Free Just Another Day by Isaac Hooke Page A

ahead."
    Ten hours, to be precise. The jumpjets carried a limited amount of fuel, so we used the jets solely to adjust our individual trajectories. Moving slowly also insured we wouldn't be picked up by the asteroid's LIDAR. Sure, Intel said the base lay on the far side of the rock, but that didn't mean the privateers hadn't setup LIDAR projectors all over the rock.
    It took a lot of mental fortitude to be able to sit still for ten hours, babysitting the autopilot on your suit. Not everyone can do it. MOTH training weeds out those who don't have what it takes. It's one of the most brutal training regimens in the galaxy. Anyone who's ever experienced MOTH training will tell you that it changed their life. All I can say is I trusted the brothers in my platoon more than anyone else in the world. They were closer than even real brothers to me. I knew that every person on my fire team was fully alert and ready to respond to a threat at a moment's notice, ready to cover my back without question and to the best of his abilities. We relied on each other in the teams. Trusted each other absolutely. If one of my teammates told me he'd hold on to me when I was hanging from a cliff three thousand kilometers above the Earth, then I knew, without question, that there was no chance I'd fall.
    If one of my teammates told me he'd watch my six while I explored a privateer base twelve lightyears from Earth, then I knew, without question, that there was no chance I'd be attacked from behind.
    The asteroid grew bigger very very slowly. One hour became two, two four, four eight.
    "Eightball has reached the surface," Big Dog sent. Eightball was the callsign we'd given the HS3 drone that had launched ahead of us. HS3 stood for Hover Squad Support System. HS3s were small, basketball-sized drones with 360 degrees of maneuverability. They had limited fuel, like our own jumpjets, but because of their small mass and the inverse magnetic field they generated, HS3s were able to levitate without any fuel expenditure — their jets were used mostly for directional changes. Nice, huh? Don't ask me to explain it any further than that though, as my understanding of the tech is a tad limited to say the least.
    Big Dog was the drone operator for this mission, so he'd be receiving Eightball's telemetry. Did I sa y drone operator? Drone babysitter was a better term: Big Dog gave his instructions and the drone went on its merry way, doing much of the reconnaissance and scouting for us. Most of which we'd end up double-checking on our own anyway, but hey.
    "Affirmative," I sent.
    Another two hours to go.
    Eventually the gray, crater-pocked surface filled my entire vision field.
    "Passing through high-altitude missile engagement zone," Big Dog sent.
    We all held our collective breaths. Now was the moment of truth. Had we come in too fast? Tripped one of the LIDAR detectors?
    But the silence of the void continued. The crater-pocked gray surface continued to grow near, surprisingly fast now.
    There was no attack.
    We made it.
    I applied reverse jets and used up half my fuel to slow the payload. We entered the dark side of the asteroid, and I activated my helmet lamp, setting it to the dimmest setting possible. Then I unbuckled myself from the metal box and let the payload slam into the surface below me. It sent up a small cloud of dust. I cringed, hoping the tremors wouldn't be detected by the privateer base.
    I landed gently, feet-first, beside the gear payload. I opened up the box and strapped on the weight attachments: four osmium clamps measuring a handspan in width and height and weighing five hundred pounds each (in Earth gravity). Of course, on this 0.025g asteroid those clamps weighed only twenty-one pounds each. By placing the weights on the designated area around my waist, I ensured that my center of mass was pretty close to what I was used to. Without those osmium clamps I'd basically reach escape velocity with every step I took. Not a good way to travel.
    The