ATLAS 2 (ATLAS Series Book 2) (48 page)

I swung my body up and away, over the topmost edge of the rock, placing the mineral body between myself and the mechs.

The rock shook beneath me as the Gatlings ate into it, and then the entire structure broke apart.

I felt constantly on the defensive out here. All I could do was run and hide, never getting any shots in.

There had to be a way to get the upper hand . . .

I spotted the other large boulder I had seen in the vicinity.

And I had an idea.

One piece of the broken rock was as big as my mech, and I dragged it along as I jetted away. The rock didn’t conceal my heat signature, and of course the inevitable thread of Gatling fire followed me.

I loaded the serpent launcher into my right hand and leaned slightly beyond the rim of the rock.

I loosed four rockets.

As expected, the enemy ATLAS 6s initiated evasive maneuvers, launching their Trench Coats. Four flashes told me my rockets had been destroyed.

I launched four more, and used the distraction to steer my mech toward the other large boulder. I continued to drag the smaller rock along with me.

When I reached the boulder, I sheltered Hopper behind it, launching four more missiles.

“Guard,” I told Hopper.

I opened the cockpit and ejected.

I thrust behind the smaller rock I’d brought here, which concealed my jumpsuit entirely.

I gave the rock a shove and, staying behind it, used it to float away from Hopper and the bigger boulder. I kept my body stationed on the far side, away from the sight lines of the other mechs, using their last known positions to guide me.

I felt extremely vulnerable out there, but my heat signature would be way smaller now, and I knew it wouldn’t be visible beyond the confines of the rock.

At least, I hoped it wouldn’t.

I didn’t dare fire off my jumpjets again, not yet. The extra heat could give me away.

The rock continued to drift from the larger one, where Hopper remained in “Guard” mode.

A flash of metal caught my eye, and I saw an enemy ATLAS 6 approaching Hopper from below.

I glanced up, searching for the other enemy mech, knowing they’d try to outflank Hopper. I spotted it far above, almost exactly where I expected it.

Hopper received the telemetry from my helmet aReal, and initiated offensive action, launching six serpents at either mech. I cringed inside, because that was the remaining missile loadout of the ATLAS 6. When I got back, I wouldn’t have any more serpents.

Stupid, stupid AIs.

In any case, the enemy mechs were suitably distracted, and both initiated evasive maneuvers, activating their Trench Coats.

Tightly gripping the small rock, I fired off several quick bursts from my jetpack, shadowing the movements of the leftmost, closer opponent.

The enemy ATLAS 6 employed the same tactics I had, and used its Gatling gun to take down the remaining missiles.

My shadowing had carried me to within twenty meters of the enemy mech. A quick check of my HUD told me the other ATLAS 6 was two hundred meters to the right.

With my helmet aReal, I zoomed in on each of them in turn. Both enemy units had their backs toward me, and were concentrating on Hopper.

I fired off a quick burst of my jumpjets, carrying myself and the small rock toward the closer opponent.

The enemy mech confidently fired three missiles at Hopper.

I didn’t wait to see how Hopper reacted; I only hoped my ATLAS wouldn’t accidentally shoot me while it responded to the threat.

I fired my jets at full burn, fast approaching the enemy mech from behind. I still ported the rock—I was just another mineral body as far as the external sensors of the target were concerned.

I kept my course centered on the enemy as rocks flitted past. Some hit me, and though a few of the impacts were sizable, none of them perforated my jumpsuit. One of the pebble-sized objects managed to make a big chip in my faceplate, however.

I closed with the target and released the rock—

With a final burst of thrust, I landed on the enemy mech’s jetpack.

Though the jumpjets of ATLAS 6s were twice the size of the previous models, the fuel lines threading between the tanks and jets, like the older ATLAS 5, were readily accessible and unarmored. I used my favorite tactic, and severed the main line.

Jet fuel spurted out, boiling and desublimating at the same time, forming a cloud of fine, frozen crystals, similar to mist.

I sheathed my utility knife and pulled myself up into the seating area above the jetpacks, behind the head. I sat in the leftmost seat (the ATLAS 6s had two passenger seats, unlike the single seat of the ATLAS 5s). I’d seen the mech fire its Trench Coat earlier, so I knew no electro-defense mechanisms were installed.

Even so, before I could strap myself in, the enemy ATLAS 6 launched into a series of evasive maneuvers, and nearly shook me off.

I grasped the seat buckle for dear life. Behind the mech, a stream of fuel crystals formed a spiraling trail.

The ATLAS couldn’t get me, not while I hung there, but the other enemy obviously could—I just hoped Hopper kept the second ATLAS engaged.

The mech’s jets abruptly cut off.

Out of fuel.

I felt the hull shudder beneath me.

I turned around in time to see a jumpsuit-clad SK thrust himself toward me from the open cockpit.

He held a pistol.

I released the seat belt and activated my lateral jets, full burn—

And spiraled at high speed around the entire mech—

Coming at the surprised SK from the opposite side in under half a second.

Before he could react, I plunged my knife into the rib region of his jumpsuit.

My momentum carried the two of us away from the mech. Without fuel, the abandoned ATLAS 6 receded behind us, unable to bring its Gatlings to bear.

As the stars spiraled past at a dizzying speed, I bashed the 9-mil from the SK’s grasp. The pistol spun away.

I started to withdraw the knife I’d plunged into the SK’s jumpsuit, but he forcibly wrapped his hands around my gloves, keeping the weapon embedded. He didn’t want to lose suit integrity—his jumpsuit had obviously sealed around the blade. If I removed the knife, I’d probably create a gap big enough to depressurize the entire suit.

I was starting to feel nauseous from all the rotating, and I fired some gyroscopic stabilizers. But the SK activated his own jumpjets, messing up my equalization attempts.

I strove once more to remove the knife, but I couldn’t budge the weapon, not with his gloves wrapped around mine. I tried twisting the blade. No good. Our jumpsuits gave us equal strength, and he countered my every attempt.

I stared into my foe’s helmet and saw the fearless, emotionless visage of a man who didn’t care if he lived or died.

He was definitely controlled by a Phant.

I managed to pry one hand free from his grasp and I lifted my glove toward his helmet, hoping to open his locking assembly.

He took advantage of my slackened hold to kick me in the chest.

I lost my grip on the knife and drifted away from him.

The SK withdrew a second pistol from his belt.

Wonderful.

I jetted in reverse, activating my lateral thrusters at random intervals so that I moved in an unpredictable, three-dimensional spiral. Just like I was taught.

The ballistics alarm triggered inside my helmet.

“Hopper, pick me up!” I sent my mech.

I glanced at the HUD map. Hopper wasn’t far.

I couldn’t see or hear the 9-mil bullets, but I knew they were out there because of the muzzle flashes. Hidden, silent bullets sliced through the void, ready to perforate my suit and kill me. All it would take was one lucky shot.

“Hopper!”

I kept up the evasive maneuvers, trying to jet in the general direction of my mech. Then I felt a strong burning sensation in the back of my shoulder.

The SK had finally shot me.

The skin and muscle of my rear deltoid would be sucked outward because of the pressure differential, and would partially close the small perforation in my jumpsuit. The coagulating blood from the injury itself would complete the seal. At least, that’s how it was supposed to work.

I felt the throbbing pain, and did my best to ignore it, reminding myself that I had experienced far worse at the hands of the Keeper.

My mech neared, moving erratically. Long threads of Gatling fire from the other enemy ATLAS forced Hopper to constantly evade. A single strike from one of those threads to my jumpsuit would mean instant death.

“Hopper, attacker on my six,” I sent as my mech grew near. “Defend.”

A stream of Gatling fire erupted from Hopper, silently slicing into the void behind me.

On my HUD map, the red dot indicating the SK behind me turned dark.

“Hopper, steady,” I transmitted.

Hopper ceased the evasive maneuvers and headed straight toward me.

I positioned myself between Hopper and the remaining mech so that I was shielded from the enemy Gatlings. Hopper faced away from me, shooting at the pursuing mech.

I jetted toward Hopper at maximum thrust. Small rocks pummeled my suit.

“Hopper, reposition for dock.”

Hopper ceased firing and swiveled around.

The mech’s cockpit unlatched. There was no gravity to complete the opening out here, so Hopper used a metallic hand to yank the hatch the rest of the way down.

I dove inside.

I flinched in pain as the inner cocoon wrapped around me and pressed into my injured shoulder.

When Hopper’s vision feed kicked in, I found myself staring at the SK I’d just escaped from. His jumpsuit spun lifelessly, ten meters away, and the blue mist of a Phant vented from his neck.

The sound of Gatling bullets hitting Hopper’s right arm drew me back to the situation at hand, and I jetted my mech hard to the left.

Turning around, I realized the enemy ATLAS 6 held a Gatling in one hand and an energy ax in the other. That told me it had run out of serpents.

Good. So we were on relatively even footing now.

I double-checked my own serpent missile inventory. Yep. Empty.

I swiveled the wootz shield into my left hand and brought the energy ax into my right.

I held the shield toward the enemy. The wootz worked wonders against the Gatling gun, easily deflecting those bullets. I saw slight dents appear on the backside. Not invincible, then, but definitely better than ordinary ballistic shields.

I landed on a large boulder and dug in, waiting for my foe.

The dents stopped appearing on the back of the shield and I knew the enemy mech had ceased firing. Maybe it had exhausted its ammunition.

I tentatively peered past the rim of the shield.

The enemy ATLAS 6 had replaced its Gat with a shield of its own. It was coming toward me at ramming speed, and had lifted its blade far back, poised to strike.

I timed my moment precisely, smoothly jetting upward, bringing my ax down in a decapitating blow.

The enemy ATLAS managed to raise its shield in time, blocking my blade.

It immediately thrusted toward me, ramming its shield into my body, sending me spinning away.

I pummeled through a cluster of smaller rocks, then stabilized myself.

The enemy ATLAS 6 jetted toward me—

I moved aside—

We swept past each other, like medieval jousters in space, exchanging glancing blows. The impact jolted my wounded shoulder, and I winced in pain.

I turned about, and accelerated to meet the mech full-on this time—

We collided, shield on shield.

I kept accelerating, as did my opponent, and neither of us made any headway. I couldn’t reach around with my ax; the shield was too wide.

I eased off on the thrust and tilted my shield to the left, letting the enemy ATLAS 6 roll past.

We could go on like this for hours. I needed a way to win.
Now
.

I jetted backward, swiveling both the shield and the ax out of my hands so that I appeared weaponless.

I held up my empty palms, as if indicating surrender. I winced, because the movement aggravated the gunshot wound in my shoulder, and my whole deltoid region throbbed anew.

As anticipated, the enemy ATLAS 6 jetted toward me.

I hadn’t expected mercy.

Nor was I going to give it.

My opponent hoisted the energy ax far back as it approached—

And sliced horizontally toward my cockpit—

I accelerated upward and forward, swinging my entire body up so that my hips and legs were higher than my head.

The enemy’s blade tore through empty space—

I moved over my opponent in a parabolic arc—

I passed the enemy’s shield, reached down, wrapped my hand around its head, pulled myself in, and jabbed my fingers into the visual sensors.

I felt the glass give beneath Hopper’s unrelenting strength.

The enemy mech swung its ax upward, and before I could counter, it sliced Hopper’s arm off below the elbow.

I jetted backward, the stump of my arm sparking. I watched my severed appendage and all its swappable weapon loadouts, including the energy ax, drift end over end into space.

Of course, my real arm was safe inside the cockpit.

The enemy pilot, now blinded, spun his ATLAS 6 wildly, randomly cutting at the air with the ax.

I loaded a Gatling gun into my left hand and aimed at the chest piece. I fired, striking the armor. The blinded, panicking pilot activated his thrust at full burn, in a random direction that just so happened to hurtle his mech toward the planet.

The pilot didn’t have to be blind. All he had to do was swivel one of the Gats back in hand, and transfer the scope vid feed to his cockpit. That was the first thing I would have done. But I was a skilled mech pilot, and for me the ATLAS was an extension of my own body. This “pilot” likely had a completely different occupation before today. The Phant that possessed him probably had the necessary knowledge buried somewhere inside it, yet actually putting that knowledge to use during the pulse-pounding heat of battle was a completely different story. If the Phant hadn’t internalized that knowledge to the point where it could act without thinking, then the information was useless. Assuming of course that the consciousness of a Phant was even remotely similar to a human being’s, though I suspected that when integrated with a human host, they behaved closer to us than anything else.