The Jolo Vargas Space Opera Series Box Set

by J. D. Oppenheim

  “The BG boats are hailing us, Captain,” said Koba.

  “Tell them we are a Fed Courier with a package. That’ll give us a reason to get close.” Koba sent the message as three Fed gunboats popped in. Jolo had Koba open a channel to the Fed boats within range. “To all Federation warships in Duval space,” Jolo said. “The BG are hostile and plan to blow the planet. There are close to a million humans down there and the BG have been destroying the Duvalites’ transport ships. If you don’t believe me then hide and watch. Or run away and prove to me once and for all you are all truly worthless.” Jolo closed the comm. “Koba, head down to the deck. Just before we get out of range, hit one of the Cruisers.”

  By then the Wasps were close, well within range for their small turrets, but they held off. Trant hailed the Argossy but Jolo didn’t respond. Trant would have to see for himself. The Argossy fired a volley at the Cruisers and instantly the big, black ships returned fire. The BG hit a Wasp and it limped out of harm’s way, but by then the Argossy was dropping down into the atmosphere. Jolo watched on the screen as the little blue dots continued to move towards the big red dots.

  “What if the Fed don’t engage?” said Koba.

  “Then we’re screwed,” said Jolo.

  Jolo and Koba watched the screen as the Argossy dropped towards Duval, shaking and creaking all the way. Soon the Wasps were in range of the BG ships with the gunboats close behind. But neither had fired on the other.

  Jolo called down to Barth and Hurley on the comm: “You watchin’ this?”

  “Yep,” said Barth. But still nothing happened. The Fed boats had the two BG cruisers nearly surrounded, then another gunboat popped into orbit nearby and instantly unloaded on the closest Cruiser and it was on. The board lit up with activity as the three gunboats and the Wasps swarmed the Cruisers.

  Everyone in the Argossy cheered.

  Greeley walked in wearing the heavy armor holding Betsy. “You ready?” said Jolo.

  “Yeah, Boss,” he said.

  “I got a present for you,” said Jolo. He reached for the comm: “Hey Barth, bring it up.” Soon Barth came up carrying a huge gun connected to a large power pack. It had a thick barrel at least a meter long with a makeshift stock and trigger guard, a beefy cable routed out the back into the power supply, the end of the barrel had cooling fins all around.

  Barth handed it to Greeley, whose eyes were as big as eggs. He was breathing heavy and held the gun in his hands lovingly. Barth secured the power pack to the rear mount on Greeley’s suit. The big marine looked down at the gun, which was a small, modified turret pulled from a C-class Fed boat. Greeley looked like Barth had just handed him a suitcase of Fed credits. “It’s a Halbrock, ain’t it? It’s got them nice heat baffles. This ain’t the one that’ll melt down on you, is it?”

  Barth just grinned. “Who you talkin’ to? It’s a smaller version of the Halbrock Phase 4, but I put the new chips in it and she’ll go until the juice runs out.”

  “Captain, I’m ready to party,” said Greeley.

  “Koba,” said Jolo, “take us over Marco’s, a few hundred meters up is fine, over the atrium illuminators.” Koba brought the Argossy down over Marco’s. The big transport was still burning, black smoke against the clear, white sky.

  “Captain, there’s a small BG transport in the bay and a few heat sigs, most likely human, inside Marco’s.”

  “Open the hatch, I’m gonna jump out the back,” said Jolo.

  “I’m comin’ with you,” said Greeley.

  “No. I want you and the Argossy to get Bertha and the kids. Y’all need the firepower if they got cruisers. I think that’s what Katy would want.”

  Greeley nodded. “I’m gonna kill all those black bastards, Captain.”

  “You go hunt,” Jolo said. “Koba, tell Barth he’s got the conn, now y’all go get the kids.”

  “Captain, treat her well,” Greeley said, and handed him Betsy.

  Jolo ran down to the hatch, peered down through the hole, wind whistling into the hold, pushing him back. Koba had the Argossy 50 meters above the surface. Orange earth and a burning transport awaited—the dead kid with the bright green jacket snapping in the wind, partially covered in sand, the charge hose a black snake in the shape of an S.

  He jumped, aiming for the tiny reflection of light off of Marco’s illuminator above the atrium.

  The Things We Do For Love

  Duval

  1 day left

  Jolo slipped down through the humid Duval air, his heart pounding, his mind gripped with fear and panic. I’m going to die. But that soon passed. He remembered. I am not that Jolo. And that’s okay. He had time for one good breath of air and he braced for impact, dust flying up around him when his feet hit the ground. His mind told him he was fine, but parts of him still doubted. He looked up and the Argossy was already streaking off towards Jaxxon.

  He took a few tentative steps to make sure his legs were good and then he broke into a dead run. The ground was hot. Hotter than usual. And when he stopped he looked back towards the lip of the ravine and could see heat ripples in the air--the core was heating up. Was he too late? he wondered.

  Marco had padlocked the big, clear atrium cover, but fortunately Jolo had a key. He pointed Betsy at the flat side of the old lock and blew it apart. He lifted the cover and there was the metal shaft that brought light and air down to Marco’s prized plants.

  He swung his feet over the edge and sat there for a moment wondering if the shaft would hold his weight. And then he thought of Katy, down there, held by the black bastards, and he slid down.

  The first 10 meters or so were at a slight angle, then it dropped straight down, his body again weightless. He couldn’t tell when he was going to touch down but right before he slammed down into the atrium he felt the leaves of Marco’s plants slapping against his legs. He came down on a table and it broke and he hit the floor surrounded by dried leaves and pieces of wooden table.

  He stood up, the Colt in his right hand and Besty in his left. The plants were mostly brown and dead, except for a few Duval species that lived in the desert areas. The place smelled like Marco’s house, plants and wood and leather chairs, real things. But there were new smells too: smoke and ruin. The BG. Marco came to this place every day to take care of his plants. But standing there in the heat, amongst the wilted, brown tomato plants, the air dry and stale, Jolo knew Marco hadn’t been here for days.

  Koba said his scans had the human heat sigs in a storage bay connected to the main hangar next to the BG transport. Jolo went down the stairs into a large open room, his eyes scanning for any hint of movement, but it was quiet. In some other time maybe this space would have been used as a meeting place, but until recently had been for food storage. The floor in the center of the room was wet, and there were scorch marks on the ceiling above, black gashes, but no blood and no bodies. In the corner a few Fed ration boxes remained, the rest now black and ruined in the burning transport topside.

  Jolo edged closer to the food stash and noticed a foot sticking out from behind one of the Fed containers. He eased around to the back of the boxes and there on the floor was a human shape wrapped in a thin cover the Duvalites used to keep the sun and sand off of them in the desert. Jolo kicked the man’s boot but he did not move. At least it wasn’t a Jaylen, he thought. The man was as still as death and Jolo couldn’t hear him breathing, couldn’t hear his heartbeat. A tinge of fear swept through Jolo and he scanned the area but the big room was still quiet. Suddenly a strong hand had Jolo’s leg and he was on his back. Instinctively Jolo brought the Colt down and trained it on the man’s head. He was about to pull the trigger when the cover fell off the man’s face and Jolo recognized him. George.

  The synthetic humanoid sat up and stared at Jolo, tilted his head. “If you are quiet and still you can hear their breathing,” George said. “Two levels down in storage bay #7. Surrounded by two mechs, at least ten of my blond sisters, and one of the clever brown-haired variety, missing an arm.�
�� His face was calm and serene, like they were safely hidden away on some oxygen rich rock with all the people they loved and a cargo hauler full of Fed meal packs, instead of the current reality: about to be killed by a BG energy blade.

  “It’s good to see you,” said Jolo. “Let’s go.” Jolo stood and held out his hand and George just looked at it.

  “I am sorry. I do not think I will be of use. Though I have thinned their ranks a bit—uh, some of the blonds are here,” he tapped the big food container next to him, “and some are stuck in an air vent one level down. But there are many more below.” Jolo peered into the big container and inside was a horror show of Jaylen parts, blond hair and angry eyes and hands still clutching unlit energy blades, all mixed-up arms and legs and torsos at odd angles, though no blood and no smell.

  George reached down and held up his left leg, which wasn’t attached, but the ends had resealed so he wasn’t leaking.

  “How’d you do that?” said Jolo, jabbing his thumb towards the box of Jaylens.

  “I don’t, uh, remember, but I used this,” he said, holding up half of a BG mech’s staff. He twisted the end and the long, energy blade slid out hot and red.

  “How’s your power level?” said Jolo.

  “Adequate, though I’m willing to fight until I have no power remaining. Currently I only have the use of one leg and one arm. He held up his good arm, the other hanging limply at his side.”

  “Can you fire a gun?” said Jolo. George nodded, yes. “Good, let’s go. Stand and lean on me.” George stood up with Jolo’s help, both of them staring down at his disconnected leg still on the floor.

  “My diagnostic routine is non-functional and I fear I have lost a considerable amount of processing power,” said George. The synth was heavier than he looked and did a few hops to steady himself, his arm around Jolo and his head right next to Jolo’s. The synth scanned the room and Jolo got a good look at the back of George’s head. There was a black gash a few inches deep. The ugly wound had cauterized, melted bits of plastic and metal and logic chips.”

  Jolo stopped for a moment, the synth’s arm around him, and looked into George’s glass eyes. “Who am I?” Jolo said.

  George paused, his face still calm. “A friend,” he said finally.

  “And who are we going to rescue?”

  “The woman you love, brown hair, thin. The others say she is pretty. And other friends.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “Love and humor and beauty are difficult for me. But her features: high cheekbones, large eyes, and the shape of her body, all fit within the parameters of what humans consider beautiful.”

  Jolo nodded. “Who is the enemy?”

  “The black mechs with the worms inside and the synthetic girls with the energy blades.”

  By now they were limping and hopping towards the small elevator Marco used to move food and other heavy items between levels.

  “What are the odds, one human and a broken synth against a mech and the remaining Jaylens?”

  “I have no idea. Though I fear that I should know. Data loss. Computational functions offline.”

  “My name’s Jolo Vargas by the way. The girl is Katy. You and I are friends.”

  “Nice to meet you again, Jolo Vargas.”

  “Can you use this?” Jolo said, handing him Betsy. George analyzed the sawed-off shotgun.

  “1972 Smith and Wesson, pump-action, modified, shortened barrel for larger blast pattern, from old Earth.” He looked at Jolo with his calm eyes. “Some databases remain,” he explained. “And yes, I can use this.”

  “Do not fire on any humans.”

  “Of course. I have forgotten only names, not friend or foe recognition.”

  “I need you to go down to the main hangar in exactly five minutes, make some noise and shoot mechs and Jaylens.”

  “Current time and date functionality, plus most floating point subroutines are unavailable.”

  Jolo paused for a moment. If George couldn’t tell time anymore then he might miss the fight, and having him there would be a big help. If he went down too early then he’d get killed, and that wouldn’t do either. “Okay, how about this. Can you sing a song?”

  The synth paused to search his remaining data, and then smiled. “Yes, I found one song.”

  “How long is it?”

  “2:36.”

  “Okay, sing it twice, then go down to the main hangar and kick some ass.” He looked at one-legged George, cramped into the tiny elevator, the bad arm hanging down like a limp noodle, staring up at him, unblinking. “Thanks.” George nodded. “Okay, start singing.”

  “Wait,” said George. “What is my name?”

  “Your name is George and I want you to come out of this in one piece. A lot of people here care about you and depend on you. I’ll see you in the hangar.”

  Jolo turned for the stairs and set his internal countdown alarm to go off in 4 minutes. George started singing. “Roll out the barrel, we’ll have a barrel of fun. Roll out the barrel, we’ve got the blues on the run…”

  Jolo made it topside and the heat nearly knocked him off his feet. He steadied himself and ran towards the dead kid in the yellow jacket. He grabbed the end of the charge hose, the metal adapter hot and sandy, and started pulling it to the edge of the cliff. This wasn’t plan A, but he didn’t know George would be there to help. And assuming George was functional enough, the new plan B might be the best way. He was sure fully-functional George would have said he had about a 3.5% chance of survival, but Jolo would have gone for it anyway. There were more BG, but he and George had superior firepower and the element of surprise. He grabbed the black cable and pulled as much as he could right up to the edge, the thick, black charge line sticky from being in the heat. Marco would have yelled if he’d seen it out baking in the sun. He kept pulling, the internal clock in his head at 2:13.

  He knew the distance from the lip of the cliff to the top of the main hangar was about 60 meters and the standard Fed charge cable for larger boats was about 45 meters, but Marco had spliced two together so he could keep the charging station down a level and still have plenty of length to route the cable topside. So with any luck, taking into consideration the distance from the station to the edge of the cliff, Jolo figured he’d swing right into the main hangar about ten meters from the ceiling. He’d be able to case the hangar out as he flew in and maybe even take a few BG out on the way down. He’d briefly considered just taking the stairs on the other end but that would have put him and George on the same side of the room and he wanted to hit them from two opposite angles.

  The other consideration was that the hallways leading to the main hangar from the inside were long and narrow. The prospect of dueling with a Jaylen, or God forbid, a mech, in close quarters, trapped on one end of a hallway, those red energy blades cutting everything to shreds, did not appeal to him at all.

  So fly in he would, and have the entire floor of the main hangar to move about. The killing floor, he thought. His internal counter read 0:23. He took a deep breath, both hands gripping the end of the charge cable, then he took a running start and leapt off the edge of the cliff.

  The heat rising up from the ravine hit him like he’d jumped into a fire. The cable fed out like it was supposed to and his body turned and he could see the mouth of the main hangar, a dark rectangle against the orange cliff face. The line fed down and started to tighten and Jolo clutched the cable, his hands slipping down to the metal coupling. When the line finally went taught and he started to swing towards the cliff he knew instantly that he was coming in lower than he thought. He tried to pull himself up a little but the weight of his body was pulling him down. He got a quick glimpse of the inside and spotted two Jaylen near the a shiny, black BG transport. They hadn’t noticed him.

  Jolo crashed into the cliff face about five meters below the lip. The impact shook him and it took a moment to recover. His body bounce
d back off the wall and he started scurrying up the sticky black cable, his hands slipping a few centimeters each time he pulled himself up. The heat made it difficult to breathe, difficult to think. When he’d climbed up one handhold away from the edge he heard the girls coming, one high-pitched scream to alert the others and then a series of rapid, light footfalls. He reached a hand up to the lip of the hangar and a Jaylen came down with a boot on his fingers as another peered down over the edge at him.

  He pulled his hand down, throbbing with pain and pushed back against the cliff with his feet and started running to the side. He wrapped his leg around the cable and reached for the Colt. A Jaylen popped her head over the edge again and suddenly there was a small dark hole in her forehead and she fell down into the ravine. The other Jaylen screamed and stepped back, and Jolo started to swing back and forth along the wall hoping to vault himself onto the deck of the hangar. He almost made it on the Jaylen’s left side and as he rose up he could see her reaching out with her knife trying to cut the cable and send him down into the ravine to meet her sister.

  Jolo countered by kicking off the edge of the wall so the cable extended out further than the red blade, the synth’s blond hair flying around her head, caught in the wind and the updraft of heat. Jolo came up with the Colt again but the Jaylen was too quick and darted back out of range. But when he swung over to the right side he had enough lift to bring him up to the level of the hangar floor. He scrambled up on one side and the Jaylen was on him instantly.

  He kicked at the girl, bought a split second of time and leveled the Colt at her. She went limp and fell, her arm dangling in the air off the edge of the hangar, the red blade, still lit, skittered across the floor. Three more descended on him, two from the hangar bays on the right and one coming down from the rear hatch of the black transport.

  Suddenly Jolo had three red blades flashing, cutting, angling towards his neck. One he took down with the Colt, at the same moment kicking at another and reaching out for the third to prevent the blade from finding his throat. One Jaylen fell, but not before a blade cut into his thigh. He could feel the warm blood dripping down into his boot.