Four Tomorrows: A Space Opera Box Set

by James Palmer

  “They wouldn’t dare destroy a Q-gate,” said Kuttner.

  “What are you planning, sir?” asked Kuttner.

  “Special tactics, my boy. Watch and learn.”

  Hamilton watched the old man from his own command chair, his heart racing. Say what you want about Captain Henry Kuttner, what he didn’t know about battle tactics and strategy would barely fill a shot glass in the officer’s lounge. He would do well to sit back and let the man work.

  The Q-gate loomed large in the viewer. “Everyone grab onto something,” said Hudson.

  Hamilton gripped the arms of his chair as the Onslaught slewed around the giant alien artifact to the right, faster than the ship’s artificial gravity could compensate. Hamilton felt a lump of something hot rise in his throat and stay there.

  “We’re coming around the other side,” said Hudson.

  “Gunner Cade, aim through the Q-gate at the Dragon vessel and give them everything we’ve got.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “You’re using the Q-gate as a shield,” Hamilton said.

  Kuttner nodded without looking at him. “It’s dirty pool but hopefully it’ll get the job done. The Draconi won’t strand themselves in this quadrant by risking hitting the gate.”

  “They’re slowing down, sir,” said Hudson. “And they’ve stopped firing.”

  When the empty space in the center of the gate loomed large, Cade fired the ship’s ion guns through the opening. The Draconi vessel looked to be in the middle of a braking maneuver, thrown off by the Onslaught’s sudden course change. The twin streams of charged particles scored a direct hit, and the alien vessel exploded in a blossom of white-hot flame that dissipated as quickly as it appeared.

  “There’s going to be a lot of explaining to do,” said Kuttner after a long moment. In the meantime, let’s return to Verdant and see if we can figure out what the hell happened down there.”

  4 Among the Ruins

  “We’ve got to send someone down there,” said Kuttner as they fell into orbit above the planet. “Hamilton, I want you to take some marines down there. Find out who or what did this.”

  “Me, sir?” said Hamilton, clearing his throat. “I’ve never led an away mission.”

  “First time for everything. We don’t know what we’re up against. This could be some new Dragon weapon those sneaky lizards are testing on our people. I want someone down there I can trust.”

  Hamilton nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, and turned to leave the command deck.

  “Take a weapon with you,” said Kuttner over his shoulder. “And be ready for anything.”

  Hamilton nodded once more as he left the room.

  Sergeant Dutton made sure his men were strapped in securely before wedging himself in behind the shuttle’s pilot seat and pulling down the large shoulder restraint and locking it into place. A moment later Commander Hamilton climbed aboard the small craft and went to sit in the co-pilot’s seat. Lt. Ellison was already closing the hatch and initiating the shuttle’s launch sequence.

  The trip down a planet’s gravity well toward its surface always felt like falling, but Dutton was used to it. He squeezed his eyes shut only momentarily. He wasn’t about to show the marines under his command any sign of weakness. The same held true for the Onslaught’s upstart new commander. Dutton would follow his orders to the letter, but he didn’t know Hamilton. The man wasn’t battle-tested. He had always believed that the true measurement of a man was how he behaved in a fight. He didn’t trust the man, much less like him, and he didn’t like going into an unknown situation with someone he didn’t trust.

  Ellison eased the shuttle into Verdant’s blue-green atmosphere almost effortlessly and guided it toward the colony’s coordinates. The devastation was even more obvious up close. Just a huge crater where there had once been the homes of over three hundred men, women and children.

  “Find us a suitable landing spot, Lieutenant,” said Hamilton. Dutton smarted at this man’s usurpation of his authority. These were his marines. He was in charge.

  Ellison found a large flat hill just above the remains of the colony and set the shuttle down. Everyone disembarked quickly, and Dutton walked immediately up to Hamilton, who was using a slate to get pictures and readings of what little was left of the colony below them.

  “Commander,” said Dutton gruffly. “If I might have a word?”

  Hamilton paused what he was doing and looked at the marine. “Sure, Sergeant.”

  “These are my men,” he said. “And I’m guessing you haven’t been on too many missions of this type.”

  Hamilton nodded. “You guess correctly.”

  “Well then, just so we’re clear. These are my men, and I give the orders.”

  To his surprise, Hamilton grinned. “Of course, Sergeant. I won’t tell you how to do your job. I’m here just to oversee and make a report.”

  Dutton nodded. That was a relief. He had expected to have to fight the man on this point, and he’d seen too many self-assured officers get their heads blown off because they thought they were kings of the universe and could go in somewhere unprepared. He moved off to prepare his men.

  “All right, apes,” he said. “Eyes and ears open. I want a perimeter set up around what’s left of this place. Keep a look out for any survivors. Ellison and Bannon, you stay up here with the shuttle. The rest, you’re with me and Commander Hamilton. Let’s go.”

  Hamilton still had no idea what they were expected to find, or how they could use it to figure out what happened. But he was determined to do his best. He looked at his slate, which was locked onto the automated distress beacon. As he walked down the hill he found it, buried under a few inches of topsoil. It was a large spherical object equipped with a tightbeam transmitter. He shut off the device. It looked as if it had been flung from its original location, perhaps by a fleeing colonist. Maybe they would find survivors after all and get an eyewitness account of what went down here.

  Hamilton dropped the beacon to the ground and kept walking, his right hand resting on his sidearm. The marines were better prepared, hefting large T-190 rail guns. Though Hamilton didn’t think any of them would need to use their weapons.

  He was wrong.

  Verdant was a world of dense jungle, which had already reached out to reclaim the area once occupied by the colony. Hamilton wished for a machete as they found their way increasingly blocked by tangles of thick, blue-green vegetation. They were starting to move through the thickest growth when there was a bark of weapons fire and Corporal Hastert fell backward, his face a blossom of red mist.

  “Get down!” Dutton commanded, and everyone, Hamilton included, dropped to the dense jungle floor.

  Hamilton heard a weapon stutter from the thick foliage in front of them, and a tree beside him was instantly shredded. He pulled his needle gun, not sure how much help it would be. He was no marksman, and the tiny flechettes packed the most punch at close range. He’d never get a clear shot, not in this brush. He scanned the tree line, and saw a thick shadow detach itself and move sideways through the jungle with incredible speed.

  “Kill anything that moves,” Dutton ordered. He glanced once at Hamilton, who returned his gaze. “Are you hurt, sir?”

  “No,” said Hamilton, sitting up in a crouch.

  “It’s the damned lizards,” said Dutton. “I can smell ‘em.” He fired at something before moving ahead, he, Sanchez, and Phillips forming a slow moving line as they advanced carefully, weapons raised to their shoulders. He glanced back once toward Hamilton. “Stay where you are,” he said before he and his fellow marines disappeared into the dense foliage.

  Hamilton stayed where he was, panting in the jungle heat. Whoever had attacked them had lost the element of surprise, and were probably moving farther back into the jungle to maintain cover. Hamilton stood slowly and cautiously, well aware that with his officer’s uniform he might as well be wearing a giant target on his chest.

  Ahead and to the right, he heard another blast of w
eapons fire. It sounded like one of theirs. Then nothing. He touched the comm stud on his lapel and listened, his cochlear implant tuned to the frequency the marines were using. He heard heavy breathing and boots crunching leaves.

  “Sit rep,” Hamilton said.

  “I got one,” said Dutton in reply. It’s a lizard all right. Jungle’s probably teeming with them.”

  Hamilton highly doubted it, but said nothing. He was going to need Dutton to remain on his side if he was going to get out of here alive. There was another blast of artillery, and Phillips screamed in his ear.

  “My leg!” he said.

  The marines opened up with everything they had then. Hamilton saw trees and bushes far ahead in the thick jungle shred and fall. There was more movement.

  “Dammit!” Hamilton shouted. “Dutton, get your men out of there.”

  “Brannon, get your ass down here,” said Dutton over his comm. “Ellison, prepare the shuttle for immediate evac.”

  “Get out of there, Sergeant,” said Hamilton again, more forcefully this time. He was about to head in their direction when something crashed out of the jungle and struck him sidewise, knocking him down. He jumped up, holstered his weapon, and moved after it.

  5 The Admiral

  Captain Kuttner had never been comfortable making direct calls to the Admiralty, but the protocol in cases like this demanded it. He sat nervously in the ship’s ready room while the tightbeam transmitter bounced his communication request off the various Q-gate relays, drumming his fingers on the translucent tabletop.

  After almost ten minutes the tightbeam receiver chimed, and Kuttner touched the com stud. Holo emitters in the center of the table flickered to life, and an image coalesced in the air in front of him, alive with decaying tachyons. In a matter of seconds, the image of Kuttner’s old friend and commanding officer appeared.

  “Hello, Hank,” she said, smiling.

  “Hello, Alice,” said Kuttner.

  Admiral Alice Sheldon was seventy-five—Kuttner remembered because he had attended her last birthday party—but she no longer looked it. He had heard rumors that she was undergoing de Gray treatments to extend her longevity, now here was proof. Her once wrinkled skin was now taut and pink as a newborn’s, and her short curly hair, once a fine slate gray, was now shot through with patches of light brown. It was like she was aging in reverse, which Kuttner supposed she was. But the overall effect was rather disconcerting.

  “You’re looking well,” said Kuttner.

  “Thanks, Hank,” she said, smiling. “You too. It’s been too long.”

  “Yes it has,” said Kuttner. “But I’m afraid this isn’t a social call. There’s been an…incident in the Verdant system.”

  Admiral Sheldon arched an eyebrow. “What in the worlds are you doing there? You’re supposed to be halfway to Zephyr by now.”

  “Yes, well, we were investigating why the colony there had stopped transmitting.”

  “We’re well aware of that, Hank. Another one’s gone missing, hasn’t it?”

  Kuttner stared at her image. “What do you mean, another one?”

  Sheldon sighed, adjusted her crisp white and gold uniform front. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t live your ready room.”

  Kuttner nodded. “All right.”

  “There have been several colonies along the fringe that have just up and vanished. Orbital stations too, mostly corporate mining concerns.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone else know about this?” asked Kuttner.

  “The Fleet doesn’t want to start a panic,” she said. “Special Operations is aware of the situation and has launched a full investigation. As for you and your ship, you have an appointment you’re late for.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that,” said Kuttner.

  “Why not?”

  “There’s been an altercation with the Draconi,” he said. “When we arrived at Verdant, one of their ships was also parked in orbit around the other side of the planet relative to our position. They accused us of not only destroying the Verdant colony, but several of their colonies as well. They opened fire. We had to defend ourselves.”

  Admiral Sheldon slumped in her seat, crestfallen. “Casualties?”

  “A few minor injuries on our side, some damage to the ship. But the Draconi vessel was completely destroyed.”

  Admiral Sheldon cupped her face in her hands for a moment before looking at Kuttner. “All right,” she said. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to proceed to Zephyr as originally ordered. You’re going to retire. You’re going to go somewhere sunny and get tan, and you’re going to forget all about this.”

  “That’s it?” said Kuttner.

  “You want to be court martialed?” Admiral Sheldon asked, her dark eyes wide. “Let Fleet handle it. We believe the Draconi are behind this. And their presence at the Verdant disappearance confirms it.”

  “I want to help,” said Kuttner.

  Admiral Sheldon smiled then, but it was a placating smile. “Come on, Hank. You’ve done your duty for king and country. Let us get those cold-blooded bastards for you.”

  “I just think—” Kuttner began, but the Admiral cut him off.

  “I don’t need you to think, soldier,” she said, forcefully. “I need you to do. Now get your ass to Zephyr before you get in any more trouble.”

  Before Kuttner could offer further protest, Admiral Sheldon cut the connection. He was left alone in his ready room.

  6 Hostiles

  Bushes thrashed at his face, roots snagged his boots, but still Commander Hamilton ran. He saw the flick of a green-black tail as the Draconi moved deeper into the jungle. Hamilton ran after it, hands held in front of his face to keep jungle branches from slapping into him, until he emerged in a small clearing. He looked around, panting. The jungle was eerily quiet.

  A heavy form exploded from the trees that ringed the clearing, landing atop Hamilton. He tried to reach for his gun, but a taloned foot had his hand pinned to the wet earth. His eyes took in his attacker. A Draconi, female was straddling him, holding a short, curved blade at his throat. He took in her uniform, noting that it was not the garb of a solider.

  “I don’t like having pointy things shoved in my face,” he said.

  The Draconi gave him a predatory sneer, licking her sharp teeth with her thin tongue. Hamilton noticed an area on the left side of her head that looked as if it had been scoured by something abrasive.

  “You speak Standard?” said Hamilton.

  The Draconi cocked her head to one side, as if she were either considering his question or wondering which part of him was the most delicious.

  Hamilton heard the heavy thrash of the marines as they ran toward his location.

  “They’ll be here soon,” said Hamilton. “And they’ll shoot first, then ask questions. I’d like to do things the other way around.”

  The Draconi’s head shot up and forward, nose sniffing the jungle. It looked back down at him a final time before easing off of him.

  Hamilton climbed to his feet. “Thank you,” he said, coughing.

  Dutton and his marines erupted from the jungle just a few feet away, weapons raised. “Move out of the way, Commander,” said Dutton. “And we’ll light this bastard up.”

  “Not gonna happen, Sergeant,” said Hamilton, raising his arms as if in surrender, his eyes still on the Draconi. “We need answers.”

  “But sir—”

  “Stand down, Sergeant,” Hamilton said evenly. “That’s an order.”

  “Sir, I really—”

  “Do it!” Hamilton commanded, and the big marine finally acquiesced, him and his men lowering their weapons.

  “That’s right,” said Hamilton to the Draconi. “You’re among friends here. The war’s over. We just want some answers. Do you speak standard?”

  The Draconi stared at him for several tense minutes before replying. “Yes, human” she said.

  Hamilton smiled. That was something at least. “Good.
Listen. We just want to find out what happened to our colony.” He took a step back, careful to keep his body in between the Dragon and the marines’ line of fire.

  “I’m Lieutenant Noah Hamilton of the LS Onslaught. “What’s your name?”

  “I am Drizda,” she said.

  Hamilton gave her a wan smile. “Nice to meet you. You’re not infantry, are you?”

  “No. I am scientist caste.”

  Hamilton nodded. He assumed as much from the markings on her uniform. During the war, much of his time with Special Operations had been studying Draconi culture, as much of it as they could glean from their hostile encounters with the species.

  “I wish to communicate with my vessel,” Drizda said.

  Hamilton frowned. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Your ship engaged us in battle, and we had no choice but to destroy it.”

  Her reptilian eyes widened. “Lies!”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Hamilton. “Try to communicate with them. You’ll see.”

  Drizda touched the cuff of her uniform and spoke something guttural, unintelligible. It was more like an animal growl than speech.

  “Nothing,” she said, hanging her head. “I am the last.”

  “Your face,” said Hamilton, pointing toward the area on the left side of her head. “What happened?”

  She touched it, then pulled her four-fingered hand away quickly, as if it burned. “I am clanless,” she said. “Cast out.”

  Hamilton said nothing, hoping she would elaborate, but she didn’t.

  “Why are you here?” he said.

  “Some of our colonies have been attacked, like this one.” She extended a hand in the direction of the crater. “We tracked a strange energy signature to this system and found the devastation here. I was sent down to investigate, along with those soldiers.” She pointed to her left, toward the dense jungle where the bodies of her compatriots lay.

  Drizda sniffed quickly, then clicked her teeth together. “They cast me out, and now I am the only one left.” Her teeth clacked together a few more times. Hamilton recognized this as the Draconi version of laughter. Apparently Drizda had a profound sense of irony.