Galactic Frontiers: A Collection of Space Opera and Military Science Fiction Stories Page 2

  The interior of the place looked only slightly better than the outside. It was much messier than the Kinston home, and full of smells – stale liquor, tobacco and old unwashed socks – that Lori’s mother would never have tolerated. The furniture was old and frayed. A shaggy rug made with the pelt of a gordy bear – the planet’s largest land predator – would have given the main room a homey feel if it wasn’t so badly scuffed. There were several pictures and holograms on the walls and the mantelpiece over the fireplace. One of them showed a bunch of men in combat armor posing for a picture around the burned wreckage of some sort of military vehicle. Most of the other pics and holos were of a young woman. She was pretty and looked happy in all of them. Mr. Jacobs’ sweetheart, Lori figured.

  “Sit down and don’t touch anything.”

  She sat on the corner of a sofa that smelled like an ashtray. Mr. Jacobs opened one of the two interior doors and went into another room. She heard him rummaging around.

  “Most of the action must be happening over at Lowell,” Jacobs said as he moved things around. “That’s where the bastnaesite mines are, and that’s about the only thing worth raiding this place for. The attack here is a sideshow.”

  “What are they going to do to us?”

  “Depends,” the old man said from the other room. “In Lowell, they’ll try to scatter the militia and loot the ore processing plant. If the Echo Tangos brought enough trigger-pullers to do the job, they’ll be loaded up and done in about a day. Nothing we can do about that.”

  Lori had never been to Lowell, and its inhabitants – which included a small contingent of nonhumans – weren’t welcome in Salvation. The mining town bought most of the crops Salvation produced, but most of that was done on the outskirts, well away from God-fearing people. If there was any truth to the gossip she’d heard, the miners’ den was full of sinners who probably deserved whatever happened to them. And yet she felt ashamed that they couldn’t do anything to help them.

  “The shuttle here is our main concern,” Mr. Jacobs went on. He was moving something heavy now, dragging it on the floor. “They took out the local armory and the customs house, so their job here is done. Maybe they’ll run wild around town for a bit, shoot up a few buildings to make us keep our heads down, and then get the hell out. In which case they’ll probably be gone before we can get back there and anything.”

  “And if they stay longer? If they stay the whole day?”

  “Some aliens don’t like us humans much.”

  “They’ll kill everyone.”

  “Probably. After they have their fun.”

  She’d seen the news footage on the one flatscreen her family had in the den. Five million people had died in the opening days of the war. Millions more had followed. Nobody’d thought the war would get this far, out in the galactic boondocks, far from any action and with no hostiles nearby. They’d been wrong. These pirates might not be at war with the US, but she figured they were going to be just as rough on humans as everybody else.

  “What can we do?”

  Mr. Jacobs was dragging a long shiny case from the room; it was long and narrow, like a coffin, and made of some sort of light green plastic that looked shiny and new. He pushed a dinner table out of the way and placed the case in the middle of the common room.

  “Militia’s probably done by now. I told them that keeping all the mil-spec gear in one place was insane. Now all they have is a bunch of chem-prop sluggers, old .308 guns. Good enough to take out a gordy bear, but useless against forcefields, unless they got plasma-tipped bullets.” He grimaced. “But those are forbidden to civilians, by town ordinance. Morons.”

  “So we just hide?”

  She was angry at Mister Jacobs now. She’d thought he was aiming to do something about the aliens. Had he lied to her to get her out harm’s way?

  The old man shook his head as he unlocked the case’s biometric lock by placing his hand over it. The lid opened with click followed by a hiss.

  “Nah. I ain’t hiding.”

  “Then what?”

  He opened the big case. It was filled with guns and other stuff.

  “I’m going to go out there,” he said with a nasty grin. “And I’m gonna kill them all.”

  “I want to help.”

  “I know. Like I said, I could use the help. But you gotta be sure you want a piece of this.”

  He looked at her, really looked at her, his squinty eyes taking her measure.

  “Just think about it, girl. This ain’t a game. Good chance to get killed. To get hurt bad.”

  Lori thought about her father, the way he’d looked after the compressor blew up. Not a person anymore, but just meat and bones, half his face gone. She kept seeing him in the dead of night. This might just be a way to end all of that.

  “I want to help,” she said again.

  “It’s yer funeral. Both our funerals, probably, if luck don’t turn our way.”

  “I don’t care.”

  His expression grew sour. “You better care, girl. Our job ain’t to die for our country. It’s to make the other bastards die for theirs. We may get killed, but being careless means we’ll get killed for sure.”

  “Okay.”

  Mr. Jacobs pulled a gun out of the case and showed it to her. Lori moved closer to get a better look. It had two barrels, one over the other, the lower one bigger than the top one.

  “Infantry Weapon Mark Two,” the old man said. “We called them Iwos in the Corps. Fifty-round mag, plus five fifteen-mike-mike grenades. I liberated one after my discharge, plus a basic load for it. Just in case.”

  He handed it to her. It was heavy, much heavier than the rifle they had at the house. She carefully kept her finger off the trigger and looked for a charging handle but couldn’t find it. Mister Jacobs nodded approvingly.

  “No manual levers on that baby,” he said. “It automatically chambers a round when you push the magazine in.”

  She found a button right by where her thumb would be on the pistol grip. “Is this the safety?”

  He nodded. “Push it forward, and it’s ready to fire. Push it another notch, and it fires three-round bursts. You ain’t got an imp on you, do you?”

  She shook her head. Most Baptists didn’t, although the church didn’t forbid cybernetic implants, just ‘strongly discouraged’ their use, as her mother liked to say. Most people in Salvation were too poor to afford one anyway, except for those who served in the military. A few of them came back from their time in the service with ‘imps’ and any number of strange notions. The rest didn’t come back at all; some died, but most of them were tempted away by the wonders of the wider universe outside Salvation and Gordon-Four.

  “Maybe it’s for the best. Some aliens can track imp transmissions. But without them, you won’t be able to do a lot of fun stuff with the Iwo. Can’t be helped. And the gun’s heavy, ‘cause it’s meant to be used by someone in powered armor. Only got one suit of those, and it won’t fit you. You’re going to have to lug it around on your own, all twelve pounds of it, plus ammo.”

  He took another gun out, even longer than the Iwo, with a single slender barrel and a large power pack housed beneath it.

  “My pride and joy,” Jacobs said, patting the weapon affectionately. “LSW-7. Laser. Can poke a hole through a medium forcefield and thirty millimeters of composite armor at five klicks. It’s worth more than my entire retirement package. A parting gift from a supply sergeant who owed me a bunch of favors.”

  “Is that what you’re going to use?”

  “Yep. That was my job in the Corps. 0317: Sniper. Part of FORECON.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Force Reconnaissance. We went out looking for trouble. Usually found it, too.”

  “Like now.”

  “Yep. Just like now. Except there were a bunch more guys with me. Going at it alone ain’t smart.”

  “I can help.”

  He looked at her again.

  “I mean it.”

  “I kn
ow. Just trying to figure out what you can do.”

  “I know how to shoot. My dad taught me, before…” Her words caught in her throat, and that made her mad. It’d been long enough, hadn’t it? Was the sadness ever going to end?

  “This ain’t like shooting vermin, or even a charging gordy bear. These varmints shoot back. But you can spot for me, and if everything goes well I’ll do all the killing. I’ll show you what to do, just in case.”

  Part of her was relieved she might not have to shoot anybody.

  But another part was disappointed.

  * * *

  The aliens had killed Mrs. Bonilla right in front of the general store.

  Lori could see the dead woman as if she was right in front of her and not the better part of a mile away, looking through the goggles Mr. Jacobs had given her. Mrs. Bonilla had been a friendly, plump lady, unfailingly nice to everyone, with a smile always brightening her wide but pretty face. She wasn’t smiling now. Her mouth was open and her eyes weren’t looking at anything. She wasn’t a person anymore. Just a thing that looked like a person.

  The thing that had been Mrs. Bonilla was lying on her back. There was a charred hole in her stomach, still steaming in the early spring’s chill.

  They were both hiding under funny-looking blankets that made them invisible. ‘Camo blankies’ was what Mr. Jacobs called them. There’d been several of them in the special case. Only the tip of his rifle was poking out from his. She was wrapped up in it so only her goggles were uncovered.

  Mr. Jacobs noticed her looking at the dead body. “A particle beam bolter got her,” he said.

  “The stubby-looking guns they were carrying?”

  “Yep. Short-ranged little bastards – good only at under two hundred meters; the beam scatters after that – but they’ll punch a hole clear through you if you ain’t got a forcefield. But never mind Mrs. Bonilla. She’s beyond help. Find me a tango.”

  Lori looked away from the corpse. Tango meant target. It was also half of the name Mr. Jacobs called aliens: Echo Tangos, military-speak for ETs. Maybe that meant all aliens were targets. And being that the first aliens she’d ever seen in the flesh had killed a bunch of people, she figured that was right.

  The fighting had mostly died down by the time they were ready. They’d set up two shooting spots on two hills overlooking the town, plus a special surprise for the shuttle. Doing all that plus gearing up had taken time. Mr. Jacobs didn’t look at all like the town drunk anymore. He was wearing a full suit of armor and a helmet. He looked like a Marine. And Lori looked weird, too, wearing the big goggles that Mr. Jacobs said were almost as good as having implants. She was also carrying one of the heavy Iwo guns and a backpack with a forcefield generator on it that would hopefully stop a rifle bullet or a beam weapon for as long as its battery lasted.

  Most of the aliens were wandering around town, singly or in pairs. She was looking for a target out in the open, where Mr. Jacobs could shoot him.

  “Found one.”

  An ET stepped out of the General Store and hopped over Mrs. Bonilla’s body. He was wearing a red and yellow suit of armor, and holding one of their thunder-guns. The alien headed towards the shuttle, walking down Main Street in clear view from their hill.

  “I got it,” Mr. Jacobs said, and Lori saw a red dot appear over the alien’s armored chest. That was the rifle’s aiming point, and only she and Mr. Jacobs could see it. The dot wasn’t steady, though. It was moving up and down, all jerky-like. He was going to miss his shot.

  The old man started cursing in a low voice, a steady string of words Lori had only heard among the more daring kids in town, or when she eavesdropped on adults having a conversation, and only rarely in either case. Few people cussed out loud in Salvation, and the foul language startled her. She turned towards the old man.

  His hands were shaking.

  “Goddamn it. Goddamn it to Hell.”

  God is listening. Lori’s mother was fond of that saying, and she almost used it on Mr. Jacobs, but she figured he wouldn’t take it well.

  The alien made it to the shuttle.

  “Been too long,” Mr. Jacobs said. “I ain’t Force Recon no more. I’m an old drunk. Useless.”

  “Waste of oxygen.”

  He turned to her. “What did you say?”

  “That’s what they all call you around town. A waste of oxygen.”

  “Maybe they’re right.”

  “I want to kill the tangos.”

  “It ain’t that easy,” he hissed at her. “They ain’t gonna stand still and wait to be killed.”

  “We have a plan.”

  It was a simple plan: shoot an alien or two, spring their surprise on the shuttle when it took off, and shoot any aliens left until they were all dead. It all sounded pretty good to her, and no different than the times she and Dad had gone off to shoot varmints, the ugly-stinky furry or feathered critters that liked to eat their crops. Hunting wasn’t like fighting; the things you hunted never got a chance to fight back, not if you set things up right.

  “Plans never work out the way they’re supposed to, girl.”

  “You’re scared.”

  “You bet yer ass I’m scared.”

  She turned away from him and looked through the goggles again, magnifying the view. There were other bodies, but she ignored them. They weren’t people anymore.

  “I found another tango. Two of them.”

  One was wearing green armor, the other a purple suit. The one in purple had a sack slung on his back. Loot, maybe. The sack was stained with blood, and the bulges inside it looked a bit like bowling balls. Except blood didn’t seep from bowling balls.

  “Trophies,” Mr. Jacobs said in a harsh voice. He was aiming at the green one, and his hands weren’t shaking anymore.

  “Two shots and we’re gone, girl. Be ready.”

  She watched and waited.

  When it happened, it didn’t look like much. There was a whiney sound when the laser fired and the alien staggered for a couple of steps and sort of sat down on its rear legs, dropping his gun. There was another whine, and the one in purple fell in mid-step; smoke was coming off the side of his helmet. The sack rolled open, and Lori saw there were severed human heads inside. She thought she recognized one of the staring faces.

  “Go, go, go!” Mr. Jacobs shouted at her and she snapped out of it. He was crawling backwards down the hill. She followed him. As soon as they were down the slope they started to run.

  They were halfway down the hill when it blew up behind them.

  One moment, she was running behind Mr. Jacobs. The next, she was flying through the air. And the next, she smashed into something, hard enough to know the breath out of her.

  Everything went hazy for a bit. When things came back into focus, she saw Mr. Jacobs’s helmeted face right over hers. She felt a sharp sting on one arm, and something cold rushed through her veins.

  “Nano-meds,” he said. “Should kill the pain and keep you moving. Forcefield caught most of the blast, but enough momentum got through to knock you off your feet. Can you run?”

  Lori sat up. Her shoulder didn’t feel so bad anymore, and she could move it.

  “Let’s go,” she said. She found her gun and picked it up. They made it to the next firing position, already covered with another camo blanket, and crawled under it.

  “Look for the shuttle.”

  She found it; it was rising slowly in the air. A beam of solid yellow-white light erupted from underneath it and hit the hill where they’d been a little bit before, and another explosion shook the area.

  “Time for our little surprise,” Mr. Jacobs said.

  It’d taken a lot of work to drag the big tube to another hill and hide it under another camo blanket, but it was worth it. Mr. Jacobs called it a Light Missile Launcher; it fired self-guided rockets. She saw a contrail speed through the air and strike the shuttle amidships; it vanished in a fireball.

  “Hope nobody in town got hurt,” she said, watching burning deb
ris fall all over Salvation.

  “Any Americans still alive down there are in a shelter or ran off into the woods. Only ones who got hurt this time were the tangos.”

  “Good.”

  “Yeah, but if any ETs are left, they’ll call up their main ship or the other landing parties. If they’re smart, they’ll hole up in town and wait for reinforcements.”

  “You said they are stupid.”

  “So far,” he said. “Smart enough to hit our armory, but after that they thought they had the run of the place. Now they know better, though. Keep an eye on the town. Figure some of them got back to the shuttle and got killed, but the rest stayed behind. They’re down there somewhere.”

  Lori started scanning the area from their new vantage point. She couldn’t see any aliens, just a big pile of fire and smoke coming from where the shuttle had been. Some of the buildings were on fire, too. She should be feeling bad about it, but all she cared about was making sure all the tangos were dead.

  “Nothing. Maybe we did kill them all.”

  “We should be so lucky.”

  An alien appeared into view as if summoned by Mr. Jacobs’ words. It dashed forward and disappeared behind City Hall, which was still standing, although its roof was smoldering. Others followed suit. Five, six, seven all told. She called them out as she spotted them, but they all made it to cover before Mr. Jacobs could shoot them.

  “Looks like only half of them got on the shuttle. And the other half are mad we blew up their ride,” he said. “Let’s see what they do. Keep an eye on the sky, girl. If they send another shuttle, I’m gonna have to shoot it down myself.”

  They waited for a good half an hour, but no shuttles or spaceships showed up. Maybe they were scared more missiles were waiting for them. Mr. Jacobs had kept three missiles in his home, but as it turned out only one was in working condition, and they’d just used it. Of course, the aliens didn’t know that.

  “If they were going to pick them up, they would’ve done it already,” Mr. Jacobs said. “Them tangos just got left out in the cold. Maybe the rednecks in Lowell are putting up a better fight than we are, and they’re out of shuttles.”