Task Force 7 (Doom Star 7) Page 6

  Bogdan kept cursing, smacking his gloves hands together. Mule wouldn’t be surprised if Bogdan went insane with fury and did something utterly rash.

  On the HUD, a cyborg stretched out a metallic arm before Scar, showing the man a long steel needle with a weird, greenish-yellow solution with golden flecks floating in it. Scar shook his head. If a human had shown his captive a needle like that, there would have been gloating in the man’s face. The cyborg’s features showed nothing, which made the gesture even more chilling.

  The cyborg plunged the needle into Scar’s thick neck, squeezing the solution into the man. The Marine stiffened and he began to thrash, and he bellowed anew at the cyborgs, spraying salvia as he shouted silently. It didn’t matter. The three cyborgs waited like traffic lights for the drug to take effect.

  Soon, sound was added to Mule’s video feed. It startled him. Then an unseen, emotionless speaker asked the corporal questions about the combat mission. Slack-faced now and slump-shouldered, Scar answered the questions one after another in a dull monotone.

  “We came aboard the mothership Slovakia,” Scar said in a slur, with salvia drooling from his mouth.

  “The bastards,” Bogdan whispered.

  Mule closed his eyes. This was just so wrong. The Web-Mind had dehumanized Scar. The entire concept of cyborgs was dehumanizing to a frightful degree. How could people do this to each other? What was wrong with the human race that would allow some to create cyborgs?

  Feeling as if he’d run forever, Mule opened his eyes and he continued to watch and listen.

  “Tell me about hate-conditioning,” the hidden speaker said.

  In a halting manner, Scar did so. Occasionally, it appeared as if intelligence flickered in the corporal’s eyes. He tried to stop speaking then, and agony of the soul welled within his orbs. Soon, thankfully, the eyes dulled again to the automaton the drug had made him.

  “This is interesting, Marines,” the emotionless speaker said. “Your masters have programmed you just as I do to my cyborgs.”

  Mule knew then that this was a Web-Mind speaking to them, one of the alien multi-minds. He hated it with desperate loathing.

  “Your masters think of you as pawns, just as I think of my soldier units. Observe, please, your coming fate.”

  Two cyborgs dragged Scar to a table. They thrust him onto it and cinched straps into place. They put his head onto a skull-shaped cavity in the table. Saws levered down near his skull and began to whirl. One saw touched skull-bone and carefully cut and worked it open to expose his brain.

  “No,” Bogdan said. “They can’t do this.”

  “Sarge,” Mule said, “we can’t watch this. The Web-Mind is trying to—”

  “You metal freaks!” a Marine roared on an open line.

  “Who is that?” Chen asked. “Who spoke? The idiot is using open communications.”

  For a second, Mule thought it was Bogdan. Then he realized the voice was wrong. “It must be someone from a different combat group.”

  “We know where you are!” the Marine shouted. “We’re coming to get you!”

  Mule flicked off the video and scanned the horizon. He saw it almost right away: an orange contrail highlighting a missile. This one was bigger than those fired from the skimmer earlier.

  “Look,” Mule said through the link-line. “The Web-Mind is responding to the boast. We were right. It must have done this to engage the hate-conditioning.”

  The missile was an easy twenty kilometers to their left. It rose higher and ignited into a nuclear fireball. Static hit the ether and the Marine yelling at the video cyborgs no longer broadcast his threats. Likely he and his group were dead. Scratch yet more Marines.

  The three of them hit the ice and crawled behind rocky protrusions.

  “What the heck is happening?” Chen asked. “Has everyone gone crazy?”

  “Sarge,” Mule said. “The Web-Mind figured out our weakness.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The hate-conditioning.”

  “Do you have any idea where the missile came from?” Bogdan asked Mule.

  The shock of Scar’s death seemed to have changed the sub-sergeant. “Sure,” Mule said, “it came from where we’re headed, about eleven kilometers away. At least the missile tells us we’re headed toward the right place.”

  “The way I see it,” Chen said, “the cyborgs figured out—”

  “The Web-Mind did this,” Mule said. “The Web-Mind runs the cyborgs. It’s the devil we have to destroy.”

  “Agreed,” Bogdan said.

  “You’re right, Mule,” Chen said. There was iron in his voice. “The nuke shows the Web-Mind must have decided on trickery because it’s afraid of us.”

  “It’d better be afraid,” Bogdan whispered.

  “Listen, you’ve both seen what’s in store for us if they capture us,” Chen said. “There’s no going back, just forward. We don’t even know whether our ship is still up there. Okay. That’s life. But for what those freaks did to our brothers, I say we make them pay ten thousand times.”

  “Make them pay,” Bogdan said.

  They couldn’t make the cyborgs pay, but Mule didn’t tell them that. There was only one creature they could make pay, and that was the Web-Mind.

  “Let’s go,” Mule said.

  ***

  Mule decided the Web-Mind didn’t have long-range motion sensors, because if it did, it would have already been over for them. The Web-Mind must have used its horror tactic because some of Slovakia’s missiles must have hit nerve centers.

  Mule thought back to what he remembered about the original attack. One missile had hit the surface and another two had blasted vital areas—hopefully—with hard gamma and X-rays.

  With their powered armor, the three Marines leaped low and long like Olympic broad jumpers. If they jumped too high, they would be a while coming down again. It wasn’t like maneuvering on an asteroid, which could get tricky. Mule was better at this than the others were because he was a Martian, used to lower gravity.

  The image of the needle stabbing Scar…Mule yearned to kill the Web-Mind and destroy every cyborg here. Had the melds done that to his wife, to his kids? The idea pulsed in his mind, creating rage. He worked to harness the anger. He would get vengeance, but he would use his head and use every tactic he could to win. If they solely replied on their emotions and charged ahead like the nuked Marines had done—

  With an effort of will, he wrenched his thoughts onto a new track. He couldn’t keep thinking about his lost wife and children. He needed to concentrate, to think.

  If the cyborgs had slipped a Lurker out here, what did that mean? Movement to the Oort cloud was a big commitment for the cyborgs, just like it was for the Alliance. Lurkers were stealth troopships. How many Lurkers could the cyborgs have moved without anyone detecting them?

  That was the first problem.

  The second problem was different. Was Tyche an attack platform against the sunbeam, or was it the getaway vehicle to a new star system? If it was the attack platform, it seemed clear more cyborgs would have to join up later. Once Tyche neared the planets, the last cyborg spaceships would probably emerge to fight with it. But if the melds meant to slip away from the Solar System, wouldn’t they need DNA to grow or clone more humans in order to harvest brains, eyes and spines? They would need advanced tech and enough of it to create a machine society in the new star system. Each of those items took cargo space in the Lurkers used to reach here.

  He wondered about Lurkers and cargo spaces because of the Web-Mind’s action of tormenting a prisoner to make Marines belligerent. It wasn’t a common cyborg tactic.

  More blooms appeared far in the distance. Were those yet more nuclear explosions? It told him other Marines still fought the cyborgs. The battle continued to rage as each group attempted to complete its tactical mission.

  As Mule watched for more bloom or signs of battle, he noticed a cryovolcano. First vapor billowed out of a low hill or volcano. Then semi-liquid
methane gushed out of the vent together with chunks of ice. The flow slid across the surface, expanding and radiating methane vapors. On Earth, the substance would have been scalding lava. Here, the substance was heated relative to the intensely cold planetoid. There were also cryogeyser vents nearby. The number had been increasing as they advanced on the cyborg structures.

  Some of the vapor condensed higher up and drizzled down, creating a methane fog.

  The cryovolcano sparked Mule’s thoughts, particularly about Neptunians. Once, they had been the Solar System’s premier capitalists.

  Mule waved his arms until Bogdan and Chen noticed. They landed and turned around. He pointed at the bubbling cryovolcano until Chen nodded.

  Mule jumped toward the vent until he landed a hundred meters from it. Some of the semi-liquid methane had already begun to harden into ice. He walked over and through that, cracking methane. As he neared the opening, he witnessed the sludge oozing past his legs. It resembled lava on Earth, except this stuff was cold to him, not hot. He dubbed it “cryomagma” in his own mind.

  Wading ankle and then calf deep, he made it to the vent and peered at the cryomagma. It was slushy, icy sludge. How far did that stuff go down?

  Thoughtfully, he jumped back to the others. They had moved closer to the cryovolcano. Each of them now used the link-line.

  “What are you doing?” Chen asked.

  “Have you noticed the geysers?” Mule asked.

  “What about them?”

  Mule pointed at the cryovolcano. “That’s a new development. Instead of vapor, it erupted with cryomagma.”

  “So?”

  “So, it should make you think.”

  “It does,” Chen said. “I think you’re wasting time. Our air supply will last another ten hours—fifteen if we lie down and do nothing.”

  “The capitalist Neptunians were brilliant innovators,” Mule said. “They took big risks to make big profits. So why did they send scientists into the Oort cloud and why to Tyche?”

  “You tell me,” Chen said.

  Mule indicated the cryovolcano. “Something is hot around here, relative to this cold place. On Triton, tidal forces cause the heat. If there was a moon circling Tyche, we’d have seen it aboard Slovakia. But there are no moons here. Nothing is orbiting the planetoid to cause tidal forces inside it. That means friction can’t be making Tyche hot. Instead, I think the planetoid has a hot core just like Earth has, for some weird reason.”

  Bogdan muttered obscenities, adding, “What’s your point?”

  “The Neptunians built structures on Tyche because there must have been profits to make, plenty of them.”

  “How do profits help cyborgs?” Chen asked.

  “They don’t,” Mule said. “You were right earlier. We’re running out of air and we need a way to get close to the cyborgs without any motion sensors tracking us. Once the melds see us, we’ll likely get a missile lobbed our way.”

  “I’ve been seeing explosions all around us,” Chen said. “Well, in the distance anyway.”

  “We don’t have any other choice but to attack head-on,” Bogdan said. “Our mission calls for—”

  “Wrong!” Mule said. “We do have choices, and the cryovolcano shows me how we can achieve tactical surprise and beat this thing.”

  “Start talking,” Chen said. “Quit wasting our time about Neptunians.”

  “We’ve seen the geysers become more numerous,” Mule said. “That means there must be a growing cryomagma-chamber below us.”

  “What’s that?” Chen asked.

  “It’s where all the icy slush seethes before it comes bubbling to the surface.”

  “What’s cryomagma?” Chen asked.

  Mule pointed at the slushy semi-liquid methane. “That stuff is. We climb into the cryovolcano and work our way to the magma-chamber. That one won’t be hot with lava because this isn’t Earth, but freezing Tyche. My guess is the geysers and cryovolcanoes keep getting more numerous as we approach the cyborg station. That’s because the magma-chamber is underneath us.”

  “Go underground?” Bogdan said. “You’re saying we sneak up on them underground?”

  “It’s even better than that,” Mule said. “Once we’re close enough, we pop up to another volcano or vent and take a look around.”

  The two Marines traded glances.

  “Mule,” Chen said, “if this works, you’re a genius.”

  -8-

  The battlesuits weighed more than the methane liquid and cryomagma. The men sank, and sank, and the link-lines between Mule and the others was cut off. They’d probably have to be right beside each other for the link-lines to work down here.

  Mule kept sinking, struck ice and deflected, skidded off more ice and kept heading down. He realized there was no way the three of them would land in the same spot. He was on his own down here underground.

  A new concern struck as he kept sinking. How far down could he go? The liquid methane pressure would build up the deeper he sank.

  It was dark around him, and he continued to descend like a coin tossed into a swimming pool. How deep did this chamber go anyway? The volume of cryomagma in here was incredible.

  His outer armor casing began to creak. The pressure was building. This wasn’t a deep-sea suit, but a battlesuit for regular conditions. Would his rifle work after this?

  He chinned on his echo gear, ultrasound sonar. The suit sonar could send out ultrasound waves like a dolphin or whale on Earth. The computer would analyze the return bounce and show him on the HUD where he moved.

  A red light winked. Damn. A feeling of despair bit him then. The sonar gear was damaged. One of the cyborg laser pulses earlier must have burned out a critical component. He instructed his computer to run diagnostics and attempt repairs or to reroute if it could.

  The sonar waves would be short range down here in this cryomagma. He couldn’t afford to wait for the others to find him. He had to move toward the cyborg structures, using an internal navigation system heading.

  He heard his rad detector clicking. It told him he neared radioactive material. After all this, will I die of radiation poisoning?

  He checked his dose counter. Hmm, the suit would protect him for a while, at least. He ran some analysis on the readings. It was just as he thought. This was natural material. Uranium, thorium…what if the planetoid had massive loads of fissionable material? That might be worth the mining effort, especially if the Neptunians had been able to set up an automated system.

  Despite his predicament, Mule shook his head ruefully. Had he stumbled onto the Neptunian secret? Had the capitalists come out here for one of the greatest supplies of radioactive ores in the Solar System?

  As his boots finally settled against something solid, he wondered if that’s what the cyborgs would use as fuel. Given enough fissionable material, they might actually get this world moving. But they would need absolutely massive engines in order to do that.

  Three Lurkers seemed to Mule like the outside limit the melds could sneak past the watchful Alliance. It didn’t make sense that only three Lurkers could have brought enough equipment to make such gargantuan engines.

  Mule waited to settle fully and then pressed down with the sole of his boot. His foot didn’t slide out from under him, so likely this wasn’t ice but rock. He lifted the boot and slammed it down. It didn’t quite work out that way, though. The semi-liquid made it a slow-motion stomp. Still, nothing bad happened.

  Am I on the bottom of the methane lake then?

  He craned his faceplate upward, but saw nothing. He didn’t bother turning on the outer helmet lamp. The metal casing continued to creak because of the depth pressure, but he hadn’t sprung any leaks yet.

  He didn’t want to start walking, though, because he worried about landing on an edge or a step. If he walked over the edge or step, he might sink into an even deeper pit. Then where would he be?

  No. Get started. You don’t have much air left and that means you don’t have any time left for hesi
tating.

  Mule began wading through the cryomagma. He used the internal navigation system to head in the correct direction. Three times, he had to work his way around a methane iceberg. He walked, waded and resolutely continued on the mission.

  An hour fled, two and finally three. The computer kept automatic track of the distance he had gone, calculating by his steps. He’d gone thirteen kilometers already, which meant he’d passed the cyborg structures.

  I have to get up, but first I need a rock wall to climb.

  He waded another fifteen minutes and realized he could spend the rest of his life down here, which wouldn’t be long now.

  A green light winked then in his faceplate and the computer informed it had made repairs. He finally had sonar again.

  He began to ping objects, in particular ice and semi-frozen methane. The sonar had greater range than he would have expected down here. Once the computer configured for that, Mule spotted two man-sized metallic objects. The objects had to be Chen and Bogdan. The objects moved, and were half a kilometer away. He studied them more carefully. The two were higher than he was, much higher.

  A rock wall. They must be climbing the chamber wall.

  Fixing on their location, seeing it was nearer the cyborg structures, Mule began wading back the way he’d come. He kept the sonar on; it gave him sight. He found a way through an icy blockage. He also began to study the chamber walls. Here, they were exceptionally thin.

  Yeah, of course: behind the magma-chamber must be other empty chambers, or corridors, thorium mining tunnels or maybe even shafts for Tyche’s engines. He didn’t know for certain, but it seemed logical.

  Wouldn’t it be dangerous having cryomagma chambers so near such shafts? It would depend, Mule decided, on what was or wasn’t in the echo-empty chambers.

  Mule studied the two climbers and fixed the location on an internal map. Then he shut off the sonar. It was doubtful the cyborgs above had heard the short-distance sonar, but who knew what sort of listening posts they had below ground.