The Dogs of God

by Chris Kennedy

  “Scratch one battlecruiser,” Marigold said. Her voice was heavy with satisfaction. “We killed the fucker!”

  “All right!” Richard grinned at her, but he didn’t dare take his hands off the controls to high-five. “I’m getting us out of here…”

  Something detonated far too close to the hull. Alarms howled. He cursed as red lights appeared on the display, spreading like a particularly nasty cancer…or the virus itself. His training took over, one hand hitting the eject button, and the other pulling down his facemask. He grunted as he felt a giant kick in the pants, the world spinning around him as he was thrown into space. Marigold flew beside him, spinning helplessly in the vacuum. He had a brief glimpse of the gunboat a moment before it exploded. And then they were alone.

  He closed his eyes. The spinning refused to abate…it wouldn’t abate, he knew, until something physically stopped it. His emergency beacon was already sounding the alarm, begging for help, but he knew it might be hours before anyone came to the rescue. Who knew? The aliens had lost one battlecruiser, as far as he knew. Had they lost others, enough to give the Admiral’s fleet a chance to win? Or were they the only survivors of the fleet, doomed to float helplessly in space until they ran out of life support and died? They weren’t that far from Earth, not on an interstellar scale, but it would still be hours before Earth even knew of the attack, let alone dispatched reinforcements. Admiral Thompson had been conducting operations in what everyone had known was a safe rear area. They’d never thought they might be attacked, let alone caught on the hop…

  Earth was attacked twenty-five years ago, Richard reminded himself. We should have realised we couldn’t keep the virus from sneaking into our territory.

  Something grabbed his foot. He couldn’t help himself. He screamed. His eyes snapped open as gravity reasserted itself, revealing a shuttle airlock. A SAR operative was right next to him, reeling Marigold into the airlock. Richard breathed a sigh of relief as he lay on the deck, waiting for the outer hatch to close and the inner hatch to open so he could take off his mask. His body felt cold. It was funny how he hadn’t realised it had been cold when he’d been drifting in open space.

  The hatch closed. “Welcome aboard,” the SAR operative said as the inner hatch opened. “I’ll have you back on your carrier in a jiffy.”

  “Great,” Richard said. “What happened?”

  “Oh, you killed three of the battlecruisers,” the operative said, “and the others got smashed by Jellico.”

  Marigold reached out and squeezed Richard’s hand. “Do you think they’ll doubt us now?”

  “We’ll see,” Richard said as the shuttle headed towards McCleery. “I’m sure they’ll find some way to beat on us.”

  Bagehot did not, it seemed, agree with him. “We caught them with their pants down,” he said, once he’d welcomed Richard and Marigold back to the carrier. “The gunboats killed three battlecruisers, giving the rest of the fleet a fighting chance.”

  “We got lucky, sir,” Richard said. For the first time, he felt like a proper naval officer. “If they’d known what we could do…”

  “But they didn’t,” Bagehot pointed out. “Don’t worry about it. Right now, Admiral Thompson is arguing for us—for you—with all the enthusiasm of a new convert. And so are a great many others. I dare say they won’t have any problem expanding the program now.”

  Marigold frowned. “But we might not be so effective next time…”

  “Keep that opinion to yourself,” Bagehot said firmly. He grinned at their shocked expressions. “Yes, they know. Admiral Thompson’s old enough to remember the First Interstellar War. They know how weapons systems can become more or less effective, depending on countermeasures and other factors. They’re not expecting miracles. They just want you to give us an edge.”

  “We’ll do our best, sir,” Richard said. He felt…satisfied. He’d finally found a place he belonged, even if there was a better than even chance of death. “What now?”

  “Now?” Bagehot laughed. “We’re going back to work. And the next time the virus shows itself, we’re going to be ready.”

  * * * * *

  Christopher G. Nuttall Bio

  Christopher Nuttall has been planning sci-fi books since he learned to read. Born and raised in Edinburgh, Chris created an alternate history website and eventually graduated to writing full-sized novels. Studying history independently allowed him to develop worlds that hung together and provided a base for storytelling. After graduating from university, Chris started writing full-time. As an indie author, he has published fifty novels and one novella (so far) through Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing.

  Professionally, he has published The Royal Sorceress, Bookworm, A Life Less Ordinary, Sufficiently Advanced Technology, The Royal Sorceress II: The Great Game and Bookworm II: The Very Ugly Duckling with Elsewhen Press, and Schooled in Magic through Twilight Times Books.

  As a matter of principle, all of Chris’s self-published Kindle books are DRM-free.

  Chris has a blog where he published updates, snippets and world-building notes at http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/ and a website at http://www.chrishanger.net.

  Chris is currently living in Edinburgh with his partner, muse, and critic, Aisha.

  # # # # #

  To Become Death by Christopher Hopper

  Part 1

  “Time to move,” Sergeant Loo yelled. “Let’s go, let’s go!” He started pushing the eleven Marines in his squad out of the transport shuttle before the cargo ramp door hit the sandstone.

  When it was her turn, Egger pulled her MC87 close to her chest, elbows in, and ran down the ramp into bright sunlight. Her Mark IV armor’s helmet sensors took a few seconds to adjust the visor’s opacity before she could see her surroundings. Not that it mattered much—the transport’s repulsors blasted the ground, pelting her armor with debris, which made it nearly impossible to see through the mini sandstorm.

  Somewhere in the distance, Egger could hear the sharp whine of blaster fire and exploding ordnance. The action was close enough that she could feel the low sonic energy vibrate in her chest, forcing her heart rate higher as she anticipated the firefight.

  Once the shuttle redeployed, Egger spotted the rest of Third Platoon taking cover behind a wall of sandbags. She waved her fire team forward and ordered them to fall in. Orders had been late coming down the chain of command, so the briefing was being held on the ground instead of in flight. As Egger’s fire team joined the other two squads, she heard Second Lieutenant Norse’s voice comm over TACNET.

  “All right, listen up,” Norse said. He stood with his back to one of the berms as all forty-two of Third Platoon’s sand-colored Marines fell in. “Command says there’s a new wave of squibs coming in from the east, making a push for the royal palace. The good news for us is that’s the royal palace, so we don’t have far to go.” Norse pointed behind Egger.

  She turned, along with everyone else, to see a sprawling sandstone complex, guarded by three concentric walls. The structure that rose beyond it boasted numerous courtyards, arches, aqueducts, and towers. Higher still was the main building, constructed of terraced sections that made it look like a naturally irrigated agricultural hilltop that was five stories tall in the center. It boasted shaded porticos, multi-tiered garden verandas, marble columns, and at least three swimming pools, as far as Egger could tell.

  “Someone’s living large,” a voice said over comms.

  “And it’s not you, Vance,” someone else replied.

  Egger suddenly realized the speakers were her corporals in the third fire team. Fortunately, the comments seemed to get a chuckle out of everyone, albeit a nervous one, judging by how fast the laughter died. Irritated, she raised a finger and then pointed back at the CO.

  “Second Platoon’s already downrange and taking heavy fire,” Norse said. “Our orders are to get down there, relieve them, and hold the squibs off until the armor arrives.”

  “And how long’s that, LT?” Sergeant Loo
asked.

  Norse looked in Second Squad’s direction to address the question. “Best guess, armor should be here by nightfall.”

  Egger saw several Marines shift on their feet. Sundown was at least six hours away, maybe more. If the fighting was as intense as the rumors said, it was going to be a long afternoon.

  “We are located in the palace’s eastern yard,” Norse continued. “This combat outpost is our fallback position. From here, we’ll head east, directly into those sons ‘a bitches. Second Platoon’s relying on us, so I don’t want anyone dragging their dicks, tits, or blaster tips. Copy?”

  Helmets nodded.

  Suddenly, an explosion shook the ground, and a fireball billowed into the air about fifty meters into the city. Fountains of sparks accompanied it, and at least a few limbs covered in Repub armor.

  “I know for most of you, this is your first time engaging the Simikon,” Norse said, as if the explosion was nothing more than a nuisance. “And for others, this is your first deployment. So, let me be clear. That—” he thumbed over his shoulder at the black smoke, “—is what happens when a squib’s juice comes in contact with stored energy. That includes your mags and your armor’s battery. Hell, if you’re wearing your granddaddy’s old wristwatch and it’s got a full capacitor in it, you can kiss your hand goodbye. So keep your spare mags on your back, not your chest or legs, ‘cause the stuff can eat its way through almost anything. Additionally, you do not want these suckers engaging you in CQB. If one gets on you, you can bet that ten more are on their way, so stay clear. Any questions?”

  A few helmets shook back and forth.

  “Good,” Norse said. “Listen to your squad leaders, and let’s send those squib bastards back to whatever form of hell you prefer. Own the field.”

  “OTF,” the platoon replied as one, then broke off to their respective squads.

  Sergeant Loo called Second Squad to him, and then jogged to a nearby berm that was just over a meter high. He took a knee, as did everyone else. A few visors went up as guys packed a cheek of bantaw, took bites of protein sups, or sipped water. As Egger peered east over her CO’s shoulder, she noticed a final bagged wall that lined the first cross street running north–south. It housed several of the brand new M109 double-barrel blaster turret emplacements. They were tough, easy to set up, and could put a lot of blaster fire on target. Egger was grateful to see them.

  “Listen up, people,” Loo said. “We have the privilege of advancing on Zimorran Street, straight down the middle.” He chopped at the air with the flat of his hand. “And before you go thanking the lieutenant, just know I volunteered us.”

  A few Marines groaned under their breath, but the blaster fire in the distance drowned most of it out. Unlike the complainers, Egger was happy to be here and ready to get in the thick of it. With three older brothers who’d all built reputations in the Corps, she had some catching up to do.

  “We take it east and then head north up Bijzank Avenue. That’s where we’ll find Second Platoon dug in. The way I figure, the faster we can stick it to the squibs today, the less work we gotta do tomorrow.”

  “Copy that, Sarge,” Egger said, hoping her affirmation might help lighten the mood. But based on the way everyone turned their helmets toward her, she doubted it.

  “This here’s sacred ground,” Loo continued, stabbing the hardback with a finger. “When we run low on mags, or we get relieved, we fall back here. And no matter what, no squibs are taking this combat outpost. Copy?”

  The squad nodded.

  “To be clear on the LT’s orders, if we need to abandon the COP—which is not gonna happen—we move back to the secondary rally point inside the palace wall, which doubles as our casualty collection point. These will be marked in your HUD.”

  Again, more heads nodded.

  “Good. Rack a mag and keep your eyes open. Call out what you see, and watch each other’s six. Egger, you and Third Team take point.”

  “You heard the man,” Egger said to Stowe and Vance. “Let’s move.”

  She was about to pass Loo when his hand caught her by the arm. “Nothing stupid today, Egger,” he said, addressing her over a private channel.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” Egger replied.

  “Few people do,” Loo said. “But I know you’re hunting for something.”

  “Just kill counts, Sarge,” she lied. Egger was hunting for something more than that, and she hated that Loo had noticed.

  She stepped away, but the sergeant didn’t let go.

  “Listen, Egger. People who try to make a name for themselves by force rarely live long enough to hear about it.”

  “Who said anything about making a name for myself?” she said.

  Loo sighed and then released her arm. “Just—stay smart out there.”

  Egger nodded and then led her two corporals around the berm. They dashed toward the row of MUT50s along the COP’s line of demarcation, where she stopped to check in with a gunner, tapping him on the shoulder.

  “How far down?” she asked, jumping in on his TACNET channel.

  “Second Platoon’s out 450 meters, but the last sighting for squibs was 125 meters,” he replied, never taking his eyes off the sights along the MUT50’s tri-reticulated barrel. “They’re playing hard to get right now. But if you get close enough and they feel your body heat? You can bet they’ll come outta hiding for ya.”

  “Good to know,” Egger replied, and then patted his shoulder again. “Good luck.”

  “I’m not the one headed down there.” The gunner nodded at Egger. “You take care.”

  She nodded and then reported the intel to Loo. He thanked her and told her to keep her head down. “Roger that,” she said and headed across the street.

  Egger held her MC87 in high ready position and scanned for targets, maintaining a smooth and steady pace. She’d seen action in three different systems and had fired on her share of alien species. But all of them had been humanoid—this would be her first time assaulting something as strange and as aggressive as the Simikon.

  Egger led her fire team down the left side of the street, using lampposts and mounds of rubble as cover. She disliked Sergeant Loo’s implication that she had something to prove. There was a fine line between fearlessness and recklessness, and Egger had seen her share of young Marines needlessly run into a danger area and get cut down, all because they didn’t know the difference. She did.

  “You afraid, Corporal Egger?” Vance asked in a low voice.

  “Nope,” Egger replied. “You?”

  Vance hesitated. “I mean, have you ever seen one of them squibs close up?”

  “Just in the holos.”

  “Yeah. Not the same. I’ve seen ‘em. Twice.”

  Stowe nudged Egger. “They remind me of his sisters.”

  “You wanna say that again?” Vance said, standing up straight.

  “All right, boys.” Egger raised a hand. “I’m tracking movement fifty-five meters ahead, right side of the street, second story.” Egger leveled up a channel and shared the same intel with Loo. Then, back to her team, she said, “Let’s stay low and watch those windows.”

  “Copy that,” Vance and Stowe replied.

  Egger noticed one of the squibs peeking through a blown-out window that overlooked a second-story veranda. The window bore the remains of a burgundy fabric and broken curtain rods. Egger imagined this street had once been quite lovely, filled with richly dressed pedestrians engaged in any number of errands. The brightly colored awnings now hung in filthy tatters, billowing in the hot afternoon air like faded flags from forgotten lands.

  The closer to the building her team got, the tighter her chest grew. But unlike noobs who choked under pressure, Egger had learned to own the anticipation that built before first contact. It helped her focus. And once she fired her weapon on target, the tension vanished. She also had plenty of practice learning how to direct her anxieties from all the years spent competing with her brothers as a kid.

  Egger slowe
d her breathing and noticed the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Her team was only thirty meters away from the window, and Egger could still see the mandibles of a single Simikon barely protruding from the window’s corner.

  Suddenly, the sound of crashing dishes came from her left. Egger turned and pointed her blaster at a giant rat that scurried across a bar. The animal hissed and squealed as it ran for cover. Which is what you should be doing right now, Elza, she heard her inner voice say. But she ignored the prompt and stuffed it back in the pit of her gut where it belonged. Egger was paid to do a job, and nothing would deter her from that today, or any day.

  “It’s just a rat,” Vance said.

  “Made me piss myself,” Stowe added.

  Egger motioned them both to follow her. “Eyes up, barrels forward.”

  She wondered where her brothers were right now. Maybe they were even on Limbia Centrella somewhere. But the galaxy was a vast place, and the Galactic Republic had plenty of wars to deploy them to. In the back of her head, she wondered if the next time they met, her brothers would give her the look of approval that her father had given them. But she’d be damned if she was going to let that affect her performance. Not now, and not ever again.

  “You think that squib’s dead?” Vance asked, gesturing toward it with his blaster. Egger’s fire team was twenty meters out.

  “No way,” Stowe said. “See the mouth? It’s breathing.”

  “They taste the air,” Egger said. “It’s probably a scout.”

  “I thought you said you hadn’t seen one before?” Vance asked.

  “It doesn’t mean I don’t study my enemy.”