ATLAS 2 (ATLAS Series Book 2) (51 page)

After some soul-searching, and a few intense sessions where I shed more than a few tears, the therapist finally cleared me for duty.

I was eager to get back to work.

I was eager to have my revenge.

They’d killed Alejandro. Taken Shaw. They’d captured me, stripped away who I was to the core, and broken me. And when I’d freed my captor, Lana, they’d murdered her.

Oh, I would have myself some payback, I can tell you that.

The black blood of the enemy would flow in wide, screaming rivers.

And that wasn’t merely empty rhetoric or bombast. I meant every word, from the depths of my being, from the depths of the hell the enemy had sent me to.

Hijak had been cleared for duty a few days before, but he’d been confined to the berth the two of us shared. The therapist didn’t want either of us to rejoin the platoon alone.

So when the time came for us to return, we did it together.

That first morning, neither of us could meet anyone’s eyes for long. The welcomes and smiles seemed fake somehow, at least to me. Though neither the Chief nor the Lieutenant Commander had told them, my platoon brothers knew I had betrayed them. I could see it in their eyes.

How could I expect them to forgive me, or respect me, if I couldn’t forgive or respect myself?

It was good to see that Tahoe had made a full recovery from the injuries he’d taken in Shangde City. But seeing him was the only bright spot in a morning that, for me, was full of shame.

Chief Bourbonjack took me aside after PT.

“Rage,” he said. “You’re home now. You’re among brothers. You don’t have to be ashamed about what you think you did, or did not, do.”

“Who are you to talk about shame?” I blurted out. I hadn’t actually meant to say that, but the deed was done. I guess I just wanted to deflect the blame for my actions away from myself, even though I was the only one responsible for what I had done.

I lowered my eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“No, no,” the Chief said. “Go on. Speak your mind.”

I glanced at him. His usually piercing eyes seemed softer somehow. “Well, it’s just, the platoon didn’t come for us. You didn’t come.”

The Chief nodded slowly. “No, we didn’t freakin’ come.” He couldn’t meet my gaze.

I waited for the explanation, which I sensed was forthcoming. I wanted him to reveal what had happened on his own time, and if he didn’t, then so be it.

He sighed. That weatherworn face seemed suddenly older. “Honestly, boy? We had no idea where you were. We tracked the rad trail of the SK drop shuttle that took you. The trail ended in orbit near the Skull Ship, and we couldn’t pursue any farther, not without risking attack. At that point, we didn’t know what to think. We weren’t sure if the Skull Ship had blown the shuttle to smithereens, or if the craft had flown right by it, or what.

“If you
had
made it past, that likely meant our SK ‘allies’ had captured you. So we tried ordering them to hand you boys over, but the SKs repeatedly denied any involvement in your capture and insisted Dragon platoon had been shot at, too, down there, by what appeared to be rogue SKs. They produced vid evidence. Which we thought was doctored.

“So we waited, hoping you’d find a way to contact us. But you never did. I tried to get clearance to send a covert fire team over to the main SK battle cruiser to perform some recon, but I couldn’t get it. If you were the Captain, or the Lieutenant Commander, would you risk upsetting the alliance with such a blatant show of mistrust? It was a damn good thing we didn’t go too, because if we had, you might’ve returned to find the alliance in shambles.

“Anyway, we didn’t know where else to look. Since our arrival, we’ve detected the heat signatures of multiple ships in the area, from the refugees constantly fleeing the local moons. The signatures are consistent with passenger liners. Nothing unusual there. Even after your capture, we didn’t detect any strange vessel classes out there. Unfortunately, the thermal signature of an SK frigate is similar to a common liner, and we suspect that’s how your kidnappers sneaked past. We didn’t have the resources to set up proper checkpoints to intercept all those fleeing liners, but we did send messages, and received what seemed appropriate responses, with appropriate clearances. We had to assume you weren’t on any of those ships. We were wrong. We made a mistake. I’m sorry, Rage. I really am.

“The Gate customs officials have been notified to remain on the lookout for a rogue SK frigate. We’ve also contacted the Brass, and they’ve promised to send additional battle cruisers to shore up the Gate defenses, both in Gliese 581 and SK space. We’ll catch this Guide bastard, I promise you.”

I was silent for a moment, trying to absorb everything the Chief had said.

“So you did try to come.” That made me feel immensely better.

“We did, Rage.”

There was one thing I still needed to resolve, though.

“I squealed, sir,” I said. “I ratted out the platoon. I gave the enemy my embedded ID password. Betrayed my country. I don’t deserve to be a MOTH anymore. Everyone knows what I did, Chief. Everyone.”

“Maybe if you stopped acting so goddamned guilty—” Chief Bourbonjack cut his gruff comment short. He exhaled, then rested his hand on my shoulder. “You know what? I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never told a soul.” He stared at me intently with those dark, judging eyes of his. “I was captured in Mongolia, a long time ago. I was brought to a stone cell, and introduced to the concept of the Keepers. And guess what? They broke me. It took fifteen days, but they did it in the end. I gave them my embedded ID password.” He rolled up the sleeves of his camos, revealing the sickly, crisscrossing scars on his wrists underneath. “These arms have been shot off and replaced numerous times, but always the scars of the Keeper’s harness return. You never lose them. Not the physical scars. Not the mental. All I can tell you is, the guilt ebbs every day. One day you’ll forgive yourself, Rage. And maybe someday, I’ll forgive myself too.”

Those words lessened my guilt somewhat, because if a man of Bourbonjack’s character could break, then that meant any of us could. I still wasn’t proud of what I’d done, but I swore I wouldn’t be so hard on myself from now on.

The Chief paused on the way out of the gym. “One question. Do you still want me to put in your transfer request?”

I thought about what Hijak had told me about heart when he almost died, and the promise I had made him.
The Navy needs men like you.

I thought about what Chief Bourbonjack had just said.
I was captured in Mongolia. And guess what? They broke me.

And lastly, I thought about my unrealized vengeance.
There will be rivers of screaming blood.

“Rage?” the Chief pressed. “Do you still want out of MOTH Team Seven?”

“Not on your life, sir.”

Nothing had changed in my absence. The Skull Ship remained in orbit above Tau Ceti II-c. Other than a few warships from the Franco-Italians, including the
Tarantella
, significant fleet reinforcements had yet to arrive. The prevailing orders from Earth were to sit back, observe the enemy, and wait for reinforcements. Further instructions would be forthcoming.

The waiting proved unbearable. My platoon brothers and I threw ourselves at PT, working ourselves beyond exhaustion each day. We were at war, and yet we were doing nothing. It was maddening.

A week after my reintroduction to the platoon, Lieutenant Commander Braggs assembled us to share the latest bad news.

“The war, gentlemen, has taken an unexpected turn for the worse,” the Lieutenant Commander said. “We’ve just received word on a secure node. Above our sister moon, Tau Ceti II-b, another Skull Ship has appeared.”

EPILOGUE

Shaw

I
sat alone on a high platform made of some sticky resin, suspended by physics I didn’t understand in the upper atmosphere of a gas giant.

My mech had been confiscated, but I still had my pressurized jumpsuit, and my life. Not to mention my mind: I hadn’t been lobotomized into some human-alien hybrid. Not yet.

My oxygen tanks had been refilled, as had my water canisters, and my stock of meal replacements had been replenished. Unsurprisingly, the MREs
concocted by the alien entities were even more tasteless than the human versions. Still, I would last out here for quite a while if the aliens kept up this treatment.

Unless of course I chose to step off the platform and end it all.

I was seated on the edge of said platform even now, gazing at the city far below, which was nestled amid the gas giant’s swirling red-orange clouds. The city’s layout was utterly alien—then again, maybe not so alien, because it reminded me of the beehives my parents used to keep on our farm in France. From my elevated perch, I could peer right into the innards of that city, just as if I were looking into the cross section of a massive beehive. Hundreds of tall, parallel plates, probably made of the same resinous material as my platform, were situated equidistant apart. Each plate contained thousands of decagonal cells, and Phants in gaseous form drifted between them, as did other, aquatic-like beings. The jellyfish of Earth were probably the closest comparisons, except of course jellyfish resided in oceans, whereas these beings lived in gas.

A vast energy sphere enclosed the city, sheltering the denizens (and me) from the atmospheric winds. The sphere was a translucent, shimmering yellow; its hue varied across the surface, depending on where the winds were currently gusting strongest. Beyond the sphere, perpetual bolts of sheet lightning flashed, cast by the planetwide storm.

The upper winds of gas giants roared with more than twice the power of the strongest hurricanes on Earth, which meant that without the protection of the energy field, the hive city would’ve been ripped to shreds. Though I suspected the Phants and jellyfish would’ve endured regardless.

The edges of the hive city ran right against that sphere, where metal rods had been built to draw the lightning. Strategically placed wind turbines, which looked like jet engines, jutted through the sphere as well. Power generators.

Humanity had experimented with vaguely similar generators on Jupiter and Saturn. Our research ships deployed turbines into the gas giants from high orbit, with incredibly lengthy lines linking the turbines to the ship. Though these “power lines” were interlaced with graphene, one of the strongest forms of carbon known to man, within a Stanweek the lines invariably snapped. Either that, or some other component of the turbines failed.

Anyway, so there I was, on the far side of the galaxy, a prisoner on an alien world.
The
homeworld of the Phants, if my captor was to be believed.

I chuckled to myself. I seemed to have a penchant for getting myself tangled in hopeless situations.

I closed my eyes, thinking of Fan and Queequeg. Especially Queequeg. The animal had been with me through so much. He was my best friend.

And now he was gone.

He had died for me. As had Fan.

I understood now the agony Rade had endured when he’d lost Alejandro. When you lost someone that close, it just ripped a hole right through your heart, into the very essence of who you were as a person.

Whenever I thought of Queequeg or Fan, and how horribly either of them had died, I just . . . well . . . broke apart inside.

Queequeg was only a pet, I told myself. Just an animal.

Yet another part of me knew he was so much more than a mere pet.

I miss you, Queequeg.

As for Fan, there was no dismissing what had happened to him. He was a human being. And now he was gone. Everything he had been was destroyed and taken away. Replaced by . . . something.

Forgive me, Fan.

I’d lost so much. Yet I’d come so far.

This was fate. It had to be.

I was meant to come here. I had a purpose.

And I would see that purpose through.

I banished all thoughts I had of hurling myself from the platform.

No matter what happened, I wouldn’t give up.

I wouldn’t give in.

I would endure.

I would survive this.

No matter what they did to me.

I’ve been through worse.

I’m Shaw Chopra. UC Navy Astrogator.

And I would see Earth again.

I heard a distant humming, slowly growing in volume.

What now?

A figure approached from the hive city below. It flew straight toward me.

Maybe I would finally learn what my captors wanted.

I brought my legs over the rim of the platform and rose from the sticky surface.

A human being wearing a jetpack landed on the far side of the platform. The absence of a jumpsuit was conspicuous, as was the dark green, glowing vapor that surrounded the visitor’s upper body.

This was no human being, but a possessed Artificial.

I edged away from the thing, moving toward the opposite end of the platform.

The Artificial wore the blue-and-gray digital pattern of an SK Navy uniform. It had the face of an SK too, and looked almost human, save for the eyes, which resided firmly in “uncanny valley.” The orbs were too dull, and lacked the shimmer of life. I supposed it was because of the harsh atmosphere, which would’ve vaporized the moisture from its eyes.

“You will not be harmed,” the possessed Artificial said.

I shook my head. “What about my companions? My pet, mutilated. And the man with me . . . you lobotomized him, drilling spare parts into his skull and spine so you could possess him. That’s rather harmful, wouldn’t you say?”

Those dead eyes bored into me. “This man, he came to the ship with you?”

“What do you think? We were in that twisted menagerie of yours when one of your servants took him and threw him into a tank for the robots to operate on.”

The Artificial appeared genuinely saddened. “Then we cannot retrieve him. He is
Cáich
ö
n
now. Property.”

“Property.” I nearly spat the word. “Not so different from me. What do you want?”

“It is I, Azen.”

“I don’t care who you are.” I smiled sardonically. “You’ve migrated from my mech to an Artificial. Am I supposed to be impressed? Tell me what you want.”

The Artificial returned my smile, though it was not sardonic.

“I want to save your race,” Azen said.