The Gates of Hell

by Chris Kennedy

  His vision narrowed, and his breath came in shallow gasps as he realized he was going to die there. Even though he’d killed the Besquith, it was going to have the final laugh in whatever hell it was currently in, as its dead body killed Shirazi in turn.

  Shirazi struggled to draw in a breath, but was unable, and everything grew dim. Just before the darkness closed, the Besquith was rolled off his chest, and air once again filled his lungs. His head rolled to the side to see Kazemi on his knees next to him.

  “Bastards are fucking heavy,” Kazemi said with a grunt. He struggled to his feet, then moved back a step as blood from one of his wounds dripped onto Shirazi. “Sorry ‘bout that, sir.”

  Shirazi tried to sit up, but wasn’t able. Kazemi leaned forward, offered him a hand, and pulled Shirazi up to a seated position. He looked around with his one good eye, then shook his head. Kazemi was the only being left standing, although Shirazi had no idea how; he had more cuts and holes than Shirazi could easily count. Only the older soldier’s fierce determination held him erect.

  Shirazi reached into a leg pocket, pulled out a med-kit, and handed it to him.

  “S’all right,” Kazemi said with a slur. He pointed to Shirazi’s face. “You use it, sir.”

  “Take it, you hard-nosed bastard. You’re hurt worse than I am.”

  The senior enlisted took the dispenser and sprayed a couple of his worst wounds, and a hiss of breath escaped his lips. “First time using one?” Shirazi asked.

  Kazemi nodded; it seemed like that was all he could do.

  “Burns a little, doesn’t it? Shirazi added with a smile.

  “Compared with that, all the fires of hell are little more than a feeble campfire.” He shook his head as he leaned forward to put his hands on his knees. “Given a choice between doing that again and outright dying, I think I’ll take the latter.”

  After a second, Kazemi rose. “Ready to get up?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Shirazi said, and Kazemi helped him to his feet.

  “I have to say, sir, that sucked,” Kazemi said, motioning to all the bodies around the command center.

  Shirazi shrugged, overwhelmed by the slaughter. “It could have been worse, I guess.”

  “Oh, yeah? How?”

  “They could have broken into the mines, captured us, and eaten us alive.” He shuddered as a vision of the Besquith leaning forward over him ran through his head.

  “That would indeed have been worse.”

  “And we’re still alive, with our honor intact. We didn’t run, nor did we give in to the Besquith. Even better, we’ve shown we can win a straight-up fight with some of the galaxy’s best troops. People will want to hire us because we’ve shown we can win. More importantly, we now have some credits we can spend on better equipment, which will help increase our odds in our next engagement.”

  “So you want to continue with Asbaran Solutions?” Kazemi asked. “Even though it’s just you and I remaining?”

  Shirazi nodded. “We’ll reconstitute our forces. We’ll re-equip and rearm. We’ll go forward, and like the Huma bird, we’ll rise from the ashes and be reborn. In fact, that’ll be our new logo.”

  “A Huma bird?” Kazemi asked.

  “Yes. What could be better? We’re down, but we’re not beaten. We’ll rise again, and we’ll show these Galactics why Persia once ruled on Earth. We have a fighting spirit that won’t be broken. Long live the Huma, and long live Asbaran Solutions!”

  * * * * *

  Chris Kennedy Bio

  A Webster Award winner and three-time Dragon Award finalist, Chris Kennedy is a Science Fiction/Fantasy/Young Adult author, speaker, and small-press publisher who has written over 25 books and published more than 100 others. Chris’ stories include the “Occupied Seattle” military fiction duology, “The Theogony” and “Codex Regius” science fiction trilogies, stories in the “Four Horsemen,” “Fallen World,” and “In Revolution Born” universes and the “War for Dominance” fantasy trilogy. Get his free book, “Shattered Crucible,” at his website, https://chriskennedypublishing.com.

  Called “fantastic” and “a great speaker,” he has coached hundreds of beginning authors and budding novelists on how to self-publish their stories at a variety of conferences, conventions and writing guild presentations. He is the author of the award-winning #1 bestseller, “Self-Publishing for Profit: How to Get Your Book Out of Your Head and Into the Stores,” as well as the leadership training book, “Leadership from the Darkside.”

  Chris lives in Virginia Beach, Virginia, with his wife, and is the holder of a doctorate in educational leadership and master’s degrees in both business and public administration. Follow Chris on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ckpublishing/.

  * * * * *

  They Called Him Pops by Kevin Steverson

  Chapter One

  Petes’ Dive Bar

  Parmick

  Parmick System

  “Yep, I knew them boys,” Waldon said.

  He brushed a little mine grit off his coveralls and took a sip of his beer. It wasn’t very cold, but it was colder than when the original owner ran the place. Ol’ peg-legged Pete was a stingy man, and everybody knew it. Good riddance to him. Ligtarny, the new owner, ran a respectable establishment.

  “Knew who?” Pullnerth asked. He wiped his mouth with his arm, the fur soaking up the liquid. He loved the Human beer, but unless he used a straw, he tended to spill some when he drank it.

  “Yeah,” Ligtarny asked, his translator stretching out the word. He hopped over the bar and landed without spilling the pitcher he was holding. “Who? Are you saying you’re familiar with the Peacemakers who put a stop to Barlung?”

  The Jivool sitting across from him wiped his mouth again and said, “Waldon, you’re a fabricator of lies. You don’t know any Peacemakers. You’ve been here for fifteen years. I’ve worked with you on the mine equipment through all of them. From when it was barely operating through when we suffered through the last owner.”

  “Aw, hell, Pully,” Waldon said, “that hurts. You cut me deep. I thought we was friends.”

  “We are,” Pullnerth said, “you’re my best Human friend. But that doesn’t give you a pass on telling a lie. If you’ll admit it’s a made up story like so many of your others, that’ll be different.”

  Ligtarny filled both of their mugs, poured himself one, and sat down. His knees stuck up near his head as he had his feet in the seat with him. Resembling a toad from earth, he blinked one of his huge eyes and looked at Waldon. He enjoyed the Human’s stories, lies or not.

  “Wait,” Waldon said as he leaned back, “let me get this straight. If I tell you from the start I’m making up a story, you’re good with it. But if I tell you something that’s just as all-fired crazy, but true, you have a problem with it? What in the hell?”

  “Telling stories is an art,” Pullnerth explained. “An artist is free to embellish. Telling a story while pretending it’s true in order to trick a being into believing it is wrong. That’s dishonest, and you’ll be called a fabricator of lies. In my clan this is looked at the same as one being a litigator of laws, or a repairer of teeth. Both are necessary, unfortunately, but no one looks forward to spending time with them.”

  Waldon took a drink and then realized what he had been called. “Wait. What? Are you calling me a dentist or…or a lawyer?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “‘Cause you know them’s fightin’ words where I come from.”

  “Yes,” Pullnerth said without hesitation. “Unless you reveal the story to be fiction before telling it, you are both of those, in my eyes. Like dealing with them, I would prefer to know about it from the beginning. They’re necessary, but don’t let it be a surprise. I’ll need to know in advance so I’m mentally prepared to deal with it.”

  “Damn, Pully,” Waldon said, “next thing you know, you’ll be calling me a politician.”

  “No,” Pullnerth explained. “They lie every time they speak. You don’t do that.”

 
Waldon choked on his beer. He managed to swallow half the mouthful while the rest dripped down his coveralls as he laughed and coughed at the same time. He wiped his face and grinned. Politicians. It was the same all over the galaxy, on Union or non-Union worlds.

  Ligtarny turned one of his eyes to each of his friends. It was getting good. When they started calling each other names before telling a story, he knew it would be an interesting night. He glanced around to ensure his employees were doing fine. His bartender was pouring a drink, the waitress was busy taking an order, and security was seated in the corner with a bored expression, so he turned back to his friends.

  “Fine,” Waldon said, raising his hands, palms out. One of them was a mechanical hand, the metal completely exposed below the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt. It was an older model, but it had been expensive when it was built.

  He said, “If I make a story up, I’ll let you know. I’m telling you, though, this one is true. I knew them boys.”

  Still seeing disbelief on the Jivool’s face, Waldon explained, “Not the Peacemakers. Lord knows I don’t care for revenuers. I knew them two Pushtal.”

  “Politician,” Pullnerth said. He crossed his arms, daring Waldon to deny it.

  “Ok,” Waldon said, throwing his hands up in resignation. “I knew the man who raised them. I didn’t really know the Pushtal. They were knee high when I left the Aspara System.”

  “Half-lies,” decided Pullnerth. “You’re still a politician, only now you’re one that keeps getting re-elected.”

  “Well, thank you for that,” Waldon said, “I think.” He drained his mug, grabbed the pitcher with his shiny hand, and refilled it. “Now do you want to hear the story or not?”

  Ligtarny’s tongue came out, looped up, wiped one of his eyes, and disappeared back into his mouth. “I do,” he said. He leaned forward and nodded quickly several times, his excitement obvious.

  Waldon shuddered. “Blah! Why do you do that?” he asked the Naylorn.

  “I must,” Ligtarny answered. “I cannot clean my eye with a digit. The pad will stick to it and irritate the eye.” He smiled, his toothless mouth stretching across the width of his face, and shrugged.

  “Tell us this half-lie,” Pullnerth said, “you tooth-pulling, legal-speaking, career politician.”

  Waldon held his beer up in salute and said, “You’re lucky we’re friends, Pully, or I’d give you the ol’ one-two.”

  He took a long drink, set his mug down, and wiped his mouth one last time. Staring off in the distance with the memories coming back to him, he began to speak.

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  Pete’s Dive Bar

  Town, Parmick

  “They called him Pops,” Waldon said. “Pops McCoy. It wasn’t his real name. His real name was Milton Gene McCoy. Of course, if you called him that, you better be ready to fight. Only his family back home on Earth, in the north Georgia mountains, called him that.”

  Ligtarny asked, “He didn’t wish to be called by his given name? Why?”

  “He never said,” Waldon answered, “and I never asked. Besides, when I first met him, he was already in his late sixties. ‘Pops’ fit him.”

  “Isn’t that an advanced Human age to be mining in a place like the Aspara system?” Pullnerth asked.

  “Yeah,” Waldon said. He took a sip. “It was, but Pops didn’t act like it. I swear he was the toughest man I ever met. Maybe it was the treatment he got so he could pilot a CASPer. I don’t know. If he did get the treatment, it was way back when. Probably not as refined as what they get these days.”

  “Those war machines made the difference here on Parmick,” Pullnerth explained to the bar owner. “Without them, you wouldn’t own Pete’s Dive Bar.”

  Ligtarny nodded, raised his mug, and said, “Then let us drink to the CASPers and those who operate them.”

  The three of them raised their mugs. Several of those sitting around them raised theirs as well. The waitresses who worked in the establishment under the previous owner were out of work mercenaries. They owned and piloted the mechs and aided the Peacemakers in ridding the colony of Barlung and his mining operation. Now it was run by a Caroon corporation after a series of explosions deep in the mine during the revolt revealed a new vein of red diamonds. The miners received fair wages and a much better working environment under the new owners.

  “Ok,” Waldon said. “No more questions, you’re throwing me off. Where was I? Oh, yeah. See, what had happened was….”

  * * *

  Asteroid Ring

  Kanora Moon

  Aspara System

  Waldon Baines reached for the piece of pipe floating near his head. He slid it on the end of the wrench and slipped his feet into the straps he’d just screwed to the cutter. Using his legs and the extra length of the bar for more leverage, he managed to finally loosen the last bolt on the outer housing. Once he had it out, he’d be able to replace the power amplifier and get it working again.

  “You gonna fix that thang or what?” Pops asked. He had a hand on a strap in the hold, watching. “We need to get it back out there on that rock. They’s bound to be a vein or two of the good stuff on it.”

  “I’m trying,” Waldon said as he moved the housing. “It would be a lot easier to fix if we went back to the planet. Working in micro-gravity isn’t easy, you know, especially when my power wrench is broken.”

  “Aw, hell,” Pops dismissed with a wave of his free hand. “If’n I was your age, I’da done had it fixed.”

  “Nope,” Waldon said, “you wouldn’t. If you were my age, you would still be in a merc unit somewhere. Or with the Galactic Haulers.”

  “Same thing,” Pops murmured.

  “Wassat?” Waldon asked from deep inside the cutter.

  “Nuthin’,” Pops said. “Get that other’n connected so we can get it back out there. We’re taking a chance as it is. Dang pirates out here stealing folks’ loads. Two weeks ago, over near Nylin Moon, ol’ Stinky got plum robbed. They emptied his hold while him and his partner were down on the surface.”

  Waldon stuck his head up out of the compartment and said, “Stinky probably left his hold open. You know he doesn’t bother closing it when leaves in that mini shuttle.”

  Pops ran a hand through his thinning flat top haircut. “Yeah, you’re probably right. He don’t close it ‘cause he might get locked out again. Damn fool.”

  “Your ship is in a little better shape than his,” Waldon said. “I doubt whoever’s sneaking around would try it with the Naydeen.”

  “Someone tries to rob me,” Pops said, “and they’s a dead sumbitch.”

  “I hear ya,” Waldon agreed.

  He kind of doubted it, though. Pops was an old man. There was no other way to say it. Waldon had known him for several years, and Pops was every bit of seventy. He still worked out on the exercise equipment in the spare berth, and got around like he was much younger most days, but the years were there.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Kanora Moon

  Aspara System

  Pops adjusted the angle of the cutter and stepped back softly. He made sure not to move too far from the machine as it cut into the cliff wall. His tether to the shuttle had several more yards of cable, but it was best to be sure. The small moon he and Waldon were mining had some gravity, enough to hold him down.

  As a precaution, he’d fired two anchors into the soil from the belly of the shuttle when he’d landed. If he needed to get off the surface quickly, he could blow the restraining bolts on them. He hoped he never needed to. They weren’t cheap.

  If this new location gave up more of the moon’s gold like the last, it would be time to start thinking about upgrading his equipment. The cutter was an old, outdated machine, along with the shuttle he used to bring it down from his ship, Naydeen. The Caroon mining exploration ship was solid, but she was old, too. Half the surface scanning gear didn’t work anymore. A lot of what he did was now guesswork. Like this locati
on.

  Pops checked his environmental status. The readouts appeared on the inside of his helmet and still allowed him a clear view through the front. He had several hours before he would need to swap out his oxygen scrubber and another day of power left. The rest of his equipment may have been old, but the suit he owned to work where there was no atmosphere was not. He’d used most of the profits from his last strike to purchase it. There were several companies across the galaxy with suits designed for Humans, as well as many other races. They weren’t cheap, but they were better than most brands made on Earth.

  Pops heard the static and crackle that usually meant a call coming from Waldon. It happened twice more with no call following. Deciding Waldon was probably working on the communication gear or the settings, Pops forgot about them and eased over to check the cutter’s progress.

  * * *

  Naydeen

  Waldon yawned and checked the fuel status. It was good, and the F11 tanks on Naydeen were half full, so there was no need to worry. Pops would be back in a day or so. The shuttle had several spare oxygen scrubbers for his suit and the ability to recharge its power cell. He was bored. He drained the last of his pouchful of protein shake and settled back in the seat.

  He considered working on his power wrench. It would occupy him for most of the day. For the last couple of years he’d worked with Pops as his general mechanic and only crew member. It wasn’t a bad gig. Every now and then when they made a good haul of precious metals, he got a bonus in addition to his pay. He had a few credits saved now, and all his debts were paid off. He could deal with the boredom if it meant finally getting ahead.