Task Force 7 (Doom Star 7) by Heppner Vaughn

Author:Heppner, Vaughn [Heppner, Vaughn]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2014-12-30T05:00:00+00:00

-7-

The three Marines moved through the surreal icescape. It was dark, and geyser vents blew more frequently. A vaporous fog thicker than the negligible atmosphere drifted in places. Elsewhere, explosions and blooms of light appeared. Other Marines fought in the distance, some over one hundred kilometers away. There were snatches of words at times on open comm-channels. Then the voices went offline.

Mule studied some nearby vapors. What made the substance hot enough to spew? He had become more curious about that, not less.

“Do you still read the oxygen signatures?” Chen asked Mule through the link-line.

“Sure do, Sarge.”

“How far away are they?”

“Another eleven kilometers,” Mule said.

“We should speed up,” Bogdan suggested.

“The cyborgs must have motion sensors near anything important,” Mule replied. “Speeding up is a bad idea.”

Bogdan turned toward him. Before the sub-sergeant could comment, a strangely emotionless voice spoke through their headphones.

“Your mission is futile.”

“What?” Chen asked. “Mule, did you say that?”

“No.”

“Well I didn’t say it,” Bogdan replied. “So it must have been the Martian.”

The three of them spoke through the link-lines, staying off any comm-channel.

The emotionless voice spoke again. “I have come to understand that each of you was forced into attacking us. It is pitiful to consider the effort you’ve taken arriving here in the Oort cloud. It is pitiful because your mission is beyond useless.”

“Who is that?” Chen asked. “Who do you think is speaking to us?”

“I think it’s a cyborg,” Mule said.

“What?”

“I just used my analyzer,” Mule said. “The voice is synthetic.”

“Circle up!” Chen shouted.

They did, Mule lifting his rifle and scanning the geyser-spewing terrain. “I don’t see anything near,” he said. “I’m going to extreme magnification.”

“Good idea,” Chen said. “I’m doing the same thing.”

As they scanned while back-to-back, they slowly swiveled their helmeted heads.

“I don’t see anything unusual,” Bogdan said.

Chen grunted agreement, adding, “Where are they? I don’t see them anywhere.”

“Maybe the cyborg doesn’t see us either,” Mule said. “Maybe this is an open broadcast.”

“So why would cyborgs start talking to their enemies?”

“Maybe it’s trying to get inside our heads,” Mule said. “Or it could be trying to get us to talk.”

“I ain’t afraid of them,” Bogdan said.

“Stay off the comm,” Chen said.

“I got that,” Bogdan said. “I’m just saying I ain’t afraid of it.”

Mule continued searching. He examined the dirty ice. Did it have particles of dust in it, dirt, what? He scanned upward in case the melds used more skimmers or a space object near Tyche.

Obscured slightly by the faint nitrogen atmosphere and the occasional vapors from the geysers, some of the stars twinkled. The sight was so unexpected and shocking that it put an ache of homesickness in Mule’s heart. He’d seen stars twinkle on Mars and later on Earth.

“The vast majority of your fellow Marines died in the futile attack,” the emotionless voice told them. “I have already captured eighteen of your survivors. Three have decided to cooperate with me and talk.”

“The thing’s a filthy liar,” Bogdan hissed.

“It’s trying to work us,” Mule said. “It’s trying to get you angry so you do something stupid.

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