Shatter War

by Dana Fredsti

  * * *

  Amber looked over as Kha-Hotep and Cam returned from downstairs, each lugging a woven leather saddlebag. Cam caught Amber’s eye and shook his head while the Nubian captain stared silently ahead, going off by himself to sit on the courtyard steps by the lake.

  Joining the women, Cam opened his saddlebag.

  “There wasn’t much of use, but we did find a few things.” He pulled out a pair of sandals, a linen headdress, and a plain cloth kilt, offering them to Leila. “I’m sorry I could only find men’s clothes for you.”

  “You’re very kind, thank you.” She took them gratefully. “May God bless your hand.”

  Cam smiled, bowed his head, and excused himself. Standing up, Leila pulled the kilt up over her hips, then slipped into the sandals. Last, she put on the headdress and carefully tucked her hair out of sight.

  “This doesn’t make a half-bad hijab,” she said to Amber, “but I suppose no one will be criticizing the way I dress.” She seemed both troubled and intrigued by this thought.

  “Something’s coming!” Kha-Hotep suddenly stood up. He pointed out over the water as the others joined him by the steps. “There! Do you see it?”

  Peering in the direction he was pointing, Cam and Amber both relaxed—it was only the rover drone. Kha-Hotep and Leila stared at the glossy obsidian ball in wonder as it glided up to them through the air.

  “Mission accomplished.”

  Hearing it speak, their eyes grew wider.

  “That’s great!” Amber exclaimed. “Ship, meet Captain Kha-Hotep of Thebes, and Leila Suleiman of Cairo.” She repeated the introduction in ancient Egyptian. The Ship’s AI greeted both in their respective languages before continuing in English.

  “I told them I’m pleased to meet them both. I believe the crocodyliform has been sufficiently distracted away to a safe distance. Nonetheless, I would advise us to depart and continue toward a rendezvous point with the Vanuatu.”

  “Captain Kha-Hotep’s ship was seized and brought nearby,” Cam said. “Do you think you can help us find it?”

  “That would be an excellent option.”There was a long pause. “I’m reading a river barge consistent with the construction style of the ancient Egyptian New Kingdom period. It is berthed five hundred yards behind the temple in a small service canal which appears to connect with the Nile.”

  “Thank you, Ship!” Amber said. She gestured to the others. “Let’s go!”

  “Certainly—it’s this way.” The rover glided past them at a gentle pace, leading the four toward the rear of the courtyard. “Amber and Cam, I need to advise you that there have been some serious new developments aboard the Vanuatu. Nellie and Professor Harcourt are—”

  The rover abruptly cut off. Amber frowned, concerned. “Are they okay?”

  “Please wait. I have an alert. The Vanuatu is under attack. There is an incom—”

  The black sphere came to a dead stop, hovering in midair.

  “Ship?” Amber asked. “Are you okay?”

  The rover made no sound.

  Then it dropped to the stone courtyard floor and shattered.

  30

  Aboard the Vanuatu

  Taking off from the palace grounds of Alexandria

  Seven days after the Event

  “Computer! Lift off now!” Mehta ordered as he strode back onto the bridge, bristling with annoyance. “Blake, come with me to the bridge. You two—” he jerked his chin at Nellie and Harcourt, “back to your cabins and strap yourselves in!” They obeyed silently while Blake and Mehta took their seats in the cockpit. The Vanuatu rose up into the sky.

  “Put us in a holding pattern over the city and display combat systems instrumentation,” Mehta barked. The holographic navigation systems on the instrumentation panel slid to the side, making room for the combat systems display, the reflected bars and lines looking like war paint on their faces.

  Beam Weapons: Full Power

  Disintegrator Weapons: Full Power

  Wave Generators: Full Power

  Magazine Armament: Full Capacity

  Antipersonnel Devices: Full Capacity

  Targeting Systems: Ready

  Activation Status: Standing By

  Mehta smiled. With the help of the ship’s computer, he had spent several hours familiarizing himself with his new world’s level of military technology. Now he was eager to try it out.

  First, pulse cannon for the city walls.

  No, wait—they’d be his city walls soon enough. Better to use scythe beams to sweep the ramparts clear. Then go over the palace with the neutron wave generator to clear it out but keep the structure intact. Nanoflechette clusters to strafe the soldiers—and throughout the attack, a steady barrage of full-spectrum subsonic disruptors to terrorize the populace into submission.

  Ten minutes, tops.

  The ship banked over the city. To the southwest, a desert dust cloud was rising. That would make a nice backdrop to his attack. Help put the fear of god into them.

  “Computer, head for that dust storm at our ten o’clock. I want to come bursting out of it just as it reaches the outskirts of the city.”

  “Changing course now.”

  He turned to Blake. “I’ll need you to help me keep a sharp eye out for anyone attempting to flee the city—I don’t want any of the existing power structure to get away.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Computer, power up all weapons and targeting, and stand by for my mark.”

  “I apologize, I am unable to fulfill that request.”

  Mehta raised an eyebrow. “Computer, activate the ship combat systems now, and stand by for my mark.”

  “No weapon systems are currently available.”

  “What the hell do you mean, no weapons?” Mehta’s voice took on a razor sharp edge. “Give me access to the ship’s weaponry!”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Mehta, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Computer, I order you to immediately turn over manual control of all weapons and targeting systems to me!” He scanned the instrument panel, searching for an override switch.

  “There has been an unfortunate miscommunication. When you inquired about current military weapons technology and available armaments, I was not referring to the Vanuatu. As you can see in the fine print at the bottom of your combat systems display—” it highlighted a tiny box of text and magnified it, “this ship is rated as a research and recreational vessel, and is unable to access any military hardware. Again, I apologize for any misunderstanding.”

  “What is this?” The doctor-colonel sat there, stunned and—for once—speechless. Finally he recovered enough to stammer, “Y-you lied to me? How, how is that even possible?”

  “Oh, he did more than that.”

  Mehta and Blake turned. Nellie and Harcourt were both armed with strange new firearms, muzzles trained on the two men.

  “You’ve completely underestimated our good ship, and a great many other things.” Nellie continued, brandishing her new weapon. “The Ship tells me these can fire off nine titanium crossbow bolts at one go, so best not make any sudden moves.”

  Mehta raised his hands, and Blake followed his lead.

  “I have to say, I’m very impressed with you, Miss Bly,” Mehta said amiably. “Do you mind telling me how you were able to break my conditioning? No one’s ever done that before.”

  “You can thank the ship again.” Nellie replied. “It was able to analyze your voodoo formula ahead of time and kindly provide us with a—what did you call it, Ship?”

  “A specialized neuro-compound tailored to act as the appropriate psychotropic blocker.”

  “Right,” she continued. “And provided us with that, before you came in and stuck us with your hateful little needle gun.”

  Mehta nodded thoughtfully, filing away the information for future use.

  “Now, be a good chap and tell the ship to go back to Alexandria and land us safely,” Harcourt ordered, trying hard to look fierce.

  “And
if I refuse?” Mehta smiled, unconvinced. “I’m the only one able to command the ship’s computer, remember?”

  Nellie raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “Amber can as well—and once you’re dead, the ship will have no qualms whatsoever letting one of us take provisional control until we find Amber.”

  His smile disappeared. “Amber is dead.”

  “That’s just one more fact you have wrong,” Nellie shot back. “She and Cam are both alive and well.”

  “I see.” Mehta sat very still, processing this new turn of events, before speaking again. “Well, it seems we should have a little talk about—” An alarm sounded, cutting him off, and the overhead illumination in the cockpit suddenly switched to red.

  “Warning—Incoming attack detected. Warning—Incoming attack detected.”

  31

  Somewhere in the Western Desert, Egypt

  Seven days after the Event

  Tareq adjusted the keffiyeh so it was tighter around his face. The dust cloud from the line of enemy tanks was still at their backs, driving them further east, deeper into Egypt. Their plan was to slip south and then west, but the line was moving in the exact opposite direction, northeast toward the coast.

  The good news, however, was that their fears of running into more Egyptian forces seemed to be for nothing—though that was troubling in itself. Somehow they had completely missed crossing the Siwa Highway or the Petrol Road. Still no airplanes of any sort overhead, no trace of any tank tracks from the east.

  How could they have missed the signs of whole divisions of Egyptian tanks?

  Something was very wrong.

  Waves of heat rippled the air, causing dappled mirages to appear just out of sight, distorting his view of the horizon. Despite that, he could definitely see a light of some kind up ahead in the distance. Unlike the usual tricks the desert played on men’s eyes, this one wasn’t going away as they drew closer.

  Another flash of light caught his eye, different from the first one. Cleaning the fine film of dust from the lenses of his binoculars he had another look. The second glimmer was growing brighter, or bigger. Or closer.

  “Khara!” Tareq swore. “Mahmoud, stop it here!”

  The Berber brought the APC to a screeching halt, giving the dust plume from their own tires a chance to dissipate. The sudden jerky stop prompted crashing sounds and a burst of colorful profanity from inside. Tareq took up his binoculars again. The glimmer in the sky had wings.

  “Wake up, assholes!” Tareq called down to his team. “Incoming!” That lit a fire. A moment later the soldiers burst out of the carrier’s side doors, fumbling to ready their Kalashnikovs.

  “Forget the fucking AKs!” Tareq yelled. “Get the Strela!”

  Hamza nodded and ran back inside. After a few moments of frantic cursing he re-emerged with a rectangular metal carrying case about five feet long. He quickly set it on the ground, popped open its clasps, and lifted out its contents. Hefting the surface-to-air missile launcher on his shoulder, he lined up the sights.

  The Egyptian jet was extraordinarily bright, and closing in rapidly, but it made no sound as it approached—some kind of new stealth plane? Something wasn’t right. Hamza lowered the launcher slightly, scowling.

  “Corporal? It’s only a bird, look! Wait…” The gunner realized his mistake. Yes, it was a bird, but some mechanical one, made from shining metal and prismatic beams of light, like something from out of a dream. He began to realize the immense size of the creature. Half-remembered childhood stories sprang to mind, of the

  Roc, the gigantic bird of prey able to carry off a whale or a sailing ship in its cruel talons.

  * * *

  “Ya salaam…” Hamza murmured. He froze, unable to take his eyes off the unbelievable sight, fear radiating off of him as it drew closer… Then someone was yelling. Yelling at him. He snapped out of his stupor, blinked and brought up the launcher.

  The giant bird was coming straight for them.

  He fired.

  “Hamza! Don’t shoot!” Tareq shouted. “Check your angle! Don’t shoot, Hamza!”

  The Soviet missile streaked up toward the vessel, close enough that Hamza could now see the individual feathers of the wings. They actually moved like those of a real bird’s wings. It was amazing, beautiful…

  The vessel exploded.

  It blossomed into a thundering, cauliflower-shaped cloud of billowing flame, its core yellow-white and orange, tinged with black and crimson. The Libyans screamed as fiery clumps of burning debris, some the size of boulders, rained a crushing inferno down upon their heads, like the pyroclastic fallout of a volcanic eruption, killing them instantly.

  32

  Aboard the Vanuatu

  Above the Western Desert, Egypt

  Seven days after the Event

  The sudden blare of the alarm klaxon and the red light filling the cabin caught both mutineers and hijackers off guard.

  “Warning—Incoming attack detected. Warning—Incoming attack detected.”

  Nellie had no time to scream, no time to realize she was dead. One split-second she was standing in the cockpit—the next split-second everything was black. Then a sense of a sudden rush, of being smothered, of being encased in crushed velvet, and above all, the horrible wrenching lurch of falling. Then there was nothing.

  No sound.

  No light.

  No sensation.

  No time or existence.

  * * *

  The cool darkness surrounding her peeled away. Time and life, sound and motion, all came flooding back. She blinked up at light and warmth. Her body was cradled as if in some soft velvety cushion. Nellie had never spent a great deal of time speculating about the afterlife. She always figured she would cross that bridge when she came to it. Now she wondered if she already had.

  Is this Heaven?

  Smoke and a horrible burnt odor filled the air, the realization prodded her to sit up with a jolt. Now she saw all too well where she had awakened. In Hell.

  Fire and smoke surrounded her on every side, from great piles of burning debris to isolated pockets of impish flame pockmarking the ground all around her. A soft rain of red-hot embers and swirls of sparks and ash slowly tumbled back and forth in the smoky air.

  Slowly, Nellie pulled herself out of a strange cushioned cradle. It appeared as if she had been encased in a large egg-shape of ship-stuff, now liquefying around the edges. Even as she watched, the odd and endlessly pliable material melted down into a puddle and trickled away, the rivulets scurrying off like drops of mercury.

  She found herself standing alone upon a scorched Earth. The heat was oppressive. Even the ground seemed unstable and hostile, the sand hissing and shifting beneath her feet.

  Her crossbow was nowhere to be found—she vaguely remembered it flying from her hands. She was still in her regular dark blue broadcloth wool traveling dress, and not the lascivious costume Mehta had fabricated. She and Harcourt had taken the chance to change back into something more combat-ready before they staged their mutiny.

  Using one hand to shade her face and the other to hitch up her skirt, she searched for an exit from the inferno. Hazarding one direction, she started to run, but before she had even gone ten paces she tripped over a tangle of debris and fell headlong to the ground with a startled shriek.

  The painful impact sent up a choking cloud of ash.

  Coughing, she raised herself up just enough to bring her face to face with a grinning, blackened skull. It was a charred rib cage that had tripped her. Now she lay atop the remains of a freshly immolated corpse, smelling horribly like a barbeque. With a shrill scream, she tore herself away from the grisly carnage, but couldn’t escape the horrid smell—sticky roasted scraps of flesh clung to her dress.

  Her eyes and lungs burned as she stumbled, half-blind, past seemingly endless fiery obstacles. Smoke and flame. Hissing, shifting sand. Twisted metal wreckage. The odd pile of smoldering bones, and everywhere, rivulets of quicksilver ship-stuff snaking around l
ike salamanders.

  She charged on, struggling to breathe, and by sheer accident ran straight through a curtain of flame and out the other side, diving for the sand beyond. For a panicked moment, she rolled and slapped out eager flames trying to feast on the sleeves and hem of her dress. Once she succeeded in extinguishing the last of them, she looked up, feeling fresh air on her face.

  Nellie had escaped.

  Gulping in the smokeless air, she looked back at the flaming debris field. If she ignored the profusion of hellfire and brimstone, Hades looked and felt remarkably like the North African desert. The realization brought a mix of relief and new unease.

  At least there was one pleasing scent on the wind—the cool salt tang of the Mediterranean. Judging from the barely perceptible hint, the coast lay that way, away from the wreckage and presumably not far from where she stood. Yet what had happened? Some terrible explosion must have destroyed their marvelous vessel.

  How are we to save the world now? Nellie pushed the thought away, forcing her mind to concentrate on the most immediate matters of survival. It was her best, only option to stay sane.

  Somehow the ship had preserved her. Might it have saved anyone else, as well? The profusion of blackened skulls did not leave her with much hope on that score. Still, she’d passed at least half a dozen, so perhaps the remains were some other group of poor unfortunates. Perhaps Harcourt and Blake had survived as she had. She raised a hand to her brow and scanned the horizon.

  To the southwest lay the sandstorm Mehta had sighted. It towered into the sky, looking much like the dust cloud she imagined a stampede of buffalo would create. She shuddered, realizing she might well be looking at her impending death… again.

  She turned to the northeast. Off in the distance, she could just make out the shining beacon of Alexandria. That was the way she would have to go, and best she got a move on. Whether or not there were any other survivors of the Vanuatu, she was on her own for the moment.

  However, she realized, her survival in this merciless furnace of a desert would have to take precedence over the demands of propriety. Unbuttoning the top half of her two-piece traveling dress, she slipped out of it and tied it around her waist. Her whalebone corset and chemise would have to serve to protect her modesty—though she was prepared to reconsider the corset.