The Martian landscape was utterly unrelenting, its constant assault of wind and red grit finding every conceivable gap in my armor and turning each step into its own miserable task as the buildup worked its way into my already damaged joints.
"Oh… come on," I groaned, dragging one leg forward and then the other.
Each movement was just as unbearable as the last, making whatever I had damaged in my chest tear at my side with every step, forcing me to press a hand against the outer shell of the suit. I could only hope it was nothing worse than a fractured rib, though given my luck so far, that felt optimistic.
Grimacing, I lowered my gaze to the tracker on my arm. Dots were scattered across the screen like miniature beacons in a labyrinth of destruction. Many were unmoving, their owners either dying or already gone, but a few stubborn signals still crawled across the display.
Survivors.
And from the looks of it, they were all headed toward the same place.
That was assuming the city was still functional.
Still, that didn't mean there weren't more survivors out there.
I tapped my comms, hoping they weren't completely fried. "Hello? Is anyone out there? This is Atlas Mercer of the Dauntless. Is anyone alive?"
Static.
Grimacing, I tried again. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"
Nothing.
Grinding my teeth, I hauled another step forward, the motion accompanied by the harsh scrape of metal on metal from my damaged leg.
"Is anyone out there?" I shouted, but all I got back was static.
Still, I didn't give up.
I staggered onward inch by inch, only for the grinding in my leg joint to grow so loud it was starting to drown out everything else. Frustrated, I slammed my fist into the side of it.
The awful sound kept going.
"Shut up," I hissed, smacking it a couple more times.
Then it stopped.
I blinked.
"Well… would you look at that."
I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or concerned, but being able to hear myself think again was a welcome change.
Then, through the howling storm, a faint trickle of dialogue filtered into my helmet—broken, distorted, and too fragmented to make out clearly.
But it was there.
Not wanting to miss my chance, I hit the comms again. "I hear you. This is Atlas. Can you hear me?"
For a moment, there was nothing.
Just enough silence to make me wonder if I'd imagined it.
Then the voice came through again, a little clearer this time.
"I—I can hear you. Is…"
The signal broke apart in a burst of static.
"…this is Ella Adams of—" More distortion swallowed the rest. "—we need some assistance."
I frowned and shook the comm unit as if that would somehow help. "Ella, where are you?"
"W-we're— cargo bay—" The words dissolved again. "Too hot— fire—"
I went still.
Cargo bay?
I looked up toward the wreck and grimaced at the sight of colossal flares rising from the shattered ship like some dying titan. Fire crawled through the broken hull in violent waves, and even from here I could see parts of the structure sagging beneath the heat.
If they were still inside, they didn't have long.
I looked down at my half-ruined leg and hissed as I shifted my weight. Could I make it?
Maybe.
Would I survive it?
That was a different question entirely.
My gaze flicked to my oxygen count.
Seventy percent.
That would be enough to reach the wreck and maybe even the dome afterward.
But if my suit failed before then…
I shook the thought away and made up my mind.
Forcing myself into something that could generously be called a hobble, I pushed toward the flaming wreck, fighting through a building storm that seemed dead set on stopping me. Grit and pebbles battered my armor in an unrelenting barrage, each step feeling harder than the last.
Then, as I drew closer, the comms finally cleared enough for Ella's voice to break through.
"Atlas… Atlas, are you out there?" she cried. "We don't have much time—hello?!"
Another voice broke across the line, far more panicked than the first. At first, I couldn't make out the words, only a scream and then a desperate, "Please—"
Then it cut out, swallowed by the thunderous crash of something heavy hitting the ground.
"Come on," I muttered through clenched teeth.
I pushed harder, but no matter how much I strained, my damaged leg refused to move the way I needed it to. The servos whined. The gears caught.
So I slammed my fist into the joint again.
The grinding returned with a vengeance, but the movement loosened just enough for me to break into an uneven run.
Then a massive shadow swept over me.
I barely had time to look up and see the colossal beam plummeting from above like the javelin of a titan.
I threw myself to the side just as the heaping mass of steel embedded itself in the ground with an earthshattering roar, kicking up dust and stones that hammered against my armor.
"Too close," I breathed.
Far too close.
Skidding through the loose dust, I twisted onto one knee and looked up just in time to see more debris falling through the smoke, blazing chunks of hull and support struts dropping from the sky like comets.
I forced myself back to my feet and kept moving.
Every step toward the wreck made the scale of the destruction worse. What had looked damaged from afar now looked annihilated up close. Whole sections of the ship had folded in on themselves. Hull plating had peeled back like torn skin. Fire poured from ruptured seams.
Huffing, I raised my pad and checked the tracker again.
From what I'd heard over the comms, there had to be at least three survivors clustered together, and if the signal was accurate, they were just ahead.
Then I saw the problem.
One of the outer bay ramps had been jammed between a massive boulder and the twisted frame of the ship, making it impossible for the doors to slide open.
I hit the comms. "Ella, are you there?" I shouted.
"Yes!" she shot back, her voice breaking with static. "We're in bay D4, but the ramp won't lower!"
I scanned the outer wall, looking for any other way to get them out, but every other possible entrance was too mangled for anyone to squeeze through, so with no other choice, I tightened my grip on the rifle.
"Get as far back from the ramp as you can," I ordered.
Without waiting for a response, I leveled the scope.
This was about to suck.
Drawing in a slow breath, careful not to aggravate whatever was wrong with my ribs, I lifted the rifle slightly higher, aiming where I hoped they'd still be able to reach once I blew the thing apart.
Bracing myself, I exhaled slowly. "One…"
"Two…"
Another breath.
"Three."
I fired.
The shot slammed into the jammed ramp with concussive force, tearing through the outer plating in a burst of sparks and twisted metal. The recoil punched through my frame and into my ribs hard enough to make my vision flash white.
"Gah—"
I staggered back, but kept the rifle raised, forcing myself not to drop it.
Still, the damage wasn't enough. I gritted my teeth and dragged in another shallow breath, already dreading the next shot.
"Two more should do it."
The first two rounds ripped into the hull, and still it held, warped and shrieking but stubbornly intact. On the third reluctant shot, the metal finally gave way with a deafening scream, bursting inward in a shower of sparks and torn plating.
Behind it was an inferno.
Fire surged outward, licking at the ruined hull with a hunger nothing could satisfy, and for one sickening instant, I thought I was too late.
Then shapes emerged through the flames.
Three figures in blackened suits stumbled through the breach, two of them hauling a third person between them whose body hung limp in their grip.
"Thank God," Ella gasped as she lurched forward, only for her legs to buckle beneath her. She hit the ground hard, dragging the others partially down with her.
"You alright?" I called.
"I'm fine," she said with a breathless, half-mad laugh. "I—I didn't think we were going to make it out."
"You were lucky I was nearby," I muttered, taking in the state of them. Their armor was scorched nearly black, plates warped by heat, edges still smoking. Another minute in there and they would've been corpses.
"That's for sure," another voice said.
This time it was a man, his words rough with exhaustion. "Didn't think any of the mercenaries would've made it either. Weren't you all supposed to still be in cryo?"
"Just woke up," I said.
He let out a humorless breath. "Convenient timing."
Then his expression changed. Even through the visor, I could see the color drain from his face.
"Sorry," he said suddenly, "but we need to move. Right now."
I followed his gaze.
And my heart nearly stopped.
Above us, an entire section of the ship had started to give way. What had once been a towering slab of hull was now bending downward with agonizing slowness, metal folding and tearing as gravity finally took hold. The groaning that followed was deep, like the whole wreck was drawing one last breath before it crushed us flat.
"Oh, hell."
"Move!" someone screamed.
We ran.
Or tried to.
I lurched forward with the rest of them, my damaged leg grinding with renewed fury, like it was trying to pin me beneath this death trap. Beside me, Ella and the other man struggled to drag the unconscious body between them.
Then I looked up and saw the massive hull only moments from crushing us.
So I made a snap decision.
Spinning, I raised my rifle toward them and fired.
They froze for a split second as the projectile screamed toward them, horror flashing across their faces before it tore past and detonated behind them with enough force to launch all of us forward like rag dolls.
I hit hard, rolled, and lost all sense of direction as dust and rock tore across my armor.
Then, a heartbeat later, the ship came down.
The impact hit with a deafening concussion that shook the world so violently it left me sprawled there, half-concussed, a maddening ring screaming through my ears. Through it all, the only thing I could make out was the billowing cloud of dust the crash had kicked up, swallowing everything in an eerie stillness that seemed to smother the world.
Stunned that we had actually made it, I lay there for a second, almost afraid to move.
Then I pushed myself onto my side, questioning every miserable second of my continued existence as I fought through a round of heavy breaths that burned through my oxygen supply faster than I liked.
Off to the side, the man wiped soot from his visor and pushed it back enough for me to see his face. He was older than me, with unruly curls and green eyes that still held a faint crooked glint beneath the shock, like humor came too naturally to him to stay buried for long. He stared at the collapsed section of ship behind us, then let out a shaky laugh.
"For a second there, I thought you were trying to kill me."
I let myself fall flat onto my back with a groan. "Trust me, if I'd fired at someone that close, I would've torn myself apart too."
"Ah…" He winced. "Good to know."
Then he turned sharply toward Ella. "How's Owen?"
Ella, still half-crouched beside the unconscious man, peeked inside his helmet. "He's going to be out for a while." She exhaled softly. "Honestly, that's probably for the best. He'll use less oxygen this way."
The man sagged a little with relief. "That's good to hear."
But Ella shook her head. "Not for you. Last I checked, your levels were around forty percent, Henry."
His head snapped up. "What?" he blurted, scrambling to check his display. The moment he saw it, all the color seemed to drain from his face.
"Crap. Crap—crap, crap, crap." He looked up wildly. "I'm going to die."
"No, you're not," I cut in. "From the looks of it, we're only a couple of miles from the city. If we conserve oxygen, we should make it." I gave him a hard look, then glanced pointedly at his somewhat softer build. "That is, assuming you don't exert yourself."
He swallowed and tried to steady his breathing, but I could still see him teetering on the edge.
With a sigh, I turned to Ella. "What are your levels at?"
She wiped at her helmet, clearing away enough soot for me to see her frost-colored eyes and the strands of long brown hair stuck to her face. Beneath the grime, she looked painfully young, and maybe that was what made the flicker of beauty there feel so out of place. "Eighty-six percent," she muttered.
Nodding, I checked my own.
Sixty-five percent.
Not great.
But not terrible either. At least not compared to Henry.
"We can make it," I said.
Though I wasn't entirely sure I believed that. With an unconscious man, a half-damaged suit, and oxygen levels dropping faster than I liked, it was looking increasingly theoretical.
Still, I pushed myself upright and reached down to help Ella to her feet. The moment I hauled her up with a strained heave, the grinding in my leg let out a shriek loud enough to make me flinch.
Looking down, Henry grimaced. "Oh, wow. Yeah, that sounds awful."
I stepped back and tested it again.
The joint answered with the same ugly scrape of metal on metal.
"It's been doing that since I hit the ground," I muttered.
Henry tilted his head, squinting at the leg assembly. "You mind if I take a look?"
I hesitated. "You know what you're doing?"
He let out a tired snort. "More than enough to tell when something sounds like it's about to rip itself apart." Then he jerked a thumb toward Ella. "Not all of us deal in systems and theory."
Ella gave him a flat stare. "I'm an integrated systems specialist."
Henry nodded once. "Exactly. Big-picture problems. I hit things until they start working again."
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
"You're not military?" I asked.
He snorted. "Please. No. I'm one of the Dauntless's mechanics. Maintenance, repair, keeping death traps like this from falling apart before they absolutely have to." His expression twisted as he looked back at the wreck. "Didn't exactly win that battle today."
Grimacing, I shifted my weight and let him crouch beside the damaged joint.
Henry ran his gloved hands along the exosuit's lower assembly, feeling over the bent plating and misaligned servos. "Huh," he muttered. "This isn't standard issue."
Ella glanced over. "No kidding. Look at the frame. He's running one of those inertia rigs."
I looked at her. "An inertia rig?"
She gave a small shrug. "That little unit at your side. Most people just call it an inertia rig."
I blinked once. "We call it a gravity drive."
Henry let out a low whistle. "Well, gravity drive sounds cooler, but either way, this thing is a lot nicer than ours." He tapped the side of his own suit with a knuckle. "We've got basic field exos with reinforced seals. You've got custom balancing, better joint response, higher-end servo compensation…" He glanced up at me. "At first, I figured you were a mercenary. Now I'm thinking military."
"Something like that."
"Huh." He leaned back toward the leg. "Figures."
I looked down at his scorched suit. It was built on the same general idea as mine, but bulkier in some places, less responsive in others, made more for utility than mobility.
Henry wedged his fingers into the damaged joint housing and gave it an experimental tug.
Nothing.
He frowned. "Yeah, that's jammed."
"How bad?"
"Well," he said, "the good news is it hasn't sheared off."
"And the bad news?"
"I'd give it another couple of hours before it becomes completely useless."
I sighed.
"Hold still," he muttered.
Then, bracing one boot against a rock, Henry grabbed the leg assembly with both hands and gave it one sudden, brutal wrench.
There was a metallic snap.
Then the grinding stopped.
Henry let go and rose with a grunt, dusting off his gloves. "Try it now."
Suspicious, I took one careful step.
Then another.
The movement was smooth. Not perfect, but close enough that the slight resistance hardly mattered compared to what I'd been dealing with before.
"You've got to be kidding me." I scoffed, almost offended by how easy it was. "All I had to do was pull on it?"
Henry grinned, far too pleased with himself. "What can I say? Sometimes the easiest fix is just to hit it until it behaves."
I flexed the leg again, still struggling to believe it. "Thanks. At least now we should be able to make it to the colony without too much trouble. I was fighting this thing every step."
"Yeah, well," he said, just a little smugly, "I am a genius after all."
Ella gave a quiet snort at that, but whatever comment she might've made died as her gaze shifted past us toward the distant city. "As touching as this is, we should probably move before one of us runs out of oxygen or the rest of that wreck decides to finish the job."
Nodding, I adjusted my rifle against my shoulder and worked through the pad on my wrist until I found the route marked City Path. With a tap, a thin blue line pulsed across the digital expanse of Mars, and an overhead feed flickered to life, guiding us through the dark wasteland.
We followed it without much trouble until a distant silhouette began to emerge. Then its outline sharpened, and faint lights bled through the red gloom, revealing the once-prosperous Colony Alpha.