Legacy: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  “Damn!” he said, as he bounded forward using the elongated hops he had come to be very efficient at. He saw the deep crater that housed the base a quarter mile away and knew it would take him forever to get there. He should have recognized what was happening when he had seen the ships only moments before, but he was daydreaming about the planet below and hadn’t made the connection, a sign that he was starting to lose his edge since the war with the barbarian species had ended.

  “Lydia, get an emergency call out to the battleships. They have company coming their way from their stern.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lydia asked, confused, possibly thinking Gideon was joking because they all knew the enemy and their fleet of saucers had been incinerated along with Ophillias and their home.

  He continued his loping strides, the lighter gravity of the lunar world making him fast and light. “Damn it, Lydia, I just saw three ships pass overhead not five minutes ago. They couldn’t have been ours. Our three aren’t due for another ten minutes. I’m betting it’s three enemy saucers!”

  “Oh, God—”

  “Hit the emergency klaxon, get a call to Ranger, and then get the scientists and other personnel into the deep bunkers!”

  There was panicked chatter on the radio, but Gideon ignored it as he fought his way toward the white shimmering base hidden in the crater ahead. He feverishly hoped that Lydia could get the men and women of the lunar science teams into the four-mile-long bunkers beneath the complex where the bulk of their technology and food was secured.

  As he leaped from spot to spot he kept glancing spaceward, hoping to find their three warships still safe in their orbits. How could three enemy saucers have escaped the destruction of their home world? he thought as he tried in vain to lengthen his strides. They had thought the entire enemy force and their orbiting fleet of saucers had been incinerated by the suicidal act of destroying Ophillias, but now he knew that assumption had been wrong.

  He had to stop. He went to his knees because he was finding it hard to breathe. He looked around as the moon became a wavy and jumbled relief of gray and white. The mountains in the distance shimmered and turned to haze. His head was hurting and he was now struggling for air. Gideon had the presence of mind to look at the O2 gauge. The illuminated numbers and their backup needles jumped in his vision, so he brought them closer to his faceplate. He saw immediately that he had gone past redline on his reserve and knew he would never make it to the base. Loud and jumbled chatter pierced his ears as he slowly slid over onto his side. He should have known how much faster he would use up his oxygen by running. He tried to stand but only managed to roll onto his back, his survival pack digging into the soft soil. He felt himself let go mentally. He closed his eyes and waited for the end.

  “Fool,” he said with the last breath he could muster.

  “Fool!”

  He heard the echo and was confused. He smiled as his self-deprecating curse came through the speakers in the side of his helmet.

  “I told you, but no—you have to take chances!”

  As his eyes started dimming around the edges, he felt himself rolled onto his side and then jerked into a sitting position. He heard a slight hissing that hadn’t been there a moment before. Cool air rushed into his helmet. He came around as the headache and agony in his extremities started gnawing around the edges of his brain, and then directly behind his eyes, fingers, arms, and legs.

  “Maybe you’ll listen to me from now on you idiot!” the voice said as he was shaken roughly.

  His eyes opened and he saw the helmeted person kneeling at his side. He swallowed, trying in vain to get rid of the cottony taste in his mouth as he stared at his reflection in the gold-colored visor. He saw a small, gloved hand reach out and lift the outer glass of the helmet. Then he found himself staring into the soft features of Lydia. She wasn’t smiling as she raised one of the empty tanks she had pulled from his backpack, then brought her arm back and launched it away into the light gravity.

  “Next time I’ll just leave you out here, Major.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said and then remembered what was going on. Before he could ask about the status of the situation he looked up and saw three bright dots taking form just over the eastern horizon at about a hundred miles in altitude. He struggled to stand.

  “Take it easy. Do you want to pass out? I can’t carry you all—”

  “Look—our ships,” Gideon said. He pointed skyward and at the same time lowered a middle visor in his helmet that magnified the image of the three ships far above them.

  Lydia turned in her overlarge suit and saw the bright specks of Vortex, Guidon, and the much larger Ranger as they hurtled on.

  “Damn, they’re still running in formation. Didn’t the base contact them?” He turned an accusing eye on the young scientist.

  “Everything is down, radar, sonar, communications, everything. I told you things were getting weird!”

  “I should have known,” Gideon said. “They’re not down, they’re being jammed, and I should have realized that.” His eyes never left the three ships flying in a wedge formation toward the base. Their altitude wasn’t even staggered. They were still about a hundred miles high and sailing wing abreast, the two smaller pocket battleships slightly behind their flagship, Ranger.

  “Maybe—”

  That was as far as she got as Gideon grabbed her and pushed her to the lunar dust. As he did so, the pocket battleship on the left side of the formation erupted silently into flame and floating debris. The eeriness of the enemy strike was so sudden and quiet it was surreal. Gideon saw another salvo strike what remained of the smaller pocket battleship Vortex, and her sizzling hulk vanished in a white hot explosion that sent chunks of lightweight metal flying in a torrent of faster-than-sound missiles of aluminum and plastic. The debris struck the lunar surface far below, sending up enormous geysers of dust and rock. The two remaining battleships were caught unawares and reacted far too slowly after taking hits from the explosion. Ranger started her turn, her bow thrusters firing at full throttle as she started to slow, and then Guidon did the same a moment later. Both were attempting to turn and face the sudden and unseen threat. The major shook his head, knowing they would be too late.

  “They’ll never make it,” Gideon said softly. He lifted Lydia to her feet and pushed her toward the complex of huts hidden behind the wall of the crater.

  The three enemy ships that Gideon had seen before reappeared. Without viewing them up close he knew the silverish saucers would be old and scarred from many engagements on and around Ophillias and their home world. He watched as their exotic weapons opened fire. The first six shots were evenly dispersed among Guidon and Ranger as they turned their bows around to bring their main batteries to bear. The large turrets swiveled to line up on the three enemy saucers.

  Gideon watched in horror and then flinched as the first laser beams struck the larger of the two ships. Pieces of the ship’s pressure hull and of the main deck composed of spiderweb girders exploded outward. Noiseless and horribly bright, Ranger returned fire with her twenty-inch twin forward cannon, quickly followed by a salvo from their number-two forward mount. A bright flash of greenish light exited the crystal-tipped barrels, followed by an expanding gas slug of nitrogen that was used for cooling the large bore and diamond tip at the end of the great cannon. The nitrogen froze immediately as it exited the barrels, creating a blanket of fog that from a distance resembled smoke. The twin laser shots from each mount were infused with particles made up of two thousand ball bearing–sized steel balls that passed through a hole in the crystal refractor. This volley was soon joined by twin shots of infused light from the smaller fourteen-inch cannon of Guidon. Major Gideon saw the first enemy saucer vanish in a gut-wrenching, metal-shredding wreck as the laser slugs punched large holes in it. The three-hundred-foot-diameter saucer started to lose its orbit, sliding toward the lunar surface in a silent death plunge.

  The second saucer in the enemy line broke from the
remaining twin formation. It made a run directly at the lunar surface and the small base inside the crater. The major heard the chatter and screaming on the radio. Whatever jamming had been placed on lunar-space communication was now inactive as the captain of Ranger was heard asking the condition of his sister ship Guidon. Gideon, still holding Lydia’s hand, stopped and looked up as the battle raged directly over their heads. In the distance, maybe fifty miles away, they saw the silent impact of the first enemy saucer as it slammed into the lunar surface and blew to pieces. The eerily quiet death in the moon’s vacuum belied the shaking violence of the impact.

  Above, the enemy saucer that had broken away started firing toward the lunar surface. He could see the green-tinted intermittent lasers as they struck the outer walls of the crater.

  Bright flashes overhead announced that Ranger had fired again. Finally, the heavily damaged Guidon answered the bell and also fired, producing the eye-fooling slowness of the faster-than-light weapons. It was still amazing to behold as the laser blasts streaked toward their target. The lone enemy saucer in a high orbit tried to maneuver out of the way of the particle weapons fired at it, but it was too late. The four rounds struck the top of the saucer’s pressure hull in an enormous shower of flame and sparks fueled by oxygen released from the ship. Gideon and Lydia watched as the giant saucer broke into two distinct pieces and started an out-of-control fall toward the moon’s surface.

  As Guidon and Ranger started ejecting thousands of gallons of water that transformed into ice crystals in an effort to cloud and diffuse any return fire, they began turning toward the remaining saucer.

  For the first time the major let out a yell of triumph. They just might fend off this last, desperate attack. But his joy was short-lived as two things happened simultaneously. First, five distinct lines of green laser fire struck the base camp inside the crater. All Gideon could see were chunks of moon rock and white pieces of composite material from the enclosures—and then, to his horror, un-space-suited bodies sailing into the black night. The crater looked like a volcano spewing forth not red-hot magma like the planet below but man-made structures and men themselves as the lasers struck their oxygen and weapons storage areas. The second thing that happened was that the saucer now cascading in pieces to the moon below had fired all of her advanced lasers in the last second before her own death. As Gideon and Lydia dodged debris from the base camp, Guidon exploded above them. The death of their battleship was so sudden and so complete they didn’t realize at first what had happened.

  The remaining enemy vessel was placing laser shot after laser shot into the base camp from a half kilometer up, where the saucer had slowed almost to a hover to maintain altitude long enough to destroy the last remaining enemy colony.

  The major glanced skyward at the spot where Guidon had vanished. He could see no debris remaining larger than a city block. But he did see the burning and smoldering Ranger as it majestically righted herself after receiving the near-death blows from Guidon’s destruction. The reinforced armor of the smaller ship had peppered her hull with millions of particles as it exploded. The molten debris had set Ranger’s two forward turrets afire before exploding outward and sending the crews of the four massive guns spinning into the cold death of space. Gideon gripped Lydia’s hand with first shock and then pride as Ranger fired her main engines and started her turn for the enemy saucer far below.

  “She has no forward armament!” Lydia cried out.

  Gideon looked at Ranger as she sped toward the enemy warship. The entire superstructure forward of her bridge was glowing red-hot from the dual assault of enemy fire and the brunt of Guidon’s final death rattle.

  “What is she doing?” Lydia asked.

  “The only thing she can do. She’s going to ram the bastards.”

  “He thinks the base is still intact. Can we call her off?”

  “She’s doomed anyway. She’s hurt too badly,” Gideon said as he watched the terrible race far above him. Suicidal ventures were quickly becoming the norm of his civilization.

  Lydia reached for the radio transmit button on her wrist and started calling frantically. The enemy saucer, apparently seeing the threat coming its way, had started to rise back into a higher orbit, blasting at the heavily damaged Ranger with her now retargeted lasers. Gideon looked down at the diminutive blonde, who had started crying as she failed to raise Ranger. The major reached out and pulled Lydia’s arm down. She struggled and fought with him, finally collapsing against his chest, shaking, giving in to the hopelessness of the situation. Gideon’s eyes went from the charging Ranger to the big blue planet below them. He shook his head and held Lydia closer just as Ranger slammed itself bow-on into the enemy saucer. The resulting explosion from the fuel and munitions of both vessels sent out debris in a deadly arc that smashed into the lunar surface, causing ten thousand small eruptions in the siltlike dust of the dead moon.

  The final battle for his home world ended silently, with less than ten minutes from beginning to end. Over six thousand men and women had vanished in a final insanity-driven burst of mayhem.

  Gideon let his knees fold. Both he and Lydia fell to the dusty surface and then they sat that way, holding each other for long minutes.

  It was twenty minutes after the explosions subsided that Lydia stopped crying, and with effort raised her head. She saw the blue planet, which was just starting to set. Half the world was covered in fine white clouds and the other half lay in darkness. She turned away after a moment and clung to the major even tighter than before.

  “What were they calling the planet?” she asked. “I mean, were they still going to use the same name as the one we were brought up with and learned in school?”

  “As far as I know it was still the same,” Gideon answered. He looked at the blue planet, setting for the lunar day. He suddenly stood and pulled Lydia to her feet.

  “Come on, we have a lot of work ahead of us! Those downed saucers might have those mechanical sons of bitches on them. Soon they’ll activate—and they don’t negotiate.”

  Lydia didn’t question the large man as he pulled her along toward the crumbling crater where the science facility once sat. She did turn and watch the last of the blue planet sink away to nothing.

  “We need to name our new home something, maybe the essence of what it really is,” Lydia said in her quiet and disillusioned state.

  “We have to get there first, and then you can name it any damn thing you want.”

  * * *

  It was almost two full months after the last surviving members of the human race left for the new world below that the war pods embedded in the destroyed superstructures of the downed enemy saucers activated. They came alive only because their programmed brains hadn’t sensed any movement from the saucers that had crashed on the lunar surface. Designed as storm troopers for a race of cowardly yet advanced aggressors, the pods started dropping free of their modules into the lunar dust.

  Only seventeen of the mechanical soldiers had survived the destruction of the saucers and their masters. Twelve of the ten-foot-diameter pods shot free of the mangled remains of the saucers and went to their programmed destination—the planet below. Their sensors immediately picked up advanced electrical sources that the primitive world should not have on its surface. They locked on to the signals and shot into space with fiery engine bursts, their destination Earth. The mechanical killers’ programmed orders from their masters were to eliminate the last vestiges of mankind.

  The last five pods rolled out of the wreckage in ball form. Three started roving the lunar surface searching for the enemy they had been programmed to kill, while the other two rolled toward the last place their telemetry had told them humans had been—the crater. Each of the five pods, after not discovering their enemy, settled into the lunar dust, their mechanical bodies curled into fetal positions inside their shells. Their duty would be to wait, no matter how long, for man to return to the surface of the lunar world.

  BERLIN, GERMANY JANUARY 1, 19
45

  The minister of armaments for the Third Reich stood silently in front of the most powerful man in Nazi Germany other than the Führer himself. The smallish, sheepish little man sat behind his desk with not so much as a single oiled hair out of place, and a uniform that had been recently cleaned and pressed. Even while his world was falling apart and burning around him, the small rat managed to maintain an air of superiority. The man behind the desk studied the last page in the brown folder that had been delivered to him only moments before. The reich minister for armament production, Albert Speer, stood waiting for a reaction by the former chicken farmer who was now serving as the head of the most powerful entity outside of the German army, the SS.

  Heinrich Himmler adjusted his glasses as he read. When he was done he made a show of placing the paper perfectly in line with the previous pages of the report and then slowly closed the folder. He tapped the thick binder with a single finger as though he were coming to some monumental conclusion derived from careful thought. However much Himmler tried to disguise his demeanor, Speer knew the calculating little bastard did nothing, not even speak, without thoroughly thinking it through beforehand. The demonstration he was putting on, in the reich minister’s view, had become tiresome.

  “I must say that I do not appreciate being hijacked on the way to the Reich Chancellery.”

  Himmler smiled and looked toward Speer with a fatherly look. “Such a word—hijacked? I merely asked my men to inquire if you would join me before filing your report on Columbus prior to your presentation to the Führer, just so we could chat awhile. And since so much of the operational success of this project has come from this office, I felt a briefing by you, to me, was not out of the question.”

  Speer looked around the spartan office of this prolific mass murderer. He removed his brown saucer cap and placed it under his left arm, all the while feeling uncomfortable in the cold space of his surroundings. His discomfort was also due to his closeness to the chicken farmer—a nickname for Himmler that had caught on among the intellectuals of Hitler’s inner circle, a group that Speer knew was ever dwindling.