Gate Crashers

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  “Kiefer!” Eugene spat out the name like a curse. How long had he been unconscious?

  “Help!” What if it was too late? No, Eugene thought, the world was still here, so there was still time. How much, was another question.

  “Help!” He strained hard against his restraints, but they held fast. Then he tried to slip a wrist through the bindings, but they were too tight. A growl of frustration escaped his throat. When he got out of this mess, Eugene resolved to shove this Day of Due Consideration as far up Kiefer’s—

  “Hello.” The friendly voice came from Eugene’s left. He looked over just as a slim female form stepped out of the shadows. It was the abnormal psychology student he’d hired in the failed bid to replace Kiefer’s crew.

  “You? Haven’t you finished that thesis paper yet?” Eugene asked.

  “That? Yeah, like almost a year ago.”

  “What are you still doing here, then?”

  “I received a research grant to continue the study.”

  “Oh,” Eugene said. “Well, can you untie me, please?”

  “Umm, I really shouldn’t.”

  “What do you mean you shouldn’t?”

  “I don’t want to contaminate the study. It’s like anthropology—I need to stay hands-off.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Oh, no. Do you have any idea how lucky I was to stumble onto a cult right at inception like this? Outsiders don’t usually learn about new cults until people have gone missing for a long time. This is a unique opportunity to track its evolution in real time, I don’t want to screw it up.”

  Eugene stood slack-jawed as the realization dawned that this girl was just as crazy as Kiefer. Desperate, he decided to throw security protocols out the window and tell her the truth. Harris would forgive him if it worked.

  “All right. Listen to me very carefully. As we speak, there is an alien warship maneuvering to annihilate the Earth. They’ve already destroyed three other planets. Our only hope is to use the Unicycle to attack the warship, but they need to link up with sensors on the ground here to target it accurately. The Keeper knows this and tied me up to prevent me from contacting the Unicycle, in order to bring about the Day of Due Consideration.”

  “How exciting! Maybe I can record some of their reactions as … oh, but then who will read my results?”

  Finally, thought Eugene. “That’s right, if you don’t untie me, no one will ever be able to read your study, because we’ll all be dead.”

  She sighed. “All right, but first let me do a quick psychological assessment.” She pulled out a pen and clipboard and flipped to a survey while Eugene’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  “Question one: On a scale of one to ten, with one being the lowest, how would you rate your current level of anxiety?”

  “Get me the fuck down from here!”

  “Okay,” she said. “We’ll call that an eight. Question two…”

  * * *

  Specialist Balog peeked around the corner of the gutted shell of what had once been 103 North Glastonbury Court. A V-1 had fallen through the roof and exploded in the basement.

  Across the street were not one but three SS troopers trying to set up a machine gun nest; one of those damned MG-42s. Balog pulled his head back into cover. He’d been boots on the ground for less than a minute and already he was up against heavy opposition. He looked around for backup, but the wind had caught his chute and he’d drifted from the planned drop point by almost a quarter mile. The rest of his team couldn’t help him.

  Balog steeled himself for the coming onslaught. He glanced over his tommy gun, making sure the safety was off and a round had been chambered. Then he took a pineapple grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it around the corner.

  The explosion was close enough to hit him like a hammer in the chest, but he rolled out of cover and leveled his weapon. The grenade hadn’t landed in the nest as he’d hoped, but it had wounded one of the SS troopers in the leg. With a pull of the trigger, a .45 round put the Nazi bastard down for good.

  Balog charged the two remaining troopers, tommy gun spitting lead death. A lucky shot struck a second trooper in the chest and he went down, but the last one disappeared behind the sandbags. Balog vaulted the barrier and landed solidly on his feet. But before he could get his weapon to bear, the last Nazi popped up from behind the ammunition containers and leveled a Luger right at his left eye.

  With a heavy Jersey accent, the German said, “n00b,” then sent a bullet straight through Balog’s brain.

  “Damn it, Tony! I had a three-kill streak going!” Specialist Balog shouted into his microphone as the countdown to his next respawn started. “Did you really have to kill me with that little pop gun?”

  “Loser,” taunted PFC Lorenzo. “Two more of those and I get the ‘Gunslinger’ award.”

  “Whatever.” In truth, Balog was pretty new to Call of Duty: Operation Sea Lion, and he did spend an embarrassing amount of time on the respawn screen. However, anything beat the mind-melting boredom of sentry shifts piloting four battle androids simultaneously.

  Nor was he alone. Most of the pilots in his unit swapped lead and lasers while they waited around for nothing to happen. It was an exceptionally rare individual who wanted to tangle with an Mk VII.

  Balog impatiently watched as the countdown wound back to zero, eager to get back into the fight to liberate London, when something caught his attention. On the screen linked to the basement of the Stack was a man armed with a candelabra tangling with an Mk VII.

  “Something’s happening. I gotta go.” Balog clicked off the game net and switched his virtual environment into the sentry unit. The android responded to his input immediately and pointed an absurdly large shotgun at the little man holding a candlestick.

  “It’s about goddamned time!” the assailant shouted.

  “Sir, cease your attack on this unit, or I will open fire. This is your only warning.”

  “I’m not attacking the battle android, you twit. I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. Where were you?”

  “I was in the head,” Balog lied. “Identify yourself.”

  “I’m AESA administrator Eugene Graham, jackass. A religious cult has taken over the QER center.” The man pointed behind the unit. “And the world will end unless you pilot this crate of spares in there and stop them.”

  Balog was stunned. He’d sat in this chair for almost two years. The closest he’d come to seeing action was giving directions to drunken tourists. Fate-of-the-world stuff seemed above his pay grade.

  “Is this a drill?”

  “Do I look like I’m conducting a fucking drill!?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Then move it!”

  * * *

  With Kiefer and his lackeys safely tucked away under the supervision of Specialist Balog and his angry robot, Eugene connected with the Unicycle and immediately ran into another roadblock.

  “Well, pardon my French, miss, but I don’t give a shit if le directeur is having dinner with the reanimated corpse of Charles de Gaulle. Get Lemieux on the phone right this damned second!”

  “There is no need to shout, m’sieur.”

  “Lady, if ever in the history of mankind there was a need to shout, this is it.”

  “Ugly Americans. Please hold, m’sieur.” The assistant’s voice was replaced by pop music, which proved to be an equally atrocious auditory assault. Mercifully, the line picked up before the chorus repeated.

  “Oui?”

  “Renée. It’s Eugene in the Stack. I apologize for spoiling your lunch.”

  “It is no problem, m’sieur. The food here sustains but can hardly be called cuisine. What can I do for the AESA today?”

  “Well, you can save the world.”

  * * *

  Ja’kel and Grote presided over the bridge of the Xecoron like a wrathful deity. The crew was torn between competing urges. Look upon the towering frame of their Kumer-Vel in rapturous awe, or
avert their eyes in terror? Most of them struck an uncomfortable balance of skulking and sneaking a peek when they thought he wasn’t looking.

  In the overhead display, a timer counted down toward the moment the high-space portal would open, regurgitating the Xecoron into a more familiar universe. Then another count would begin while the high-space capacitors refilled. During that time, the ship would be unable to retreat or open the attack portal that would result in Earth’s demise.

  Not that it mattered, for Ja’kel knew certain things about Earth’s defenses—namely, that it didn’t have any. Paranoid of spies from within their own ranks, the humans had clandestinely built their warship yard hidden away in their own asteroid belt. Which, as it happened, was also home to a network of Turemok-built espionage platforms.

  Tough luck, that, Ja’kel thought with a smirk. Before the punitive expedition had even been approved, Ja’kel knew that the ship that had killed his beloved brother was one of a kind. New keels were being laid down, but their completion lay the better part of a local cycle in the future.

  “Tactical.”

  A nervous officer met Ja’kel’s gaze. “Yes, Kumer-Vel?”

  “Scratch yourself a reminder to annihilate their warship yard in the asteroid belt on our way out.”

  “Very good, Kumer-Vel.”

  The first timer expired. They were in position.

  “Sheathe the vessel. Open the portal, and return to lower-space.”

  The bridge was dead quiet as the portal irised open ahead of them, revealing the blue-green jewel that was their objective.

  “A beautiful thing,” Ja’kel said. “Although I cannot fathom why Dar decided to waste it on these creatures. Enjoy the view while you can, everyone. We’re the last to have the opportunity.”

  * * *

  “Hyperspace window!” shouted one of the technicians Renée Lemieux had hastily assembled in the Unicycle’s control room. “Directly in Earth’s orbital path.”

  “Merci,” Renée said. “Is the data from the ground stations coming up the QER yet?”

  “Yes, sir, but the target is … fuzzy. Something’s definitely there, but I can’t get a lock.”

  Renée nodded. She’d been warned about the stealth systems of the enemy.

  “We must be patient and wait for our quarry to reveal itself. Is the beam ready?”

  “Oh yeah. The beam is ramped up and waiting. We just need somewhere to point it.”

  * * *

  The second timer expired.

  “High-space capacitors are recharged, Kumer-Vel. We are ready to attack.”

  There was nervousness in the tactical officer’s voice. He couldn’t really be faulted for it. Even with geocide being condoned by the Assembly as it was, an officer would have to have claws and teeth of steel not to feel a flicker of hesitation at the prospect of committing it.

  Fortunately for the ambitions of the brothers under the cloak, the Turemok military had long ago learned the secrets of getting a well-adjusted soldier to do unspeakable things, using the rationalization of “just following orders.”

  “Tactical, commence the attack.”

  “Yes, Kumer-Vel. Opening portal…” He pressed a stud on his console. “Now!”

  * * *

  “Power spike!” shouted the technician. “New hyper window.”

  “Can you localize the point of origin?” asked Renée.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you consider that ‘somewhere to point it’?”

  “Absolutely. Uploading target coordinates.”

  “Merci.” Renée’s hand hovered over the big, red holo-button. It flashed, letting her know the emitters has aligned for the calculated distance.

  Knowing the completely unpredictable, occasionally inspiring levels of incompetence humans were capable of, a dozen fail-safes were built into the Unicycle’s targeting system to prevent exactly what they were about to do from happening. But while safeguards could protect against mishaps, they were powerless against determined action. It had taken the better part of an hour, but her crew had disabled them all.

  Renée pushed the button. At the emitter assemblies, hundreds of kilometers from the hub, the floodgates opened. Charged particles by the quintillions poured into the vacuum, furiously searching for something to share their pent-up energy with. Five seconds later, their hopes were fulfilled.

  It’s just not possible to properly explain the effects a 32.4-terawatt particle beam has on an object. The energies involved are just too massive for savanna-evolved brains to wrap themselves around. Instead, the next best thing is to scale the whole scene down into a metaphorical model.

  To get an idea of the incalculable horror wrought against the Xecoron, go to your refrigerator and grab one uncooked egg. Now wrap it in a layer of aluminum foil. Then place it in a microwave powered by the total output of the closest nuclear plant. Press Start. Observe the results. That about covers it.

  What had until recently been the Xecoron and its crew was reduced to a cloud of superheated plasma expanding at tens of thousands of kilometers an hour, pushing what little debris there was along the shock wave like surfers on a Lovecraftian ocean. For a handful of seconds, it shone brighter than the sun itself.

  The Unicycle control center exploded in celebration as everyone cheered with all their might.

  Renée gave the debris field a little wave. “Au revoir, mon ami.”

  * * *

  Felix sat on the floor of Magellan’s bridge, Jacqueline’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck as they waited for word, any word, from Earth. It had been almost two hours since he’d warned Eugene about the coming apocalypse and the thin hope to avert it.

  The rest of Magellan’s bridge crew sat in absolute, despondent silence. Their faces were blanched and slackened like sails trapped in monthlong doldrums. Prescott wept quietly under the strain, while Wheeler rubbed her shoulders, as much to comfort himself as her.

  Felix disentangled himself from Jacqueline’s arms. “That’s it. I’m calling.”

  “Just give them time, Felix.”

  “It’s been two hours. What’s taking them so long?”

  Jacqueline crossed her arms. “They’re either busy or they’re dead. Either way, they don’t need you nagging them.”

  Felix reached up a hand to caress her face just as the QER chimed with an incoming call. Prescott connected it.

  “Go ahead for Magellan,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “It’s Professor Graham. The enemy has been destroyed.”

  Felix shot up, almost tripping over himself as he lunged for the mic. He had to shout as the bridge erupted in cheers. “What the hell took you so long? We were on the verge of a mass nervous breakdown out here!”

  “Sorry for the delay, Felix. The entire planet had to go change pants.”

  EPILOGUE

  The door chimed.

  Eugene set his snifter down on the table. “Excuse me a moment.” He pushed up from the formally set dinner table and walked the short distance to his penthouse’s front door. He turned the ornate brass handle and was rewarded by two smiling faces.

  “My boys!” Eugene, already rosy-cheeked with brandy, threw his arms wide and reeled Felix and Harris into an enormous bear hug. “I was so afraid, lads, so afraid we’d never all be standing here again.”

  Felix hugged him back. “It’s all right, Professor. Everyone’s safe and sound. And so is home, for that matter.”

  Eugene’s eyes stung from the emotional release. “Look at me, already sobbing like a fool. The brandy has diluted my defenses. Come in, come in.” Eugene held his arm out to welcome them into his home. “Jeffery’s already here. As is a certain ‘young’ lady, Felix. As it turns out, she is quite a bit older than I am! Goodness, Thomas.” Eugene pointed at an unfired clay jug Harris held in the crook of his arm. “What on earth do you have there?”

  “Nothing on Earth, actually. It’s for later.”

  Eugene laughed. “Very well. Keep your secrets, but do go fi
nd yourselves a seat. Can I pour you something?”

  “Yes,” they said in unison.

  Eugene set upon his decanters while Felix and Harris moved to the table. Jeffery and Jacqueline stood up to greet them with hugs and kisses. Then they all settled into chairs, with Harris sitting down to hold hands next to Jeffery, and Felix sitting dangerously close to Jacqueline.

  The door chimed again. Eugene hastily set Felix’s and Harris’s drinks down in front of them and jogged to the door. He opened it, revealing a blond woman, someone in a sweater with the hood pulled tight, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a fake plastic nose, and an unsettlingly lifelike female android.

  “Good evening, Captain Ridgeway. Come in, come in.”

  The trio of guests toddled into the entryway. “Allison will be fine, Professor.” She handed a stack of thick packages wrapped in brown paper over to Eugene. “Filet mignon, cut fresh this morning. Compliments of my chief engineer’s family.”

  “Real meat? I’m flattered!” He looked at the short figure in the hoodie. “And hello to you, Ambassador D’armic.”

  “Good evening, Graham Administrator. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “No, thank you for risking your neck for a bunch of aliens.”

  “I stood on the side of truth, nothing more.”

  “That is a rarer, nobler thing than you give yourself credit for.” Eugene’s eyes turned to the android. “Um, hello?”

  “Oh, allow me,” Allison said. “Professor, I’d like to introduce you to the AEUS Magellan.”

  Eugene extended his hand. “Hello, er, miss. I had pictured you being a trifle bigger somehow, and with fewer limbs.”

  Magellan shook his hand. “I am quite a bit larger, under normal circumstances.”

  “How is this possible?”

  Allison thrust a thumb at D’armic. “On the way home, our new ambassador here took one of the human analogues we … salvaged from Solonis B and rigged it up as an avatar for Maggie while she’s under refit.”

  Eugene looked at the android. “So, you aren’t really here.”

  “No. I am in orbit receiving retrofits.”

  “How remarkable. Well, can I get the three of you anything? Wine? Something stiffer? I’m afraid I don’t know what Lividites drink, or starships for that matter.”