by David Winnie
The last pickup was Polly Preston, age six. Her golden hair would be arranged in ringlets and she wore a blue dress. “Good morning, Miss Polly,” Creech told her.
“Good morning, Mister Creech,” she replied. She held up the tiny bundle. “Mama says she hopes you enjoy the egg/ bacon biscuit this morning.”
“Thank your momma for me, Miss Polly,” he told her. It was the same every Sunday. Missus Preston made a fine egg/bacon biscuit and gave it to Polly for the bus driver who took her to Sunday school.
He started for the church as the children began his favorite song. “Shall we gather at the river? The beautiful, beautiful river...” when the black ship roared low over the bus, the shock wave shaking them like a rabbit in a hound dog’s mouth. He slammed the brakes until the bus stopped shaking. Screams and crying filled the bus interior, non-stop from the terrified children. Wendy stood and raised her hands. “Listen everyone, listen!” she called. “We’re fine! Jesus is watching over us. Come on now, join with me.” She began to sing in her pure, sweet voice, “Jesus loves the little children…”
There was still sniffing and a few still crying, but tiny voices joined Wendy in singing the comforting tune. Little Polly, afraid of nearly nothing, had wandered to the back of the bus and stared out the back window. “Mister Creech?” her voice warbled, “it’s coming back.”
The Bougartd raider leveled, its guns sighted on the bus. Creech had thrown the bus back in gear and dirt sprayed from the tires and he desperately sawed the wheel back and forth, praying he would make the bus a difficult target.
The first half dozen rounds exploded behind the doomed bus. The seventh round immolated little Polly Preston, the next round entered the hydrogen fuel cell of the bus, igniting the volatile gas. The bus erupted in blue fire, scattering the its debris and its occupants in a quarter mile circle in the fields.
The raider circled once more, then went hunting for more targets.
“Grandfather! Grandfather, wake up!” Janus’ voice was as irritating as it was frantic.
Angkor opened an eye. “Go away,” he hissed. “I am sleeping.”
“Grandfather! Wake up!”
Janus had raised his voice to the Khan. It must be important.
Angkor opened both eyes and struggled to sit up. “All right, all right,” he grumbled. “What is so important you have to wake an old man who is just trying to sleep?”
“Grandfather, you are needed in Command,” Janus lowered his voice to a respectable tone. “We are under attack.”
The old Khan’s eyes snapped open. “Help me,” he commanded. A pair of servants appeared and dressed the ancient and fretting monarch. A soldier stood at attention behind Angkor’s hover chair. While it was two hundred yards to the Command Center, at one hundred and twenty years old, Angkor was unable to walk the distance. “Hurry! Hurry!” urged Angkor, pounding a bony fist on the arm of his chair.
“ATTENTION!” came the cry as he entered the palace’s headquarters for planetary defense. It was not a large room. The real command center was thousands of miles away, buried deep beneath a mountain in the Alps. But from here, the Khan was given real time updates and could direct the defense of Terra.
The holograph table dominated the center of the room; it had Terra displayed, hundreds of red arrows darted and danced across its face. “My Khan,” reported General Gebyu, “we are tracking three hundred of their ships across the globe at this moment. They are lightly armed, mostly chemical explosives and pulse energy weapons. Their attacks are random, hitting mostly civilian targets. As you see, we have launched fighters and are engaging them.”
“Who are they?” demanded the Khan. “How did they manage to enter the atmosphere without our planetary defenses stopping them? Where is my fleet? I do still have a fleet, don’t I?”
“They came out of other space between Luna and Terra,” the General said. “Marvelous bit of navigation. It gave us only moments to react. I have recalled the fleet; the lead elements will be here within the hour. Our planetary based fighters are doing quite well. The raiders are larger ships and don’t maneuver as well as ours. Really, my Khan, I believe the threat is negligible.”
“Tell that to my dead subjects,” grumbled the old man.
“Highness, there is an incoming message,” a fresh-faced officer called from an alcove. “She insists on speaking with you.”
“Main holo,” directed General Gebyu.
The image of Terra wavered to be replaced with a ten-foot-high image of a Hecht. Her head turned to and fro, then settled on the Emperor.
Angkor’s eyes narrowed. “Grrrscnk,” he hissed.
“You honor me, monkey,” the Hecht said. “Grrrscnk was my mother. I am Grrrscnt, Premier of the Hecht Homogeny. Are you the monkey she called Angkor Khan, Leader of the monkeys of Terra?”
“I am Emperor Angkor Khan of the Terran Empire,” he announced, stiffening his body to attention as he faced the creature. “What is the meaning of all this?”
“Mother warned me of your arrogance,” Grrrscnt said. “She said it was her own fault for spending all those years on Terra playing with her food. No matter, monkey. The meaning of all this should be quite plain. The Galactic Council is still quite put out by your little Empire. You have managed to beat the Solarians and the Vinithri. So, now it falls to the Hecht to put you in your place.
“The ships attacking you are the Bougartd. Nasty creatures; don’t taste good at all. But they are quite compliant and do the job they are contracted to do. And, to your dismay I am sure, they are loyal members of the Council. So, I have hired them to destroy your defenses so the Hecht can take possession of a new feed herd.”
She leaned closer to the image. “I am sorry to see you have grown so old, monkey Angkor Khan,” she ridiculed. “Mother often spoke of eating you. I was going to make you part of my victory celebration, but it seems you have grown old and gamey. No matter, I hear there are plenty of suckling Terrans for me.
“Now, we are going to start the next phase of the invasion. I will give you this one chance to surrender. What say you, monkey?”
The Khan struggled to his feet. “Never,” he croaked. “You may bomb us to dust, but we will never surrender to the likes of you.”
“No, not to dust,” responded the Hecht. “Your cities, yes. But my plan will leave plenty of you to feed our new colony. Goodbye, monkey.” The holo dissipated abruptly.
“Proximity alarm!” a cry came from the back of the room. “Two, no three large ships emerging near Mars.” Then, after a long pause: “Dear gods, Hecht dreadnaughts.”
“Launch everything!” the Khan ordered. “Alert the weapons platforms. Call the fleet, tell them to hurry!”
Satellite data appeared on the holo. The Hecht dreadnaughts were uneven lumps with random appendages intended for terrible usage. Terra’s defensive satellites launched hundreds of missiles. Hecht counter fire destroyed most of them, but the remaining dozens hit the dreadnaughts repeatedly. Scattered fires erupted on all three of the Hecht ships, but the massive war machines maintained their single-minded course straight at the heart of the Terran Empire. They split up when they reached Terra, each entering a looping orbit. Terran fighters and cutters raked fire down the sides of the odious vessels.
“Launch alert!” cried a voice.
A canister released from the ship over Pan Asia. It entered the atmosphere nearly vertical. “Tracking sir. Tracking,” They all waited until the voice called, “Target is Zurich. The device is…antimatter, sir.”
“More launches.” They stared at the screen as the dreadnaughts released more canisters across the globe. Seconds later, the list began: “Denver, Moscow, Johannesburg, San Paulo, Seattle…”
Angkor clutched right arm with his left and let out a gasp of pain.
“Orders!” came a cry. “We need orders!”
“Grandfather?” Janus dropped to a knee beside Angkor, “Grandfather, what are your orders?”
“Proximity alarm! Luna orbit!”
A terrified officer shouted. “It’s the fleet!”
The holo image changed. The unnerving look of space unfolding revealed five mighty Space Fold sleds. Each carried four destroyers, which peeled away as they entered real space and flung themselves at the Hecht dreadnaughts. Missiles launched by the destroyers struck the ponderous vessels, followed closely by twenty smaller, more agile warships. The dreadnaughts returned fire, destroying Punch and Bullyboy, but it was clear they were being overwhelmed.
“Proximity alarm! LaGrange Point!” The holo shifted again. A pair of spindly Vinithri cruisers appeared.
“Grandfather, it’s the fleet. What are your orders?” Janus shook the Emperor, then gasped.
The left side of Angkor’s sagged, his jaw fell open and a stream of drool fell messily onto his uniform. The Khan couldn’t hold his head up. A dark red drop trickled from his ear. He moved his mouth, but unintelligible noises were all he could form. Angkor groaned in pain and frustration.
“I need a med team to Command, immediately!” Janus snapped. “General, contact the Vinithri, now! All fighters are to switch vectors to the anti-matter bombs. Tell the destroyers to press their attacks. We have to drive off those dreadnaughts before they drop any more weapons.”
“Sir, I have the Vinithri,” a call came.
The image of the dreadnaughts shifted to an imposing Vinithri. “I am Third daughter of the Vinithri, ally of the Terran Empire. Whom am I addressing?”
“I am Crown Prince Janus Khan of the Terran Empire,” answered Janus. “I greet my ally, Third Daughter, and welcome your fleet. There are anti-matter weapons that have been released by the enemy that are threatening our cities. Can you intercept them?”
The Vinithri spoke with her crew. “Not all,” she reported, “but enough, I should hope. We honor our agreement with the Terran Khan.” She exposed the black neural ganglion between her head and thorax.
The holo shifted back to the Hecht dreadnaughts. All of them were burning now, as the slender Terran destroyers, less than a tenth the size of the Hecht ships, danced and darted, firing their weapons from close range and zipping away to prepare for another run.
A brace of Hecht fire caught the destroyer Grappler and it exploded. A second destroyer, the Ju-Jitsu, had its starboard engine nacelle shot away. It spun in a nauseating gyration before exploding. The Muay Thai staggered from a glancing blow. It arced away from the battle, burning, then turned back toward the enemy, wavering not once as it rammed the lead dreadnaught.
The massive ship shuddered, fire erupting through the grey hull. It pulled out of orbit, shuddering once more before bursting into a ginger and hoary blossom of fire. The remaining dreadnaughts began a ponderous climb out of orbit. The Samurai exploded, its fragments shredding the second dreadnaught. Its sub-light engines faded and it glided past Luna. As the Terran ships tore at the crippled enemy, escape pods began to pop from the dying ship.
“I want prisoners,” Janus ordered.
There was a flash, high above the northern pole. “The Vinithri have intercepted one of the bombs, my Lord,” came the report. “They locked an energy grapple to it and sent it over the pole where it exploded. They are engaging the remaining weapons.” Two more flashes bounced on the holo before a Major stood and announced, “Sire, the weapon targeting Zurich is about to strike.”
“Visual,” ordered General Gebyu.
It was late in Zurich; street lights outlined the condemned city. The ageless capital of the Empire was awash with light, the spires of the cathedral highlighting the old city. Around the lake, the orderly streets and building of modern Zurich gleamed in the dark. Small vessels crisscrossed the placid surface of the unseen lake. The satellite shifted, showing a glowing object falling toward the city. At ten thousand feet above the city, the object opened. A dark spot appeared that began to swell, turning grey, then silver and becoming a brilliant chrome sphere five thousand feet in diameter, where the perfect ratio of one to one annihilation was achieved. The atmospheric gasses that had been consumed by the antimatter created a vacuum, growing only until the last of the matter/antimatter annihilation was complete. The atmosphere and energy released was drawn back into the vacuum and compressed. When it reached critical mass, it exploded.
The shock wave struck the city as a hammer to a fragile Christmas ball. At the center, the buildings were compressed, the earth compacted a hundred feet deep. The crater was three miles in diameter, the shock wave roaring away from the crater, uprooting the countryside for fifty miles.
The only sounds from the dead city were the hot, swirling winds that carried away the silent screams of thirty million lost souls.
The command center at the Keep was equally silent, watching the city die. An alarm sounded. “Moscow,” came a muted call.
They watched as the ancient city on the Volga died.
The alarm sounded the third time. “Silence that damned thing!” snarled Crown Prince Janus. “What is the status of the battle?”
Seconds later the Hecht dreadnaught reappeared. It was past Mars, accelerating away as Terran destroyers continued their attack. There were only four destroyers visible; the rest had been crippled or destroyed.
Space in front of the Hecht ship began to distort. “They are trying to enter otherspace,” General Gebyu announced. “I want them stopped!”
The destroyers pressed their attack. The Fisticuffs raced in front of the dreadnaught and contacted the edge of the face fold. The great destroyer distorted, was dragged into otherspace and exploded. But the fold collapsed, preventing the Hecht escape. The three remaining ships’ attack became more frantic.
The Hecht ship slowed. Escape pods began erupting. Before command could say anything, the destroyers began firing.
No prisoners would be taken from the third Hecht ship.
There was no cheering. The bomb fell over Cairo. The Vinithri ships grabbed wildly at the remaining weapons while the Terran fighters fired at the falling pods. A cutter rammed one, trying to alter its course. Instead, the bomb opened, consuming that ship and another dozen more.
Delhi and Seattle died under the chromium spheres...
Medics had arrived, manipulating the Khan’s hover chair into a gurney. Strange noises came from the Khan as they frantically cut away his uniform, shoving needles into his arms and a breather over his face.
Angkor grabbed at Janus. The Crown Prince took his grandfather’s hand and held it tightly. The Khan had aged in the hours of the attack, his skin ashen and grey. Only the hand clutching Janus’ showed any life, shaking slightly. The rest of Grandfather was flaccid, limp.
But his eyes glared at Janus. He moved his jaw, “H-h-h-h?”
“How many Grandfather?” Angkor nodded. “We destroyed one dreadnaught,” he answered. “The other two are ours.”
“Nnnnnnn…” the old man shook his head, “S-s-s-s-t-t-t.”
“Cities, Grandfather?”
Angkor nodded.
“Five, Grandfather,” Janus said. “Zurich, Moscow, Cairo, Seattle…and Delhi.”
“D-d-d-deaaaah,” gasped the old man. His eyes clouded with tears.
“Crown Prince, we need to move him to the clinic.” The medical was gentle, but firm.
“Of course.” The Emperor had released Janus’ hand. The medics moved the gurney swiftly out of the room. Janus gripped the doctor and demanded, “What happened to my Grandfather?”
“Simplest terms?” the doctor asked. “The Emperor had a stroke. A severe hemorrhagic if early indications are correct. Not surprising, given his age and the stress of his job.” He pried the Crown Prince’s hand from his arm. “Now, please excuse me. I have to go tend to my patient.”
Chapter 34
The Emperor was dying.
They moved him back to his suite and placed him in his bed. Servants bathed him and dressed him in his favorite nightclothes. He indicated he wanted his wife and now cradled Sophia’s urn in his arms.
The doctors placed him on a ventilator immediately. The st
roke had damaged his ability to speak, so he was fitted with a voder. After three days, the feeding tube was inserted. Only his grandchildren and the very highest officials were allowed to visit, but for only a short time. The Khan, it was explained, needed his rest.
Janus visited twice a day. Grandfather was fading in and out; he would hold his grandfather’s hand so Angkor would know he was there. He told Grandfather stories of growing up in the Keep and of his time in the Temple. The Khan would smile, listening to his grandson’s recollection of so many adventures he himself had experienced. When the Khan was lucid, Janus discussed affairs of state.
The dead were estimated conservatively at one billion. The majority came from the cities and the surrounding areas.
Seattle, built on the Puget Sound, had become a five mile, circular bay. The tsunami resulting from the compression had scoured region from the Willamette Valley to Kimat in the far north. All the governments of Occident were pledging and racing support to the devastated community. Likewise, Persia and Europa raced battalions and brigades to Cairo and Zurich to salvage the ruined cities.
The Volga River had looped through Moscow on its way to the sea. Even in the modern era of mag-lev trains and heavy lift dirigibles, the Volga had historically transported goods through much of the Russian interior, much like the Mississippi River in Occident. With Moscow now a vast crater, the Volga began to create a lake, while downstream of Moscow the river bed was fast becoming a winding dry chasm. This would not do for the hearty citizens of the Russian Federation. They had already seen too much death and calamitous devastation of their cities throughout their history.
The Russian premier stood on the lip of the slowly filling hole. He shook his fist (with a convenient holo cam there to capture it, of course) and vowed with an iron voice that Moscow would be rebuilt, better than before. Even if it took a thousand years. Already, heavy construction equipment was building a dike to restore the flow of the Volga.
