Resist the Red Battlenaut (6 page)

 

"Look what the
cat
just puked up!" Chief Engineer Torus Azimuth roared the words from the upper catwalk of the vast Engineering Deck. "Some kind of rancid hoozehock, it looks like! I swear, I can
smell
it all the way up
here
!"

Scott stood on the floor below and looked up at him, thinking dark thoughts. "Corporal Solomon Scott reporting for duty, sir."

"I know who you are!" said Azimuth. "We
all
do, don't we?"

It seemed like every man and woman in Engineering was watching the scene unfold. Scott saw them leaning over the catwalks, standing on the floor, poking their heads out of nooks and accessways in between. They all wore red jumpsuits with black Diamondback emblems, and every one of them seemed to be grinning and nodding at the same time, agreeing with their Chief.

Azimuth spread his arms wide. "You're a celebrity!" Though he was a short, squat man--a full head shorter than the two men flanking him on the catwalk--he looked and sounded intimidating. His face, with its dark, arched eyebrows, crooked nose, and beady eyes, had a satanic quality that added to the impression. Even his hair looked devilish, the shaved black bristle drawing to a sharp point in the middle of his broad forehead. "You're a real four alarm big shot, aren't you? Your fame precedes you!"

Scott said nothing. In his years as a Marine, he'd been baited by the best. He wasn't about to let Azimuth get his goat.

"The only one to ever see a supposed Red Battlenaut! The only one to bring back a piece of one!" Azimuth pulled a big wrench out of his overloaded tool belt and thrust it overhead. "Let's give Corporal Scott the welcome he deserves!"

With that, Azimuth started whacking his wrench against the catwalk railing, and the rest of his crew followed suit, banging tools against the nearest metal structures or surfaces. The cavernous Engineering Deck filled with a cacophony of metal crashing against metal, clanging like an orchestra of out-of-tune broken bells.

Scott stood patiently and waited for it to die down. He'd expected some ball-breaking, it came with the territory when stepping into a tight-knit, ultra-elite group like CORE. But he had to admit, it was starting to get old.

When the clanging stopped, Azimuth tossed his wrench over the railing. It hit the floor less than three meters from Scott and bounced twice, landing just a few centimeters from his left boot.

Scott glanced down at it, then calmly returned his gaze to Azimuth. The less he reacted, the sooner Azimuth would get bored with riding him.

Probably. "So how's your
grandma
, Corporal?" Azimuth sneered when he said it. "
Commandant
grandma, I should say."

"Commandant Chalice is just fine, sir," said Scott. "I'll tell her you asked."

"You do that!" Azimuth raised his satanic eyebrows. "You tell her I won't give you any special treatment, too!"

"None expected, sir." Scott clenched his jaws and kept up eye contact with Azimuth. He might have to take the Chief Engineer's plang, but he didn't have to bow his head like a whipped dog when he did.

"What a woman, that granny of yours," said Azimuth. "A real
hellcat
in the sack."

Everyone howled with laughter except Scott, who was inwardly seething. Azimuth had just crossed the line.

"I'll be sure to tell her you said
that
, too," snapped Scott, though he knew it was the absolute worst thing he could have said.

"Ha! I
knew
it!" Azimuth pulled a screwdriver from his belt and chucked it down. It bounced once and hit Scott in the knee. "You're a
rat
! You're gonna report us to
Grandma Hellcat
every chance you get!"

Scott glared at him. "No, sir! As a Marine, I am required to observe the chain of command at all times." He paused, took a breath, then let it out slowly. "I'm here to do my duty and follow orders, plain and simple."

"Is that so?" Azimuth stroked his chin and widened his eyes in a fiendish expression. "Then I have an order for you, Corporal. Get your ass in the primary grid chamber and polish the contacts on the negative mass manipulators."

Scott was stunned. "While we're in flight?" Had he heard correctly?

"Are you making me
repeat
my order?" bellowed Azimuth.

"But it's
suicide
," said Scott. "The energy flow will
fry
me as soon as I walk in the room."

Azimuth pulled a hammer from his belt and cracked the railing with it. "So you're
refusing
to obey my orders?"

"Did you mean you want me to polish the manipulator contacts in the
secondary
grid chamber, perhaps?" said Scott.

"Enough!" Azimuth banged the hammer three more times, then shook it at Scott. "Report to Dr. Beauchamp for an immediate psych evaluation."

Scott started to say something, then caught himself. At least a psych eval would get him away from Azimuth for a while. "Sir, yes sir." With that, he spun on his heel and marched off past the leering, chortling engineering crew.

On his way out, he heard Azimuth's hammer clatter to the floor behind him, hopping across the hard metal deck plates.

"Get the flux out of here, you insubordinate piece of oosh!" shouted Azimuth. "Don't come back until you've got your jar-head
head
on straight!"

Scott just kept walking. As the door slid open before him, he heard the crew jeering and more objects hitting the floor, but he didn't look back.

 

*****

 

Dr. Monique Beauchamp pursed her lips and nodded when Scott described what had happened in Engineering. "I see." She sat in a high-backed black leather swivel chair in her office, making notes on a tablet computer in her lap. "Chief Engineer Azimuth told you to kill yourself, and you did not comply."

"Correct." Scott sat across from her on a metal folding chair, feeling nervous--partly because he was worried about the outcome of the psych eval and partly because Dr. Beauchamp was so attractive.

Her face was long, with high cheekbones and aquiline features. Soft black hair flowed down over her shoulders, gleaming in the muted light of the office. Even the loose-fitting Diamondback uniform she wore couldn't hide the voluptuous curves of her body.

What kept Scott on edge the most, though, was the sensuous vibe that she gave off. When she looked his way, her gaze lingered on him, her deep brown eyes half-lidded behind stylish holographic lenswear. Her movements were languorous, graceful and catlike, even simple ones like crossing her legs or tapping the screen of her tablet. And her voice was throaty, with a light French accent.

Though she'd been on the shuttle with him the day before, this was the first they'd been alone together in such close proximity...the first he'd gotten the full effect of her charms. It was making it damn hard for him to concentrate, to say the least.

"So." Beauchamp tossed her head from side to side, shifting her hair back from her face. "You've followed orders in the past that could have led to your death, have you not?"

"Yes." Scott's eyes drifted downward, skimmed the curves of her ample chest, then shot back up to meet her gaze. "But this was different. This made no sense."

Beauchamp sighed. "In a world without court martial, disobeying a direct order might not be such a serious matter. Sadly, in
this
world, we must consider different possibilities."

"So I should have followed the order and entered the active grid chamber? Is that what you're saying?"

"Not at all." Beauchamp tapped her tablet three times, then aimed a grave stare at Scott. "I am saying it's possible that Azimuth's order could have been given for a different reason."

Scott frowned. "Such as?"

Beauchamp set aside her tablet and leaned forward, clasping her long-fingered hands over her knee. "You are familiar with the term 'hazing,' yes?"

Scott leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. For a moment, he just sat there and scowled. "Hazing," he said finally. "I know the term."

"Chief Azimuth is notorious for it," said Beauchamp. "I hope you won't take it personally. He does it to everyone when they first arrive."

"Okay then." Scott blew out his breath and nodded slowly. "So they're all laughing their asses off in Engineering right now."

"All over the ship, actually." Beauchamp shrugged. "In fact, I saw the video feed before you got here."

"Great." Scott looked away and clenched his jaw. "Just great."

"But it's not a bad thing, is it? Not really." She tipped her head, and the hair on that side fell away from her neck and shoulder. "As far as the people on this ship are concerned, you are unproven. That means you are potentially dangerous in the field...and just as dangerous off the field because your grandmother is the Marine Commandant. If you look a little foolish now and can be a good sport about it, it will make them feel more comfortable around you, yes?"

"I understand how hazing works," growled Scott. "Are we done here?"

Beauchamp narrowed her eyes and stared at him for a moment, then settled back in her chair. "Hmm." She retrieved her tablet from the side table and tapped the screen a few times. "I'm curious. Did you have many friends in your last unit?"

"Of course I had friends," said Scott.

"But did you have
good
friends? And
many
of them?" Beauchamp read something on her tablet. "I see you contacted no one from your last unit before debarking from Ovid VI with the Diamondbacks."

"So what?" said Scott.

"And you've contacted no one since," said Beauchamp.

"Been a little busy."

Beauchamp flipped through data on the tablet. "So would you say you
do
have many good friends from your last unit? And the ones before that?"

Scott checked his wrist chronometer. "I have armor drills in five minutes, Doctor. I better get going."

"Drills can wait. Answer my question." Beauchamp shifted, uncrossing her legs. "Have you made many good friends in your previous units?"

Scott shook his head. "No." He hated that she was right. "I haven't."

Beauchamp nodded. "Is it safe to say you're a loner then?"

Scott knew she knew it was true. She just wanted to hear him say it. "Yes. It's safe to say." He started getting out of his chair.

"Then you are doomed." Beauchamp turned her gaze to the tablet. "You cannot be a loner among the Diamondbacks and expect to survive."

Scott sat back down. "I know how to survive. I know damn well how to work with a team."

"There is the flaw in your thinking." She raised an index finger and wagged it back and forth. "This is not a
team
. This is not some group of interchangeable, easily replaceable strangers. It is a
family
."

"Family?" said Scott. "Already got one, thanks."

"Do you?" Beauchamp held up the tablet. "Your file hardly mentions them, except for your grandmother."

Scott checked his chronometer again. "Listen." He popped up out of his chair and straightened his uniform. "I'm already late for my drills. Gotta go."

Beauchamp rose and blocked his path to the door. "At least let me leave you with one last question."

"What?" said Scott.

Beauchamp leaned toward him. "Why are you so alone, Corporal Scott?" She held his gaze for moment, letting the words hang in the air between them. Then, she stepped to one side, clearing the way.

Scott nodded and marched past her. The door slid open as he approached it, then swooshed shut behind him as he rushed into the hallway.

Hurrying toward the Training Deck, he thought about what Beauchamp had said. He wanted to put it right out of his mind, banish it to make room for his many more pressing concerns.

But he couldn't. In a few short minutes, she'd managed to get under his skin. Was it just because she was so good at it, or because he was so tired and having a crappy day? Or was there another reason, perhaps?

What if the question made him uncomfortable because it hit a little too close to home?

 

*****

 

 

Scott felt better once he got inside the cockpit of his Battlenaut on the Training Deck. The armor was still new to him, but he felt more at home there than anywhere else on the ship. He felt more at ease piloting the war machine than dealing with unpredictable, pain-in-the-ass human beings.

And the more time he spent inside it, the better he got at handling it. Alone on the Training Deck, he focused on weapons configuration, target practice and basic maneuvers, working to master the voice control interface and eye-movement holo displays. After two hours of putting the Battlenaut through its paces, his confidence level was much higher, his grasp of the armor's capabilities and limitations more complete. It was finally starting to feel like an extension of him, just as his old non-CORE armor had before its destruction.

During the hours of solo practice, his troubles from earlier in the day were forgotten. All that mattered was the Battlenaut around him, the way it responded to his commands with increasing speed and grace...walking, then running, then leaping over obstacles...missing targets, then hitting their edges, then making bull's-eyes with every shot. He was getting the hang of it and feeling better than he had all day.

That was when the other three Battlenauts stomped into the room.

Scott saw them storming toward him from gates in three corners of the Training Deck--three CORE Battlenauts like his own. As they marched in his direction, their morphic hulls transformed, reshaping smooth black carbon nanotube skin into the barrels of projectile guns, laser emitters, and sonic weapons. "Frank, identify the approaching pilots."

"Unable to comply," said Frank the A.I. "Identification data unavailable. Comm blackout protocols in force at this time."

Scott's heart pounded. This was either a surprise exercise or a surprise attack. Without inter-armor comms, he had no way of knowing which one.

His only option was to fight back first and ask questions later.

"Form and charge guns, lasers, and sonics!" As he called out the commands, he ran his eyes over the holo displays, enlarging the video feeds showing the three Battlenauts. With practiced flicks of his eyes, he dragged the feeds side-by-side and pulled in streams of sensor data for each Battlenaut directly beneath them.

Meanwhile, a computer-generated wireframe diagram of his own armor showed weapons growing from the hull as ordered. A tubular laser emitter sprouted from each shoulder, and projectile guns grew from each hip. At the same time, sonic blasters emerged from his forearms, each one a row of concave amplifier dishes mounted along the length of a silver rod.

"Weapons formed and charged," said Frank, sounding as calm and self-assured as ever. "Lasers at three-quarters power. Long-range sonics available. Guns armed with live ammo."

"Did you say
live
?" Scott didn't think he'd heard correctly. During his last visit to the Training Deck, he'd only had access to dummy rounds.

"Correct," said Frank. "Live ammo is now available for immediate deployment."

"What about the other Battlenauts? Are they armed with live ammo, too?" Even as Scott asked the question, he saw all three enemy units open fire on the video feeds. Slugs clattered against his armor from three directions, slamming into it with the explosive force that could only come from live ammunition. "Scratch that, Frank. They just answered my question."

As Scott's Battlenaut rocked under the onslaught, he saw two of the attackers stop in their tracks, while the third kept stomping toward him. It changed shape as it walked, pushing out a round, broad shape from the center of its chest, like the stump of a tree trunk.

"Fire all weapons at approaching unit," ordered Scott. "Maximum power."

His armor unleashed a barrage of slugs, laser beams, and sonics all at once, slamming into the oncoming Battlenaut. The full fury of all that weapons fire slowed the armor's approach but didn't stop it or knock it down.

Scott kept up the bombardment but could see it wasn't working. His opponent just kept plowing forward, the stump on its chest getting longer with each step. "It's growing a damn battering ram!"

"An
electrically charged
battering ram," said Frank. "I can do the same thing if you like."

Scott almost gave the go-ahead, then changed his mind. "Negative! Hit him with the drone pods!"

"How many?" said Frank. "Given this armor's current configuration, six pods are now available."

"All six then! Form and fire immediately! Cease fire from all other weapons!"

As soon as he gave the order, his Battlenaut stopped firing slugs, lasers, and sonics. The wireframe diagram showed six spherical drones bubbling up from the armor's back and shoulders, then bursting free and racing away toward the enemy with the battering ram.

"Drones away," announced Frank.

"Now bring us around," said Scott. "Run full speed for the Battlenaut at five o'clock."

Watching the video feed of the battering ram unit, he saw the drone pods swarm around it and attack, pounding its head, back, and lower abdomen with a flurry of blows. One of the pods swooped down and tagged the Battlenaut's left knee, making it stumble in mid-stomp. Then another blew into its right ankle, knocking it off-balance.

While the walking battering ram floundered, Scott's armor caught heavy fire from the other two Battlenauts, positioned at five o'clock and one o'clock--a mix of slugs, lasers, and sonics. The fire intensified as Frank followed Scott's order and ran full speed toward the Battlenaut at five o'clock.

"What's my current chance of success?" Scott had to yell to make himself heard over the thunder of weapons fire.

"Prognostication software predicts forty-seven percent chance of success," said Frank, "if you maintain your current course."

"What if I change course and go after the unit at one o'clock?"

"Eighty-three percent chance of success," said Frank. "Change course?"

Scott grinned. "What do
you
think?"

Without answering, Frank changed course, veering from the Battlenaut at five o'clock to the one at one o'clock.

"Rotate lasers to rearward firing position," said Scott. "Keep up full power barrage on unit at five o'clock."

"Done." As Frank said it, the wireframe showed Scott's armor's shoulder-mounted lasers flip over to face the Battlenaut at five o'clock. On the rightside video feed, Scott saw beams from the lasers lash out at the five o'clock Battlenaut, slashing over its gleaming black hull.

But the flow of slugs from back there continued, slamming Scott from behind even as the Battlenaut at one o'clock plastered him with fire from dead ahead.

Scott thought fast as he continued his full-tilt charge. If only he had another edge to use when he got in close. "Major Perseid said I didn't max your specs," he told Frank. "That I didn't come close to exploiting your full capabilities. What other capability could you deploy right now?"

For a few seconds, Frank didn't answer. "May I suggest Missile Mode?"

Scott was less than thirty meters from his opponent now. "Do it!"

Suddenly, in mid-stride, his Battlenaut changed configuration drastically, shifting from bipedal form to something else altogether. Scott saw it visualized on the wireframe diagram--the Battlenaut's humanoid body compressing, its arms and head melting with the trunk and legs into one smooth bullet-like shape.

Scott's Battlenaut's feet left the ground and flowed together with all the rest into a big, black missile with Scott packed inside. There was a roar as the power plant belched out a burst of thrust, and then the full package rocketed toward the one o'clock Battlenaut at a high rate of speed.

The slugs, laser beams, and sonics kept coming, but Scott's newborn missile, with its streamlined profile, punched through the wave of resistance without slowing.

"Five seconds till impact," said Frank. "Four seconds. Three seconds."

Scott clenched his jaws and held his breath. The video feed showed the one o'clock Battlenaut racing toward him--faster, ever faster.

"Two seconds," said Frank. "Brace for impact."

Just then, Scott's missile-formed armor collided with its target, striking the enemy's chest dead center and knocking it off its feet, driving it backward.

Scott's armor and the one o'clock Battlenaut plowed across the room for fifty meters until they crashed into the Training Deck's wall. When they hit, the force of the impact jolted Scott, but the cockpit couch held him tightly and prevented any injuries.

His opponent twitched and sparked under him, then went limp. As Scott converted his armor back to humanoid form, the impacts of a fresh flurry of slugs battered him from behind. He pushed away from his downed enemy to face whoever was back there.

Just as he turned, another salvo hammered him from another direction. The first Battlenaut, the one he'd hobbled with a swarm of drone pods, had regained its footing and somehow neutralized the pods, which were nowhere to be seen. Together with the Battlenaut that had formerly held a five o'clock position, it was laying down a steady stream of slugs directed at Scott.

"Rotate lasers to forward firing position," he said. "As soon as they've turned, fire one at each incoming Battlenaut."

The wireframe showed his shoulder-mounted lasers spinning around and recalibrating to aim at the two opponents. "Done," said Frank.

"Target each Battlenaut with a projectile gun, too," said Scott, "and open fire."

"Roger that," said Frank.

Scott could see from the wireframe that Frank had followed his orders. "So what other surprise capabilities do you have up your sleeve?"

"I can generate a radar-resistant smokescreen," said Frank. "Nano-bead particulates in the smoke scatter and confuse enemy radar signals."

Even as the A.I. said it, Scott saw one of the other Battlenauts pump out clouds of smoke on a video feed. "Negative! Give me something else!"

"We haven't deployed biofilm yet," said Frank.

The smoke had already obscured one Battlenaut from view and was rolling in to block the other. Meanwhile, Scott's armor was rocking from the double bombardment of the two Battlenauts' firepower. According to the status displays, potentially ruinous microfractures were developing in his own Battlenaut's carbon nanotube hull. "Then do it! Do it now, Frank!"

"Targeting the unit in visual range," said Frank. "Forming biofilm cannon."

The wireframe diagram showed one of Scott's shoulder lasers melting into the hull, which then grew a different kind of weapon with a big, gaping barrel. The barrel, which had a diameter bigger than the Battlenaut's head, stretched out and angled upward, then fired a spherical bundle into the air. The bundle seemed to disappear after it launched, as it exceeded the span of the wireframe holo.

But Scott saw where its flight took it on the video feeds. Before the smokescreen could obscure his view completely, he saw the bundle strike the Battlenaut that was still visible, striking it right on the chest. As soon as it hit, the bundle splattered, covering the front of the Battlenaut's armor with a lumpy green slime.

As Scott watched, the slime crawled over the armor, spreading in all directions. Within seconds, the Battlenaut was coated and stuck; it tried to move, but the slime locked it in place like a glistening, bright green statue.

At that point, two of the three enemy Battlenauts were out of the picture. Before Scott could celebrate, however, the third Battlenaut, the one that hadn't gotten the biofilm treatment, leaped out of its smokescreen and streaked toward him.

"Alert! Incoming!" Red light and a fast, high-pitched pinging filled the cockpit as Frank sounded the alarm. "Initiating evasive maneuver." Scott didn't even have to order him to evade; automatic fail-safes took care of that.

But his Battlenaut just couldn't move fast enough. It lunged left, bolting out of the way--and its opponent still hit it with a crushing impact, slamming it down to the floor.

The crash knocked the breath out of Scott. The couch held him, but his head still whipped hard to one side, giving his neck a nasty twist.

Just like that, his unit was on its belly, trapped under the weight of the Battlenaut. He saw it on the backside video feed, sitting on top of him. As for the frontside feed, it showed only a view of the floor.

"Frank! Get up!" Scott glared at the feed of the Battlenaut weighing him down. Triggering the eye movement-based controls, the concentrated focus made the image enlarge and push aside the other feeds, staring him in the face. "Get out from under that thing!"

Just then, the red light in the cockpit winked out, and the rapid pinging stopped. "Unable to comply," said Frank. "I have received notification that this exercise has concluded."

Scott pumped his elbows back angrily, plunging them deeper into the couch's padding. "Son of a bitch!"

"I will now proceed with pilot extrusion as ordered," said Frank. "I look forward to our next activity together, Corporal Scott."

With that, the couch slowly rotated, turning over to face upward. As the hull of the unit's back flowed open, Scott could see that the Battlenaut that had defeated him was no longer sitting on it. He blinked as the bright light of the Training Deck poured into the dark cockpit and washed over him.

The couch released him, and he climbed out of the armor. As he emerged from its back and shoulders and took a look around, he finally saw who'd been piloting the three opponent units in the live-fire exercise.

"Hey there!" Donna Perihelion walked toward him, grinning. "Great sparring, Solomon! Three against one, and you still put up a hell of a fight."

Scott wanted to be angry because he'd lost, but he couldn't do it. "So that was you in there?" He gestured at the Battlenaut on its knees behind her. "Why wouldn't you I.D. yourself?"

"So you wouldn't bring any preconceived notions to the bout." Donna stood, face flushed, and planted her hands on her hips. "So you could come as close as possible to a battlefield experience, from live ammo to unknown pilots with unknown capabilities."

Scott heard two sets of footsteps behind him and turned to see the other two pilots approaching. One was a tall black man who looked to be in his early-to-mid twenties. The other was half a head shorter and years older, a man with dark hair and bronze skin.

"Meet the rest of the squad." Donna walked over and stood beside the taller man, who smiled. "This is Roy Taggart, our top sharpshooter. And this..." She walked over to the other man. "...is Everisto García."