Vaughn Heppner: Star Fortress

Like his men, Ricardo wore a bodysuit and a rebreather. His eyes felt gritty and his breathing was harsh. He had thin features and a spacer’s tan, with a mustache hiding his lips. Despite the polymer visor, hundreds of tiny lines were etched across it. If the particles abraded through the mask, he would choke to death on sand—or would die from a lack of oxygen.

Ricardo snarled as the suit’s air-conditioner unit whined, trying to cool his overheated body. He clutched a waist-high rock and glanced behind. The others struggled through the sandstorm. Like him, each gripped a gyroc rifle.

“How much farther are we walking, Captain?” Max radioed.

“Another two kilometers at least,” Ricardo said.

The answering oaths and curses made him nod. What a meaningless assignment. He ought to—

A warning tone beeped in his helmet. Ricardo frowned. That can’t be anything serious. He swiveled his head, watching on his HUD. Another tone sounded. His sensors had picked up something moving out here, something that was heavier than a man. All Ricardo saw was red rocks and swirling sand.

“Captain,” crackled in his comlink. “I’m picking up something. Could it be a cyborg?”

The idea intensified Ricardo’s frown. This was a lousy spot for a showdown. Worse, the red-out made it impossible to radio for backup or to warn High Command if it proved they had been right. Who would have believed that?

“We need to set up a perimeter,” Ricardo said. “Max, take the south. Rodriguez, you have east. Carlos is west and Bandores is in the center to provide a quick-reaction force.”

The men radioed in, and they took up their positions. As they did, Ricardo recalled Osadar Di, Marten Kluge’s cyborg. He had seen the things she could do: the bounding leaps, the exhibitions of inhuman strength and worst of all, the insect-like speed. He had trained with Osadar and he had listened to Kluge’s combat maxims, which had broadened his thinking. After Kluge’s departure, Ricardo had become the trainer of advanced tactics. His blog had become famous on Mars because of his retelling of his time with Marten Kluge.

Using the rock as a shield, Ricardo lay on his stomach, letting the storm howl above him. Swirling dust-clouds blew over other rocks and boulders, and created ghost images on his sensors. Tiny particles of iron oxide continuously struck his visor, causing a steady clicking noise.

Then he saw movement. Was it a rolling rock or was it a cyborg?

He curled his lips. Kluge had taught them: You don’t win by defending. You attack .

“I see something,” he radioed.

“Is it a cyborg?” Max asked. The sergeant sounded nervous.

“I’m going to find out,” Ricardo said gruffly. “I don’t want anyone panicking. We do this by the numbers.”

“Roger,” Max said, and the others radioed likewise.

Breathing deeply, Ricardo crawled out of the rock’s protection into the fury of the sandstorm. The wind slammed against his helmet and almost tore away his gyroc.

Ricardo gripped his rifle more tightly. Cyborgs moved with incredible speed. They had armored brainpans, graphite bones and reinforced muscles. Computer enhancements gave them speeded rationality to assess in nanoseconds what a man needed seconds or even a minute to decide.

The howling storm rattled pebbles against his suit. Ricardo looked up. He saw it then. The sight thinned his lips. The cyborg was a dark blot in the sandstorm, and it moved like a jittering fly.

“It’s here!” Ricardo shouted, with the sound reverberating in his helmet. “Grid seven-B-eight.” He raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. The gyroc fired a .75 caliber spin-stabilized rocket-shell. The rifle was effectively recoilless, meaning the butt didn’t slam against his shoulder after each shot. The shell popped out of the rifle-tube as its mini-rocket-engine ignited. He shot an APEX-round: Armor-Piercing Explosive. The super-hard penetrator used a big motor and a bigger explosive packet.

Ricardo heard the hisses of other APEX-rounds firing into the storm and whooshing past his head. Unfortunately, the rounds went in a variety of directions, blown off-course by the violent wind.

“Cease fire!” Ricardo shouted. “We’ll never hit it at a distance. We have to get close.”

At that moment, the cyborg rose up before him. It wore a metallic-fiber suit, and it seemed unaffected by the wind. With its mechanical-melded parts, it must weigh enough to ignore the lifting power of the storm.

Ricardo froze. He might have stayed frozen longer, but he had trained endless hours since Marten Kluge taught Martians how to fight. A portion of his training had been in acting fast and then faster yet, to increase his reaction time when surprised.

Ricardo frantically rolled left as the cyborg kicked a spiked boot at his head. He saved himself, as the cyborg bounded at someone else. It sounded like Bandores screaming over the comlink. Using his booted toes, Ricardo swiveled on his belly. Then he raised his head.

The thing’s arm was a blur of motion as it hurled a rock, smashing Rodriguez’s helmet. Ricardo swore. The cyborg was too fast for them, especially in this environment. Had it lost its weapons? Is that why it used primitive means to fight?

“Kill it!” Ricardo shouted, as he surged to his feet. A rocket-shell whooshed past him, a blur of darkness and an orange contrail. It missed his head by centimeters. He couldn’t worry about that now.

The cyborg reached Max. Something dark moved in its hand as the hand made contact with Max. The third Commando crumpled onto the rocky soil.

Hatred boiled in Ricardo as he leaped at the thing. The wind lifted him, shoving him fast at the cyborg. Ricardo landed, and he staggered, almost slamming down onto his belly. Like a dancer, Ricardo moved his feet, maintaining balance as the wind blew him.

The cyborg whirled around.

In a microsecond of time, Ricardo saw the inhuman eyes, the plasti-flesh face. The cyborg held a dark blade, a wet one—bloody! Without thinking and as he moved into close range, Ricardo shoved the muzzle of the gyroc against the cyborg’s stomach. As soon as he felt the pressure of contact, he pulled the trigger. Just as fast, a knife swiped at him. Ricardo shouted and he twisted. The tip of the blade slashed open his environmental suit. At the same time, the APEX shell in the cyborg’s combat-armor exploded. That knocked the abomination off its feet.

Ricardo landed on his side, but he scrambled up faster than the injured monster. At the same time, the auto-sealants fixed the breach in his environmental suit. Somehow, Ricardo had kept hold of his gyroc. He shot the cyborg at pointblank range. The shell broke into the cyborg’s helmet. A half-second later, another explosion occurred, ripping away the monster’s faceplate. The thing tumbled back and thudded onto the ground.

Ricardo tried to fire again, but the creature kicked its leg, smashing the rifle. Then the cyborg attempted to rise.

By fallen Phobos, I have to kill it before it kills me!

As the wind howled and threatened to lift Ricardo airborne once again, he drew a bayonet. As the cyborg climbed to its feet, Ricardo lunged and thrust the bayonet into the thing from Neptune. He stabbed it seventeen times before it died squirming on the sands of Mars. Seventeen times before a red light vanished somewhere behind its eyes.

Only then did Captain Ricardo Sandoval think about hunting for the surviving member of his squad.

In Far Mars Orbit, a cyborg Lurker -class Assault-ship—L7R325—stopped receiving signals from the surface. The large vessel was composed of black, radar-resistant polymers, built at odd curves, angles and planes to lessen sensor identification. It was not technically a warship, although it possessed a load of stealth-drones.