Free Space

by Scott Bartlett

  Candle looked up from the station he was sharing with Tim Ortega. “There’s no way the marines can handle that many. They’re getting overrun as it is.”

  But even the XO stopped short of stating what needed to be done. No one actually wanted to say it out loud. As always, they left all the responsibility for difficult decisions to their captain.

  Thatcher didn’t resent them for that. It was what he’d signed up for.

  A wince threatened to bunch his features, and he fought to keep them smooth. The colonists were sent instructions, to every device in the city. Get to the nearest shelter. Board a shuttle if you can. If neither is an option, go to the lowest level of the building you’re in, get in a closet or under a table, and lie face-down on the floor with your hands over the back of your head.

  The same procedure for surviving a nuke. This would be close enough.

  “Get me the targeting data,” he said through gritted teeth. “We’re hitting them.”

  Candle nodded, bending once more to his work without hesitation. He’d known what Thatcher would command him to do.

  Less than a minute later, Candle and Ortega had their firing solution. They looked at Thatcher expectantly, waiting on his final confirmation.

  “Fire the rod.”

  This time, the fact Thatcher couldn’t feel the shot leaving felt extremely wrong. Because he knew what kind of damage it would do.

  Windows blown out. Possibly entire structures knocked down. And if anyone was out in the streets, the chances of surviving the shock wave were negligible.

  But we’re saving millions more lives. Don’t forget that.

  He wouldn’t. At least, he would know it on a rational level. But his brain tended to focus more on the negative side of such equations...whenever they came up in his career, which was more than he would have liked. In the balance, he would lose sleep.

  Silence settled over the Jersey’s CIC as Guerrero scanned the planet’s surface, seeking more targets. Please let them be farther from the city. He didn’t know why they would be, though. If the Xanthic had tunneled so close, there was no reason for them not to press their advantage. Why not force him to pay a price every time he killed them?

  Even so, he marveled at the aliens’ willingness to spend their lives so freely in battle. Yes, they were winning, but Thatcher’s marines knew the city, and they’d killed far more Xanthic than they’d lost of their own number. Maybe they’re so committed because they know if they lose, we’ll find their underground base and eradicate it. But even that didn’t seem to account for how casually the creatures charged into danger.

  “Sir.”

  Thatcher snapped out of his reverie, his gaze falling on Guerrero as a tight knot formed in his stomach. “Yes? What is it?”

  “We have three incoming vessels, sir.”

  Incoming vessels. For a fleeting moment, his mind turned the words over and over, unsure what to do with them. In his intense focus on Oasis’ surface, he’d almost forgotten entirely about the concept of a battlespace. “Who are they?”

  “According to our database, they’re Kibishii troop ships. They appear to be bypassing us and heading straight for the planet.”

  “Put me in touch with one of them.”

  Moments later, an Asian man replaced the holotank’s gloomy emptiness. Japanese, unless Thatcher missed his guess. Yes, he remembered now. Kibishii was a Japanese corporation.

  “Commander Thatcher, is it not?”

  “It is. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  “I am Captain Sho of the Swan, a Kibishii vessel. We have come to welcome you to the Daybreak Combine, and to offer you the use of our marines. I see our timing could not have been better.”

  “The Daybreak Combine?” The last he’d heard, it had been the Daybreak Alliance.

  “Yes. Recent unsettling events unfolding in the Cluster have motivated an alliance of alliances. A super alliance, if you will, of which you are a part. Simon Moll of Sunder Incorporated has already sent word of your good deeds, and every constituent corporation is prepared to welcome Frontier with open arms. But perhaps we should discuss this later. It seems there are more pressing matters at hand.”

  “There certainly are. You’re willing to deploy your troops to the planet’s surface?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then we gratefully accept your aid.” Thatcher didn’t exactly have the authority to speak on Frontier’s behalf in this regard, but he did it anyway. To do otherwise seemed suicidal. That’s what Rose gets for abandoning ship and running off to meet some aliens.

  But his little joke with himself didn’t do very much to amuse him. Clearly, there was a reason Kibishii had come here showing such generosity. They wanted something. And Thatcher had no choice but to indebt Frontier Security to them.

  Chapter Five

  New Houston, Oasis Colony

  Freedom System, Dupliss Region

  Earth Year 2290

  As quickly as he could, Avery swapped out a spent magazine for a fresh one and continued firing over one of the barricades bordering Frontier HQ.

  He had no shortage of targets. Xanthic emerged from streets, alleys, even gaps between fences he would have thought too small for them. The yellow horde had truly assembled, and now they charged across the square. Most of them fired their strange weapons, turning marines into human-sized tumors, but some of them simply brandished their arm-blades and ran. None of the aliens had actually made it to the barricades yet. Once that happened, Avery felt fairly certain the day would be lost.

  Not that he intended to stop fighting then. He’d do that after he’d drawn his last breath.

  His Crossbow 790 assault rifle shook in his hands as he fired round after round, and above him, wall-mounted turrets roared from the Frontier HQ’s battlements. The building was a modern-day, multi-tiered fortress, all steel and bulletproof glass, complete with ramparts and loopholes all being used to their full advantage. The HQ had its own security detail, and now that the fighting had come to the square, they were taking the fight to the Xanthic as well. Those employees wore no power armor, but they were just as highly trained as Avery’s marines, and for now the HQ itself protected them.

  Corporal Wilson stood beside him, firing away with a KS 7.62 sniper rifle that Avery coveted. He preferred to snipe, but being squad leader interfered with his inclination to hang back and rack up kills from a distance. Not to mention battalion leader. Then again, there wasn’t much to coordinate, now. This was truly the last stand, and the marines’ strategy was simple: fight or die.

  A Xanthic projectile hit Wilson, spinning him around and sending him to his knees, crouched behind the barricade.

  “No!” Avery said, dropping beside the corporal. But there was nothing he could do.

  Or was there? Wilson was fumbling at the clamps around his suit’s arm piece, and seconds later he had it off. “They got me in the wrist.”

  Avery could see: the tumor-like growths were moving up his arm with startling speed, headed toward his torso.

  “My belt knife, Major. You have to cut it off.”

  Without balking, Avery unsheathed his own carbon fiber belt knife. “Lie down.”

  Wilson did, and Avery straddled him, pinning the corporal’s body with his power-suited legs. “Grit your teeth, marine. And don’t move.”

  The serrated blade plunged into the flesh just below the shoulder, and blood sprayed, painting the asphalt and gray building. He worked the knife back and forth, hacking and sawing at tendons, arteries, bone, flesh.

  Underneath him, Wilson screamed, bucking wildly. Even wearing a power suit, keeping the flailing marine still was just as difficult as it would have been otherwise, since he wore one too.

  At last, the grisly deed was done. Wilson’s arm lay on the asphalt nearby. Avery kicked it away. As he did, the bulbous black mass finished consuming it.

  Avery tapped a panel on his left arm, and a medkit popped open. His power suit’s gloves offered amazing dexter
ity—almost as much as a human hand. Enough to unscrew the tiny vial of pig bladder stem cells, anyway, and sprinkle it over Wilson’s wound, which gushed blood onto the ground.

  Within seconds, the bleeding slowed, then stopped. A thin layer of flesh had grown over the wound. For now, anything might reopen it—to protect it properly, it would take at least another hour for the necessary layers of skin to form. But Wilson would live, which was a lot more than Avery would have expected just a minute ago.

  “Get inside the HQ.”

  “I can’t do that, sir.” The corporal’s voice came out strained and thin.

  “Wilson, I said get inside!”

  “Sorry, sir.” He picked up his sniper, dragged it to a barrier, and nestled it on the lip, using the concrete to balance the weapon as he lined up his shot. The recoil slammed against his good shoulder—it was the one he normally kept the butt against, if Avery remembered right—but without his left arm to stabilize, it rocked him backward, twisting his torso.

  Wilson didn’t let that deter him. He laid the rifle on the ground, fumbling with the chamber until he managed to jettison the empty cartridge and replace it with a fresh round.

  Avery shook his head. If he was going by the book, he would have slammed Wilson for insubordination. But he’d be damned if the man’s grit didn’t sum up everything the marines were about. So instead of yelling at him, Avery joined him at the barricade and resumed firing.

  As the Xanthic’s front rank drew ever closer, even as their bodies littered the square, Avery wondered if Hancock would have commanded this battle better than he had. Would the marines be pinned against Frontier HQ right now, fighting for their lives after giving up the rest of the city to a bunch of aliens?

  He’d gone against his old marine commander and friend because Hancock had wanted to turn against Thatcher, whereas Avery considered the captain just the right kind of person they needed right now. Frontier needed him…and maybe the Cluster as a whole did, too. He couldn’t quite put words to why he thought that, but the thought often occurred to him, rising up from his gut. He’d never been too good at putting words to things.

  Either way, Thatcher couldn’t help him now. At least, the support he had to offer was limited—he couldn’t very well start blasting away at this plaza with orbital strikes.

  Maybe if it had been Hancock here instead of Avery, things would have been different. They might not have been pushed this far back.

  Then again, if he were still alive, Hancock would probably be long gone from this star system.

  A shadow covered him and Wilson for a split-second, then flitted past. He looked up to see the gray underside of a combat shuttle, its articulated wings curled to arrest its momentum, retractable turrets already extended and sending threads of light at the Xanthic. The rounds ate away at the front row of charging aliens…then fire from another shuttle joined them. And another.

  Soon, ten shuttles filled the air above the plaza, all acting as gunships, firing at the Xanthic and slowing their charge. Then the aliens stopped altogether, hastily raising weapons to return fire at the shuttles. But the same weapons that were so effective against marines didn’t seem as damaging to the shuttles. Maybe if they’d had the wherewithal to concentrate their fire, but the shuttles’ attack had been sudden, and the aliens were in disarray. Their surface-to-air energy weapons were blocks away, Avery knew, their lines of sight obstructed by towering buildings.

  Then, all at once, it was over. The Xanthic turned and scattered for the cover of surrounding buildings, and the shuttles began to touch down. Green lights came on over their airlocks, signaling the completion of the cycling process, and then they opened to let out an army of stocky marines in blue power suits.

  For the most part, Avery’s marines stood a couple inches or more above the new arrivals. Then, one of them spoke, and Avery knew why.

  “Who’s in charge here?” asked one of the new marines in a thick Japanese accent, his hand raised in the air.

  Avery raised his hand in kind. “I am.”

  The speaker nodded, then jogged toward the barricade Avery was still crouched behind. A squad of blue-suited marines followed.

  “I’m Tanaka.” The marine extended a hand, and Avery shook it, finding his grip firm. “We’re with Kibishii. Looked like you could use some help.”

  “You might say that.” Avery glanced upward. “I’m Major Will Avery. Appreciate you dropping in.”

  Tanaka nodded curtly. “You know what’s going on better than I do. Tell me where to direct my people, and we’ll get to clearing this city of those overgrown bugs.”

  Avery raised his wrist with the intention of accessing the HUD interface built into it, but he hesitated for a moment. What did this Tanaka want? Why was Kibishii here in the first place? He’d never heard of a Cluster corp that worked for free.

  Then, he raised the wrist all the way, tapping at it to access the visual feeds from the recon drones he’d ordered his techs to distribute throughout the city. Once the Xanthic reached the plaza surrounding Frontier HQ, he’d all but forgotten about the drones.

  But they were still there, programmed to secret themselves away in hidden vantage points, where they could keep an eye on enemy troop movement without being seen.

  Looking through their eyes, Avery saw that, although the main thrust of the Xanthic attack had been broken, carnage had not left New Houston. The yellow aliens still rampaged through streets and alleyways, chasing down civilians unlucky enough—or unintelligent enough—to still be outside. Impaling them on their arm blades. Turning them into hard, black tumors with a single shot.

  Before he turned back to Tanaka, something struck him: there were barely any fires broken out, anywhere. When humans sacked a city, fire always followed. But not today. Yes, errant shots from the Xanthic’s weapons had done strange things to some buildings, but for the most part the city was intact.

  Was that intentional? Did they plan to take it for their own? Use it? Strange behavior for creatures that emerged from underground.

  “I’m granting you master access to all the drone feeds in this quadrant.” Avery tried to keep his suspicion out of his voice. I think I’m managing it. “We’ll retake the city street by street, then quadrant by quadrant. Once we have one area locked down, we’ll work on the next. If you can continue to lend the use of your shuttles, we’ll have air superiority. Although, you should know the Xanthic can take them down pretty reliably, once they establish line of sight.”

  “We learned that on our way down. I’ll make sure my pilots know to stay low. I look forward to working with you, Major Avery.”

  That sounded like something a salesman would say just after landing a new client. “Yeah,” he grunted, turning to start marshaling his troops and distributing orders. This wasn’t the time to go over Kibishii’s motives.

  He spotted Wilson stumbling toward one of his squad. “That idiot,” Avery muttered, not without some affection. He sprinted over and grabbed Wilson by one of the straps on the back of his power suit, pulling him up short as gently as possible.

  The corporal spun around, brow stormy through the faceplate—until he saw who’d stopped him.

  “Get in one of those shuttles, Wilson. Right now.”

  “Major, I want to keep fighting. I’ll feel like a waste sitting in one of those things.” His voice lowered to almost a whisper. “Please.”

  “Heading out to fight the Xanthic one-armed would be the real waste. You’re a good marine, but I can’t have you defying my orders. And I can’t have you dying on me. We’ll get you fixed up with a prosthetic, and you can toss yourself into the next battle, more full of piss than ever. Trust me, I don’t think we’ve seen the last encounter with these bastards.”

  At that, Wilson finally complied, shoulders slumped as he trudged toward one of the Kibishii shuttles. Avery watched him climb into it, then turned his attention to retaking the city.

  Before he could follow his marines into the streets, a woman approached
him from the direction of the barricades surrounding the Frontier HQ. Avery glanced at her, then did a double take. Raven hair. Pale face. And as she drew closer: bottomless blue eyes.

  It was Veronica Rose. Here. In the middle of a battlefield.

  He jogged toward her. “Ms. Rose. Why aren’t you on the Jersey?”

  “Because I’m leading from the front, Major. Just like my father did.”

  His teeth felt cold as he sucked in breath, weighing his options for what to say next. He didn’t want to piss off his boss, and this felt like a delicate situation.

  “Ma’am, with all due respect—”

  “I want a power suit and a marine loadout, Major. We don’t have any time to waste.”

  He shook his head. “I think you know I can’t do that.” What she was asking was insane. The CEO, out here in plain sight of the enemy, risking her life? Risking the entire company?

  “It wasn’t a request.” Rose’s voice was as icy as her pale skin would suggest.

  “Ma’am, without the proper training you’re just as likely to hurt yourself as the Xanthic.”

  “Who said I don’t have the proper training?”

  He clamped his mouth shut, at a complete loss for what to say next.

  “My father made sure I got the same training any of your marines got. That I met the same standard for physical condition, endurance. I’m rated first class on any weapon you care to put in my hands. So please don’t try to baby me just because I spend most of my time behind a desk.”

  Her words didn’t begin to address all of his concerns. One more try. “Okay, but we don’t know what level of exposure to the Xanthic’s weapons is lethal. It could be an airborne contagion—”

  “All the more reason to get me a power suit I can seal, stat.”

  He gave up. Raising his hand, he waved for one of his own pilots to touch down nearby, in an area recently cleared of marines.

  The power suits were designed to fit any size. A button on the inside caused it to expand, and when Rose stepped inside, it contracted until it fit her snugly, hugging her slender curves. Avery swallowed. He’d never seen anyone manage to look sexy wearing a power suit before.