War Dogs: Ares Rising by Greg Bear

Author:Greg Bear
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction / Science Fiction / Space Opera, Fiction / Action & Adventure, Fiction / Science Fiction / Military, Fiction / Thrillers / Suspense
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2014-10-13T16:00:00+00:00

SHIT ALSO FLOATS, SOMETIMES

Before I exit, Teal returns with our three sisters. Her glum look leaves me with a strong impression that she suspects something is wrong, something that she does not feel at liberty to divulge. Does it involve our collaborating, even under necessity, with the Voors?

I wish I knew more about their history from an unprejudiced source, but on the other hand, Green Camp has been closer to the problem than anyone on Earth, and the tall dust widow is a serious, sober sort; she’s suffered through her own kind of shit, her own kind of betrayal. Green Camp effectively forced her out on the Red. Then they alerted the Voors she was heading their way, all just to preserve a share of the Drifter, de Groot’s pipe.

And now, she sees we’re cozying up with her enemies.

Blows huge, all of it.

The generators are doing well, Coyle’s team reports, and Teal agrees. Gamecock instructs Tak and me to post ourselves outside the northern gate, hiding behind the rock ridge, peeking over the top. We’ll have a direct view of the approaching dust.

I check out the vehicle lock. It will only take three Skells or two Tonkas at a time, end to end. We won’t be able to get all the vehicles inside, even those that will fit, before the Antags are upon us.

We pass through the personnel lock, which is big enough for maybe ten. Outside, it’s coming up on mid-afternoon and very cold, but we aren’t quite freezing; shivering knocks my teeth together, but that’s okay, that’s what we’re used to. We can only hope the Antags and their sats don’t spot our slim IR signatures and take potshots.

The wall of dust doesn’t look any closer, but it does look higher. We can make out a few vehicles on the leading front with our naked eyes. Then the dust closes in. They must be fleeing in thick haze, and surely they know what’s behind them. Makes me shiver.

Tak and I tap helms and talk to pass the time.

“How many days between space frames?” Tak asks. We both know the answer, but I say it anyway,

“Forty-three on average, depending on the season.”

“How much equipment on the average sled?”

“Six hundred tons.”

“How much of that is weaponry, how much transport and tents?”

We’re not worried about fountains for the moment, because it’s obvious we’ve found the mother lode of water and other resources.

“Forty percent transports, twenty weaponry,” I say, rattling off the stats we’re used to dealing with. Each delivery and drop can vary widely, and we won’t know until we’re updated; all this talk is snotsuck. But we’re hoping our cavalry is traveling with platforms that can carry big hurt. Tons and tons of it, and lots of spent matter to mow down Antags.

“I could go for a steak,” Tak says.

“Cue sad harmonica,” I say, but grimace at the thought of sizzling meat.

“Play ‘Danny Girl,’” he says. “The captain is hot.”

“Captain Coyle is not hot. She’s total big sister.”

“Big Mama, you mean.

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