ATLAS 2 (ATLAS Series Book 2) (35 page)

They were right.

It was a good thing our possessed robot friends weren’t especially good shots. Even so, if any among the enemy had launched a serpent missile while we were in transit, they would have taken us down. The missile targeting systems alone would have guaranteed it, considering how exposed we were.

But the enemy didn’t launch any missiles.

The destination window neared fast. Because it wasn’t all that wide, we’d have to traverse it in single file: me, followed by the container, then Hijak. I’d programmed that configuration into our trajectories already, so as we closed, Hijak veered off to the side, positioning himself and the container to my rear. My arm swung around as the handhold pivoted behind me.

Now came the moment of truth.

If the glass was bulletproof, then Hijak and I were screwed.

With my 9-mil, I shot at the window several times before impact.

The glass broke away in big pieces.

What a relief.

The jetpack cut out as I passed inside.

I collided heavily with the smooth floor and slid forward, my momentum draining away.

Behind me I heard the woosh of a rocket as it passed near the window outside. One of the ATLAS 5s on the street had launched a serpent after all. Too late. The rocket wouldn’t be able to track us now.

My mental gloating was interrupted as the glass container abruptly plowed into me from behind. Quite forcefully.

I’d forgotten that heavy objects have greater momentum than lighter ones. I should have dodged the impact.

I slipped sideways as the container shoved me onward, and I ended up gliding alongside it. The cord that bound me to the container grew taut, and I was dragged for a few seconds until the object slid to a halt.

According to the HUD map, the High-Value Target lay directly ahead, along the far wall.

I unlocked the cord from my belt and rose to one knee. I held my 9-mil to eye level and scanned the room.

The entire area was basically one big room, similar to the floor plan of the office building, but instead of cubicles and desks partitioning the area, the space was divided into a lattice of brick pillars arranged in rows and columns. Crates and empty pallets were stacked between some of the pillars, blocking the view to the far wall (and the target). Overhead, bright, working LEDs lit the area. No emergency lamps here.

I didn’t see any immediate threats.

“Chief,” I sent into the comm. “We’re in.”

Static answered me.

I heard the clang of metallic footsteps.

I hurried behind a pillar, and Hijak ducked against the one beside me.

I holstered my pistol, silently sliding the rifle down from my shoulder.

I gazed through the scope, scanning from left to right. Still didn’t see any threats . . .

Wait.

There.

A Praetor, near the center of the room. Advancing toward me and Hijak. I hadn’t seen it before because the long row of pillars had obscured my view.

I aimed for the brain case in the chest and fired.

I got it. The Praetor vanished from sight, tumbling behind one of the pillars.

Normally when you found a Praetor, a squad of Centurions was close behind. But these Phants could possess Praetors and Centurions alike, and once possessed, there was no guarantee the Centurions would continue to obey the commands of the Praetor.

The robot may have been acting alone, but I wasn’t going to take the chance.

I gave Hijak the “advance” hand signal, and I moved forward at a crouch, rifle at the ready. I ducked behind every third pillar, scanning the room each time. Nothing.

When I neared the fallen Praetor, I gave it a wide berth. The glowing blue liquid of the Phant had spilled out, and it edged toward me (a little indignantly, I thought) as I hurried past. It moved far too slowly to reach me, however.

Nine pillars later, I spotted the High-Value.

The Artificial stood in the exact spot indicated by the HUD map. It just waited there, facing me, motionless on the far side of the room. Through my scope, I confirmed it was the spitting image of the Paramount Leader. Its eyes were closed, and it was smiling as if privy to some inside joke.

“Chief,” I sent into the comm. “High-Value Target spotted.”

As usual, static.

The Artificial, or the Praetor, before I terminated it, must have called in support units, because the clank of metallic footsteps echoed across the room, heralding the arrival of more robots.

Remaining behind the pillar, I scanned the forward area, identifying the stairwells at the far corners of the room where the Centurions were piling inside.

I glanced at the HUD map for any sign of my platoon mates. Seeing nothing, I double-checked over my shoulder.

No one had come.

“Chie
f
?” I sent into the comm. “What happened to coming in right behind us?”

No answer.

“He did say,
situation permitting
,” Hijak piped up.

I could only shake my head.

I returned my attention to my rifle sights. The Centurions had fanned out across the floor, but hadn’t spotted me or Hijak yet.

My scope passed the motionless Artificial again, and I paused. Something seemed off about this whole situation, somehow. My danger sense was firing, and I sensed a trap.

Well, we’d come this far. Couldn’t really turn back now. We’d just have to proceed slowly, and carefully, sticking to everything we’d learned and practiced in training.

First order of business: ensure the High-Value didn’t flee.

“Hijak,” I transmitted. “How’s your sniping?”

He tapped the barrel of his sniper rifle. “They don’t give us these babies unless we’ve earned them, sir.”

Maybe, but my first instinct was that he sucked. I didn’t want to believe anyone else could ever be as good a shot as Alejandro.

I suppressed the thought.

“All right,” I said. “Take out the High-Value’s right foot. I’ll get the left. On three. We have to get both at the same time. I don’t want the High-Value limping off on one foot.”

“Wait a second. Is that a good idea? Sir?”

“I don’t have time to argue with you, Hijak. Rules of Engagement say we’re fine. We’re supposed to capture the High-Value. Whether we bring it in with or without feet is irrelevant. It’s a robot. It’s not going to feel any pain.”

“But how do you know the Phant won’t abandon the body if we shoot its feet?”

“Would you prefer the alternative? Losing the High-Value because it decides to run? No, we’ll just have to take the risk. While we still have time.”

“What if it just drags itself away with its arms?” Hijak insisted.

“We’ll reach it before then. Look, can I count on you or not?”

Hijak hesitated only an instant. “You can count on me, sir.”

“Good. On three.” I aimed past the pillar, exposing as little of myself as possible.

“One.”

Brick shards exploded against my face as bullets ricocheted from the pillar. I’d been spotted.

“Two.”

More shards. I knew I might receive a fatal head wound any second. But I didn’t flinch. Just a little longer . . .

“Three.”

I pulled the trigger.

The Artificial’s upper body swung forward as both its legs pinwheeled backward from the force of the impact, and it flopped to the floor.

I ducked behind cover.

So Hijak was as good a shot as he said he was, after all.

Then something exploded from the direction of the High-Value.

I crawled to the opposite side of the pillar and looked out.

Beyond the line of Centurions, the floor had collapsed in a circular pattern where the Artificial had fallen, and the High-Value was now gone.

A blur of motion to my left caught my eye: a Dragon HS3 drone hovered past.

Likely the SKs had sent in their own porters by now, and they’d taken up a position on the level just below. They had set explosive microcharges and stolen the High-Value right out from under us.

Damn it.

They were good, I’d give them that.

I shot the HS3.

The damaged drone spiraled across the line of Centurions and swooped into the circular pit. I heard a distant crash.

“We have to get down there!” I wasn’t about to let the SKs seize the High-Value Target. Not after all this work.

I unhitched a grenade from my belt, let it cook for three seconds, then launched it toward a group of two Centurions. I cooked two more grenades in turn, releasing them shortly thereafter.

The explosions went off one after another.

I peered through my scope and started terminating the remaining Centurions, aiming at the brain cases. Hijak did the same on his side. Our ammo was running low.

Ahead, to the right and left, more Centurions piled down the stairs. The alien in the jumpsuit decided to join them, carrying that huge, nasty particle weapon with three of its tentacles.

I’d just about had enough of this.

“Mark the pit on your HUD,” I told Hijak.

Then I threw a smoke grenade.

“Run!”

The grenade exploded, and I dashed into the smoke screen. I heard the whiz of bullets as the Centurions fired at us anyway.

Though I couldn’t see a thing in the smoke, my HUD indicated the pillars around me as blue wire frames, and the circular pit in the floor appeared as a two-dimensional outline.

I leaped into the pit, plunging from the smoke to the level below, not knowing whether I’d land in a roomful of possessed robots or something worse.

I crashed to the floor and rolled aside. I got up on one knee and scanned the room, aiming my rifle from quadrant to quadrant.

No robots.

The level appeared almost identical to the one above, replete with equidistant pillars.

As Hijak landed beside me, I spotted the two SK porters, sheathed in gray jumpsuits, not far ahead. They were placing fresh microexplosives, this time to blow the outer wall, probably because there weren’t any obvious windows nearby. They had the footless High-Value Target secured inside their own glass container.

Though trapped, the Artificial wasn’t properly positioned inside the container—the Artificial sat on the edge of the metallic circle etched into the glass floor. That meant the electromagnetic containment beam was inactive. Yet the possessing Phant hadn’t fled—drops of purple condensation still covered the base of the High-Value’s neck, reaching up from underneath its camos.

Odd.

I dashed toward the SKs. “Wait!”

The two porters turned back.

They were women.

Hijak and I halted two paces from them. We kept our weapons raised.

“Disarm the microexplosives,” I said.

“You are MOTHs?” the nearest woman said in heavily accented English.

“I said disarm the microexplosives!” I waved the barrel threateningly.

The two women exchanged a glance, then raised their hands in surrender. That seemed kind of easy, considering they were supposed to be elite commandos.

“Give me the detonation device.” I glanced at the remote in the closest SK’s hand.

In response, she pressed the detonator and activated her horizontal jumpjets, hurtling right past me. She must have dialed up the blast intensity of the microcharges beforehand, because the explosion threw me to the floor.

I heard a high-pitched keening in my ears, and bright stars filled my vision.

I drunkenly blinked the points of light away, but before I could recover, a heavy boot pressed into my chest. Groggily, I tried activating my jetpack, but it malfunctioned.

The woman disarmed me, then unbuckled my jetpack, rolling me to the side. As the pack fell away, I saw why the controls hadn’t responded: I’d landed atop the glowing liquid of a Phant, and it was flowing into the jetpack. On the floor nearby lay the crumpled shell of the HS3 I’d shot down. I hadn’t realized the drone was possessed.

Jetpacks had limited AIs, but the nozzles began to fire out of sequence as the Phant took control.

This was all very odd. The Phant could have killed me. I had seen the alien entities incinerate entire jumpsuits while the human occupants were still inside. It was how Alejandro had died. But instead, this one chose to spare me and possess my jetpack.

Why? I was starting to suspect that given the choice between AI and flesh, they would choose the AI first.

I tried to resist as the woman plasticuffed me, but my mind was still foggy, my body slow. The high-pitched keening in my ears had faded to a distant buzz, but all sound still seemed muffled.

The woman hauled me toward the glass container. In front of it, a wide, gaping hole had been blown into the warehouse wall, nine stories above street level.

The woman secured the plasticuffs to the loop built into the lower left corner of the container.

Inside the glass, the Artificial watched me with an empty expression, the stumps of its feet occasionally sparking.

“You should really turn on the EM containment field,” I said to the woman. My voice sounded distant.

The SK woman gave me a mocking smile.

The second woman secured Hijak to the other side of the container in the same way. Hijak had his head bowed, and he bore a nasty cut along his temple. He kept blinking the blood from his eyes. His jetpack was also gone.

“Chief, we’ve been captured,” I sent over the comm. Weakly.

Static.

Metallic clangs issued from behind me.

The Centurions from the floor above were leaping through the hole in the ceiling.

“Uh,” I said.

The clangs continued as more robots landed, punctuated by a single loud thump as the alien in the jumpsuit plunged down.

The women quickly hoisted the glass container between them, with help from Hijak and me, since we wanted to get the hell out of there. Then the SKs vaulted outside and activated their jumpjets at full burn.

What happened next was a blur of adrenalin-fueled helplessness. My life was in someone else’s hands and there was nothing I could do about it.

Hijak and I were dragged through the air by the plasticuffs while the women steered the container. The cuffs dug into the wrist area of my suit, threatening to puncture it. The street flowed by, nine stories below.