Descent into the Void by Steve P. Vincent

Author:Steve P. Vincent [Vincent, Steve P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steve P. Vincent

20

On the surface of Baker V, dealing with a gimpy exosuit was the second worst problem Stiler had.

The force of his landing had badly damaged the frame of the exosuit, and the synthetic musculature in its legs. Now it was only able to move at sixty percent of its usual cruising speed and Stiler wasn’t sure if it would hold up to another landing if he chose to use the fusion jets. Yet, despite the damage, it was a miracle he was alive at all – a somewhat battered exosuit was a small price to pay.

The worst problem was that, after several hours, he’d failed to contact any of his comrades. Although many pods had been blown out of the sky, he’d hoped enough Marines would be left to give them a fighting chance of completing their mission. But his hails had all gone unanswered – he was alone, surrounded by nothing but dust and desolation, a lone gunman on a ruined husk of a planet at the end of the universe.

Even so, he had no choice but to keep going forward. There was no way to go back.

Apart from the lifeless red dirt and brown clay that comprised most of the surface of Baker V, he’d encountered nothing of note so far, not even the Dioscuri units he’d expected to be scouring the area for survivors, although he figured they wouldn’t be far away. Pushed off course by his desperate landing, he had begun pounding across the landscape, knowing his reduced speed would make it hours before he got to the rally point.

He tried the comms again, got more static. The sound of desperation and loneliness and despair.

The sound of death.

He walked on, settled into an easy sort of rhythm. Baker V was a dull planet by any measure, although he did see one sign of native wildlife a couple of hours into his journey, when a four-legged beast that most closely resembled a really ugly horse fell into stride beside his exosuit. It easily matched the machine’s speed, treating it as some sort of contest, until eventually it bolted away.

Seconds later, he realized why, when a blip appeared on his long-range scanners. A green blip.

A friendly green blip.

Stiler spoke for the first time in hours. “Helga, identify contact.”

“Exosuit 177. Corporal Sinclair.”

Sinclair?

Stiler laughed so hard it hurt. Of all the hard sonsofbitches who’d been shot to pieces during the landing, the softest of them was the one to make it to the ground. Regardless, he was glad to have someone else alive on the planet.

As he approached, however, there was no movement from Sinclair’s exosuit, and no response to his hails. Was it possible Stiler’s comms unit had been damaged all this time? Was that why he had got no answer at all for hours? Or could it be Sinclair was dead in his exosuit and Stiler really was all alone?

Thinking on his feet, Stiler used his suit’s external floodlight to flash out a message in Morse Code. Respond. Comms may be damaged.

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