Atlas (43 page)

I still wouldn't give in. "What about mines?" I was grasping at straws now. "Can't we launch some timer mines, and set them to destroy the Gate behind us? There's enough shielding in a mine to easily withstand EMPs."

"If this was a Navy warship, maybe. But the
Royal Fortune
is a jury-rigged privateer. We're not carrying any mines, Rade."

"What if—"

"Rade! We've considered every possibility!" I was stunned by the ferocity in her voice. When she spoke again, her tone was gentler. "Rade. I have to stay behind. It's up to me to destroy the Gate. I'm sorry."

"So am I. Because I'm coming with you." The hangar doors were still open, just as if the Chief had wanted to give me that very opportunity. "I'm just going to get some fuel for this jetpack, and—"

"Don't you dare," Shaw sent over the comm. "I'm launching my full complement of hellfires the instant the
Royal Fortune
is through the Gate. If you're out there in a jumpsuit, the shockwaves from the explosion will rip you apart." She paused, as if gathering her thoughts. "Look. I purposely drained most of the fuel from that pack. I want you to stay behind. One of us has to survive. One of us has to go on living. And that's you, Rade. It has to be you."

I suddenly felt extremely tired, like I was holding up the weight of the world, and I couldn't do it anymore. I lowered myself until I lay prostate on the deck. I was still staring at the shuttle, which was about the size of my thumbnail now.

"You can do this Rade," Shaw continued. There was a lot of static on the comm, and her words cut in and out, but it didn't matter because I understood everything—I knew her so well, and was so used to her voice and her every nuance of tone, that even when I missed part of a word, I knew exactly what she had meant to say. "You're strong. The strongest of us all. If anyone can get through this, it's you." She laughed then. A sad laugh. Full of regret. "Look at me, trying to comfort you, when I'm the one who's going to die alone, 8,000 lightyears from home. I'm scared, Rade. I'm going to miss you. Miss everything."

"Please Shaw. Don't do this." But I knew she had to. For the ship.

For humanity.

"Goodbye Rade.
It was good being with you. Really good."

"Shaw..."

"Remember me in the deepest, darkest hours, when you think you can't go on. Remember me in the storm, when—"

The comm filled with uninterrupted static.

The
Royal Fortune
had passed through the Gate.

When I finally got back to Earth, the Brass tried to give me the Navy Cross.

What an insult.

I told them three of my friends had died because of me.

I didn't deserve a metal for that.

My friends were the ones who gave their lives for me.

My friends were the ones who deserved the Navy Cross.

I lived, and I wasn't about to dishonor their memory by accepting some cheap
, political bauble for surviving them.

A piece of metal wasn't going to bring them back.

Nothing would.

* * *

Some months later reports began to trickle in from Tau Ceti: The 50,000-megaton nuke payload that mined the natural exit point of the Geronium Slipstream had detonated.

Something had tried to pass through.

Foreign matter was detected amongst the debris in the aftermath of the explosion, and whatever had attempted entry was presumed destroyed.

The SKs quietly dispatched their imperial minelayers and the entire area was re-mined with fresh nukes. SK battlecruisers were deployed to provide a constant watch.

Nothing further attempted to pass through that Slipstream. The region remained silent.

The message was clear, however:

We know about you.

And we are coming.

It was difficult to keep a 50,000-megaton explosion hidden, given the technology available to professional and armchair astronomers alike, and theories spread like wildfire across the Undernet. Eventually, word got out about our secret mission, and what we had seen. Pictures were shared of the black, skull-shaped ship, known as the "Great Death." Stories were told of the armies of hideous beings, and the
Yaoguai—
demons from the underworld with a particular appetite for the souls of men.

Doomsayers spread the word: It was the end of humankind's glorious expansion to the stars. The end of life as we knew it.

We'd awakened something on the far side of the galaxy that we should've left well alone. We'd stepped too far. Aimed too high. And the "Great Death" was going to come for us. Eventually.

Maybe they were right. Maybe humankind was doomed.

Maybe not.

But if the invaders did come, I knew it was only a matter of time, months, maybe years, before the MOTHs were called in. But we
would
be summoned, in the end. It was inevitable.

I was ready.

I'm Rade Galaal.

I've come a long ways from the barrio I grew up in.

And I'm a MOTH, now.

I pilot ATLAS mechs.

Let the enemies of humanity come.

Because when they do, there'll be hell to pay.

I opened my eyes.

My fingers fumbled in the shadows, and I found the water canister.

I took a long sip, then checked the craft's power cells. Thirty percent.

I adjusted the window's opacity dial, letting the sunlight pour inside, then I went through the daily ritual of donning my jumpsuit. When I sealed the helmet and activated the oxygen supply, I took a long inhale of the iron-smelling air.

While my body acclimated to the internal environment, I went to the pile of thick pelts I'd collected and started securing them to the suit's outer layer. The jumpsuits could adapt in coloration to match any terrain of course, but I wanted actual fur. It confused the hybears sometimes.

When the acclimation period was over, I depressurized the compartment and lowered the ramp. I walked from my metal prison to the bigger prison of the outside world.

I stood at the bottom of one of the deep valleys that carved through the planet's surface. This valley lay along the equator, and I had named it the Main Rift. One of the nice things about the location, other than the relatively balmy temperatures, was that the radiation levels were low.

The long Forma pipe in the distance belched oxygen into the air. Not that it helped. The atmosphere wasn't breathable, and wouldn't be for a long while yet. Nor was the atmospheric pressure anywhere near Earth's.

Ahh, terraforming.

Would that it were faster.

Still, the Forma pipe did have a more immediate use: Whenever I needed to refill my oxygen tanks, that chimney was just half-a-day's hike away.

I stretched my arms. It felt good to step beyond the confines of the craft.

Queequeg came to my side almost immediately, walking on the knees of his forelegs in submission.

"Good-morning Queequeg." I scratched the animal's head. "Beautiful day."

He groaned softly.

My friendship with Queequeg was the only thing that kept me sane. I talked, he listened. Queequeg made me feel needed, gave me a reason to go on with each day.

The animal was what I called a hybear. He had the elongated head of a hyena and the bulky torso of a bear. Thick black fur sheathed most of his body, and tufts of green hair tipped his knees, shoulders, and ears. SK bioengineering at its finest. I suspected Queequeg and his brethren contributed to the terraforming in some small way. Probably inhaled carbon dioxide and exhaled oxygen or something along those lines. But don't quote me on that. I'm no bioengineer, plus I don't have proper bio-scanning equipment.

The main problem with the hybears was that there was no one left to feed them, now that the Sino-Koreans were gone.

And they were hungry. They'd eat the Beasts if they had to, or each other, but they much preferred human flesh, judging from the interest they always showed in me.

I didn't have to worry about Queequeg though. He thought he was human. Still, I had to be wary around him: he existed in a state halfway between a savage animal and a domestic pet, like his namesake from
Moby Dick
. Sometimes, if I tried to approach him after the frenzy of the hunt, he would snap at me and I'd have to talk so very soothingly to him.

I watched the dark, roiling clouds in the distance. The sight gave me an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

"Storm's growing," I said distractedly.

Queequeg clacked his teeth in answer.

If the storm swept this way we might have to take shelter in one of the abandoned sinkholes that were common to this area of the planet.

But they were never really abandoned, were they?

My stomach growled, thrusting my gloomy thoughts aside. I'd said that the hybears were hungry. Well, so was I.

"Come on, time to hunt."

Queequeg stood to his full height and whooped eagerly.

I hefted my spear—an M4 rifle with the long, sharp mandible of one of the Beasts secured to the end with utility tape
and superglue. A crude weapon to be sure, but I'd run out of ammunition a long time ago.

I gave the campsite one last glance to make sure everything was in order. My gaze swept past the damaged shuttle, and not for the first time I wished the AI had awakened me from stasis in orbit rather than trying to land on its own.

When my eyes passed over the intact cockpit glass, I saw a stranger in a furry jumpsuit peering back at me.

Startled, I actually jumped. And when the stranger jumped too, I realized I was looking at my own reflection.

I should have laughed at my own foolishness.

I should have turned around and walked away, shaking my head.

But I hadn't seen myself in weeks.

I'd been avoiding it.

But now that this reflection presented itself, I stared.

And stared.

Beyond that facemask, my features were so sunken, so gaunt, my hair such a stringy mess, that the person I once was proved unrecognizable.

Who had I been?

What had I become?

I didn't even know anymore.

No, that wasn't true.

I did know who I was.

Who I
am
.

I've gone to places I never dreamed I could go.

Scaled heights I never dreamed I could ascend.

Survived situations so dire and encounters so fierce it's mind-boggling I'm still alive.

I really should be dead.

But I'm not.

And you know what?

I will survive this.

I will endure.

I
will
see Earth again.

That's a promise.

You can hold me to that.

We all live our own lives in this galaxy.

It just so happens that I live mine on a planet 8,000 lightyears from everyone else. For now.

I have to go.

It's time to hunt.

Remember me in the dark nights, when all hope seems lost.

Remember me in the storm, when you think you can't go on.

Remember who I am and what I stood for.

This is Navy Astrogator Shaw Chopra, signing off.

Thank you for reading!

I hope you enjoyed
ATLAS
.

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