Gate Crashers

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  After fruitlessly trying to shout over the rain in Allison’s direction, Harris switched to his implanted com. Captain Ridgeway, can you hear me?

  I can, Lieutenant. Although I must admit, this is going to take some adjustment.

  You get used to it pretty quick, Felix said. It’s not that different from wearing a headset.

  Maybe, but you can cover the mic on a headset, Felix.

  Is your team ready, ma’am? Harris said. Allison nodded her affirmation. Good. How do you want to proceed?

  I’ll leave that to you, Lieutenant. Just get my team into the city safely and we’ll take it from there.

  Assuming the city is safe …

  * * *

  “I have them, Vel,” said the sensor interpreter. “They are orbiting the fourth planet.”

  “Kulla? Why? There’s nothing there but empty vacation homes and rotting resorts. All of the Chimanis’ cities and industry are on the third planet.”

  “You know this in your wisdom, Vel,” J’quol said, “but Chimani cities and infrastructure were almost exclusively underground, to preserve moisture against the desert. With just a cursory scan, the humans probably missed them.”

  Vel Noric growled in his thoughts, but said nothing. Yet again, J’quol had managed to make Noric look feeble of wit. Insulting a superior was tantamount to insubordination, the consequences of which on a Turemok vessel were … permanent. But the Hedfer-Vel managed never to say anything actionable. In plain fact, he’d publicly complimented Noric’s wisdom. At least that is what the record would show at any inquiry.

  He was growing insufferable. If only the Hedfer-Vel could be goaded into Pal’kuar. But under long tradition, the dominance challenge could only be issued from below. J’quol must have recognized he was too slight to pose a physical threat, despite his maneuverings.

  Still, if J’quol couldn’t be pushed into an open fight, there were other ways of dealing with him. Serving in space was a dangerous occupation. Accidents happened, and if the ship’s mechanic owed you a favor …

  “Vel?” asked the timid sensor interpreter. Kotal? Kelot? Whatever.

  “What?”

  “Your orders?”

  “I was contemplating them, before the interruption.”

  “Forgive me, Vel.”

  “Did the humans detect our high-space portal?”

  “I don’t believe so, Vel. They have taken no defensive action, and their view of our portal was obstructed by the star’s corona.”

  “Good. We have the benefit of their ignorance. Tactical, keep us sheathed, and move to intercept the human ships. Activate the main cannons and warm the screening portals. Hedfer-Vel, assemble four hands of shock troops and prepare them for boarding operations against both vessels, with orders to take the crews prisoner and throw them down below with their Lividite collaborator.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Vel, but I would be remiss if I did not remind you that the Magellan, as it was called by its Vel, saw through our sheath in our first encounter.”

  “That was a fluke, some fault in the sheath grid. It has been overhauled since then.”

  “That is our assumption, yes. I mention it only on the slim chance that they might still detect us.”

  “And what would you have us do, abandon the hunt?”

  “No, Vel. Simply avoid spooking our game until we are ready to strike. Open a portal on the far side of the planet, out of their sight. By the time our orbit brings us into their vision, they will be in range, helpless.”

  Noric picked at a scale on his forearm that hadn’t shed. He decided the root problem with J’quol was his mind was as strong as his body was scrawny. The Hedfer-Vel’s suggestion required exacting navigation, but it did cut off any possibility of escape for his prey.

  “Update, Vel?” Kotal looked at Noric expectantly.

  “Proceed.”

  “There are two residual trails of ionized gas in Kulla’s atmosphere, consistent with the landing craft we saw on Culpus-Alam.”

  The humans already had teams on the surface.

  “Can you see where they landed?”

  “I can, Vel.”

  “Excellent. We will wait until both ships and their surface team are on the same side. Then we will make the high-space jump to the opposite side. Hedfer-Vel, peel off one hand of shock troops and prepare them to go soil-side to retrieve the prisoners.”

  “If they resist?”

  “Then they will save Assembly taxpayers the cost of their imprisonment.”

  * * *

  Mercifully, the rain cleared as the teams approached the outskirts of the city. Felix sat on a rock and wrung out his left sock. “Man, I didn’t think clouds could hold that much water.”

  Harris marveled at the stream that poured out of Felix’s hands. “I didn’t think socks could hold that much water.”

  “Aren’t yours just as soaked?”

  Harris lifted his leg and wiggled his foot. “Reverse osmosis boots. Sweat goes out, rain stays out. I’m sure we can fit you with a pair.”

  “Just in time for that desert planet we’re going to next? Maybe later.”

  “Did you bring a towel?”

  “Thomas, if I brought a towel, wouldn’t I be using it on my feet?”

  “Maybe, if you were blind and not particularly bright.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, a man with sharp eyes would have noticed that Lieutenant Dorsett’s parka got ripped by a tree branch a kilometer back. And a bright man might give her a towel to dry her hair. But since you didn’t bring a towel…”

  “Give me your towel, Tom.”

  “Who says I have one?”

  “Give me your towel, please?”

  Harris unzipped his pack and retrieved a green-and-gray towel emblazoned with a Philadelphia Eagles logo. Felix trundled off in Jacqueline’s direction.

  Okay, Felix, just be cool. Cool as the dark side of home. He looked down at the towel. Wait, the Eagles don’t even play on the moon. She’s going to know this isn’t mine. Maybe she doesn’t follow football. Yeah, how could she? She’s been out here for sixty years. But that makes her, like, eighty-five or something. Okay, there she is. Calm down. Be suave. Wow, she looks good for an octogenarian. Tom was right—she’s soaked. Almost looks like she just stepped out of the shower. Shower … she’d be naked in the shower. No, don’t think about that.

  Um, Felix? It was Jacqueline’s voice. Felix froze solid as a rose dipped in liquid nitrogen.

  Yeah?

  Well, it’s just that your implanted com is on … Her cheeks flushed red, and one of the other techs started to laugh.

  Bile rose at the back of Felix’s throat. His tongue did its best to keep up with his brain, which was thinking mainly of escape. “Jackie. Towel, here. For your hair, which is wet. Bye!”

  Felix ran like a fox from the baying of hounds. Harris hadn’t moved.

  “Hey, buddy. How’d it go?”

  “I didn’t stroke out from embarrassment, so it could have been worse.”

  “That’s progress, I guess. Where’s my towel?”

  “The mission went south. I had to leave it behind.”

  “Felix, we never leave a man behind.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll wait until she’s asleep and launch a rescue mission.”

  “So your plan is to sneak into a woman’s tent in the middle of the night and rummage through her stuff? Yeah, that’s not creepy at all. You should be fine.” Harris shook his head.

  Allison slid up from behind them, facing Harris, but her eyes were fixed on the edge of the city. “I think most of us are as dry as we’re going to get, Lieutenant. How do you want to proceed?”

  “Well, we caught a break when the rain stopped. Our adaptive camo can’t keep up with the raindrops. I’d just ask that your team holds back here for a minute while I have a scouting unit sweep ahead of us.”

  “Be my guest, but from the look of the place, I don’t think we’re going to find
much resistance.”

  “There’s always the wildlife, ma’am.”

  “Like carnivorous flowers, Lieutenant?”

  From what they could see through the break in the foliage, the city had been abandoned for generations. The roads were not paved as they were on Earth. Purple grass thick as carpet rose to waist height, lending the boulevards a peculiar, almost carnival appearance. The buildings themselves were grand. Complex geometric shapes stood tall alongside fluid, organic designs. There was no single theme or unifying aesthetic. It was a skyline full of centerpieces, each vying for prominence.

  But after long years of disuse, they were unified in decay. Sapling-sized trees sprouted from their roofs, their roots reaching down grimy walls in search of dirt. Windows were cracked and missing. Once vivid paint had faded to pastels.

  At Harris’s command, two scouts ran ahead, keeping to the sidewalks. The rest of the teams hefted packs onto their shoulders and moved out, with Allison and Harris in the lead. Felix hung a step behind with Corporal Tillman. The buildings looked even worse up close. Paint peeled from the walls like birch bark, revealing spiderweb cracks in the underlying material. Something like mold inhabited every corner in colors ranging from orange to blue, like graffiti tags. Except these were the twin gangs of nature and time.

  Harris shone his Niven light through a broken storefront window. A long counter ran parallel to a line of meter-tall chairs. The whole room had fallen to overgrowth. It looked like H. R. Giger had tried his hand at a bar rescue and failed miserably.

  Harris sighed. “This place is a ghost town. We’re not going to find anyone here.”

  Felix peered into the building next door. “This one looks like a souvenir shop. Look at all the kitsch lying around.” He disappeared through the tall yet narrow doorway.

  “Felix, wait,” Harris said, but he was a second too late. “Tillman.”

  “Yes, sir.” The corporal brought his M-118 to the ready and was about to slip through the door when Felix reappeared. Atop his head was a double-brimmed hat in a garish yellow with unknown characters printed under the bottom brim. He held up his arms to display either an improbably long T-shirt with four sleeves, or a comically defective wind sock.

  “Look, guys! Alien schlock!”

  “Not exactly your size, is it?”

  Felix held it up to his chest. Extra sleeves aside, it was much too narrow, even for him. “Wow, these guys must have been like giant walking sticks.” Felix took in a panorama of the area. “You know, this place kind of reminds me of Orlando. Well, the part that isn’t underwater.”

  Allison knelt down to get a better look at the writing printed vertically down the shirt.

  “Do you recognize the script, ma’am?”

  “No, but it might be stylized.” She took out her pad and turned it to scan the shirt. “Ridgeway to Prescott.”

  Her com officer answered from orbit. “Go ahead, Captain.”

  “I’m streaming you a vid image with a language sample. Can you and Maggie read it?”

  “This will take a minute.” Prescott set the line to the hold music. “Fly Me to the Moon,” the Doris Day rendition. “Maggie’s 93 percent sure it isn’t one of the buoy languages, ma’am. We have no idea what it says.”

  “Okay, thank you.” Allison rubbed the base of her neck and groaned. She looked at the sky, while her inner field researcher had it out with her inner starship commander. Her two selves had conflicting priorities.

  “No one to talk to. Can’t read the language. This survey’s starting to smell like a bust.”

  “I hate to say so, ma’am, but I have to agree.” Felix looked through the broken window of the shop he’d just pilfered from. A stray glint caught off of a familiar clear sphere. “Oh, look, a snow globe.” He turned it over and shook it, sending tan specs churning through the tiny model of the city. “Hmm, make that a sand globe.”

  “Sand globe?” Allison looked at the trinket. “There aren’t any deserts on this planet; the land masses are too small. Why would they make sandstorm souvenirs?”

  “Maybe they were being ironic,” Harris said.

  “Or maybe…” Felix scrunched up his forehead. “Maybe this isn’t their planet. The other habitable planet is arid. It also has lower gravity, which would explain their height.”

  Allison nodded. Once Felix said it, the answer was obvious. “We’re on the wrong planet. This place was just a tourist trap. How long until Maggie and Bucephalus swing back around?”

  Harris’s eyes seemed to lose focus while he consulted his implant. “They’ll be overhead in less than ten minutes, ma’am. We could catch them on this orbit if we call in the shuttles for an evac.”

  “Nah, there’s no rush. We can walk back and save them some fuel.” She turned to face the rest of the teams. “Turn around, people. We’re going back to the shuttles. We’ll collect more flora samples on the way back.”

  “Whoa, hold up—” Harris looked startled.

  Felix was instantly concerned. Startled was not in his friend’s standard inventory of reactions. “Tom, what’s wrong?”

  “Gargoyle platforms on the far side of the planet just picked something up.”

  “Where? Land? Ocean?”

  “No, orbit.”

  “That’s not good. What is it?”

  “I can’t tell. Their sensors are optimized for look-down, shoot-down. Whatever they picked up was spillover.”

  “Show me your feed, Tom.”

  Harris pulled a flexible tactical screen from a pants pocket and unrolled it. The clear plastic went opaque and started scrolling raw sensor data. To everyone else, it looked like stereo instructions printed in Wingdings font. But Felix read them like a children’s book: a children’s book about the monster hiding under the bed.

  Felix’s face went even paler than normal. “It’s a hyperspace window. Somebody’s trying to sneak up behind us.”

  Harris wasted no time. “Bucephalus, Harris. Break out the good china. We’ve got company.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Maximus marched onto the bridge, his bridge, and sat down. “Set Condition One. Tactical, I need to know who just snuck in our back door.”

  “We’re working, Captain, but the orbital overlook platforms are the only assets we have on the far side, and they can’t give us much.”

  “Probes?”

  “We can orbit one into line of sight in sixteen minutes, but if we do that, the bogey will know they’re blown.”

  “Hold on to the probe. Let them think they have the drop on us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Com, get Magellan’s XO on the whisker laser.”

  Gruber’s bust coalesced to Maximus’s left. “Go ahead, Bucephalus.”

  “Commander, our orbital assets have detected a hyperspace window on the planet’s far side. Mr. Fletcher has confirmed it. We’re not alone.”

  “Did you ID the bogey yet, sir?”

  “No, in fact we have almost no information on the target at all. Our platforms aren’t pointed in the right direction, and retasking them would announce that we’re looking for them.”

  “Nothing at all? Not even IR or a mass estimate?”

  “Nope, nothing at all. Does that sound like anyone you know?”

  Gruber’s mind had been leaning in that direction as well. “I’m afraid so. If we take Mr. D’armic at his word, then the fuzzy anomaly is our only suspect in the massacre.”

  “And if they’ve followed us here, it probably isn’t to swap cheesecake recipes.”

  “No, sir. To put it mildly.”

  “Ready your ship for action as best you can, Commander. Make sure your shield dish is facing the bogey before the shooting starts. It will give you some protection. Bucephalus will take point to cover you, but tell your helmsman not to drift outside of our defensive envelope.”

  “Understood, Captain.”

  An alert siren called out from the tactical station. “Sir, the Gargoyles have just picked up something making p
lanet-fall.”

  “The bogey?”

  “No, sir. They have hard tracking on it, and it’s tiny. Less than thirty meters long, probably a shuttle.”

  “They’re going after our teams on the ground,” Gruber said.

  Maximus’s hand gripped the arms of his chair. “Tactical, can we send reinforcements?”

  “No, sir. We’ve already passed our launch window for this orbit.”

  Something not unlike despair fell over Gruber’s face. “Then Ridgeway is on her own.”

  “Not alone, Commander,” Maximus said. “I’ve got bored marines on the surface. There’s nothing as dangerous as bored marines.”

  * * *

  Harris watched the alien drop-ship through the scope of his M-118. Even under magnification, it looked little bigger than a bird. The rifle’s range finder gave him distance and velocity numbers. They were coming in hot.

  “Fast-mover coming in hot from the east. Eight minutes, ten at best. Give me some options, people.”

  Corporal Tillman was the first to jump in. “The assault shuttle has air-to-air combat capabilities. Have Simmons dust off and intercept. He can draw them off, maybe even destroy them if he’s lucky.”

  “And if he’s not, we lose our ride back to Bucephalus.” Harris looked at Allison. “Can we all fit in your shuttle?”

  “I’m afraid not. Even if we ditched all the equipment and you left your toys behind, we’d still be short a seat.”

  “Including my pilot?”

  “Of course it—” Allison shivered as the implication of the question struck her. “Right. Without your pilot, we might be able to make enough room if no one minds being friendly.”

  “If it came to that, getting friendly would be the least of our problems. Still, it doesn’t seem like a good risk. We can deal with their drop-ship once it’s on the ground. I’m going to tell Simmons to make like a hole in the forest. I suggest your pilot do the same.”

  Allison nodded. Harris scanned the area, looking for defensible positions to stash his civilians. One of the spires caught his eye.

  He pointed to the looming structure. “Corporal Tillman, I bet you and Lyska can’t schlep into sniper position in that tower before our guests arrive.”