Free Stories 2014

by Baen Books

  Both of them began to scan around for any conceivable natural form of cover, when Powell’s eyes fell upon the group of aliens floating towards them. It was a much smaller group than the one they’d faced before. Could it be the same mantes? Or a different patrol altogether?

  Though still a very long way off, it was clear the mantes had spotted the crew.

  So, it had come down to this. Caught, not even in the act . . .

  Suddenly, an idea leapt into Amelia’s head. She turned her gaze from the onrushing mantes to the great egg on the hill, then back to the mantes. A realization hit her like a bolt of lighting. Then she was ripping the last bandolier of squad gun shells from Powell’s back, and before he could protest, she was up and running.

  Powell yelped, trying to pull her down, but she was too quick. The crew screamed after her as she tore past them, and then they were up on their own feet chasing after her, howling like Zulus.

  “No, no, NO!” Amelia puffed into her headset. “Stay behind and give me cover! The mantis patrol will follow me! It’s the ship they’ll be protecting!”

  Powell and the others slowed and stopped.

  It was true.

  The mantis aliens—riding their discs—had turned away from the crew and were now running straight as an arrow at the shrinking figure of their commanding officer. Powell and the rest of the platoon watched in amazement as every last mantis ignored them and pursued Amelia.

  “Awright, you heard the lady!” The big corporal snarled. “Up and ready!”

  Each of the crew dropped to one knee and raised his or her weapon up to the shoulder, telescopic sights whining as they focused on the retreating images of the mantes.

  Rifles cracked to life, sending bullets into the cluster of aliens that were right on Schumann’s heels. The creatures broke formation, trying to avoid the incoming fire, but still maintained their pursuit. Powell, using the last free round for his squad gun, adjusted the weapon’s trajectory and drew a bead on the lead mantis.

  #

  The group leader died, as did three of its kindred. The dream of mating—so wonderful, so fleeting—was terminated in a hail of anti-personnel shrapnel.

  #

  Amelia Schumann’s ears pounded loudly as her heart forced blood to her brain. Her legs pumped like pistons, muscles burning, running on pure adrenaline, while her lungs hurt with each ragged breath. The grass and weeds flowed under her feet in a blur, yet the distance to the mantis mother craft shrank ever so slowly. She could hear the hideous squeals of the cyborg bugs as they died behind her, and the reports of the crew’s weapons as they fired. She almost fell as one of Powell’s shells decimated the head of the pack. But desperation drove her onward.

  Thus far no one had even put so much as a scratch in the alien ship. The Brahe’s rail guns were hurling everything short of nukes, and they ran off the egg’s shields like rainwater, dissolving into nothingness. The only way anyone was going to get to that thing, was to go right up to it and shove a shell up its ass. And Amelia had a whole bandolier of shells.

  #

  The drop pod super-carrier commander watched as one of the bipedal creatures—still some distance away—destroyed the tactical group leader who was leading his patrol to defend the ship. The group leader had been on the heels of the smaller biped that now rushed toward the commander’s home. The commander had not given these humans enough credit. They’d proven to have remarkable tenacity, even when faced with overwhelming numbers and technology.

  The commander tried to make contact with one of the other mantes troops in the patrol group, and impose his will upon it. But the patrol was too single-minded in their focus now. The little human who ran was clearly all that mattered to them.

  The little alien biped sped towards the commander’s armored battle fortress.

  Deciding that caution was best, the commander temporarily took his attention away from the pesty human ship in low orbit, and re-concentrated his weapons systems on the planet’s surface around the ship. There were guns for anti-ground attack too. All he needed to do was drop the shield system long enough to squeaze off a few bursts, and the running human would be finished.

  Not like a single little alien could do much to hurt the drop pod super-carrier anyway. The little runner seemed almost cute, in a pathetic way. The commander regretted that it would be too easy.

  #

  Amelia saw the guns emerge, and she leapt violently to her left as a burst fried the air above her head and smashed into the ground several meters behind. Blinded with fear, she ran onward, tears streaming from her eyes, and her breath coming in gasps. The alien craft was less than twenty meters away now. Just a few more meters was all she would need.

  More shots lashed out, hitting the ground just behind the Chief. The alien guns were quick, but they could not compensate for her sudden jerking and weaving movements so close to the point of origin. Burst after burst missed Amelia, but the shield system stayed down.

  If the Brahe were on its game, it would give the mantis ship a triple strike right now, and finish the job. But the human ship hadn’t fired in over a minute, and Amelia began to wonder if perhaps the giant mantis craft’s sisters in space had returned and gotten rid of the Brahe.

  No matter, Amelia had but one last chore to complete. Her eyes fell on the huge, thick landing leg nearest her. The bandolier of shells came off her back. Giving a hoarse, inarticulate, cry, Amelia slipped a hand grenade into one of the empty ammo pouches on the bandoleer, flipped off the grande’s spoon handle, and then hurled the bandolier at the leg. That done, Amelia then threw her whole body to the right, tucked into a ball, and rolled.

  She kept rolling until she dropped—rather painfully—into a muddy runnel which had been worn in the low rise. It was perhaps a meter deep, no more.

  The bandolier had landed in the metal gearworks that made up the “ankle” at the base of the leg. The grenade’s timer fizzed towards zero.

  A blinding flash was followed by a boom that muted out every other sound in Amelia’s universe. Poking her head over the lip of the runnel she saw the mangled mechanisms at the base of the leg begin to buckle and split. The massive mantis ship tilted crazily as the leg finally gave out.

  #

  Surprise.

  That was the drop pod super-carrier commander’s only emotion as he felt his ship shudder underneath him. The pilot and technicians who surrounded the commander’s creche all eyed him; the semi-soft portions of their carapaces flushing with confused tension. How could one little human have done so much damage?

  The commander told himself he’d be more careful in the future.

  Take off now, the commander ordered the pilot, who signaled his obedience, and started up the super-carrier’s lift engines. Just before the ship could lean dangerously out of whack, the repulsor effect kicked in, and the ship began to fly. Slowly, at first—being so massive. But then gradually with more power. The remaining, good legs left the ground, and the commander ordered a burst at the humans last known location. The shields went down. Then true disaster struck.

  Two consecutive rounds from the Tycho Brahe broke the skin of the super-carrier—now far above the ground, and drifting north at speed.

  The wounded super-carrier augered in some six kilometers from where it had taken off, at a velocity of approximately one hundred and sixty kilometers an hour. There was nothing the mantis commander or crew could do but scream oaths into eternity as their ship fractured, then exploded like a tiny fusion bomb.

  #

  Amelia swam in a murky pool of calm. Her body was nowhere to be found, and all she could hear was a slow, steady rumble that seemed to emanate from everywhere. Where had she been? It didn’t matter anymore.

  “Hey, are you okay in there?”

  Corporal Powell’s voice. It was soft, and filled with respect.

  At first, the sound was completely out of place. Why was he here? Amelia’s heart saddened at the thought that she could halve caused Powell’s death too. Th
en she noticed that the rumble was getting louder and that there was a warm, firm hand on one of her arms.

  Arms?

  Amelia’s eyes opened slowly. Everything was terribly blurred.

  There, a certain blur looked familiar.

  Working hard to focus, Amelia recognized the face of Powell. There were other faces, too: Corporal Bybee, Privates Li and Shaw, and the others. They each had various bandages and healing sleeves wrapped around their extremities, but they all seemed healthy and, yes, very much alive.

  “I . . . we . . . I . . .” Amelia rasped. Her throat felt funny and her body seemed to be immobilized. Powell placed a hand on her lips and gestured to the rest of the crew.

  “We’re all okay, Chief. It’s been five Earth days since the Tycho Brahe’s slicks picked us up. The governor’s party too. We’re the lucky ones. The Brahe was the only capital ship that made it. New America is history. But we’re now high-tailing it for Fleet headquarters. For Earth.”

  Amelia allowed herself a small moment of satisfaction. Perhaps she and her picket ship crew would get to accomplish their primary mission after all? The mantis aliens were impressive, perhaps even overwhelmingly so. But they weren’t immortal.

  Someone on Earth needs to know that, she thought. And let her eyes close once more. For Amelia, her first battle was over.

  For humanity, the war to survive had only just begun.

  The Golden Knight

  by K. D. Julicher

  I knew the boy was going to be trouble the moment he walked into the tavern. He glared about, his hand on his sword’s hilt. “All right, where’s the joker who sent me on that fool’s errand?” he demanded.

  The other patrons erupted in laughter and deep inside me, my bear growled. I eyed the boy from my table in the corner. He wasn’t from around here, not with that accent. His tunic hadn’t been washed in weeks and he’d patched the rips himself, from the look of it, but the cut said he’d paid good money for them once.

  “Fool’s errand?” Wil drawled. He set down his mug and turned away from the bar. “What, you didn’t find what you were looking for?” His mocking voice grated on me like it did when he’d comment on my limp.

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. Though as tall as most of the men in the room, he gave off a gawky air. If he picked a fight with Wil he was going to get a beating. My bear was restless but I wasn’t in the mood to see a fight. It was time to leave. You’re never in the mood for a fight any more, the bear whispered.

  The boy folded his arms. “I asked where I could find Prince Garadon and you pointed me right off a cliff.”

  I stiffened and turned away. Someone snooping around after the prince could mean trouble. Yes, trouble, the bear whispered gleefully. Something, anything to wake you up.

  It’s nothing to do with me, I told the bear. Not anymore.

  “Aye.” Wil drank again. “Paul, another! So did you find him?”

  I glanced at the boy. He scowled. “After I climbed down the cliff, I found the graves.”

  “Oh good, then you did find the prince.” Wil shrugged. I couldn’t see his face but he must have been wearing that mocking grin, the one that always reminded me of my father. He picked up the fresh mug of beer. “Him and most of his men.”

  The boy shook his head, his scowl unchanged. He took another step into the room. “Impossible.”

  Wil got up from the bar, carrying the beer, and walked over to the boy. He clapped him on the shoulder and thrust the mug on him. Wil was taller than the boy and being the town blacksmith he had shoulders to match. He drew the boy over to the bar. “Why are you looking for an Aradori princeling, anyway?” Wil asked. “You’re Theis like us.”

  “I’m his squire,” the boy said.

  Despite myself I turned to look. Wil seemed surprised. I studied the boy. I’d have sworn he was telling the truth, with that earnest look about him. But of course what he claimed was impossible. “Who are you?” Wil asked, echoing my own thoughts.

  “Alan of Theianbridge.”

  Now that was interesting. Theianbridge was a good hundred miles upriver. Father had spoken of the city many times, his words almost enough to make me want to visit, back when I still wanted things.

  The bear snorted. Squire? What squire?

  Hush, and maybe we’ll learn, I replied.

  “And why would an Aradori princeling have a Theis squire?” Wil was saying.

  The boy drew himself up. “My business is my own. I’m here to find my master. I went to the main Aradori army first, and they said the prince and his men left six months ago, heading this way along the coast. I’ve been chasing rumors ever since.”

  “They were here,” Wil said, nodding. “First we knew about them was when they bought a couple boats from the fishing fleet. They planned to sail east along the coast, back to their homeland. Day they left, a big storm blew in. We pulled bodies out of the surf for a week.” Alan was shaking his head as Wil finished. “So you’d better just head back upriver.”

  Alan dropped the mug on the bar. “That’s impossible.” In a more subdued voice he said, “Are you sure the prince drowned?”

  “We buried him. Davik there helped. He can tell you.” Wil gestured, and Alan turned toward me. Damn, I should have left when the boy first came in.

  Alan walked over to me. “You’re Aradori! You survived. Maybe he did too.”

  “Garadon is dead,” I muttered. “I washed up on shore with the rest of the corpses.”

  “No.” Alan shook his head. He was even younger than I’d thought. He wore the peach-fuzz mustache every boy tries to grow when he’s that age. “Garadon is a bear warrior.”

  “So?” I said. “The bear doesn’t let you breathe water or swim through waves taller than your ship’s mast.” All it did was keep you treading water longer than the rest of your friends. The boy stared at me. I stood.

  “You’re leaving?” Alan demanded. “I want to ask — “

  “It’s late. Give it up, kid. Leave the dead to the dead.”

  “He’s right.” Wil clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Go get a good night’s sleep, boy. Things will look better in the morning. You can put him in my hayloft, Davik, if you’re leaving anyway.” He turned back to the bar.

  Alan followed me out into the street. “You work for the blacksmith?” Alan asked. “I saw you earlier, at the forge, but didn’t realize you were one of Garadon’s men.”

  “Wil lets me stay on.” I made sure the boy saw my limp as we walked. “I’m not quick but I can haul wood and hammer horseshoes.”

  “You were injured in the shipwreck?”

  “Yes.” Even now my leg ached with every step. I led us around the back of the smithy to the barn and pulled the door open. A pair of chestnut horses leaned out of their stalls and whickered. “Yours?” I asked Alan. They were too good for any of the locals.

  “Yes.” A small cart stood just inside the door. Alan pulled back the canvas. The lantern light was dim but I caught a glint of metal inside. Alan took out a blanket and re-covered the cart. “Thanks for letting me sleep here,” he said, as I pointed out the ladder up to the hayloft.

  “Thank Wil, not me,” I said as I watched him climb. “Though I bet you’re paying him twice what you should to stay here.”

  “He didn’t ask me for money.” Alan turned around at the top of the ladder, frowning. “Should I offer?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I scowled and eyed Alan’s cart. Wil never did anything for free.

  “Can you tell me more about Prince Garadon’s death?” Alan asked. He disappeared up into the hayloft. His voice floated back down. “I have to tell Ana something.”

  “Who’s Ana?” I asked. I lifted the edge of the canvas cover.

  “My cousin. Princess Ana of Theianbridge.”

  Whatever was in the cart glinted golden. I looked back at the ladder to the hayloft. “Why does she care about Garadon? We weren’t planning to go that far north.” I’d hoped to make it back east before winter. We’d se
en enough of the idiotic campaign the king was waging out on the border, Aradori blood spilled to conquer lands hundreds of miles from our own.

  “They were betrothed,” Alan said.

  I blinked. “What?” My bear made a confused noise in my head.

  “It was in the treaty we signed four months ago. After the prince left the front, I suppose,” Alan said. “Ana’s father, King Robert, wanted to cement the alliance between Theianbridge and the Aradori. They betrothed Ana and made me his squire, all by proxy of course. Your king loved the bargain.”

  I snorted. That sounded like him. “Of course he did. Conquest by any means necessary, that’s his dream.” Never my dream. Schemes I was glad to be done with.

  I reached a hand into the cart and touched cold metal. I grasped it and drew my hand out. My breath caught. It was a helmet, covered in gold. I ripped back the canvas. A thrice-damned suit of armor, with enough gold leaf to make every man in this town rich. It looked like the sort of thing my father would wear. “What the hells is this?”

  “Lady Ana sent it.” Alan looked over the edge of the hayloft. “A gift for her betrothed. The finest rune-armor our smiths could make.”

  I could see the runes now. They were worked in gold, too, hidden by the decorations. “What a stupid gift,” I said. “Saddle him down with a lot of heavy metal that’s going to attract every cutthroat for two hundred miles? Don’t you people know anything about bear warriors? We can’t use rune-armor.” I tossed the helmet down in disgust and covered up the rest of the cart.

  “Oh.” His face fell. “It doesn’t matter, now.” He moved away and didn’t speak again. I heard him lie down, not far from the ladder.

  I blew out the lantern and opened the stable door. Nothing moved in the shadows beyond. I heard singing from the pub. I limped outside and shut the door behind me. For a moment I considered going home to my shack, but something about this setup smelled. The kid had enough trouble without the likes of Wil bothering him.