Reactivated (Bolt Eaters Trilogy Book 1) Page 8

  “We’re like walking gunships,” Traps said.

  “Exactly,” Arnold said. “Now, getting into the specialized weapons you three carry… Tread’s Rhino has an experimental black hole weapon. There are three modes: wormhole, black hole, and dispersion. Wormhole mode opens onto a barren moon—when you use it in an atmosphere environment, suction will be created due to the pressure differential. The destination is preprogramed, and can’t be changed, so if you get sucked in, you’re not coming back.

  “Black hole mode is a bit different. It creates a miniature black hole, and the pull produced is a lot more powerful than wormhole mode. Again, if you get sucked in, you’re not coming back—but this time, because you’ll be spaghettified and crushed to the size of an atom when you enter. Dispersion bolts are used to terminate either type of hole. You’ll have to fire multiple dispersion bolts if you’ve let the black hole grow to any significant mass.”

  “Bambi’s crab carries a nuke in her carapace,” Arnold said.

  “That’s it, just a nuke?” Bambi said. “That’s a little disappointing. I was expecting alien tech.”

  “Don’t be disappointed,” Arnold said. “The yield on this nuke is devastating. With it, you could easily lay waste to a metropolis the size of New York.”

  “Hm,” Bambi said. “That’s not really something I’m all that comfortable carrying.”

  “It can’t be armed without the explicit approval of you and one other member of the team,” Arnold said. “And it can’t be detonated prematurely by a weapon strike. In fact, if the warhead is hit, it won’t even cause a conventional explosion. It’ll be like any other portion of your hull was hit.”

  “All right, that’s a little more reassuring, I guess,” Bambi said.

  “Your Crab also has a jumpjet that will let you fly in spurts, thanks to a highly reactive propellant,” Arnold said. “That propellant is auto-regenerating, created by custom-designed bacteria coating the insides of the tanks. If you don’t use it, the fuel has to be periodically jettisoned.”

  “Ha!” Slate said. “Bambi has to take pisses.”

  “You would think that was funny,” Bambi said. “So let’s see, according to my new code, once I’ve armed the nuclear warhead I can disconnect my carapace to deploy it.”

  “That’s right,” Arnold said. “With your carapace disconnected, you’ll still have two legs to retreat on. They’ll automatically compensate for your new center of gravity.” He turned toward Traps. “Finally, the Rambler model you use is equipped with a rechargeable energy shield.”

  “No extra alien weapons?” Traps asked.

  “Other than the energy cannon, no,” Arnold said.

  Traps’ avatar shrugged. “Well, an energy shield is enough.”

  “Please tell me the rest of us get alien energy shields,” Slate said.

  “Unfortunately, the technology isn’t considered mature enough to install in standard units,” Arnold said. “Plus, your power cells aren’t powerful enough.”

  Slate sighed. “Yeah. Figures.”

  “Hey, we can swap mechs if you want,” Traps said.

  “Nah,” Slate said. “I like having two arms and two legs.”

  “As for other defenses, your mechs also have gamma ray armor, as do the Cicadas inside you. Your ballistic shields are specifically reinforced with alien material meant to protect against gamma ray attacks, so if you find yourself in the path of a particularly intense beam, use the shield. Also, the mechs are equipped with the latest EM countermeasures to repulse the micro machines. With this repelling tech, we’re confident you’ll be able to stand inside a cloud of micro machines and they won’t be able to touch you.”

  “But let’s say this EM tech fails…” Slate said.

  “Your hulls contain the latest and greatest micro machine zappers,” Arnold said. “They’ll automatically activate if any termites manage to get close, electrifying your hulls, shields, and any weapons you carry, frying the bastards.”

  “Until our batteries run out,” Traps said. “Can’t recharge if a bunch of termites are blotting out the sun.”

  “I concede the point,” Arnold said. “The zapper uses up battery power, potentially at a rapid rate, depending on how many micro machines engulf you. So do your best to avoid encountering the termites, but if you can’t avoid it, hope that your EM countermeasures don’t fail.”

  The Devastator wireframe vanished from Eric’s HUD.

  “Since this is a scouting mission, the support robots will be minimal,” Arnold continued. “A few Breachers and Savages on the infantry side, a couple of Ravens for over-the-hill recon, some autonomous mechs and tanks. Up to you on how you want to divvy up the control.”

  “No air support?” Brontosaurus asked.

  “No,” Arnold said. “You want to keep a low profile. Launching a Predator into high altitude on an alien world is the best way to draw attention to yourselves.”

  “They’ll probably know we’re there when we arrive,” Eric said.

  “Actually, they won’t,” Arnold said. “At least, we’re hoping not. The wormhole opens into a forested region. The canopy is extremely thick. While the Banthar may have satellites in orbit, there’s a good chance they won’t pick you up beneath the trees. There’s no indication they detected our initial scouts, for example. Finally, you’re all equipped with new experimental repair drone technology. In your leftmost storage compartments, you carry a small swarm of twenty drones, along with the different materials required for repair. Once you exhaust those materials, you’ll have to look for rocks high in metals, and pulverize them with your mechs before the drones can begin processing the materials. In a pinch, the drones can also break down themselves for materials if necessary, but once you use up all your drones, you’re out of luck.”

  Arnold surveyed the gathered mechs, as if waiting for any questions they might have. When there were none, he turned toward the side door. “You leave in an hour.”

  The main hangar doors opened, and Eric and the other Bolt Eaters filed outside.

  9

  Eric stood with the Bolt Eaters on the far side of the depot. The area was relatively clear, with the closest outbuilding five hundred meters behind them. The razor wire fence that enclosed the depot was otherwise the only other feature in the vicinity beside the waiting troops. That, and the small wormhole-producing cannon off to their right.

  In front of the Bolt Eaters were eight M-54 tanks, and twenty Savage S-34s: human-sized combat robots. The former were equipped with a combination of plasma and laser turrets, as well as a limited supply of explosive shells. The latter all had laser rifles embedded in their forearms. Tread was in charge of the tanks, while Bambi and Traps controlled ten Savages each.

  On the left side, two Ravager mechs accompanied the main team. These had ZX-9 laser pulse cannons in the left hands, which could be rotated out for ballistic shields. The right arms had ZX-15 heavy lasers. There were also single shoulder-mounted energy cannons replacing the missile launchers the units once had. Eric was in charge of those mechs. He had his Accomp, Dee, operating them currently.

  Overhead, two Ravens hovered in place. They would be responsible for over-the-hill recon, and were controlled by Eagleeye.

  “I still think we should have a couple of Predators along for air support, at the very least,” Slate muttered.

  “That’s only because you want to have something under your control,” Eagleeye said.

  “Easy for you to mock me, considering you have Ravens at your beck and call,” Slate said. “Maybe you should give me control of one of them.”

  “Hm, I don’t think Ravens are your style,” Eagleeye said.

  “Bitch,” Slate said.

  Arnold’s avatar appeared in the lower right of Eric’s HUD as he addressed them over the comm. He was physically located in the tower building that overlooked the clearing.

  “Well, the time has come,” Arnold said. “Good luck to you all, Bolt Eaters.”

  Before any o
f them could answer, the wormhole cannon beside the group fired. Several meters in front of them a literal pinch in reality formed. The light passing around it was pulled inward from all sides, distorting the landscape beyond.

  Eric felt the suction immediately, and around him a gale picked up. Eric instinctively slammed a fist into the ground to hold himself in place.

  Because the atmospheric pressure of the destination planet was half of Earth’s at sea level, air from the current, denser atmosphere would be rapidly flowing into the wormhole in a vain attempt to equalize that pressure. But the forces he felt didn’t just come from the pressure differential alone… but from the gravitational pull of the wormhole itself. It was the nature of these particular tears in spacetime.

  “Ugh, I hate these things,” Hicks said. “How can we be sure this is an actual wormhole, and not a black hole?”

  “Because if it was a black hole, the forces would be far greater,” Arnold said. “You would’ve been sucked in already. Go!”

  The combat robots and tanks led the way. When they got close enough, they were simply lifted right off the ground and sucked into the pinch in reality. Eric ordered the Ravagers forward, and he watched as they suffered the same fate.

  “All right, Bolt Eaters,” Marlborough said. “It’s time to thumb our noses at the twisted sense of humor the universe has. A universe that thought it was funny to put human minds into the iron shells of machines. Well, universe, to hell with you: we still matter! Machines, forward!”

  Eric followed the Bolt Eaters into the rift in spacetime. When he was five meters away, he was lifted off his feet and pulled inexorably toward the tear.

  He received a communication from Hicks. It contained a timebase modifier so that when his comm system processed it, reality slowed to a screeching halt and Eric appeared frozen in midair.

  “Uh, is it too late to change my mind?” Hicks said. He was floating directly in front of Eric, and was set to enter the rift first.

  “Damn it,” Eagleeye said. “Of course it’s too late. There’s no turning back now.”

  “But Bambi has jumpjets,” Hicks said. “She can jet over to me, and pull me out of the way.”

  “Don’t waste your fuel, Bambi,” Marlborough said. “Get a grip, Hicks. We’re going to be okay.”

  “Yeah, chickenshit bitch,” Slate said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “You’re calling me a chickenshit bitch?” Hicks said. “If I recall, you were the one who volunteered to go on this mission last.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Slate said. “Something wrong with your memory chips. I’m all for kicking alien ass. Sure, I might’ve been a little hesitant at first, but only because of all the fine pieces of ass that’d be missing me back here. Those girls are going to be crying without me, but hey, you know, I explained to them I have to put the fate of the world above their own earthly pleasures, and then they understood.”

  “That’s right, you have to throw in a brag there about how many girls you have and how great you are…” Eagleeye said.

  “That’s right,” Slate said.

  “Weren’t you complaining to Scorpion earlier how you couldn’t understand how he could have more than one girl?” Tread said. “And yet here you go having more than one yourself?”

  “Uh, not quite,” Slate said. “I have more than one girl, yeah, but there’s no relationship whatsoever, other than friend with benefits. Those are fine. Those kinds of deals I can understand. But an actual relationship with more than one girl? That’s a big no-no for me. See—”

  “Um, guys?” Crusher said. “I’m sure this is an amazingly fascinating subject and all that, but can we have this talk after we’re on the other side, and not while suspended in midair, and about to pass through a wormhole to another world?”

  “Oh, sure, sure,” Slate said. “My bad.”

  “Thank you, Crusher,” Marlborough said.

  There was silence on the line, and on his HUD, Eric watched as the time indicators of the different team members returned to normal one by one.

  Eric sighed, and then switched his internal time sense to the standard rate as well.

  Hicks vanished in front of him, and Eric slammed into the pinch in spacetime immediately after. The light levels around him dropped instantly; he was in a forest of some kind. The thick canopy overhead blotted out the sun, and cast the area in twilight.

  He switched to Bullet Time as he continued forward at the same momentum. In front of him, Hicks hit a tree; Eric smashed into Hicks a moment later. The pair dropped to the ground—Eric used his accelerated time sense to land on his feet; he extricated himself from the other Devastator and returned his time sense to normal.

  The gale force winds behind him abruptly ceased, and on his rear view camera feed he watched as the pinch in reality winked out.

  Eric activated a six-hour countdown, marking when the wormhole would open again. The other team members would likely be doing the same.

  Then he turned around to examine his surroundings.

  The tanks, robots, and mechs stood beneath a canopy of tall trees: the boles towered four to five stories above them. The trunks were devoid of any lower branches, with most of the boughs concentrated near the top sections, where hexagonal blue leaves protruded from grid-like branches.

  Around them the wiry undergrowth grew waist-high, or roughly the same height as the tanks. It was made of purple branches covered in blue, needle-shaped leaves—the structure was probably optimized for the reduced light levels found beneath the canopy, to capture as much sunlight as possible that penetrated through to the forest floor. The ground underneath the stringy foliage was carpeted in yellow snow.

  “Look at this snow,” Eagleeye said. “Cue the piss jokes…” He glanced at Slate, and when the drone operator remained silent, Eagleeye taunted: “No piss jokes?”

  “You’re a piss joke,” Slate told him. “’Nuff said.”

  “Bambi, confirm the atmospheric content,” Dickson transmitted.

  “The atmosphere is mainly a mixture of oxygen, carbon dioxide, hydrogen, and methane, with smaller concentrations of other alkanes,” Bambi broadcast. “And the air temperature is a balmy forty degrees Fahrenheit. While low, it’s still well above the melting point of the snow.”

  “So, what’s with the snow then…” Traps said. “And I’m not talking about the yellow color, which is obviously from the alkane content. But I mean why is there snow if the temperature is above the melting point?”

  “The last snowfall must have been extensive, and it’s taking a while to melt completely,” Bambi said. “The temperature, and how little light makes it through the canopy, are also factors influencing the melting speed.”

  The Ravens buzzed back and forth overhead: there was at least thirty meters of clearance above the undergrowth and beneath the canopy, giving the scouts more than enough flying room. The trunks themselves, though located randomly, were spaced between ten to thirty meters apart so that the mechs could walk at least three abreast in several places.

  Eric glanced at his overhead map. It had filled out to a radius of four kilometers in every direction. That was the extent to which the initial probes had explored.

  “Dim as shit in here,” Slate said.

  “Yes, but it’s still enough to recharge,” Crusher transmitted. “Though at a reduced rate, of course. It’ll take us three times as long to recharge here versus under direct sunlight.”

  “We won’t notice it unless we start firing our weapons, I think,” Brontosaurus commented.

  “All right,” Marlborough said. “It’s time to get some recon done. Eagleeye, can your Ravens squeeze past that canopy, above the tree line?”

  Eagleeye sent the Ravens skyward. His avatar appeared on Eric’s HUD, shaking his head: “No. The branches are too thick. I’ll get tangled.”

  “We could shoot a path?” Slate said eagerly.

  “No,” Marlborough said. “Scorpion, send one of your Ravagers up a tree to
act as a lookout.”

  “On it,” Eric said.

  Eric switched his viewpoint to one of the Ravagers, and took full remote control of the unit so that it was like he was inside the Ravager’s body. He pressed his fingers into one of the nearby boles, and used his machine strength to create his own hand and footholds in the wooden surface. He pulled himself up the thick bole, and when he reached the overarching branches near the top, he began to use those for hand and footholds. He broke away some of the thick branches that blocked his path, until finally there were too many, and choked out all access forward.

  “This isn’t going to work,” Eric said. “I can break these branches away, but then there won’t be anything to hold me up near the top, where the branches are far thinner. I won’t see past the surrounding canopy. I think I have to climb in my Devastator, and switch to my Cicada when I’m near the top.”

  “Do it,” Marlborough said.

  Eric reverted to the viewpoint of his own mech. “Dee, bring the Ravager down.”

  While his Accomp did that, Eric went to the far side of the tree and began the climb in his Devastator. When he reached the thick branches at the top, he jettisoned his Cicada and the smaller unit emerged—it nearly became tangled in the profusion of wooden limbs and leaves. His consciousness instantly switched to the smaller robot’s viewpoint, as his AI core was embedded in the Cicada.

  He pulled himself through the intertwined leaves and branches, pulling himself ever higher until he was above the canopy.

  The branches were quite thin here, and thus weaker. They swayed underneath his weight, and he was careful not to shift too much. Several guests had logged into his remote feed—the Bolt Eaters were accessing his viewpoint.

  He rotated his head one hundred and eighty degrees, getting a full scan in all directions thanks to the cameras at the back of his head, but there was nothing but an endless sea of blue out there. “It literally looks like an ocean, thanks to the blue coloration of the canopy. I don’t see any aircraft, or anything else of note within the branches. I could try a LIDAR scan…”