The Expanding Universe 4: Space Adventure, Alien Contact, & Military Science Fiction (Science Fiction Anthology)

by Craig Martelle

  The Expanding Universe

  Volume 4

  An Exploration of the Science Fiction Genre

  20 Science Fiction Stories by

  Bestselling & Debut Authors

  Compiled & Edited by Craig Martelle

  Table of Contents

  Foreword: by Craig Martelle

  Information War

  Checkmate

  Breaker

  Endpoint

  Unexpected Bounty

  Messenger

  Duty

  The Burden of Honor

  The Spike

  Lights Out

  Darkened Skies

  Skin Suits

  Daughters of Ayor

  One Last Battle

  Tuesday

  Mothers

  Alaska’s Vengeance

  Sycorax

  Warp Three

  A Little Surprise

  Foreword: by Craig Martelle

  I love science fiction.

  Sci-Fi is where we visit when we let our minds wander. I’d like to think that science fiction authors see where the world is headed and help us to realize those predictions.

  Jules Verne set the standard with forecasting what was possible. Most of his visions are now reality. Even Star Trek showed us things that today, we can take for granted – the datapad for example, and hand-held scanners. These are all great things, made possible through scientific advancements. Science will always continue until we understand the nature of the universe and in humanity’s way, seek to impose our will upon it.

  I doubt that will work out well for us. We’ve had much better luck when learning to live in harmony with what nature provides. Maybe a little more Thich Nhat Hanh added to our Stephen Hawking.

  What will you find in this edition of The Expanding Universe? A few newer authors who are starting to make their mark in addition to plenty of established authors who want to get a shorter piece out there for award consideration. We boast another offering from Jonathan Brazee who is both a Nebula and Dragon Award finalist. As a matter of fact, we have a two-time Hugo finalist (David VanDyke), two-time Dragon finalist (R.R. Virdi), and more. I’m sorry that I don’t keep better track, but the award nominations only reflect on the quality of the authors, it is still up to each reader to make their own determination of what they like.

  We each have our own style and own story to tell. I think you’ll like what you see in these pages. So many great stories, some dark, some light, but all with a message.

  Let’s fight the good fight together. Join me among the stars.

  - Craig Martelle

  Information War

  By Craig Martelle

  The first casualty, when war comes, is the truth.

  - Hiram Warren Johnson

  “Did you see that? They killed every man, woman, and child! They have to die!” With each word, foam flew from the old man’s mouth toward the video screen mounted over the bar. He was furious. His face twitched from his rage. He perched above his barstool.

  “Where did that happen?” the young man wondered aloud. “Did anyone actually see the dead?”

  “Does it matter?” The old man turned on him, waving a skeletal fist in his face.

  “I think so, but what do I know,” the young man replied, recoiling from the old man’s anger, his press pass concealed in his pocket. Kenny Freeman considered himself a researcher first and a journalist second. He thought that made him a scientist, because he loved the data. He put a hand in one pocket as he tried to assume a casual pose. The old man continued to vibrate, shaking his fist at anything and everything.

  The hard part of the reporter’s job was determining the facts. Maybe that was the impossible part of his job.

  “Maybe we can get some more information before we draw a conclusion.” He pointed to the president’s latest scrip, a short text message sent on all communication media. ‘Bugs attack outpost, but the Space Force is out there, protecting you.’

  “What does that mean? You calling me an idiot?” the old man accused. His fist continued to shake as if a living monument to anger.

  “Relax, old timer. If I’m going to write an article about this, I want to interview the families of the fallen, post names and pictures of the children. Remember the children!” Kenny assumed people would always respond positively to calls to protect the children.

  “They were all killed!” the old man snarled as he leaned forward, his fist raised like a mallet. For a second time, Kenny jumped back in fear of getting attacked.

  The reporter decided to extricate himself from the no-win situation. “You are most likely correct, and we should probably just kill all the bugs and be done with it. Thank you for your time, good sir, and you have a great day!”

  He smiled and waved at the old man, who finally stuffed his fist into a pants pocket. His face twisted into a scowl before he harrumphed his displeasure.

  The reporter hurried away. He had stumbled on the scoop of the century but couldn’t publish it. He was in the bar to watch the people’s response to various new reports. He had all the information he needed, but his scoop was about the news. His piece could warp the entirety of reality.

  But whose reality? A dark cloud hung over his thoughts, slowing his pace. There was no reason to hurry, because the story had already been written.

  ***

  “There has never been a time like the one in which we now live. We must act if humanity is to survive. I call on all of you to tighten your belts as we respond with a force that will guarantee our place as the dominant species in the universe.” The president’s executive gray seemed more pronounced as he stared from the screen at every person watching. “It’s now or never. Peace, my fellow humans. Peace through strength.”

  The screen went dark for a moment before a list scrolled by of items to be dropped off at neighborhood collection points. Silence followed as the men and women in the hotel lobby watched. It was all voluntary, until it wasn’t.

  Text scrolled across the screen. President Bjornskaal scrips to universe: ‘No bugs near Sol. We’re coming for you!’

  “I have some titanium drill bits I won’t be needin’,” an old man exclaimed before trundling out. The others remained in the hotel lobby, drinking and looking angry.

  People gathered where there were other people. Ever since the alien invasion began, humanity sought solace in the company of their own.

  “I hope the bugs can read the scrips. I’m not a fan of leading the universe with a scrip, but damn straight! No bugs!” a woman grumbled and gave the finger to the screen showing a grainy picture of an alien spaceship. “Sit and spin, creeps.”

  “No bugs! No bugs!” the group started the chant.

  The reporter watched the crowd. He took out his notebook and jotted down a few words. He documented the scrolling scrip and the time. He closed his notebook, wrapped the band around it to hold it closed, and slid the pen into his shirt pocket, all the time watching the crowd. He slipped out unnoticed as the next news item appeared on screen. Murder!

  “We got bugs to kill! Can’t be killing each other...” a voice grumbled into a diatribe of vitriol about people’s stupidity. The reporter walked out the front entrance without anyone noticing.

  ***

  The newsroom always had a low din, like a foundry running, but there were no big machines, only people and their terminals, always talking, sometime
s just to themselves. The young man bowed his head as he walked between desks and cubicles on his way to his. A plate stuck on the outside of a half-height panel verified the extent of his domain. It said Kenny Freeman.

  The reporter dumped his bag on the floor and sat at his terminal. He swiped a finger over the reader to log in. The screen came to life and wondered what Kenny was going to do next, the blinking cursor begging him to take action.

  He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, but shook his head at his own folly. Of course they were watching, but from inside the system. Every key he stroked would show up somewhere if the words weren’t what they wanted. He tapped out a quick release condemning the bugs and the invasion, while extolling the virtues of the Space Force.

  It’s true enough, he thought. The aliens are in our system, and the Space Force is out there.

  A small commotion from the far end of the floor made him peek over the cube wall. All the screens had been turned to a competitor’s channel. He hurried to join his co-workers.

  “What’s going on?” Kenny wondered.

  “That knucklehead from The Post has some Space Force guy on, live from the outpost on the moon of Io. You have to get a load of this. I feel sorry for him. He must have space sickness or PTSD or something.”

  Someone shushed the people in the back while another turned up the volume.

  “Let me get this straight,” the reporter was saying, looking purposefully at the camera before turning back to the young man. “You’re saying there aren’t any aliens?”

  “No. We saw the ship and knew it wasn’t one of ours, but they turned away and assumed a high orbit. We sent a drone up, but that got shot down.”

  “So you’re under attack.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “It sounded to me like you did,” the reporter pressed.

  “We aren’t even on alert. The station is conducting business as usual.”

  “What about the women and children who were killed in the sneak attack?”

  “What women and children?” The view of the Spacer faded to be replaced by the reporter in his studio. He woefully shook his head, sadness gripping his expression. “I feel so sorry for that young man. The scars run to his very soul. What will his world look like when he finally comes to grips with this intergalactic tragedy unfolding before his very eyes? Stay tuned for a message from our sponsors.”

  “That poor man,” a young woman lamented.

  “The bugs are coming,” a chubby man growled.

  Their faces showed the appropriate balance of concern and anger. Kenny couldn’t tell if it was an act. He looked concerned, too, but by the first casualty of war.

  ***

  The alert scrolled across Kenny’s screen. The President sends new scrip! The reporter waited, expecting the scrip to appear, but it didn’t. He shrugged and continued his report to run in the evening edition.

  He typed quickly. “The world’s citizens are uniting against a common enemy. Across the dark of space, we stare down these unwelcome visitors. Outposts are easy fodder for the alien bile. Listen up, alien scum! The people of Earth are ready for you!” He re-read it. It was supposed to be news, but it said what they wanted to hear, to bolster their courage in the face of the unknown. He should have included the budget projections or accusations of self-dealing within the government, but that would enrage the editors and get him fired.

  All because the narrative had been set by the first report of the alien spacecraft’s arrival.

  He put his notebook in his lap and started to furiously scribble. He needed to get it down, tell the tale, for posterity’s sake, if nothing else. Maybe he could tell his children that he saw the truth. But like the Earthers in his so-called news report, his bravado in staring down the enemy was also fabricated.

  Maybe it wasn’t, and if the aliens came to Earth, the people would stand together against them. He looked at his notes, crossed out a word or two, and rephrased another sentence. It sounded good, in his mind, but the only judge of his researching and reporting skills was the editors.

  Not him and definitely not the readers or viewers. Kenny tried not to think too hard about that.

  ***

  Kenny lay on his bunk in the small apartment. At least he didn’t have to share. He was senior enough to get a place to himself. He was alone, but not lonely. He wondered if the apartment was bugged but discounted it. Who had those kinds of resources?

  The team player in him wanted to discount the conspiracy theory, too. The human wanted to believe that humanity would persevere in an epic battle with alien invaders. The reporter in him noted the discrepancies and lack of real facts. The realist in him suggested others had to know, because he was hardly the smartest guy in the room.

  A text scrolled across the bottom of his screen. Space Force strikes at the heart of the enemy, perseveres despite catastrophic losses. President to address congress tomorrow.

  ***

  “Mister President,” Defense Secretary Ted Stonebeck acknowledged. “Can we get another hundred billion?”

  The president looked sideways at the former admiral. “Is that all?”

  “We can make do, but if you can get us more, it would be greatly appreciated.”

  The president turned to his Budget Secretary. “What do you think? Can we push the alien angle a little bit further?”

  Before she could answer, Press Secretary Nolan Boyd interrupted. “We have to take care with our words. We should avoid quips like, ‘alien angle.’” The former football player smiled pleasantly as he looked down his nose at those present. President Bjornskaal turned away, his lip curling in disgust.

  “A hundred billion?” Stonebeck reiterated.

  The president and Budget Secretary both turned to Press Secretary Boyd. “It isn’t going to happen overnight.”

  The president rolled his finger in impatience. He never understood the Press Secretary’s penchant for drama.

  “You need to say something outrageous.” Boyd tried to gauge the group’s response. The secretaries covered their mouths and politely coughed to hide their snickers.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” the president said, without skipping a beat. He hammered a fist into his hand. “Mars! I’ll tell them that I’m launching a complete embargo on Mars. We’ll get our red rocks elsewhere! We need concessions. These one-sided deals have gone on for far too long.”

  “But there’s nothing wrong with the trade deals with Mars,” the Budget Secretary suggested. “And there is no other place to get red rocks like that.”

  “You know that and I know that, but they don’t know that.” The president pointed toward the city, where millions of Earth’s recovering population called home.

  “They’ll want to know about the aliens,” the Press Secretary said.

  “Collusion!” The president howled. “Mars may have signed a secret pact, pushing the rest of humanity away. We can’t have that, now can we?”

  “Of course not, Mister President,” the Press Secretary fawned.

  “A hundred billion?” Stonebeck, a former admiral and the current Defense Secretary, hoped.

  “Yes, yes. Plan on it. We’ll have them digging into their own pockets to support the war effort.”

  The Budget Secretary snickered, followed by the other two secretaries. The president laughed out loud. “Well, maybe they won’t go that far.”

  ***

  “How did you get a seat in here?” a senior reporter from the Gazette asked. Kenny shrugged, shook his head, and looked over the balcony rail. The politicians on the floor below worked each other, angling for influence. A riot of sound ensured that no one could hear, but they kept talking anyway. It took a while to get them under control and seated as if everyone wanted to be the last one standing.

  The one with the final word left a lasting impression. At least that was what they thought. It was a politician’s power rule and made debates more theater than substance. Deliver that last snipe afte
r the bell has rung. Listen to the response from the audience. Internally cheer your victory.

  Kenny watched it play out. The speaker banged his gavel repeatedly and started his welcome speech for the president, thus denying the loud mouths their crescendo. He banged the gavel at the intransigents, stopping his speech to berate them until they sat down. The final word was his. You could see them tremble with rage, their moment stolen, or so they perceived.

  The speaker finished his introduction and after the appropriate delay to make sure that everyone knew their time was less important, the president appeared and strolled down the aisle as if he’d just won the Oscar for Best President. He slapped hands and smiled, said a word or two to key supporters, ignored the detractors, and moved to his place before the assembly.

  “I won’t mince words or waste your time,” the president started, having already wasted thousands of manhours by demanding a public announcement before the assembly. “The world’s citizens are uniting against a common enemy. Across the dark of space, we stare down these unwelcome visitors. Outposts are easy fodder for the alien bile. Listen up, alien scum! The people of Earth are ready for you! I take these lines from the Times, and no truer words have ever been spoken. With the alien arrival, we’ve had to come to grips with the fact that we are not alone. With their attack on our outposts farther out in the solar system, we find ourselves in a position where we can’t happily greet them, but have to meet them at the end of our pulse and ballistic weapons.”

  The crowd roared and shook fists, not at the president but at the threat to all of humanity. Kenny sat up straight when he heard his words repeated as gospel and a rallying cry for all of humanity. His jaw fell. The shock slammed into him like an ice cold tidal wave. He clutched his notebook to him. The truth would be buried even deeper now.

  What if the president wasn’t wrong? Kenny’s face contorted through a series of emotions as he struggled to find solid ground on which to hold himself steady.

  “What’s wrong with you?” the older reporter asked.