Test of Mettle (A Captain's Crucible Book 2) Read online

  “There’s a warm inversion layer on top of it,” the pilot explained.

  “It’s probably a natural phenomenon,” O’Rielly said. Definitely a slight tremble in his voice. “Imagine that. The aliens made us come all this way to explore a natural phenomenon.”

  “Do we have a bead on Charon yet?” Robert sent the pilot. That was the code name for the Dragonfly the aliens had captured.

  “Roger that,” the pilot sent. “Check your HUD.”

  Barrick had apparently reactivated the comm node in the shuttle, because the craft appeared as a blue dot on the map that was part of the heads-up-display built into their helmets. It was situated roughly five hundred meters to the north.

  “Land us as close to Calypso as you can,” Robert instructed the pilot. “But no closer than two hundred meters to Charon.”

  “Roger that.” A moment later: “This looks like the best spot for our two crafts to set down. Preliminary scans indicate a stable snowbank. I can try to get closer to Calypso, but the terrain becomes increasingly more jagged.”

  Robert accessed the external video feed. The icy surface below was relatively flat compared to the surrounding terrain. “Take us down, and transmit the location to Bravo.”

  “Roger that.”

  The Dragonfly touched down and the seats shook as the internal gimbals deactivated.

  Robert glanced at Chief Galaal. “Take it from here, Chief.”

  “Pilot,” the chief said over the comm. “Confirm that local atmospheric conditions allow for the use of grenades and other incendiaries.”

  “Usage confirmed,” the pilot returned. “The local atmosphere is predominantly carbon dioxide and fluorocarbons, with roughly three percent oxygen content. Just like the drones predicted: flames will burn, though only at a sixth of the intensity found on Earth.”

  The chief glanced down the robot ranks, at the four M-4 Centurions and lone Praetor unit that composed the remaining members of Alpha Squad. He focused on the featureless metallic face of the Praetor, which was essentially the commanding officer of the robots. “Prepare to deploy. I want defensive perimeter Cigar.”

  Fighting back a rising sense of nerves, Robert studied the humanoid automatons. Sometimes he wished he could have the same emotional detachment as them. There were certain performance drugs that could achieve the effect, but he had never tried them, because while he might wish for calm in the face of fear, he refused to pay the price of his humanity.

  The robots carried either M114 laser rifles or the heavier M1170 variety. Both types had been modified to penetrate the alien darkness shields. A few AR-52 plasma rifles and L22 incendiary throwers remained racked in the loadout area; those would likely be left behind, as they had proven useless against the aliens. The AR-52s had, anyway.

  “Alpha-5,” the chief said. “I want you to grab an L22.”

  “Roger that,” the addressed robot answered.

  Chief Galaal turned to Robert. “Commander, stay aboard with the science officer until I give the all clear.”

  “Understood,” Robert said.

  “Pilot?” the chief said over the comm.

  “Opening up,” the pilot replied.

  The ramp folded down and Robert’s shoulder and waist latches clicked open.

  “Deploy, deploy, deploy!” Chief Galaal said.

  Robert watched as the mechanized squad moved out at a crouch. The chief and Aaron brought up the rear.

  On Robert’s helmet HUD, he saw the green dots of Alpha assume a cigar shape around the shuttle. The Centurions of Bravo surrounded the second Dragonfly in a similar manner.

  There were no dots around Charon a hundred meters to the north.

  “Launch HS4s,” Chief Galaal said. HS4s were small, battery-powered surveillance drones. These would be the rotor-based variants, meant for operation in atmospheres.

  “HS4s away!”

  More dots appeared, representing the HS4s, colored blue on the map overlay. Some of the drones proceeded toward Calypso, while others fanned out toward Charon.

  “HS4s report all clear, Chief,” one of the combat robots said.

  “What about Charon?” the chief asked.

  “No one has emerged, yet,” the Centurion said.

  “And there’s no sign of the telepath or the aliens at Calypso either?” the chief asked.

  “Negative. Though the scouts have discovered a series of cylindrical objects near the center of the site. Barely detectable gravimetric distortions appear to emanate from them.”

  Robert switched to the view from the lead HS4, which had taken up a hovering position above Calypso. The auto-iso on the camera brightened the scene so that the twilight seemed almost broad daylight. Just underneath the small scout, several cigar-shaped objects lay in the snow. They were yellow, and nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding terrain. Robert counted five of them.

  “You seeing that, Commander?” Chief Galaal asked.

  “I am.”

  “You can exit the shuttle, by the way,” the chief added.

  Robert got up. He turned toward O’Rielly and beckoned toward the ramp. “Lead the way.”

  He realized O’Rielly had thrown up at some point after all—the vomit stains were obvious on his faceplate.

  The captain probably should have sent a robot science officer, Robert thought.

  When O’Rielly stood, Robert accessed the man’s health status on his aReal: life signs seemed normal, and his breathing apparatus was apparently unaffected by the vomit.

  Following him outside, Robert stepped down from the ramp and emerged into the twilight. An external microphone retransmitted the sound of his boots crunching in the snow to his helmet speakers. With all that yellow ice to bounce around the photons, the illumination was roughly equivalent to a winter night on Earth under a full moon. The auto-iso in his faceplate quickly compensated for the dim light and the scene brightened. He couldn’t actually see the binary suns above, not with all those clouds: it was like an extremely overcast day on Earth, except that these clouds trapped most of the heat and light that entered. Hence the greenhouse effect.

  He saw movement at his three o’clock: one of the spherical HS4 drones hovered there, acting as an escort.

  The digital pattern on the jumpsuits of the two MOTHs had changed colors to the yellow-white of the surrounding snow, with a spattering of black to match the occasional rocks. The polycarbonate skins of the combat robots and Dragonflies were similarly hued, and neatly blended into the landscape. Robert’s own spacesuit had the same camouflage ability and he activated it via the faceplate aReal.

  Satisfied with the patterning, he glanced at O’Rielly. The science officer’s white and blue spacesuit stood out against the snow.

  “O’Rielly,” Robert said. “Your suit.”

  The science officer glanced down. “Oh.” A moment later the coloration changed to match the dreary landscape.

  “So what do you want to do, Commander?” Chief Galaal asked over the comm.

  Robert switched his remote feed to that of the HS4 closest to Charon. The dark metal of the captured shuttle stood out in stark contrast to the surrounding white: Barrick hadn’t bothered to activate the camouflage feature. The craft simply squatted there, inactive in the snow. Waiting. Lurking.

  “I’m going to assume Barrick is inside the shuttle with a few aliens,” Robert said.

  “That would be a reasonable guess,” the chief agreed. “Although... if he wanted to ambush us that would probably be a good spot to do it.”

  “What would you do if you wanted to ambush us?” Robert asked the chief.

  “I’d abandon the shuttle and take up a hide anywhere from five hundred meters to a kilometer away,” Chief Galaal said. “In this terrain, you’d never even see me. One moment you’d be walking, the next you’d be dead on the ground.”

  Robert nodded slowly. He glanced at the shuttles. “Pilots, keep the down ramps lowered. Be ready for a hot extraction.”

  “Roger that,” c
ame the reply.

  “I don’t suppose our eye in the sky has spotted anything unusual?” Robert asked the chief.

  An MQ-95 Raptor had deployed directly from the ship to offer reconnaissance and air support. Capable of atmospheric and space flight, it flew overhead at an altitude of fifteen thousand meters. The drone was currently in full stealth mode, and made no sound whatsoever. It carried a payload of four Hellfire X91 precision strike missiles, and also sported a Cobra Z80 tactical laser for those hits requiring surgical exactness. Its high-zoom military-grade camera was rated for biometric identification, meaning it could zoom down to the level of a target’s eye or fingertip.

  HS4 scouts were usually employed in tandem with Raptors, because while an overall view of a battlefield was nice, having multiple eyes on the ground was even nicer.

  “Negative,” the chief said. “Our eye has nothing on the thermal, visual, or EM bands. If they’re hiding out there, they’re hiding real good.”

  Robert nodded, then told him: “Take us to within fifty meters of Charon, Chief.”

  twenty

  Assume unknown intent,” Robert added.

  “Assuming unknown intent.” Chief Galaal glanced at Aaron and used his callsign: “Helium, if you will?”

  “Traveling overwatch, people!” Aaron said over the comm line. “Light gunners on point. Heavy gunners on drag. Commander, you’re with Bravo. O’Rielly, you’re with Alpha. Bravo-3, give the commander a boost. Alpha-4, you get O’Rielly.”

  The combat personnel were equipped with jetpacks for the mission. However, Robert and O’Rielly had not been outfitted with said accouterments, as the pair were badly out of practice. Before the mission, Robert had spent several minutes in VR reacquainting himself with the tech, but in the end he decided that if jump ability proved necessary, the combat robots could act in an assistive fashion for the pair.

  The designated Centurion, Bravo-3, wrapped its thin metal arms around Robert’s waist assembly and waited to take its place in the formation.

  Alpha Squad set out first, its members taking up zigzag positions as they bounded across the ice. Robots armed with M114 laser rifles assumed the lead, while those with the heavier M1170 lasers brought up the rear. O’Rielly was at the center, carried by one of the Centurions.

  When Alpha was roughly thirty meters away, Bravo began its advance. Bravo-3 waited until the first two combat robots had set out, then it fired its jets, hoisting Robert off the ground. It continued releasing quick, strategic bursts, taking two-meter-long bounds to hold its zigzag position in the squad. Sometimes its metal feet clanged off the black rock or ice; other times its legs were swallowed to the knees in the yellow snow of the glacial plain.

  While Bravo-3 kept its arms wrapped around Robert, the other Centurions had their plasma rifles pointed outward, constantly compensating for their movements to scan the surrounding terrain in a steady surveillance pattern.

  “Nothing on the visual or thermal bands,” Aaron sent over the comm. “The only heat I’m reading is from Charon. If someone’s hiding out there, they’re dug in good, as the chief said.”

  Robert kept an eye on the overhead map. When Alpha was roughly fifty meters from Charon, the chief transmitted: “Alpha, full stop.”

  The blue dots representing Alpha Squad came to a halt, spreading out.

  Bravo Squad arrived and assumed a similar position roughly twenty meters to Alpha’s three o’clock.

  Bravo-3 released Robert and lay flat in the snow. The commander followed its lead and did the same. The yellow snow pressed up against the bottom portion of his faceplate. Because he was looking up, the angle of his chin caused each breath to mist against the polycarbonate, PVB and glass combination, but the defoggers quickly cleared it.

  Around him, the other robots of Bravo aimed their plasma rifles at the captured Dragonfly. Robert wondered if the aliens had augmented the shuttle with alien tech in some way. Given their weapons engineer’s own progress with the captured fighter, it was doubtful. Then again, these aliens had Barrick to help them. Though the telepath likely knew nothing about shuttles, he could use the trainer AIs to walk him through the inner workings and translate the information to his captors. He was the worst possible individual for the aliens to have in their custody. Who knew how many of their secrets he had betrayed already?

  “Alpha one, two and three,” Chief Galaal said. “Circle to the other side. I want you on their nine-o’clock.”

  “Roger that.” The three designated Centurions moved out at a crouch.

  Robert waited until the blue dots representing those three were in place on the far flank, and then he said over the comm: “Chief, I’m going to try calling out to Barrick.”

  “Go right ahead, Commander,” the chief returned.

  “Barrick, come out!” Robert amped up the volume on the external speakers so there was no chance the shuttle occupants would fail to hear. “Barrick!”

  Nothing. The Dragonfly remained squatting there lifelessly, its legs buried in the snow.

  Robert began to worry that the Raakarr intended to nuke the site from orbit. He was about to order the chief to send in some of the combat robots when his internal helmet speakers transmitted the noise of hydraulics activating.

  The rear ramp of the Dragonfly opened, crunching into the yellow snow a moment later.

  The commander heard muted clangs coming from the craft. Then a man in a spacesuit abruptly emerged, followed by five rolling, black mists. The darknesses shifted and flowed as the things moved, and sparks of light occasionally lit up their depths.

  “Don’t move!” Robert said via the speakers.

  The individual in the spacesuit froze, raising his hands. The flowing mists stopped beside him.

  Robert zoomed in on the faceplate. Barrick lurked within.

  “What took you so long to get here?” the telepath’s voice issued via the external speakers of his suit. His tone oozed mockery, contempt.

  Robert felt a surge of anger and he wondered for a moment if the team should simply give the order to mow down Barrick and the aliens. Maxwell would have encouraged it. And, barring his own rage, the commander could certainly see the logic in that. Barrick was too valuable a prisoner to remain in the custody of the aliens, and too dangerous to capture. But Bridgette...

  “Join our frequency,” Robert answered instead. He sent the private access code Barrick would need to communicate on the common band.

  “Do you read me?” Barrick asked a moment later.

  “Loud and clear,” Robert returned. He muted the others so that only Barrick could hear his next words. “My wife better be alive.”

  “She’s being treated like royalty,” Barrick said sarcastically.

  Robert squeezed a gloved fist. “She better be. Otherwise I’m going to hunt you down, and when I get my hands on you, by the time I’m done, whatever is left won’t survive very long.”

  “As I said, royalty,” Barrick retorted.

  Robert unmuted the others.

  Small spheres of living mist moved away from the main darknesses that accompanied Barrick. The tiny masses spread out quickly.

  “What are those?” Robert said. “Answer me or we’ll shoot them down!”

  “Calm down,” Barrick transmitted. “They’re the alien equivalent to the HS4s.”

  One of the dark spheres paused near the group, while the others proceeded toward the target site, Calypso.

  “Shall we begin making our way toward the anomaly?” Barrick asked.

  “Your group is to maintain a fifty meter distance to our nine o’clock at all times,” Robert said. “Come no closer. And pull this thing back!” He gestured toward the small sphere of darkness that had taken up a position near the party.

  “Then pull back your HS4,” Barrick said.

  Robert nodded at the chief, and the HS4 in question retreated from the Charon group by twenty meters. The darkness ball did the same.

  Robert muted Barrick from the common band and transmitted
: “Chief, I want at least five Centurions to keep their weapons aimed at the alien party at all times.”

  “Roger that,” the chief returned.

  The commander unmuted the telepath. “All right, Barrick,” Robert said. “We’re moving.”

  The members of Alpha turned from the shuttle craft and leapfrogged Bravo. The latter squad followed shortly, proceeding forward under traveling overwatch. Robert was carried once more by the combat robot as it used its jumpjets to bound from place to place, moving over that jagged surface of ice, rock and snow. Deep crevasses littered the glacier, promising death to any who fell within. Even someone equipped with jumpjets would have a hard time getting out of those tight gorges.

  The alien party kept pace on their left, remaining fifty meters away as commanded. The three Centurions Chief Galaal had earlier ordered to the far flank mirrored the alien party’s movements from the other side. The small ball of black mist floating near the latter party indicated that the aliens knew of the trio.

  If Barrick had any difficulty reading the minds of his fellow humans, he didn’t show it. Robert knew that if their places were switched, and the commander was the telepath, he wouldn’t have tipped his hand in that regard, either. He’d just have to hope the psychic shielding was working.

  “I’m detecting gravimetric distortions,” O’Rielly sent. Robert noted that he had excluded Barrick from the transmission list.

  “From Calypso?” the commander asked, also excluding Barrick. He could see the science officer up ahead, carried by another Centurion in Alpha Squad.

  “False alarm,” O’Rielly returned. “The emanations are coming from the aliens. The readings are typical with what we’ve seen from them before.”

  “We’re entering the region of temperature drop,” Chief Galaal transmitted. “How near do you want us to get to the cylindrical objects the HS4s detected?”

  “Close to a maximum of ten meters,” Robert said.

  Alpha Squad abruptly stopped.

  “We’re in range,” the chief sent.

  “I’m looking at them on the thermal band,” O’Rielly said, excluding Barrick on the transmission. “These things seem to be literally draining the heat out of the surrounding air. And I’m definitely detecting gravimetric distortions emanating from them now, too. The impression patterns in the surrounding rocks are similar to the patterns we recorded on the crashed Elder ship in Vega 951, though perhaps a little stronger.”