Gate Crashers

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

“I had no idea you were such a poor gambler, sir.”

  “You’d better go collect, then.”

  Tillman and Lyska saluted and disappeared into the grass. “All right, everyone else dig in. Implanted coms only from this point on.”

  The teams spent several tense minutes in silence. Harris’s people were busy checking their weapons and adjusting the fit of their armor, while Allison’s people were busy keeping fear from eating what was left of their wits. To his credit, Felix kept it together and even helped the marines build a makeshift firebase in front of the bar. After the longest eight minutes any of them had lived through, time ran out.

  Harris shot Felix and Allison a reassuring smile. Here they come. Let’s roll. With that, Harris and the rest of his fire team switched on their active camo and became mirages.

  The drop-ship came into view overhead. Its hull was black as deep space and shaped like an armored fish from a long-forgotten ocean. It made one lazy circle around the area, hunting for the best LZ before settling into the courtyard with a whisper.

  A heavy plate slid aside silently. Shadows poured out the door and darted in different directions, taking up positions. They were fast, but not unnaturally so. As soon as the last shadow exited, the door swiped shut and the drop-ship returned to the sky.

  They have adaptive camouflage, too? Allison asked with a thought.

  Sure looks that way, Harris replied. He ducked back behind the improvised wall and held his rifle over the top. The scope fed an image and ranging data into OLED contacts, letting him see without exposing his valuable head to return fire.

  Oh, crap.

  What’s wrong?

  I can see where they should be from the grass trails, but I can’t get a good range and lock. Tillman, is your range finder locking them up?

  Negative, LT. That’s a negative lockup. We’ll have to sight the old-fashioned way.

  Great. What could jam a laser?

  Meta materials, Felix thought. They bend visible light around themselves and make anything inside effectively invisible.

  Yeah, but aren’t they supposed to only work up to a few cubic centimeters?

  Maybe these guys don’t know about centimeters. It might even be how they cloak the mother ship.

  They’re sure in a hurry, Lyska said from his spotter’s perch with Tillman. They aren’t even covering each other.

  Lyska was right. The shadows charged forward heedlessly with none of the practiced, deliberate movements of a trained squad. They were either supremely confident or embarrassingly sloppy. Then, as one, they stopped moving and settled into positions just over a hundred meters in front of where Harris’s and Allison’s teams sat.

  One of the shadows stood ramrod straight in the middle of the boulevard. It threw back a shroud with a flutter and became visible for the first time. It was enormous; the purple grass that came up to Harris’s waist barely covered the creature’s thigh. Every square centimeter of the beast’s bulk looked sharp, like a bipedal ox coated in razor blades. The most striking feature was the eyes. They were placed wide, facing forward, a hallmark of predators the galaxy over. But, more to the point, they glowed the bright crimson of freshly spilled blood.

  Wow, somebody could use eye drops, Felix said.

  Why are they glowing?

  Cybernetic, has to be.

  Wonderful. Harris’s train of thought was broken by a booming voice that sounded like a building implosion. “Humans, I am Zek’nel of the Turemok Pacification Force. You are hereby restrained under suspicion of the geocides of Culpus-Alam and Okim. Throw down your weapons and walk forward with your appendages clearly visible. You have twenty rakims to obey, or we will force your compliance.”

  Tillman spoke up. I have a clear shot, LT. Permission to fire?

  Hold fire, Tillman. Bucephalus, Harris. We’ve been issued an ultimatum to surrender by enemy forces. Requesting permission to go weapons-free.

  Tom, they’re moving to flank us. Felix pointed to their left where three shadows slowly circled around.

  Units two and three, spread out to counter them. Bucephalus, this is Harris, permission to fire? Bucephalus? Static answered him. He switched channels and tried again. More static. Shit! We’re being jammed.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Harris saw Felix looking at Jacqueline. She’d drawn her knees to her chest and was taking deep long breaths to calm herself. Felix’s worry for her was almost palpable.

  We’re running out of time. I’ll try to buy you some. Felix stood before Harris could reach out to stop him. “Whoa, time-out there, sir.”

  “Felix, sit down!” Harris barked in a harsh whisper, but Felix brushed him off.

  “You wish to surrender, human?”

  “No, I just wanted to know what a rakim is.”

  “It is our smallest standard unit of time.”

  “Like a second? Well, how many seconds are in twenty rakims?”

  The giant, pointy alien had been thrown off his rhythm. “I don’t know, exactly. How long is a second?”

  “One Mississippi.”

  Now Zek’nel was really confused. “A ‘Mississippi’ is equal to a second?”

  “No, it … never mind. Why don’t you count out the rakims?”

  “Why don’t you just surrender now?”

  “Now wait one sec … rakim. You said we had twenty rakims. Are you going to give us twenty or not?”

  “You’ve already had seventeen.”

  “Yeah, but that was before we knew what they were. You could have been talking about magic beans for all we knew.”

  “All right, fine. But this delay is pointless, human.” The Turemok set his feet and crossed his arms in annoyance. “Twenty … nineteen … eighteen…”

  Harris shook his head and used the time. Captain Ridgeway, I can’t raise the Bucephalus. The decision falls to you. May we fire?

  Allison’s voice filled his head. You want me to order your men to kill these … people, without even talking to them?

  “Seventeen…”

  They’ve already done the talking, ma’am.

  “Sixteen…”

  Please, ma’am, the tactical situation is getting worse. We can’t wait.

  “Fifteen … fourteen…”

  Harris and the rest of the unseen marines stared at Allison while the conflict played out inside her head.

  “Thirteen…,” the monster said. “Ah, what comes after thirteen?”

  “Oh, that’s a tricky one. It’s twelve,” Felix said helpfully.

  “Why isn’t it twoteen?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest. It’s just always been twelve.”

  “Twelve, thank you … eleven…”

  Something in Allison shifted ever so quietly. We’re supposed to be peaceful explorers.

  Harris dipped his head. I know, ma’am. But we didn’t choose this. They did.

  “Ten … Nine…”

  Ma’am, your orders?

  Allison’s eyes hardened. Lieutenant, light them up.

  Yes, ma’am. Sniper team, take your shot.

  From a hair over eight hundred meters away and nine stories up, Tillman fired. Before the sound of the shot even reached him, a 9.6-millimeter, 485-grain, antimaterial bullet struck Zek’nel, passed completely through his chest, and out the front with a puff of turquoise blood.

  He blinked and then started looking around for the shot’s origin.

  Felix was troubled by the alien’s blasé reaction to being hit by fifteen thousand joules of kinetic energy. Um, don’t they traditionally fall down now?

  Harris shook his head with a mixture of disbelief and admiration. Tough bastard. Captain Ridgeway, take your team and fall back inside the building. Rifle team, weapons free. Fire at will.

  CHAPTER 36

  Three hundred kilometers above, the Turemok cruiser dropped its sheath, revealing a design of such evil, such distilled menace, its mere presence had driven lesser beings to madness.

  In the face of such an opponent, only a man
of infinite bravery, or a complete idiot, would stand his ground. So it should come as little surprise that Maximus listened with growing boredom as Vel Noric issued the now-familiar ultimatum.

  “Therefore, your vessels are ordered to submit to restraint for the geocide of—”

  “Yes, yes,” Maximus interrupted. “We’ve already been through this once with one of your frontier managers. Now look, Mr.… Noric, was it?”

  “Vel Noric. Vel is my rank, Captain.”

  “Groovy. Anyway, Vel, we’ve already done this song and dance in the last system. Your guy realized we couldn’t have been responsible with one look at our ship.”

  “Your point, Captain?”

  “I was coming to that. Since we didn’t do it, that leaves you.”

  Noric’s image recoiled. “That’s preposterous.”

  “Is it? We know you were there. Your ship was hiding deeper in the system the whole time. Magellan spotted you. We’ve got her sensor logs. So I guess I’m putting you under arrest for the Solonis B massacre.”

  Noric snorted unpleasantly, a low, rhythmic sound. Maximus decided it was either a laugh or a hairball. “A Turemok cruiser, surrender to you? My dear captain, you must be joking.”

  “I’m a very funny guy, Vel. So funny, I can’t help but laugh at my own jokes.” Maximus cleaned a bit of dirt from under a fingernail. “I’m not laughing, Vel.”

  “Your species is barely out of the nest! The only advanced technology you possess was stolen from a lowly warning beacon. Please, amuse me further and tell us what weapons you have capable of forcing my capitulation.”

  Maximus smiled coolly. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  “Very well. I look forward to your interrogation, human.” Noric’s face disappeared.

  A short alert chime came from the tactical station. “Bandit One’s power output just spiked, sir. I expect they’re charging energy weapons.”

  “Launch countermeasures, full spread. Is Magellan in our shadow?”

  “Yes, sir, but she’s bigger than we are, and our decoys’ EM signatures won’t match.”

  “Make sure some decoys drift to cover her anyway.”

  “Yes, sir. Launching now.”

  A tiny rumble ran through the hull as dozens upon dozens of scuba tank–sized CM canisters blew into space. As soon as they cleared their launch tubes, gas charges lit off and inflated each canister like an airbag. A tenth of a second later, over three hundred Mylar balloons the size of city buses floated in the space surrounding Bucephalus. Each was a false radar signature and a mirror to reflect lasers.

  “Do we have a lock on Bandit One?” Maximus asked.

  “Affirmative. Hard lock.”

  “Feed telemetry to missiles one through five and prepare to ripple fire.”

  “Prep missiles one through five for ripple fire, aye. Telemetry uploading … telemetry accepted. Missiles one through five read Active. Launch control is green.”

  Maximus bared his teeth. “Tactical, fire.”

  “Firing now.” The deck under their feet shuddered from the recoil of the launches. Each SSM-1 weighed nearly fifty metric tons. Magnetic rails kicked them out of their tubes at three hundred KPH, enough to get them clear of the hull before lighting their motors.

  “Missiles away, sir. Time to impact, seven-eight seconds.”

  A tangible excitement infused the bridge as the missiles lit off in sequence. Every eye watched the master plot while the outbound birds’ speed climbed faster than smack-talk before a pro wrestling match.

  “Missiles are tracking on internal radar. Lock is good.”

  Something wasn’t sitting right with Maximus. “Status of Bandit One?”

  “Power levels are still elevated. My guess is they’re charging capacitors.”

  “All right, but they have birds incoming. Why aren’t they trying to evade?”

  “Unknown, sir. Time to impact now three-five seconds.”

  “I don’t like this.” Maximus absently tugged on an earlobe. “Tactical, prep missiles six through fifteen.”

  “Prep missiles six through fifteen, aye, sir. Thirty seconds to impact.”

  The seconds fell by as the machines of annihilation powered closer to their intended target. Then, in a patch of space directly ahead of the lead missile, a hole appeared.

  “Missile One is gone!” shouted the tac officer.

  “Did it detonate?” Maximus asked.

  “No, sir. It’s just gone. Wait … there was an energy spike localized ahead of—”

  Maximus groaned. “A hyperspace window rigged for point defense. Nice trick.”

  As he said it, the hole shifted position and swallowed up missiles two through five in rapid succession.

  “Tactical, set missiles six through fifteen for simultaneous launch and fire!”

  “Aye, sir. Firing now.” The Bucephalus lurched nearly ten meters to port as five hundred tons of missiles kicked free of her starboard side. They screamed mutely through space toward their target. Fifty seconds later, ten windows opened and swallowed them whole.

  A chime sounded at the com officer’s station. “Bandit One is hailing, sir.”

  Maximus shielded his eyes with a hand and sighed deep and long. “Put him through.”

  Vel Noric’s triumphant face solidified in the air. “Thank you for the evening’s entertainment, Captain. It was most gratifying. Now let me show you mine.”

  * * *

  Harris dropped behind cover and ejected the empty magazine from his rifle. I need a mag over here!

  Heads up, LT. One of the men in Unit One lofted a slim box in Harris’s direction. He picked it out of the air and rammed it home.

  The ammo supply was holding, for now. The marines’ M-118 rifles fired heavy, guided rounds. Each bullet could home in on the range-finder beam of its gun, or any other gun in the squad. Their large size was a double-edged sword, however. When they connected, they did tremendous damage, but each mag carried fewer of them.

  Guided rounds seldom missed, so this wasn’t typically a problem, but their enemy wore stealth cloaks that simply diverted the range-finder beams. Harris’s men were trying to hit shadows by eye, wasting precious bullets in the process.

  Their Turemok opponents suffered no such ammunition shortage. They were using lasers.

  A flash from a beam pulse exploded the masonry right above Harris’s head. Tiny, white-hot marble shards pinged off his helmet and neck.

  “Ow!” He danced a little samba of pain as a sliver of red-hot rock fell down his shirt and burned a line straight down his back. Everyone, keep your heads down. Only show them your scopes.

  But then we can’t see clearly enough to hit them, LT.

  I know, just put enough rounds in the air to pin them down for the sniper team.

  Tillman and Lyska were the only bright spot in the whole boondoggle. While the aliens could absorb center-mass hits, headshots still did the trick. They’d already downed three Turemok, but without a proper lock, they needed time to line up the shots. Time the Turemok were motivated not to give them.

  Felix grabbed his shoulder. Tom, look, they’ve deployed something. Drones maybe.

  Harris lifted his rifle and sighted downrange. Sure enough, three dozen faceted orbs the size of softballs floated a few meters above the ground. They moved lazily toward the firebase. Harris zeroed in on one and cracked off a round. It shattered like hollow glass. Disco balls. Now it’s a party. Keep the pressure on the enemy units.

  The orbs continued their slow advance as the marines tried to scare their opponents stiff long enough for the sniper team to deliver the coup de grâce. Without his notice, an orb took up position just above and behind Harris’s back.

  “Look out!” Felix kicked Harris in the side with all his strength, which moved him less than a foot. But it was enough. A flash explosion erupted in the exact spot where Harris’s head had been. Felix grabbed a chunk of concrete and knocked the silver orb out of the air.

  What
the hell? They’re armed?

  No, Tom, they’re reflectors. Don’t you see? They let them shoot at angles.

  Man down! Unit One’s leader shouted into the implanted com. Conway’s hurt, shot through the stomach.

  Harris cursed. Shoot the disco balls. They’re using them to flank us. Corpsman, fall back with Conway into the building.

  He pulled his sidearm out of its holster and threw it to Felix. Here, I want you shoot any that slip past.

  Okay. How do I do that?

  Harris stared at his friend for a moment. Seriously?

  Yes, Tom, seriously. I grew up in a city where a plastic bubble was the only thing holding the air in. Firearms weren’t encouraged.

  Harris grunted. All right, this is a gun—he pointed at the muzzle—and this is the boo-boo end.

  I know that! How do I shoot it? There’s no trigger.

  When do you think we are, the Old West? It’s a link trigger. Set a command word, like fire or shoot.

  Shoot? So all I have to do is think, Shoot—

  The gun flashed with a bark that left Felix’s ears ringing. A ten-millimeter round drilled into the dirt between Harris’s legs, leaving a tiny, smoking crater.

  Holy crap! Tom, are you okay?

  Harris gritted his teeth and gingerly pointed the muzzle in a more productive direction. See, you’ve got it. Now, if you’ll shoot at the disco balls instead of my balls, we can stay friends.

  One of Tillman’s rounds connected with a Turemok head left carelessly peering at the firebase. That’s four. You guys have to catch up.

  Harris smiled. The tide of battle was turning in their favor. Provided the ammo held, they might just push through to—

  Contact north, coming in hot. It was Lyska in the tower. It’s the drop-ship.

  Bearing?

  They’re charging our position.

  Harris was surprised it had taken as long as it did for them to get smart and call in air support. Sniper team, evacuate immediately.

  Roger, sir. Bugging out.

  To Harris’s right, the drop-ship streaked into view on its attack run. Although the laser wasn’t visible, its path most certainly was. The beam cut a straight line of vaporized marble and steel through the third floor of the tower. The angle of the attack sliced the building diagonally. Groaning like a rockslide, it slid and then collapsed into a heap. A cloud of gray smoke rolled into the air.