Just Another Day (3 page)

The ATLAS mechs were called "one-man-armies" in some circles.

For good reason.

I could see a man who matched the photos of Mao Sing Ming sitting in the cockpit, his silver-coated teeth glimmering in the cockpit light.

The target is here.
I sent to my fire team, via the Implant.
Repeat, the target is here. In an ATLAS mech.

This was going to be a wee bit harder than I thought.

Nerdy and Cross-eyed forced me to my knees. There were four other armed men in the room, situated near the silver box that served as the "throne." I hardly paid them any attention. My eyes were locked on the most dangerous man in the room, the one in the mech.

"Salutations, Leading Petty Officer Marshall," Mao Sing Ming said in very good English. "Or should I say, Facehopper."

I stiffened. It was intentional.

"Surprised?" Mao Sing Ming said. "You do know I have the full backing of the SK government
—
I have met with the Paramount Leader Guoping Qiu himself. It was a simple matter for me to send a message to my contact in parliament. They had your photo in the database of UC military personnel. A MOTH. Member of Team Seven. Said to be the most highly trained and highly skilled special forces unit in the galaxy. You yourself are supposedly highly decorated. Recipient of the Navy Cross, among other pieces of worthless metal. The great Leading Petty Officer Facehopper." He sniffed. "I am truly not impressed. You are weak, Petty Officer. Indeed, petty is a most appropriate word for you."

Mao Sing Ming got up. The servomotors in his massive legs whirred as he steered the ATLAS toward me. Through the cockpit glass I could see his upper body; it was wrapped in the elastic actuators that translated his every movement to the mech.

"You came here hoping to capture a high-value target, no?" Mao Sing Ming said. "But I have turned the tables on you. Instead it I who have captured the high-value target! What do you think of that? What will your military pay to get you back, hmm?"

I didn't answer.

"Maybe I'll just sell the contents of your brain to the highest bidder. You like that? Bad for you, good for me. You'll leave here little more than a vegetable. So much for the great and invincible MOTH, no?"

I kept my peace. Mao Sing Ming had stopped about a pace away, and he towered above me.
I was still on my knees, but I refused to crane my neck up to look at him.

"Where is the rest of your platoon?" Mao Sing Ming said. "Are they in orbit, hiding on the other side of this asteroid? Have you sabotaged our LIDARs on the dark side?"

I remained silent.

"Hmmm. I remember when I was a boy on Earth, running in the woods. I liked to run in the woods. I'd go there after the bigger boys would beat me up after class. Sometimes, while running, I would see a white witch in the trees. One of the biggest moths in the world, with a wingspan the size of both your hands put together. Beautiful insects. Looked a little bit like owls. But the problem with the white witch was, you know, for all their beauty, and their size, they were slow. Too slow. It was one of the easiest and most pleasurable things in the world to catch one of those moths, and rip its wings off one by one. I'd put the wingless moth on the ground, this creature of such beauty reduced to an ugly, oversized white worm. I'd watch it struggle along, crawling without its wings, trying to get away from me. I'd toy with it, sometimes putting the flame of a lighter nearby, sometimes taking a piss on it, sometimes pulling off all its legs, too. But in the end, after that moth gave me what I wanted, I ground it into the dirt with the heel of my foot."

Mao Sing Ming tilted forward so that the cockpit of the ATLAS was only a handspan from me. I could see his face clearly through the glass. His yellow eyes only amplified his wolfish features.

"I will grind you into the dirt,
Petty
Officer. That's a promise." He glanced at one of the privateers behind him. "Grab Mr. Hacksaw."

The privateer bowed, and left.

Mao Sing Ming grinned ferally, his silver-plated teeth glinting once again in the light. "Mr. Hacksaw is our resident interrogator. Can you guess what tool is his specialty?"

I sent a message to Big Dog via my Implant.
Now, Big Dog.

"Proximity cameras detecting multiple bogeys, Captain!" an SK privateer near the silver box said in Korean-Chinese.

Mao Sing Ming stood the ATLAS to its full height, and spun his torso toward the man. "What? How did they get through the automated defense system?"

"I don't know, Captain. The defenses are firing, but the bogeys seem unaffected!"

Amazing the trouble a dozen fist-sized drones could cause. They could dodge into and out of weapons range with ease, dropping out of sight to the surface for ten seconds then oscillating right back up again.

Well done, Big Dog!

"So the rest of his platoon presents itself," Mao Sing Ming said. "Gather up the men and meet me at airlock five. I'll handle this in person." He turned toward me. "I'll deal with you later, MOTH scum." He shoved one of the mech's arm-sized fingers into my chest.

I was still on my knees, and the sheer force of that blow just slid me straight back
, giving me friction-burns all along my knees, front calves and upper feet, with a throbbing pain in my chest where that metallic finger had jabbed me. I slumped down on my butt, and collapsed.

Nerdy and Cross-eyed hoisted me to my feet and led me away from the "throne room," heading back toward the janitorial
"brig."

Eyes open,
I sent to my fire team.
Target is on the way out. In the ATLAS mech.

That ATLAS was going to cause serious trouble for my teammates. I wasn't about to sit back while the lives of my fire team were at risk.

No.

While I still had breath in me, I would help my team.

I waited until the two privateers had me right beside the janitorial room.

Then I made my move.

I turned to the right and slammed the flat of my left palm into Cross-eyed's larynx. He hit the wall, but I kept turning so that I could give Nerdy a nasty ridge-hand strike to the brain stem. He collapsed like a rag doll. A brain stem strike could be fatal, but I'd controlled the blow. Though he was unconscious, Nerdy was still breathing.

Cross-eyed seemed to be having trouble though. He was grabbing at his throat, wheezing beside me.

I knelt beside him. "Breathe mate. Breathe. It will pass. Breathe." These were privateers, sure, and they'd killed people, but I followed a personal code, and one of the rules was: do not kill unless absolutely necessary.

I wouldn't stoop to their level.

Cross-eyed shook his head. His face was all red. That meant some air was coming through. If he couldn't breathe, his face would be turning blue.

"That's the way, mate. Breathe. Breathe."

I couldn't wait here much longer. When I was sure he was all right, I grabbed the rifle from where he'd dropped it and brained him with the butt. He'd live.

I scooped up Nerdy's rifle too for good measure. Wouldn't do for him to shoot me in the back when he regained consciousness.

During that little fight, the adrenalin had masked my joint pain, but now it came back with a vengeance. If I lifted the rifle higher than my elbows, my shoulders screamed. Well, nothing like a little pain to let me know I was alive. I'd gone through worse in training.

Retracing the original path I had been taken on when I first entered the base, I hurried through the mess hall and reached the door labeled "Control."

It was locked. Needed a keycode to access.

"Help!" I yelled in Korean-Chinese. "The prisoner is loose! Let me in!"

The door slid open. Typical privateer operation. Unorganized, cheap bastards. Didn't even have an internal camera system. There'd only ever be problems
outside
the base, right?

Nicely done.

I ran inside and with a few threats had the operator shut down the external defense systems, then I knocked him unconscious with the butt of my rifle. I didn't think Mao Sing Ming was outside the base yet, because he would have ordered the defense systems shutdown beforehand.

Defense systems are offline
, I sent to my fire team.
Proceed to base. Repeat. Proceed to base.

I returned to the airlock I'd used for entry.
I paused to read the numeral inscribed on the airlock. Korean-Chinese characters were tricky, but with help from my Implant I translated it as "two."

My opened jumpsuit was right where I'd left it.

Like I said, typical unorganized, incompetent bastards. If Mao Sing Ming ran his ship as badly as he ran this base, he would have been caught a long time ago. Then again, you were only as good as the people under you. Maybe he kept his best men on the ship during these outings.

I put the jumpsuit on and sealed the helmet, leaving behind the osmium weight
attachments. I was supposed to wait an hour to accommodate to the lower pressure in the suit, "pre-breathing" as they called it in astronaut lingo. Well, I was already experiencing decompression sickness. Couldn't get any worse, right? There was really nothing I could do about it: I wasn't going to face Mao Sing Ming without a proper jumpsuit.

Currently pursuing target
, I sent to my fire team.

I ran through the passageways and compartments, looking for airlock five. But it turned out I didn't have to do much searching, this was a small base after all, and the next passageway I turned onto offered me a view clear to the other side, right through three passageways and two compartments, where an ATLAS mech and four men in gray jumpsuits were preparing to enter an airlock.

Target in sight
, I sent to my squad.
Repeat. Target in sight. Taking him down.

I aimed through my scope and fired off a shot. The recoil buffer on
Nerdy's rifle was turned off and I felt the full force of the kickback, but I barely noticed it. My attention was all on the hit:

One of the fluid tubes that fed the servomotor of the ATLAS mech's right knee burst.

That got his attention.

Mao Sing Ming swiveled his ATLAS around and started running straight for me.

"Oh... shit."

I fired off two more shots, aiming for the cockpit, but I missed both times, and the bullets ricocheted off the armor. No. This wasn't going to work. I needed armor piercing rounds not this birdshot.

I turned and ran.

Currently being pursued by target
, I sent to my squad.

A MOTH jumpsuit was basically an exoskeleton that enhanced one's natural strength, which had the nice benefit of boosting one's top running speed, so I was able to make good time away from the ATLAS. I could hear it stomping through those tight passageways behind me though. I knew Mao Sing Ming would have to move slowly in some sections if he wanted to make sure he didn't accidentally rip his little base open. He probably hadn't fired at me yet for the same reason: Gatling guns and rockets could do a fine number on these thin bulkheads.

I ended up in the shuttle hangar. There were two guards watching the shuttle, and I was forced to shoot them. I felt a pang of regret, but it was either them or me, and it definitely wasn't going to be me.

The shuttle down-ramp was conveniently deployed, and by the looks of it, the robotic arms had just finished loading the vessel's cargo bay with fuel canisters for the mothership in orbit. I hurried up the ramp and made my way to the cockpit, a small two seater. I sat down and stared at the slew of controls arrayed before me.

I'd only trained in UC shuttles, so of course all these controls were foreign to me.

"Gatlings," I said. "Come on, where are the gatlings?"

My skin was starting to itch around my face and neck. Yet another sign of decompression sickness. Felt like insects were crawling over my cheeks and into my ears.

I ignored the sensation. Since I didn't have the serial number for the shuttle, I got my Implant to pull up the closest matching SK cockpit, then had it point out the fire and thrust controls to me.

I glanced out the thermoplastic windows, which faced the hangar entrance. I could still hear that distant stomping, growing louder with each moment. Mao Sing Ming would appear at the entrance in his mech any second now.

Wincing at the pain in my shoulders, I wrapped my fingers around the gatling triggers and aimed the turrets at the entrance.

The ATLAS emerged.

"Right on time," I said.

I pressed the triggers.

"Invalid fire authorization," a friendly woman's voice intoned in Korean-Chinese. "State password."

"What!"

I tried again.

"Invalid fire authorization. State password."

I could see Mao Sing Ming grinning in the ATLAS as he approached.

I tried activating the shuttle's thrust.

"Invalid thrust authorization. State password."

I got my Implant to list the makes and models of half a dozen SK shuttles, then had it playback the default passwords the shuttles shipped with. I read those passwords aloud in turn, my hands still tight around the gatling triggers.