He chinned his suit so it glowed with a bright blue color. Then he crawled out the hole, pressing his body against the rock as if he loved it. So very carefully, he moved one hand or foot at a time, crawling across the particle shield, making sure those deeply curved spikes had driven in as far as possible. Other shock troopers did likewise.
Meanwhile, the Bangladesh continued to flee from Mercury.
Marten glanced back over his battlesuit’s shoulder. An HB missile moved up. It terrified him. A red laser flashed out its cone. Marten shouted hoarsely. Then something exploded, a flash and then nothing, darkness. Other movement caught his eye. More torpedoes coming. Two blossomed in space, beam hit before they could burrow to safety. Marten groaned. Bile rose in his throat. That could have been him. He didn’t know why he was the lucky one. Then the surviving torps smashed into the particle shield that he was on. The shield shook, and that threatened to loosen his grip.
“No, please, no,” he whispered, as his right hand slipped up and then whipped off the rock, the nine-inch curved claws showing with their little barbs. His servomotors whined as he hammered the spikes back into the rock. Motion in the corner of his visor caused him to look to his left. Another shock trooper had lost his grip and shot backward into space.
“Help me, God,” Marten whispered. “Please don’t let me die like that.”
His helmet crackled. Garbled, static, scratchy voices sounded. For a brief, insane second he thought it might be God answering. The reality of where he was took over. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make out the words.
“One hundred and twenty-fourth Maniple, report.”
More static, then little tinny voices tried to respond.
“Basil here, Maniple Leader.”
Marten dared look around again. He saw blue-glowing shock troopers clinging to the particle shield as he did. A few had green-glowing numbers.
Right, right, he chinned his suit, turning all its colors on. A big green 101 would now be on his back and helmet. And that action seemed to let him think again. He dared dial himself another shot of neurostim. Riding the particle shield with one tiny wrong move that would lead to a lonely, terror-filled death by suffocation was simply too debilitating for normal thought. As the drug pumped into him, more anger, rage, washed through him. It made him mad that he was scared. Then he got pissed.
He started crawling—carefully! Yeah, yeah, he wasn’t that mad.
He avoided a huge laser-made hole. It was deep and big. He glanced around. A lot of those holes dotted the shield. He bet some went almost all the way down.
Marten tried the comlink. It crackled horribly, and he heard many tinny voices.
“One-oh-one, report,” he said. He repeated it several times.
“Marten!”
“Here, Lance.”
“Where?”
Marten wasn’t about to raise an arm.
“Look around. Do you see any one-oh-one’s glowing?” he said.
“Oh, right,” said Lance. “We’re supposed to chin on the numbers. Just a minute.”
Marten swiveled his helmeted head. He saw a green 101 pop-on thirty meters from him, on the other side of a laser pit.
“I see you,” Marten said. “Look across the pit.”
“Gotcha. Oh, yeah, there you are.”
“Let’s meet halfway,” Marten said. He started crawling.
Other maniples called in and now more of the shock troopers showed their numbers. A few of the battlesuits didn’t move. Maybe their owners were too terrified. Most of the men crawled toward their maniple leaders.
As he crawled, Marten noticed how shot up the particle shield really was. It could crumble apart at any moment. That meant—they had to get off it fast!
“Wu, here,” called a man. He was the mission’s second in charge.
“Kang, here, Wu.”
As the dreadful fear of the shield breaking up caused him to crawl faster, Marten also counted battlesuits. Maybe a hundred shock troopers had landed on this broken, battered particle shield. They all had to get off. A hundred was too many to lose. He dared lifted his hand and point to his maniple where to go. He did it as he slid his right hand forward to crawl another inch.
No, they weren’t his maniple anymore. They were Kang’s. He laughed harshly. “Screw you, Lycon,” he said.
The others, close now, crawling together, peered at him. He’d had his comlink open when he’d said that. He could see their questioning eyes.
“We gotta move!” Marten said. “We gotta get off this particle shield.”
“Wu gives the orders,” Kang said.
“Neurostim yourselves,” Marten said. “From here on in you’ll need anger, lots of it to drown out the fear.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Kang said. “I’m in charge of the one-oh-one.”
“Stay if you want, Kang.” To the others Marten said, “Follow me. The particle shield could break up at any time.”
“Wu,” Kang said via comlink.
Wu didn’t answer. Maybe he was out of range, maybe he had other things on his mind.
“The particle shield could break up?” asked Lance.
“Have you taken a good look at the shield?” Marten asked. “There are too many laser holes for my tastes. What if one section of the shield crumbles?”
Vip cursed in fear.
“Neurostim yourselves to a two-dose level,” Marten said.
“No,” Kang said. “Only one dose, as per HB orders.”
Marten hissed, “You’re a stupid idiot, Kang. It’s time to get mad. We gotta hustle off.”
“Three-oh-ninth leader here, Marten,” said a shock trooper. “What’s this about a crumbling shield?”
Marten told him. And so the word was spread.
Marten, getting the hang of it now, crawled faster than before. The horrible tug always dragged at him, threatening to tear him off for good. But like a big mechanical baby, he learned the crawling trick and had almost perfected it to an art.
“Come back here,” Kang said.
“Everyone else is following me, Kang,” Marten said between gasps. Even with the battlesuit, it was hard moving fast under eight Gs. “I suggest you do likewise.”
Kang growled, but he started after them.
In time, Marten reached the edge of the particle shield. He poked his head between the gap of this shield and the one beside it. What if the people in the ship banged the two shields together? Hamburger shock troopers, that’s what. He couldn’t see down to the ship. Six hundred meters, if he recalled this beamship’s specs right, that was the depth of the shields. He swallowed, and then he started down. It felt safer here, but that was an illusion he knew. If he lost his grip, the eight Gs would simply rip him up, up and up and maybe knock others off as well.
What a way to make a living.
His rage against the HBs grew. But he was getting tired, too. All those days locked up in the G-suit without exercise was having its effect.
Keep moving, boy.
“Uh, oh,” said Lance.
“What is it?” Marten said.
“We lost another one.”
Marten said a short prayer for the hapless victim. Then, “Is everyone else following?”
“Seems like,” said Lance. “Omi, can you see?”
“They’re coming.”
Down, down, down Marten crawled. His breathing was harsh in his ears. Then he reached the bottom of the particle shield. He checked his HUD radar, and saw giant struts attached to the inner beamship’s skin. He crawled under the shield, and now he could move faster because the Gs pushed him against the shield. Soon he reached the nearest steel strut, a vast girder that moved the particle shield around to wherever it was needed.
Spikes wouldn’t work on the girder.
Marten cudgeled his wits.
Suddenly a man screamed. That cut through the static all right.
“PD cannon,” growled a shock trooper.
Marten peered at the inner armored surface. There! A cannon poked out the skin like an ancient pirate’s cannon had on those old wooden ships. Suddenly a ball of orange plasma roiled toward the PD cannon that spewed shots.