Fire on the Frontline

by Trevor Wyatt

  And then I see something that makes my heart freeze in my chest.

  A fire...in a field. And another one farther away. I lay the pipe down slowly, making sure it doesn't bend or burst. I stand up as my eyes try to figure out what the hell is going on. I see another fire; that makes three. How could so many hysee be attacking at once? I turn toward the equipment shed and freeze.

  Hovering above me is a spaceship, the likes of which I have never seen before. For one thing, it's big, easily twice as wide as the huge frigate that brought us all from Earth. And it has an odd outer skin, almost like the scales of a snake. For a moment I wonder if we misjudged the hysee, if like us, they are not natives of Beruit—and then my blood runs cold as the obvious answer makes me choke.

  It's the Sonali. From the news vids. They've invaded every corner of Edoris Sector.

  And now they've found Beruit.

  They've found us.

  There's an odd vibration in the air, almost like a static building. A shot explodes from the ship destroying a part of Tamra's lemongrass field. I jump back watching as fire from the blast starts to feed on the crops.

  I realize with horror where the other fires in the fields are from. I run toward the shed. I have to reach the alarm, I've got to let everyone know! I jump over a row of crops, trying to do my best to zigzag my way to the shed. I'm also trying to put every ounce of energy and beyond into my movements.

  I'm hoping I'm too small for the ship to notice, but as a shot passes by my right shoulder singeing my work uniform, I yelp in pain. I run faster, one hand clamped over my shoulder, though I know the burn is superficial—it grazed me, leaving a bloody ooze.

  But I may not be so lucky next time. I have a sudden inspiration. I change direction that will hopefully put the Sonali ship off for a moment, and run toward the water pump. The ship changes direction with ease. No wonder our colonies are dropping like flies—it's obvious their technology is superior to ours.

  At the pump, I dislodge one of the pipes and do the dumbest thing possible.

  I pour the water all over myself. I cringe at all the water I'm wasting, but I have to make it to the shed, and the ship seems to be shooting a self-igniting accelerant—in different circumstances, I'd love to tell Nadia about it. It reminds me of our anti-hysee flares.

  Nadia. Merena. Tolin.

  I tell myself that if the ship is here, then they are safe at home.

  But for how long?

  Before thoughts of their safety derail me from what I need to do, I stop thinking and just start running. I don't worry about zig-zagging, at this point I'm playing to win regardless of the cost to myself. I see the shed, door propped open. All I have to do is get inside to sound the alarm. We have different levels depending on the emergency situation. I'll need to put on the highest alert we have.

  I'm almost there—when something hits the back of my leg making me tumble into the dirt. I howl, grabbing at the back of my leg—it feels like it's on fire.

  My wetsuit idea may have saved my life; it certainly saved my leg. I move my hand. The flesh is red, but it's there. I can't say the same for my pants. Blue fibers blacken into ash curling away into the dust.

  I can only hope that if the aliens hit me again...I still can't believe I'm saying that. We may have gone to the stars, but humans had been the only intelligent life until recently. Then the first contact happened. Then the war started.

  We were no longer alone. And we were no longer the most intelligent life form.

  The Sonali were intelligent and deadly.

  And they’re here.

  Somehow I always hoped our little pocket of paradise would remain just that—paradise. The holo-news feeds we saw of other settlements on other planets were a horror show. Entire colonies wiped out in a matter of hours. We set up an alarm system across the colony. Each equipment shed contains a connected alarm system, set one off and they all receive the same alert.

  I push myself up; leg sore, mind focused on getting to the alarm. I'm ten steps away when the shed explodes. I throw up my hands to shield my eyes.

  I feel pain in my chest as something flies into me knocking me backward. I land hard on my back, with the breath knocked out of me. I gasp, my eyes stinging as I see what's left of the shed burn. I push at the edge of the object on my chest. I feel a painful tug. Part of the object, a bit of wire, impales my chest. I continue to gasp. My vision darkens. I’m losing blood...I hear a familiar voice shout "Over here!"

  And then I black out.

  Darkness. Pain. I move, hissing as my eyes blink open. Tamra’s face is over me. "Hold still, Dave, you're going to be all right." She smiles at me, then says, "Sorry."

  "Why--" I scream as she rips the remaining bit of metal from my chest.

  "Sorry," she repeats, her mouth a grim line. She starts to stitch me up. I see some of the other farmers behind her, Jenks and Harlow. They look grim. "How long was I out?"

  "Only a few minutes. Can you stand?"

  I nod. "Good," she pulls me to my feet, with help from Harlow, her wife.

  Wife.

  "Where is Nadia?" I snatch my hand away and start running toward the house.

  Tamra yells, "Wait! we'll come with you!" I don't stop.

  My chest feels like I've been dipped in lava. My side hurts, my breath hitches...I'm sure a lung has been punctured, likely by a broken rib. I'm equally sure that Tamra patched me up as well as she could. I lean forward, hoping to push my feet faster.

  I spit blood on the ground as my steps take me across the last ridge separating the fields from our residence.

  Our home...

  “No…No, no!” I scream.

  I struggle down the slope falling on the ground, my hands reaching out...

  I almost convince myself that I’m wrong.

  That the empty scorched bit of land in front of me is not where my home once stood.

  But I know the steps that lead me here by heart...the path I have cut across twice a day for almost three years.

  Nothing.

  Nothing stands where our house used to be.

  No debris. Only ashes like the bits of fabric from my clothes. I begin to see the outline of the house framed in the dust. It reminds me of the way I used to draw in the dirt with a stick as a kid.

  And then I see the other outlines. The ones my mind telling me to stop staring at, stop looking at—

  "Oh my god!”

  I vomit on the grass as I crawl, snot dripping toward these familiar outlines.

  The outlines of the ashes paint a portrait for me of the last moments of my family.

  Nadia, smart woman that she is (was, my mind corrects coldly) took the children inside the house into the innermost room. There they huddled together, holding each other. Merena is on Nadia's right, close by her side, Tolin equally close, their ashes merging in one dark outline.

  The outline of Nadia's head suggests she was looking back toward the door. Back toward the fields. Looking for me.

  I move to touch the edge of the outline but pull my hand back in shame.

  My family died, alone, terrified, without me.

  My fingers dig into the dirt, pulling it up. Screaming with rage, I throw the clods where our house once stood.

  A blast near me knocks me on my side. In my grief, I failed to notice that the Sonali ship has followed me.

  I gain my feet quickly as I see the ship hover above me like a colossal judgment.

  I raise my hands beckoning to it. "Come on! I'm right here! Come ON!" I spy a rock, chuck it toward the ship, knowing it is foolish. I might as well be an ant screaming at the sun.

  Hands raised, I walk toward the ship. I want to surrender. I don't even want to live.

  As I watch a smaller craft, a corvette, slices across the Sonali craft taking a chuck out of its hull. The Sonali craft begins to smoke, then light dances across it like fireworks. The giant ship begins to descend. It crashes meteor bright and smoking.

  Numb, I watch the ship burn, the Sonali joining
my family as ashes.

  The corvette appears unhurt, but then tilts, exposing raw wounds from its suicidal attack on the larger craft. They took out the ship at great sacrifice. I notice strange lights, like flares, shoot from if as it makes its final descent. Sparks, I think, heat trails, but then my mind considers another option, "Escape pods." I run toward the downed craft.

  I realize as I run, my chest constricting, that the battle between the two craft only appeared to be near. By the time I reach the crash site, I am nearly blind with pain and black circles dot my vision. I am losing consciousness. I stagger past the remains of the corvette that is still smoking.

  I find three escape pods lying on their sides like cracked eggs, their hatches open. I look into the nearest one. It’s empty. No blood. I check the other two. Empty as well. I lean against the last pod, my breath ragged.

  I close my eyes. I feel my heart pumping painfully in my chest. It's a relief; I’m ready to die. I want to see my family again.

  I hear the unmistakable sound of a pulse gun charging. I flick my eyes open. A woman stands before me; she eyes me, gun aimed at my head. I don't move.

  "Leave him, Sheila," says a large man stepping up behind her. "He looks half dead already."

  She lowers her gun, holstering it, but watches me closely.

  "I'm Tolhe," he says extending a hand. I don't shake it. After a second he drops it.

  "Dave," I say, then cough.

  "Where's Asel?" Another man walks up, skin dark as the ash on the ground, his eyes a brilliant blue. Without preamble, he brings me a canister of water, tips it into my mouth.

  I drink it down in large gulps.

  "Thank you," I say, my voice quiet, my throat raw. He nods, leaves the canister with me.

  "Asel, Sheila, check out the Sonali ship. They didn't survive, but maybe something on their ship did. Something we can use." They nod and head toward the wreckage.

  "I take it you're a local," says Tolhe. I nod.

  "Well, as you probably guessed, we're not. Of course neither are the Sonali." At the mention of the alien race, I clench the canister in my fingers, wishing it was something I could break. Tolhe sees my reaction.

  "Is it just you?" he asks.

  I nod, tears, hot and shameful drip down my nose.

  "My family....those sons of bitches killed them! I wasn't with them! If I'd been there..."

  "You'd be dead," finishes Tolhe.

  "Yes, but I would have died with them....they died without me."

  Tolhe unsnaps a flask tucked under his coat, "Here."

  "I'm not thirsty."

  "This isn't water." I take it, start gulping it. It's unfamiliar to me, but I drink it anyway. It tastes like some sort of homebrew. It's thick, strong and most definitely illegal. I finish it, hand back the container. "Thanks. You smugglers?"

  "No," he says unoffended.

  "Mercenaries?"

  "Close," he says, pocketing the flask. "We're a special branch of the military offensive targeting the Sonali. We don't get the fancy ships, fancy weapons, or much weapons at all. What we do get is the leeway to fight the enemy in the manner of our choosing." Our methods are not always sanctioned, and many consider them to be downright suicidal."

  He looks at me. "The pay is decent," he continues, "not that you'll have a lot of free time to spend it." His two compatriots have returned.

  "No survivors, some salvage, mostly tech," says Sheila glancing at me, then Tolhe. A look passes between them. She leaves. Asel says something in another language. Tolhe gives him a glare, "Don't be rude to our new recruit."

  "Hey!" I say looking at him, "What do you mean 'recruit'? I'm not a soldier; I'm a farmer."

  "You were a farmer," he says, looking me directly in the eye, "You had a family. There is nothing for you here now."

  Rage so hot it feels I'm reaching into the bowels of the planet gripping its molten core surges through my body as my fist connects with Tolhe's nose.

  There's a 'crack' sound as blood flies from his nostrils. He's a big man, but I knock him back a step.

  Sheila and Asel step to me but stop as Tolhe puts his hand up. He pinches his nose, then wipes away bloody snot. He lumbers toward me, and I think now, I’m going to die.

  "You don't need to be a soldier to fight this war. You only need a reason, or hell, fuck reasons, you only need rage." He pokes my chest, near my heart. "The most dangerous person in a fight is the one who has the least to lose. So, tell me, Dave, what exactly do you have left to lose?"

  He puts his hand on my shoulder, then lets go and starts walking away. I figure that means the recruitment speech is over.

  "Asel, you take point, we'll retrace our steps, figure out where we can hit these assholes next."

  "We'll need to find something to replace the corvette, and we're running out of ground explosives," says Sheila walking next to Tolhe.

  I am forgotten.

  In the land of the dead, the living man is...

  Nothing.

  I jog to catch up. Tolhe hears me and turns around; he looks smug. Sheila looks annoyed. Asel looks at me, then goes back to walking, nonplussed.

  “Would flares designed for ground dispersal work?"

  Tolhe looks thoughtful. "Very likely," he says.

  "Then follow me," I say heading off toward the shed on the other side of the property, hoping that the vault where the flares are kept pressure-sealed has withstood the violence.

  I know the code because Nadia uses the same key code for everything. I tap the code in solemnly, grateful when the door swings up revealing bundles of flares, primed and ready.

  "Well," says Tolhe grinning wide at the selection, "It looks like Christmas came early this year."

  Shelia pushes past me grabbing bundles to load into satchels, "Let's get to work."

  I think of all the damage we can do with these flares if we can get close enough to the Sonali ships.

  "Yes," I say hefting a bundle of flares in my hand, "Let's."

  Life. It’s interesting what you’ll remember when it’s all gone.

  But I’m not gone yet.

  Jeremy Black and the Asteroid Belt of Azoc

  I walk into the dank bar with a scrunched up piece of paper in my right fist and hope ablaze in my heart.

  The bar had style even though it is situated in one of the most dangerous, underground worlds in the farthest reaches of the Terran Union. You just had to agree that whoever was the manager of this bar had taste. Yes, the bar was jammed to the brim with the scums of the galaxy: bounty hunters, space pirates, kidnappers, terrorists, the wanted, criminals—all drinking, dancing, causing a brouhaha, sometimes fighting with guns, knives, and fists, under the same roof, yet, the architecture of the place resembled what you’d find in an upscale environment in some of the finer worlds within the Terran Union.

  I am still standing at the mouth of the door to allow my eyes adjust to the low lighting. Even though it’s midnight outside, there’s still some modicum of light from the hovering street lights. The bar’s lighting is a stark difference. There are lights inside, but they are dim. Except on the dance floor, where the lights fluctuate and dance around like a disco.

  The light serves two purposes. One, for people to see where their food or drinks will go into, when taking a swig. And two, to ensure their knives make it home, when trying to assassinate someone. The music is deafeningly loud—and, of course, this is for two reasons: one, so everyone would dance regardless of how good the song really is, and two, so that no one would hear it when you were screaming for help or screaming before death.

  I scoff a little. This is no place for the weak or narrow minded. This bar is a place where some of the most nefarious deals are brokered. This is where you can hire practically any mercenary for practically any endeavor, from bombing an entire world to petty thieving. Assassins come here on their off time. Bounty hunters come here to unwind. Space pirates—including the ones working both sides of the blasted Sonali-Terran war—come here to tell th
eir stories and brag to everybody.

  To be sure, Yulverse is a Terran Union world. However, being one of the farthest flung colonies in the Union, it was all but abandoned by the Union. It’s not one of the Outers because it still flies the Union’s flag. Nevertheless, its government had long since been ruined by corruption and filthy lucre.

  Yulverse has all the makings of a well governed world, what with its police force, presidency, senate, and representative on the Terran Council, as well as all its agencies to ensure that everything runs smoothly for the 50,000 residents.

  But that is all for show. It is all on the surface. Yulverse’s government is as criminal as the inhabitants that come here to hide. And among all the bars, this particular bar is renowned in the underground world of Terran Union as the most dangerous of them all. In fact, it is so dangerous that newcomers rarely make it out alive. So dangerous that its pavements are coated in the bloods of its customers every day. Yet, they keep coming.

  I really don’t want to be here. I may be sharp, skilled, smart, and goddamn dashingly handsome, still, this bar—the Starlight Bar—is the last place I want to be. I’m also wise and not foolish. All it takes is a wide-eyed space pirate to spot me and slide a concealed knife into my spleen, and I’d be gone before the next verse of the song blares through the hidden bass speakers.

  If it weren’t for who I hoped and had a burning desire to meet here, I would not even fly within ten light years of this forsaken world. Well…that and if I am out of a job. In Yulverse, there is always a gig for the most despicable, dishonorable, disdainful, and dangerous of criminals. On that list, space pirates by default come in the top three.

  I allow myself to smile. Yes, sure, the average Armada official considers me a space pirate. I like to see myself as a businessman and a war profiteer. I’m no more a space pirate than the corporations that make oodles from the war efforts. Heck, all the corporations have outposts right here in Yulverse. You may say that this is after all a recognized Terran Union world, and you would be right. But remember, nothing goes on here except criminal activities or the planning of criminal activities.