Atlas (31 page)

Facehopper frowned. "Any elaborations on that point?"

"None. And get a load of this. You know those hyena-bear things we encountered? Turns out the SKs
did
bio-engineer them. Why? Not so much for terraforming, but for protection. Against what? They won't say. Well, let me rephrase that. They don't know. The mysterious Great Death again. Keep in mind all of this is taking place after the truth serum has been injected right into their medial prefrontal cortexes. We asked where their support robots were. Their ATLAS mechs and walkers. No idea. All they could tell us was that their company was the last surviving group of SKs on the planet.

"So anyway, the doc looked at their blood work. Turns out the whole lot of them had traces of scopolamine in their systems. It's what the SKs use as a truth serum. Illegal in the UC. Makes the victim extremely susceptible to suggestion while the drug is active. Plus has the pleasant side effect of numbing the recall neurons, so that anything they do under the influence of the drug is forgotten. Thing is, scopolamine is basically a one-shot drug, you don't want to be using it too often—too many side effects. By itself, it doesn't last more than twenty-four hours. So that doesn't explain why they can't remember anything before the scopolamine was administered."

"You think they've been mindwiped," Facehopper said.

The Chief stroked his thick mustache. "That's exactly what I think."

"As for the scopolamine, the SKs drugged their own soldiers to make them do something they didn't want to do."

"Yup," the Chief agreed. "Though what it was they were supposed to do, I'm not sure we'll ever find out."

"What about the Implants? Have we broken the SK encryption on the units?"

"We got three AIs on it,
under the guidance of two Fleet cryptologists, doing brute force attacks. None of the backdoors are working, so it could be a while. I'm not sure it'll matter though."

"Why not?" Facehopper said. "The Implants maintain an archive of everything that a given person sees and hears."

"Sure," Chief Bourbonjack agreed. "But their Implants were deactivated when we found them. To the last man."

"Oh."

Their Implants were deactivated? So much for the Node-jammer in Snakeoil's rucksack protecting our positions out there. The SKs wouldn't have had even a Heads-Up-Display during the battle.

"Why the bloody hell would they deactivate their Implants?" Facehopper said.

The Chief chuckled, and deep laugh lines appeared on his weatherworn face. "Besides the obvious reason of preventing anyone from viewing a recording of what happened? Doesn't seem worth it, does it? To lose all the tactical advantages granted by an Implant just to cover up whatever it was you were doing."

"I don't like it," Facehopper said. "Not one bit."

"No one does. Commander Braggs was yelling at Ghost and Banye when they brought him the news. And he never yells."

Chief Bourbonjack glanced at me with his dark, titled eyes, and I quickly relaxed my eyelids, pretending I was asleep. I know
Alejandro, Big Dog, Lui, and Manic were doing the same thing.

"You boys can stop pretending you're asleep now," the Chief said.

I opened my eyes, grinning sheepishly.

The Chief turned back to Facehopper. "Anyway, everything seems to revolve around that Geronium excavation site. Don't go there, all the SKs say. Don't go. No explanation other than 'the Great Death awaits.' I don't have to tell you that the excavation site is now the focal point of our investigation. We've had the HS3s and a handful of Centurions scouting the area, but so far it seems quiet. There's a deep mineshaft that leads to an underground cavern of some kind, and the Commander has ordered Bravo platoon down to join the robots for a recon. He gave them four ATLAS 5s. The scientists have gone too. At the first sign of trouble they're to evac immediately."

"Great," Facehopper said. "You saw how well that went with our platoon."

The Chief scratched his hooked nose. "I know. Never said I liked it. But the Commander wants to get to the bottom of this, if you'll excuse the pun. Initial reports from the HS3s indicate that the cavern is safe. No flammable gases. No hostiles or lifeforms of any kind. Just walls and walls of Geronium-275."

"No sign of hostiles. Where have I heard that before?" Facehopper crossed his arms. "Maybe we should just leave now while we're still ahead? Cut our losses, destroy the Gate, and never come back."

"Not going to happen. You know that." He patted Facehopper on the shoulder. "Have a good, long rest my friend. Save up your energy. I have a feeling you're going to need it."

* * *

Several hours later the Chief returned.

This time with Lieutenant Commander Braggs.

"Bravo platoon missed their scheduled check-in,"
the Lieutenant Commander said.

"It could be nothing," the Lieutenant Commander continued

"But if it were nothing you wouldn't be coming down here to tell me." Facehopper lowered the side-rail of his bed and stood up immediately. He winced painfully, but only for a second. "I'm going in." His voice was firm.

I was the next person standing. I felt dizzy a moment, but blamed it on lying down for thirty-six hours. Alejandro, Big Dog, Lui, and Manic rose in turn.

"You'll have to cuff us and throw us in the brig if you want us to stay behind," I said. "Sir."

Chief Bourbonjack nodded stiffly. He was blinking rapidly, and his chin quivered slightly so that for a second I thought he was going to choke up. But the moment passed and he became all hard scowls once more.

I was surprised when the Lieutenant Commander got suited up with us. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't have put himself in danger like that. But no one said anything. We all understood why he did it. He was a MOTH, like all of us. He'd gone through the exact same training. All officers and enlisteds did. We were brothers. And he'd be damned if he left one of his platoons alone on some harsh planet without making every attempt to help them.

He was a warrior first, a Lieutenant Commander second.

Almost everyone from Alfa Platoon was coming along, except for Bender and Fret, who were still unconscious in the ICU.

In the prep room an SK was sitting cross-legged on the deck in one corner. His hands were bound. The way he looked at us reminded me of the prisoners of war we'd captured in Mongolia: there was wasn't just anger and resentment in those eyes, but undisguised hatred. I knew he would've shot us all without hesitation, given the chance.

Chief Bourbonjack introduced him while we donned the jumpsuits. "This is Mao. One of their Officers. Friendly chap, as Facehopper would say." His voice oozed sarcasm.

Facehopper paused. "You say Mao?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

Facehopper slid on his left arm assembly. "I met a Mao once, if you remember."

"Oh yes. The privateer. You didn't get along too well."

"Not at all."

"What happened?" I said.

"Oh, nothing." Facehopper fastened the right arm enclosure to his torso assembly. "Just that he tried to shoot a hole in me."
2

Mao wasn't paying attention. He had gone very pale, and his eyes were latched on to Ghost.

The albino gave him a mock salute. "Nice to see you again, Lieutenant. No hard feelings, huh?"

Mao took a step back, saying nothing to our interrogator.

"I don't think he likes you Ghost," Lui said.

Mao shot Lui an evil glare. "You are a traitor to your race," Mao said in English, practically spitting the words. "You are the one who should be rotting on the planet, along with all your White Devils. Not my men. My good men."

"What race are you talking about, bro?" Lui said with a sigh. "We're all human here."

"You are less than human." Mao wrinkled his face in disgust and spat a glob of phlegm at the deck. "When I die in the
Yaoguai Dòngxué
, I will go down laughing, knowing that you and your men, you who slaughtered your own, die with me. You will get your, how do you say, just deserts."

Lui gave him a disgusted look. "Whatever."

"What's
Yaoguai Dòngxué
?" Trace said, zipping up the 'liquid-cooling and ventilation' undergarment that went on beneath the jumpsuit. He was one of the slower dressers.

"Use your Implant," Big Dog growled.

"It's what the SKs call the Geronium mineshaft," Lieutenant Commander Braggs said. "
Yaoguai
is a demon from the underworld. Likes to eat the souls of men, apparently. And
Dòngxué
means cave."

Trace pulled on the lower torso assembly of his jumpsuit. "So we're going into a demon cave." The swarthy East Indian chuckled softly. "Nice." He glanced at the Lieutenant Commander. "And let me guess, the drones are still giving us the all-clear, right?"

Lieutenant Commander Braggs nodded gravely. "So far. But the place is huge. A damn labyrinth. The second wave of HS3s and Centurions we sent down have mapped out maybe one fifth of it. We're going down to speed that process along."

"Didn't we get any telemetry of the cave from Bravo?"

"Some. Problem is, we can't get a signal out from the underground cave network. That one-fifth of the cave we've mapped so far? We're getting it by sending the HS3s and Centurions in a ways, then ordering them back to the surface so the robots can transmit what they've found to us."

"What about the ATLAS mechs, and the robot support troops sent down with Bravo?" I said. "Have we found those yet?"

"No." Lieutenant Commander Braggs secured the helmet of his jumpsuit. He seemed bothered by what I'd just said.

"You will find only death," Mao said in broken English. "The Great Death."

Skullcracker stepped forward. "Howdy."

Mao flinched backwards. The sight of that skull
tattoo was enough to shut him up.

We all finished suiting up. The doc injected Mao with a sedative, then Facehopper and Skullcracker unbound him and dressed him in a trimmed-down version of our jumpsuits, basically just an environmental suit minus the strength-enhancing exoskeleton—the same type of suit the scientists wore on our first drop. When Mao was suited up, Facehopper and Skullcracker strapped metallic anklets around the outer assembly of each of his feet and bound his wrists with fibroin cords.

We waited the necessary hour for our bodies to adapt to the lower pressure in the jumpsuits. Well actually that's not true: we cut the adaption period short by about fifteen minutes. We were too wound up.

I tried to say goodbye to Shaw. She still had me blocked. Too bad. I didn't know if I'd come back, and I didn't want to leave things just hanging like this between us.

I proceeded to the weapons rack in the hangar bay with the others.

Facehopper had made fun of me the first time around for bringing so many grenades. Well, he packed on more than a dozen this time. The whole team did. My brothers loaded up on the magazines, slung Carl Gustavs over their shoulders, tucked two pistols each into their belts.

I loaded up on magazines too, but as for actual weaponry, I grabbed only a couple of grenades and a 9-mil.

Why?

Because before we had gone over to the weapons rack, Lieutenant Commander Braggs took me aside.

"Mr. Galaal, most of the remaining ATLAS 5s are down there with Bravo Platoon. We salvaged Ladybug, Manic's ATLAS, but it's going to take a lot of work to repair her. That leaves only one working mech aboard. You understand me?"

"Uh, yes sir." I glanced over my shoulder, toward the mech storage alcoves on the far side of the hangar, behind the drop vessel. Those alcoves were all empty, save one. Hornet moored there, brooding in silence, a behemoth waiting to awaken, a deathdealing avenger ready to unleash its wrath upon the world below. "Uh, not really sir."

"I want you to pilot Hornet. Our last ATLAS."

"You're shitting me." When it finally sunk in that he wasn't joking, I just stood there with a stupid grin on my face. Finally I was getting a chance to prove myself. A chance to pilot an ATLAS 5 in an actual combat situation.

Braggs didn't say why. He had full access to my qualification results of course. He obviously knew how high my ATLAS aptitude scores were. I guess he was just waiting until I
had my callsign before he assigned me to a mech. Or maybe he wanted to punish Lui and Manic for losing theirs.

"Thank you, sir," I said. "But I have to refuse."

"Excuse me, Mr. Galaal?"

I glanced at Lui, Manic, and Bomb. All three were eavesdropping attentively nearby.

"I have to refuse. Bomb is really the one you should pick, sir. He has more actual experience in combat. And he hasn't had a chance to drop—"

"You're going to drop in that mech do you hear me, Galaal?" Lieutenant Commander Braggs said. "Don't give me that I'm-sacrificing-myself-for-my-friends bull. We need the best out there on the ATLAS 5 today, and you're the best."

"The best in training maybe—"

He gripped my jumpsuit by the chest handle and actually lifted me up. I could hear the servomotors in his suit's exoskeleton revving. "I've never had to force anyone into a mech in my life. Are you actually going to make me regret my decision? Do I have to kick your sorry ass into that steel cockpit myself?"

I swallowed, taking very good care not to look at anyone else. "No sir. I won't let you down, sir."

"Damn right you won't, Mr. Galaal. Damn right. We're all distraught because of what's happened with Bravo Platoon, so I'll forgive your insubordination. This time."

I realized I'd made a big mistake questioning the orders of the Lieutenant Commander in front of everyone like that. Of course he wouldn't be able to rescind an order once he gave it, even if I was right. It would only make him look bad. If we survived this, I'd probably never get assigned an ATLAS mech again.

Damn it.

Even so, as I approached the mech alcove, I felt a sudden buoyancy in my step.

I was doing this.

I was really doing this.

I climbed the support rungs on Hornet's right leg, and swung myself into the cockpit. The hatch sealed, and the elastic inner material pressed into my body from all sides. I felt the usual moment of claustrophobia inside that windowless cockpit, but it passed when the mech overlaid what it saw onto my vision and I looked down on the hangar bay from the height of an ATLAS 5.

When everyone was onboard the MDV and the ramp closed, I watched the magnetic rails gradually extend beyond the opening of the hangar. Secured to the overhead was a long, robotic arm, and it latched onto the top of the MDV.

The craft slid forward on the rails. When the MDV was outside the launch bay, the rails demagnetized and slowly slid back inside. The MDV, supported now only by the robotic arm, wobbled back and forth ever so slightly. The pincers of the arm opened up and the MDV fell from view.

The arm retracted and the metallic rails extended beyond the doors once more. The rails flattened, widening, and moved closer together, forming a bridge of sorts. I walked Hornet onto that bridge, feeling the power in every step. I passed beyond the opening of the hangar bay and out into space.

There was no artificial gravity out here, and the weightlessness of space took over immediately, playing havoc with my inner ear. There was no up or down, no left or right. It felt for all the world like I was walking upside
-down and sideways. At the same time.

I concentrated, ignored the feeling. Right foot forward. Then left foot. Right. Left. The magnetized metal below ensured I wouldn't float away with each step
. I could feel the resistance as each foot lifted away, and the suction as that foot lowered again.

I heard no sound except my own
tense breathing.

I told myself this wasn't a big deal. I'd
dropped in a mech before, in training. "Walking the plank," we called it.

I reached the edge. The world floated below me, filling up the sky from horizon to horizon. I could see the curvature at the far edges.

I always loved this part. Perched here like this, I was literally on top of the world.

The next part, I didn't like so much.

I stepped off.

The ship sped away and in an instant was a tiny dot above me. Below, the world didn't seem to get any bigger.

Not at first anyway.

On my HUD, I saw indicators showing that the gyroscopic thrusters were firing regularly, keeping me stable during the descent. The single-use aeroshell heat shield deployed, forming a giant inverted mushroom about ten meters in diameter beneath Hornet.

Soon my vision was filled with orange flame as that shell deflected the heat of entry. I always got this panicky feeling of being trapped in a burning casket in a crematory right about now, even though I knew the physics of it all. Or perhaps
because
I knew the physics: The compression shockwave below the mech heated the air molecules to several thousand Kelvins, and the blunt shape of the shield caused the air right underneath to act as a cushion, pushing the heated shock layer away from the ATLAS. If the silicon-coated Kevlar shield sprung a leak and the nitrogen gas leaked out, both the shield and the mech would disintegrate into so much molten slag.

Even with that shield, it still got a little hot. Well, more than a little. I was sweating in profusion. Hornet's aerogel insulation (not to mention the liquid cooling undergarment I wore in the jumpsuit) was supposed to regulate the internal temperature to a decent level, but it always got a bit too warm for my tastes. I checked the internal temperature. Fifty degrees Celsius.

Yup, a bit too warm.

Then there were the G forces. I'd felt them the moment the mech decelerated as it passed into the thicker air. An ATLAS weighed three tonnes, so it didn't slow down a whole lot, but the negative Gs were still noticeable. I practiced doing the muscle contractions we'd been taught. The forces topped out at three Gs according to the indicator. Not as bad as doing a drop in a jumpsuit. That was the worst. Because of the light drop weight, the negative and positive forces could reach up to eight Gs. Not fun. I'd fallen unconscious one time in training during a jumpsuit-only drop, and the autopilot had saved my neck.