Starship Liberator Page 2

  “Retract brakes and rotate,” Straker said, and as one, the four mechsuits flipped head-down. Like falling divers now, they pointed their arms at the ground. This put the gatlings and force-cannons in their arms into the best positions to fire at threats, and also maintained their high speed in the thickening air and made them more streamlined than the feet-down attitude.

  When they needed extra velocity, a mechsuiter could also trigger foot thrusters for a short burst of speed. The trick was, of course, to retain the ability to shed that speed before slamming into the ground like a bullet. Even with the best genetic enhancements, there were only so many Gs a man could take.

  “It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the sudden stop at the end,” Paloco said cheerfully.

  “I heard it was poisoning,” Chen replied.

  “Poisoning?”

  “Yeah. Dirt poisoning, concrete poisoning, seawater poisoning… whatever you impact gets right into your bloodstream. Hell on the kidneys.”

  “Hey, I do the jokes around here,” Paloco complained.

  “You mean you are the joke around here.”

  Indifferent to their chatter, Helios rushed toward them with gut-wrenching speed. Straker watched his radar altimeter until…

  “Turn and burn, gents, mark,” he ordered, and their head-down plunge flattened into a short-lived flight, aided by the airfoils and canards that sprouted from their mechsuits. This was less true flying and more of a controlled stalling fall, rather like the squirrel-suits of extreme skydivers, but it allowed them to roar in over the city low enough to use its ground clutter as cover.

  Timing it perfectly, Straker and his men braked hard on blazing jets and landed on their feet in the suburbs, just beyond the line of skyscrapers that formed its heart. Behind them lay the prize, the industrial district, stretching along both sides of the south-flowing River Argos.

  Friendly conventional forces already occupied the best dug-in cover positions, but mechsuiters were close-in fighters. Using their superior speed, skill and feel for combat, the finest men and technology of the Hundred Worlds always took the fight to the enemy, getting in among the Hok armor and infantry to destroy their cohesion and ability to operate.

  Unfortunately, the Hok seemed immune to fear. They fought and died in droves, always attacking, never retreating, like organic machines.

  The rest of the regiment joined the squad, landing to the left and right. Straker’s unit held the very center, as befitted the best of the best. Two of the regiment’s troopers had been KIA on the drop, not bad for a hot insertion, but it still fed his anger. He didn’t even look at who they’d lost. Better not to know until later.

  Undoubtedly, the toll would climb.

  So be it. The Hok would pay. No matter how pessimistic the assessment, Straker knew in his bones he was invincible. Twenty-six years old and he’d never been seriously wounded in forty-four distinct actions. He’d seldom even lost a major suit system or ended a battle with more than heavy bruising. His teachers had told him he’d been blessed with the best genetic engineering known to mankind, his body purposely designed to link with a mechsuit.

  Beyond that, the random genetic variables that nobody could control had favored him above all others. The dice had stopped while showing eleven, the cards had dealt him a royal flush, the slot machine of life had come up 7-7-7, and as the scientists had said, he’d hit the jackpot. He’d tested in the top one-thousandth percentile of human nerve-transmission and reaction.

  No one else had even come close, not even other “physicals” who’d been genetically gifted with similar abilities. Add in the brainchips, the cyber-wetware that enhanced him even further, and he knew nothing could touch him.

  When he was in kindergarten, he’d amused himself by holding two styluses like chopsticks and catching flies out of the air. In school, he’d dominated every sport that relied on coordination, such as racquetball or football, failing to win only contests of pure endurance, like distance swimming, running, or cycling.

  Other children with differing genetic enhancements had won at those. Derek Straker didn’t begrudge them. They weren’t destined to become mechsuiters. Only those with supreme psychomotor skills wore mechsuits, because one mechsuit and its trooper cost as much as ten interceptors or a hundred tanks.

  That meant a regiment of mechsuiters embodied the firepower of at least a division, with the logistical footprint of a mere battalion. Like elites throughout history, the Hundred Worlds used them—and used them up—when the job absolutely, positively had to get done, and done right, whatever the cost.

  And today it was going to cost. Never in his memory did he have to fight at such a disadvantage, a mere one regiment against at least three Hok divisions, maybe four, with a city to defend. But as long as Fleet battled in orbit above, he would tie up the enemy, deny them the factories, and buy time for the civilians to flee.

  “First Regiment, by the numbers, report,” came the commander’s voice over the net.

  “One-one-one ready,” Straker said. He heard echoes up and down the line, all squads reporting in. It was an unnecessary ritual, really, given the network that linked the regiment, but he appreciated it anyway.

  Command technique, he told himself for the hundredth time. Makes everyone feel like part of the team. He resolved to use it once he moved up the ladder.

  “First Regiment, engage,” the commander continued. “Squad leaders, you’re cleared for independent action.”

  Straker waved his men forward and into the teeth of the enemy.

  Chapter 2

  Seaburn City, Planet Oceanus. Thirteen years before the Battle for Corinth (2804 A.D., Old Earth reckoning).

  Long before Derek Straker wore a mechsuit and killed his first Hok invader, he stood in his family’s backyard and watched the lights streaking across the night sky. The man on the vidscreen inside said the aliens were attacking, and all personnel must report to their duty stations.

  Derek didn’t have a duty station yet. He was only thirteen, but he knew when he grew up he’d fight the Hok to defend the Hundred Worlds. The Hok were evil, and he’d be a crack mechsuiter.

  Mechsuiters were awesome. Mechsuiters were the best.

  This wasn’t just a silly dream. He’d been genetically enhanced, and had been trained at a special school. On his tenth birthday he’d been brainchipped, which let him play VR Mechsuit Onslaught on the supernet. Someday he would pilot a mechsuit for real, better than anyone. Everyone said so, and he believed them.

  He’d taken advanced martial arts classes and competed in lots of sports. He usually won, even against the other physicals. They said he couldn’t go to the Hundred Worlds Olympics, though. It wouldn’t be fair to the unenhanced people.

  That was okay. The Olympics had nothing on mechsuit battle.

  As he watched the invasion unfold in the skies above, his only wish was that he had a mechsuit now so he could fight the Hok.

  By age sixteen, maybe before, he’d go to Academy Station, the Hundred Worlds’ central officer training base. Until then, he played Onslaught, a game that made him feel like he was already a mechsuiter, it was so realistic.

  “Derek, come inside, now!” his mother called in a shrill voice.

  Her tone worried him. She was usually so calm. Was it because of the Hok above? Why was she afraid? Hundred Worlds mechsuiters always won. Hundred Worlds fleets usually won, too.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. The mechsuiters will beat the Hok,” he said as he dutifully tramped into the house.

  “Come here and help me pack,” his mother called from inside his room. He had his own room because he was a special child, something he’d been told time and again.

  His sister Mara was special and had her own room too. She was wicked smart. At school, the special school, they called the ones like her mentals, though the slang word was brainiacs. They called kids like Derek physicals.

  That was the biggest social divide on Oceanus. Everyone worked at their own pace, though, and
they were encouraged to see each other as complementary. Or was it complimentary? He could never remember. He was no brainiac.

  His mom and dad got extra credits because of Derek’s and Mara’s genetic enhancements. Pre-enlisting in the military was lucrative for struggling families. The extra credits bought them a bigger dome house and nicer cars—all kinds of expensive stuff the average worker didn’t get. The credits had bought him the best VR console on the market, so he could play Onslaught. That’s what his parents said when they wanted to remind him to be good. That was fair. Be good, do his schoolwork and his chores, play Onslaught, be a mechsuiter. That was life, though sometimes he felt like he was only waiting for real life to start.

  “What are we packing for, Mom?”

  “You and Mara are going on a field trip, Derek. With your friends from school. It’ll be fun.” His mom’s voice quavered and she didn’t look happy, but that wasn’t surprising. She usually worried when he had to go on a field trip, and he was used to that. Most mothers worried too much, but his father didn’t seem to worry at all.

  His father came into his room a moment later. He had Derek’s field pack and spoke to his mother. “Put everything in here, so he can carry it easily.”

  “Why not a travel case?” she asked. “I can’t get as much into a pack.”

  “This is better. Less likely to get lost. It has his name and our names stitched on it, it has a locator chip, a place for water and rations…” His father trailed off as he concentrated on stuffing things into the pack—underwear and socks, Youth Brigade uniform, shorts and a shirt. Derek’s phonetab went into an outer pocket.

  A horn blared from the street outside. “Oh, Cosmos. They’re here for Derek already,” his mother said.

  “That was fast,” replied his father, as if remarking on the weather, but didn’t move. He stared at the wall, hands opening and closing on nothing.

  “Can’t you tell them to pick him up last?” Mother asked. “You’re on the committee…”

  “I asked, but they have a priority list. You know our kids are two of the best, so they’ve been selected to go early in the event of an emergency.”

  Derek put on the youth-sized backpack. “What emergency?” He smiled at his father. “We’ll win, Dad. We always win.”

  “That’s right!” his father said, patting him absently on the shoulder. His father’s face stiffened, and he turned it toward his mom. “Honey, go help Mara finish. Her bus will be here soon, too.”

  His mother hurried to his sister’s room. She was only six, but the little brainiac tried to act like a grownup, which was annoying.

  Derek followed his mom. “Hey, pest,” he said to Mara from the doorway as his mother threw little-girl stuff in a backpack.

  “Shut up, neuro-typical simpleton,” she said.

  He laughed. “Don’t forget your dollies.”

  Mara glared. “They’re Heroic Action Figures.”

  “They’ll make one of me someday.”

  “Your arrogance is exceeded only by your hubris.”

  “Whatever. See you later.”

  “Not if I see you first.”

  Derek smiled, and after a moment Mara smiled back. His sister had once told him matter-of-factly their sibling rivalry was only a veneer to hide their affection for each other. He thought that was weird. Most brainiacs were weird.

  “Bye, Mara,” he said. “Have fun on your field trip.”

  Mara moved forward and pushed him into the hallway, hissing, “Field trip, my butt. Field trips don’t start at night. We’re being evacuated. The Hok are pushing hard.”

  “I know that,” he whispered back.

  But he hadn’t known. Not really. Evacuation? That word seemed extreme. The emergency his dad had spoken of must be serious after all. “That’s why Mom’s freaking.”

  “Yeah. Don’t feed her anxiety, okay?” Mara smiled weakly. “The buses are honking. You have to go.”

  “Okay.” He hugged her impulsively. “Don’t worry. We’ll kick their asses.”

  “If they have asses.” She shoved him away. “Go on, moron.”

  “Better a moron than a more-off.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Come on, Derek!” his father yelled. “You’re holding up the others!”

  In front of the house an armored bus waited, but it wasn’t Derek’s school bus and it wasn’t driven by anyone he knew. The driver wore a Ground Forces uniform, though he was just a private. Derek knew all the rank insignia.

  The faces of a couple of Derek’s classmates could be seen peering out the tiny viewports at him.

  “Hey, Derek!” called Johnny Paloco, his best friend. Everyone called him Loco. He was one year younger and smaller than Derek, with curly black hair and a bright, ready smile. He often played the class clown, unlike Derek and his earnestness, but like many of the physicals, he’d be a mechsuiter too when he grew up.

  Derek waved. “Hey, Loco.”

  Loco got off the bus when the door opened, even though the driver yelled at him to get back on. Loco was always doing stuff like that, ignoring the grownups. Somehow he got away with it, by smiling and acting like he didn’t hear, and then saying “sorry.”

  Derek took a step toward the bus when his mother grabbed him and hugged him fiercely. “Goodbye, Derek. I love you.”

  “Knock it off, Mom. It’s only a field trip. I love you too.” Derek waved at his father, who stood there with a strained look on his face.

  “Bye, son.”

  His mother broke down sobbing, and he might have seen tears in his father’s eyes too as he pulled Derek’s mom away, back to the porch of the house.

  Then he remembered the Hok. He’d seen explosions in the sky, flashes of weapons fire from warships, burning attack craft. Despite Mara’s words, he wasn’t worried. Hundred Worlds fleets would drive them off, and if not, the mechsuiters would fight them on the ground and kill them all. That’s what always happened on the Mechsuiter Roundup showvid, anyway.

  Derek grabbed Loco by the shoulder and muscled him onto the bus as the driver spat bad words at them. The door slammed behind them and the two made their way to the very back.

  Out the rear window, Derek saw his parents waving from the front porch. They kept on waving and crying. For a moment, the feeling he would never see them again overwhelmed him.

  It was a stupid thought. Of course he would come back home in a few days. Everything would be fine.

  Before they’d made it two hundred meters down the road, a shudder shook the ground, followed by a blast of sound. Then another roar followed that. Bursts of light silhouetted the buildings on the next street over, and then Derek’s house blew up, faster than in a war vid.

  His father and mother vanished in the blast. He saw blood. Smoke and dust enveloped the armored bus and billowed into the open windows, making him cough at its acrid odor. An impact threw him out of the seat and onto the floor. The bus stopped.

  Loco ran forward to look at the driver. “He’s out,” he said, shoving the unconscious man’s face off the steering wheel.

  “Open the door!”

  Loco pushed the big button, and then grabbed the manual release. Together they pulled it open and scrambled off the bus.

  Derek began to run back the way they’d come, pack thumping on his back.

  Loco ran after him. “Derek!”

  How could this happen? People weren’t supposed to blow up houses, not even in war. War was something between mechsuits and tanks and spaceships. It never happened in a neighborhood. Not on the showvids he watched, anyway.

  Something knocked him flat from behind, a wall of air that shoved him forward, like being illegally hit in the back by another player in a football match. He found his mouth full of lawn and dirt, and his ears rang.

  Loco yelled something.

  “What?” he yelled right back.

  “The bus! The bus!”

  Derek turned to look back through the swirling haze. The bus was… wel
l, it wasn’t a bus anymore. Just a flat bottom and some wheels. He saw the driver’s legs and torso sitting in the seat, but his arms and head had vanished. Blown off. On the combat vids that was cool. It wasn’t nearly so cool now. A sudden urge to vomit came over him.

  “Where are they?” Derek asked, already knowing the answer. There had been kids on the bus. His classmates.

  “They’re gone.”

  “How many kids got on?”

  “Umm… three before me. Fack, Renny and Tina.”

  Derek put the bus aside in his mind. He couldn’t do anything about that now. Staggering to his feet, pack still strapped on, he stumbled toward the ruins of his house.

  Parts of it were on fire, sputtering flames. Water from broken pipes spurted. He could hear sirens, but his ears were ringing so badly he had no idea if they were close or far. Many of the streetlights were dark.

  On what was left of the front porch he found his father and mother. Dad was wrapped around Mom. They looked peaceful, as if they were lying in bed. Derek reached out to check his dad’s pulse, like he’d been taught in Emergency Medical Response class. He felt nothing. Then he saw that his father’s neck twisted at a funny angle.

  On his mother he found a pulse, and then it faded. He witnessed her take one last breath.

  “Loco!” he screamed, suddenly energized, waking as if from a dream. “Loco, help!” He pushed his father’s corpse aside and rolled his mother onto her back and began the steps of CPR as he’d been drilled in Youth Brigade.

  Loco threw himself to his knees beside Derek, who compressed his mother’s chest and tried not to think about what would happen.

  “Come on, Mom,” he muttered, over and over, and, “Please, somebody help.” He had no idea who he was calling to. Maybe the Unknowable Creator the regimental chaplain always mentioned at the military funerals they showed on the vids.

  Nobody answered.

  When he got too tired, Loco spelled him. He felt helpless, wishing he had supplies and medical training and…

  After an interminable time, he knew.