Mech Wars: The Complete Series Page 11

  To Bronson, he said, “What are you worried about, sir? It’s not like there’s another private military firm around to apply to. What I’m subjecting these recruits to is no worse than the training I went through to join UHF special forces. In some ways, it’s easier. These kids have no real military experience, unlike nearly all the Darkstream soldiers who were with the company when we first came to this system. And we’re expecting them to pilot mechs in combat. It’s time for a reality check, sir. We need to make sure they’re ready, and this is the only way we can come close.”

  Bronson spread his hands, adopting a faux helpless expression. “I’m just passing on to you what the higher-ups are telling me. They say the military landscape has changed since we left the Milky Way. System security means a healthy private sector, and that means Darkstream must follow its profit imperative. Which means actually retaining its employees.”

  “A healthy private sector also usually means competition, and Darkstream doesn’t have any of that.” Gabe stood, staring down at Bronson. “If you want to retain all the recruits that wash out, you can feel free to stick them into whatever flabby, coddled unit you can find for them. But if I’m taking these kids into battle driving mechs, then I’m going to do my best to drive them into the ground first. If there are any of them left standing once I’m finished, then maybe, just maybe, they’ll be worthy of the responsibility involved in piloting a four-ton war machine the likes of which humanity has only dreamed of till now. Are we finished, sir?”

  Bronson sighed. “Well, no one can say I didn’t try.” He gestured with the back of his hand toward the hatch. “Dismissed.”

  Storming out, Roach slapped the panel to close the hatch behind him. Bronson had a way of getting under his skin every time, no matter how prepared Roach thought he was for the man’s tactics. He was sure the captain made a game of it. He’s sick.

  On his way out of Alpha Quadrant, which was where Bronson’s office was located, Gabe passed Darkstream R&D. He paused in the middle of an intersection of corridors, suddenly thoughtful.

  To keep going would mean heading back to his quarters in Omega Quadrant. To turn left, through several sets of double doors, and increasing security measures…

  “Screw it,” he spat, and pushed through the doors. The next set required he demonstrate his V-level security clearance, and so did the next, and the next.

  He wasn’t sure whether his clearance would get him all the way to the titanium-reinforced room that held the alien mech, but he was pleasantly surprised when it did.

  Time to test my theory.

  The mech still stood inert in the center of the chamber, Zimmerman’s dried blood caked onto its surface and the floor. Taking a deep breath, Roach walked up to it and put his palm on the thing’s calf.

  The mech opened for him, but before climbing inside it, Gabe popped a fast-acting, lucid-inducing sedative. After waiting a few seconds, he pulled himself into the mech’s guts.

  He cleared his mind, in one of the many exercises frequent lucid users used to clear their minds of thought before sleep. Before long, he was inside the dream.

  It took him a moment to realize he was standing in the titanium-reinforced chamber. But something was different. In the dream, he was taller than usual; a lot taller.

  Gabe dreamed that he lifted his arms toward the observation window, and as they rose, those arms became twin cannons.

  The cannons fired, and from the readouts that overlaid his vision, Gabe could see that the rounds traveled faster than any ammunition humans had ever designed. Within seconds, the unbreakable glass shattered into a million pieces.

  Gabe dreamed that the cannons became long, scaled bayonets, and then he dreamed that he plunged the blades into the reinforced wall, gradually shredding it with titanic strength.

  Gabe dreamed he was the mech.

  Chapter 25

  War Never Asks

  After the excitement of the beetle chase, the tedium and strain of the daily training routine was punctuated.

  During the day, while Andy drove, Tessa either taught Lisa the principles of combat and warfare or made her do what exercises she could within the cramped confines of the beetle, typically wedged between the two back seats.

  At night, while Andy inflated their habitat, they worked on Lisa’s shooting, alternating between her own SL-17 and Tessa’s pistols to fire at virtual targets painted on whatever surfaces were handy.

  Once they were inside the habitat, Tessa subjected her to yet more PT. Her only rest came in the very early morning. “I’m not a morning person,” Tessa said simply, and so during those times Lisa was left to stare out the window as the barren wilderness rolled by.

  Even more than she felt tired, she felt lonely. As her mentor, Tessa remained cold and distant, with none of the friendliness she’d shown over their years of drinking together in Habitat 2.

  Andy seemed to be making a point to ignore her, probably because she ignored him. The reason didn’t make it any less unpleasant.

  Sometimes, Lisa even wondered whether Andy and Tessa might be flirting with each other. It seemed ridiculous, given the age gap, but there it was.

  Maybe he’s trying to make me jealous.

  One night, they camped in sight of the space elevator, though Andy announced he intended to give it a wide berth. “It has nothing for us, and anyway, we don’t know how far Daybreak’s reach extends. Their takeover may have involved units coordinating in multiple locations.”

  That gave Lisa pause. “Do you think they might have taken over Habitat 1, too?”

  Andy shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

  That wasn’t comforting, and it threw off Lisa’s aim that evening. She couldn’t keep her mind off the possibility that they could be driving toward the same horrific mess they’d left behind.

  “Get your head in the game, girl,” Tessa said.

  Lisa lowered her gun, glancing back at the older woman in her pressure suit. “I’m not in the mood for this right now. Ma’am.”

  “So? War never asks whether you’re in the mood. It comes either way, ready or not. It’s better to be ready.”

  “War isn’t out here. Nothing’s out here.”

  “Would you like to wash out, then?”

  “Huh?”

  “Wash out. Quit. It’s what quitters do.”

  Lisa gestured at the surrounding blue landscape. “This isn’t some UHF boot camp. It’s the middle of nowhere.”

  “You’re right. And I’m not really your superior officer. I only have the power you choose to give me. You’re welcome to quit anytime.”

  “I don’t want to quit. I just want to knock off for the night.”

  “You skip tonight, you quit. This is about making you battle-ready, girl. Battle doesn’t give nights off. If you want me to continue training you, keep shooting. Or you can go inside that habitat and put your feet up. Completely up to you.”

  With a sigh that she chose not to broadcast over the two-way channel, Lisa turned back to the target and raised the rifle once again.

  In the distance, Darkstream’s space elevator stretched from horizon to sky, becoming hair-thin before disappearing out of view.

  Chapter 26

  Quatro

  The news that Gabriel Roach had solved the mystery of the alien mech buoyed the remaining recruits.

  It also made them fear him, though it was difficult for the terror Roach inspired in them to grow much greater.

  For Jake, it made him respect Roach a bit more. The rumor mill, which was always churning on Valhalla Station, suggested that Roach had accessed the mech without direct authorization. Probably because Darkstream would have considered his attempt an unacceptable risk, given his importance to the mech program.

  So Roach had gone ahead and done it without asking, risking his life for the advancement of humanity and, more immediately, of Darkstream.

  The lesson seemed clear: the only time being insubordinate turned out positively was when the disobedient
soldier achieved great results through his insubordination. Then, his superiors forgave him, and sometimes even lavished him with praise.

  Jake would keep that in mind. Especially since he considered himself smarter, faster, and more skilled than many of the Darkstream officers he’d met. Sometimes he wondered whether his superiors weren’t outright incompetent. The fact that the mechs were only now nearing readiness was ridiculous.

  There are lives depending on this!

  That said, the news that those who made it through Roach’s training would pilot their mechs using lucid—using dreams, essentially—did make Jake even more excited. The mechanism would allow the pilot to become the mech, in a very real sense, which Roach said would give them a proper appreciation for the danger involved and also underscore the need for self-preservation. It would dispense with the illusion that the pilot was somehow apart from the fighting because of the awesome machinery at his command. Instead, the level of immersion would be equal to that of a regular soldier in battle.

  The training remained as harrowing as always, especially now that they were down to only fifty recruits. Days off were a thing of the past, and in the haze of PT and study and more PT and eating and PT and sleep, two words came to be repeated over and over again, in hushed, fearful tones: Final Evaluation.

  It was coming, said the rumor mill, which Jake had now realized was his most reliable source of information on Valhalla. Roach liked to keep them in the dark about most things.

  He did tell them three things:

  First, R&D had eight mechs that would be outfitted with the interface they’d developed after Roach’s breakthrough. Twenty-four other mechs were in various stages of construction and development, but they wouldn’t be finished within a meaningful timeframe to fight the Quatro. So Roach had to cull forty-three more of the recruits, since he would pilot one of the eight mechs himself.

  Second, the final eight to be cut would be in line to pilot the next batch of mechs, and they’d also act as backup pilots should anything happen to the first eight.

  Third, graduates from Roach’s training program would belong to a brand new special forces division, the name of which was yet to be determined. The mechs themselves would be called MIMAS, after a giant from Greek mythology.

  Of course, they’d learned a few days ago that all fifty of them would have jobs with Darkstream’s security forces if they wanted them. Should they fail to make it as mech pilots, they’d be assigned to units based on their individual skill sets.

  Which was great, but Jake didn’t think it actually comforted anyone. They all wanted to pilot mechs, and they wanted it badly.

  If they hadn’t, they would never have put up with Roach’s unending abuse. Achieving anything less would leave a bitter taste.

  Still, when the board authorized all fifty of them to receive implants, on the understanding that they’d work at least a five-year contract with the company, everyone accepted the terms.

  Partly because undergoing the procedure to have the implants surgically installed inside their skulls was the closest they’d come to a day off in over a month.

  The night after receiving his implant, Jake decided not to go lucid. The implant didn’t actually confer an improved lucid experience over the headgear—the main benefits included not having to wear v-lenses and make those stupid gestures all the time.

  Besides, he wanted to dream natural dreams, tonight. About piloting a MIMAS mech into battle.

  The idea didn’t occur to him that, this very night, his childhood dream might get snatched away from him right before he achieved it.

  “Code Scarlet,” a panicked voice yelled over the intercom. “Valhalla Station is under attack. Code Scarlet.”

  Jake bolted out of bed, his heart thumping in his chest as he fumbled at the drawer underneath his bed for his jumpsuit.

  In the time it took him to get dressed, two other trainees bumped into him, the second one almost knocking him back into bed. The bunkroom was chaos.

  “Under attack by who?” he heard someone mutter.

  But Jake had only one thought running through his head, and he doubted he was alone in that.

  It was the same thing feared on some level by every inhabitant of the Steele System: the Ixa. Having finished with the rest of humanity, they’d finally found them, and now they’d come to finish the job.

  Sure enough, the word “Ixa” was soon getting repeated over and over, all through the room.

  “What do we do?”

  “Should we find the chief?”

  Cursing, Jake walked to the front of the room, stopping near the door. He placed two fingers over the light controls and tapped them rapidly, flickering the lights off and on. Then he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, loud and shrill.

  Everyone fell silent, turning toward him.

  “Shut up,” Jake said. “All of you. Obviously, there’s no protocol for what we’re supposed to do when the station’s attacked, because no one expected that to happen. But if Valhalla falls, it’s not going to be because the recruits in line to become Darkstream Special Ops cowered in their bunks like frightened little snowflakes. All right? We don’t need Chief Roach to tell us what to do, because we know what to do. We’re going to double-time it to the armory, arm ourselves, and then we’re going to fight. I want everyone out in the corridor within two minutes. Move!”

  Shaking his head, he made his way into the corridor himself, where Ash soon joined him.

  “Good speech,” she said. “Didn’t know you were into making those.”

  “I’m not. But I like getting blown apart while Roach’s finest students play guessing games even less.”

  “Right. Still, though. That was at least triple the amount of words I’ve ever heard you string together.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  Soon, the fifty recruits were on their way to the armory, where they began to equip themselves.

  “Don’t be shy,” Jake said. “Take what you can reasonably carry. We know how to use everything in here—Roach saw to that, if our lucid gaming hadn’t already. We have to assume that whoever’s attacking is looking to take over the station, not destroy it. Otherwise, we probably wouldn’t be alive right now. If they’re looking to occupy it, they probably don’t want to damage it. That means they almost certainly came in through one of the four flight decks.”

  He divided the recruits into four squads—one to search each quadrant. The moment one squad spotted something, they’d fall back, using their implants to alert the others and broadcast footage of what they were dealing with. Then, they’d confront the enemy as a single, unified platoon.

  As it happened, splitting up wasn’t necessary. When they left Omega Quadrant, they found the station’s Core had plunged into total chaos.

  Right away, Jake spotted two shops on fire, and a nearby green space was littered with the bodies of civilians.

  “Omega Squad, form up and follow behind me, squad file formation,” he hollered. “Ash, you take Alpha Squad and check those shops for survivors. “Kincaid and Beth, take your squads in opposite directions and patrol likely avenues of attack. Let me know right away if you encounter anything.”

  With Omega Squad at his back, Jake trotted over to the green space to investigate the bodies there. He found their clothes and skin rent with deep gouges and massive bite marks. One man lay crumpled at the base of a tree, his skull caved in.

  “Quatro,” Jake muttered. “Quatro did this.”

  “How?” asked another recruit, named Marco. “How could they possibly be here? Could they have taken over the space elevator?”

  Jake shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. Not sure how in hell they would have managed that, but now isn’t the time to puzzle over it. We need to find and stop them before they hurt more people.”

  “Quatro in the Core!” It was Kincaid’s voice, coming in over Jake’s implant. “Jake, there are five Quatro here outside a clothes store. They’ve smashed out the windows and they
’re trying to get at the people inside!”

  “Kincaid, do they see you?”

  “No! My squad’s crouched behind a low café wall.”

  “Good. Ash, you hearing this?”

  “I’m hearing it.”

  “Beth’s squad is too out-of-position to engage in time,” Jake said, studying the real-time minimap his implant had superimposed near the top-left of his field of vision. “But if we can make our way to the edge of the green space we’re in, and you set up your squad behind the bank…Kincaid, you start shooting, then we flank them. Hopefully we can put them down before they reach you.”

  “Yeah, hopefully, eh?” A note of sarcasm had entered the other recruit’s voice.

  “Listen, I’ve never fought Quatro before, but it’s just as possible they’ll run toward my squad once we start firing. We’re all in danger here, buddy. That’s what battle means.”

  “Sorry, Jake. I’m just feeling a little tense.”

  “We all are. But there’s no more time for chitchat. Move, everyone! And don’t let your situational awareness falter for a second!”

  Omega Squad trotted through the trees as quickly and quietly as they could. Before long, Jake could hear the screams of those trapped inside the shop, and soon after that, he spotted the Quatro who were menacing it.

  Subvocalizing to his squad, he directed them to find cover wherever they could. For his part, he nestled his body between two bushes, peering at the giant, purple aliens between a screen of branches, with only his assault rifle’s muzzle sticking out.

  “All right, Kincaid. Hit them.”

  No answer.

  “Kincaid?”

  Incredible. He couldn’t wait any longer. Cursing under his breath, Jake leapt to his feet, tearing a grenade from his belt and lobbing it as hard as he could toward the Quatro.

  “Take cover!” he yelled to those inside the shop. “Get deeper inside! Grenade!”

  The Quatro turned toward the source of the yelling. Then they noticed the grenade, and they started to run. Toward Jake.