuttling insect. The second followed as the machines filed out of the room. There were already a half dozen bots from another bay in that cargo hold, and these seventeen would complete her abbreviated platoon.

  “What’s our progress, computer?” asked Pandi, switching over to its link in her mind.

  “We are eight minutes nine seconds to atmosphere reentry,” answered the brain of the ship, its very human like voice sending feelings of regret through to
the woman that it would not survive this part of the mission. “Antimatter containment breach in eight minutes, thirty seconds estimate.”

  “I thought we would have a couple of minutes after reentry,” she said, feeling her muscles tighten with tension. “What happened?”

  “Estimate revised during flight,” said the computer. “Unfortunately, it may be revised again.”

  “And how about our friends out there? Have they noticed us?”

  “So far there is no indication of that,” said the computer.

  Pandora jogged toward the bridge, and the door opened as she approached. She knew it was irrational, but she wanted to see the space around the planet with her own eyes. That space and the planet were on the viewer as she came to a stop in the center of the room. And she could see some of the Nation ships as well. Five in orbit around the planet, and eight coming from the other side for an apparent orbital insertion. She switched the view to tactical holo and noted the three other ships coming in from the opposite angle, still moving slow from the damage they had taken.

  I really hurt you son of bitches, she thought with a smile. And I ain’t about to stop being a thorn in your sides, if I can help it.

  Pandora moved to the armory, where she let the automatic systems mount add ons to her suit, turning it from spaceship battle armor to a ground based combat system. She grabbed some of the external weapons she needed, including one that would not need power packs or ammo, and headed back to the bridge.

  “Six minutes to atmospheric insertion,” called out the computer.

  “And you know what to do?”

  “Of course,” said the machine, its tone never wavering. “I am to take out as many of the Nation ships as possible. Though from current configuration that will be only one of them.”