The Jolo Vargas Space Opera Series Box Set

by J. D. Oppenheim

  He didn’t have to access his computer to find it. There was a clearly marked bay in the lower hold. He pulled the release lever and the Archer Crossley V4 hover bike slid out into the launch pad. I was black, with alacyte cross members, two forks sticking out the front attached to the forward hover pad. The synthetic seat just forward of the engine and rear stabilizers. It was charged and there were no smart locks holding her in place, just the standard release levers so she wouldn’t slip out on accident. Someone had her prepped and ready to go. The pilot was going to wisely haul ass out of here.

  Jolo tapped on the control screen. The log had zero entries. She’d never been out. Jolo jumped on and the handles came in to match his reach perfectly. The seat adjusted to fit his weight and the length of his legs. The Fed could make shite patrol boats with inferior alacyte, so thin one good hit from a smallish BG boat would knock it out of the sky; they could run headlong into crushing defeat at the hands of the Jaylens using outdated weapons; they could sleep while the BG plotted their attack. They could do all manner of surprisingly stupid shit. All of this true. But you couldn’t say they made a shitty hoverbike. The thing was made to go fast. And the close proximity to land made the speed all the more palpable.

  Jolo opened the launch hatch and the dirty orange light of mid-day filtered in. It was like he was staring out the barrel of a gun and he was the bullet. He was lucky the ship’s angle didn’t have him staring down into the ice. Marco always said, in difficult times, be smart, stay alive, and when luck comes take advantage.

  Jolo heard voices. Probably Hazuki’s men coming around for another look. Jolo thought maybe he should take them out. Less for the others to deal with.

  Then he thought better of it. What if there were more than he could handle? He released the rear lock, engaged the engine and it wound up in a delightful, high-pitched whine. The bike was equipped with a bullet-shaped carryall that trailed behind, so Jolo put Koba’s jet in and jumped back on the bike. The voices outside started yelling and someone was shouting orders. But it was too late. The control readout went into the green and Jolo engaged the main drivers and the bike launched out of the bay ten or so meters off the ground. The G force was strong but the inertial dampeners, just like on the big ships, kept him firmly in the seat. The bike reached 158 kilometers an hour in 1.87 seconds. It flew beyond the crash site, gently gliding down to hover around 28 centimeters over the ice, settling in at 185 kph on the flat surface.

  Suddenly the wind was in Jolo’s hair and his eyes began to water. He checked back and the carryall was still there, tracking straight and true. The ice flew past so fast it was a gray blur, and for a moment, all of the trouble he and the crew were in suddenly didn’t seem so insurmountable. He pushed the bike harder and felt the engine growling, the vibrations moving through his body. He checked his internal compass against the one on the bike’s control screen: both due south. He ducked his head below the windshield. 214.5 kph. And for the first time in weeks, a grin broke out on his face.

  I-75

  Jolo slowed the bike down to conserve the energy cells. He figured he had enough juice to get there and back, but that was about it. He set the bike at 175 kph and checked his internal map. The only thing he’d seen the whole time was flat ice. This kept his speed up, but there was still one little problem: he had no idea where he was. The map showed a line from Atlanta to Macon, but he had no idea if he was anywhere near it.

  Riley said he’d heard rumors that the ice gave way to dirt way out into the beyond. But it was farther than a man could walk in a week and he didn’t know anyone who’d actually been there and made it back to tell the tale. Jolo checked his internal clock: 18 minutes since he’d left the Alexxus, since he’d left the crew. 55.7 kilometers away now. And every kilometer he moved away from the crew, Katy, and the baby, his heart became a little heavier.

  At the 58 kilometer mark Jolo saw a dark patch off to the west. At first he thought it was water, but it was too far away and he didn’t want to change course. More dark patches off to the east popped up a few minutes later. Those were too far out as well, but soon an even larger patch loomed ahead right on his path. He slowed the bike to 125, checked that the carryall was still there and watched as the patch got bigger the closer he got.

  Suddenly the ice turned brown and he could see small pockets of black under him as he raced past. He slowed again, coasted for a moment, then came to a stop. He stepped off the bike and the thin ice cracked under his feet. Out ten meters or so was black earth. He ran out onto the dirt like a child. He reached down and scooped up a handful expecting rich, black soil like Marco used to grow his vegetables in on Duval. But the soil here was mostly dust and ash. He dug deeper and there was something that resembled soil, but it didn’t have that organic, rich smell. This stuff smelled like the crap you scraped out of the old-style air cleaners on the big Fed ships.

  He got on the bike and went further into the ice-free zone and wondered if he would make it back to tell Riley. When he had lost sight of the ice he stopped again and looked around. Nothing but black. The orange sky had started to darken just a little. George had packed him a makeshift tent, some water and what little food could be spared and he knew he’d have to settle in for the night at some point. He did one more full circle, and there, off to the east he thought he could see a thin dark line.

  He walked towards it, hoping it would come into view. Then he jumped on the bike and headed in that direction. Sure enough, the line got darker and more defined the closer he came. He got there and immediately jumped off the bike and stood on the dark black surface, stretching out in either direction. This was an old-Earth transportation route. A road. It was about fifteen meters wide and there was another road running parallel to it. It was harder than the dirt, but had cracked open in spots. But that wouldn’t trouble the hoverbike.

  He took the road south east. The hoverbike’s nav computer was calculating fourteen minutes to target at his current speed. Ten minutes later he was still on the road, still black as far as the eye could see. Occasionally he’d see other, smaller roads branching out from his, but he kept on course. Several times the road ended, dropping straight down into a ravine, then starting up again a hundred or so meters down. Each time the bike’s computer picked it up before he even saw it, then it gained speed and altitude and made the jump across.

  After the second ravine crossing the nav had him 8 minutes to target. He stared straight out into the growing darkness and still no sign of a big city, and Jolo started to think this was a mistake. He should be back with Katy and the rest. Be there for them.

  And then something caught his eye on the right side of the road. A building or a house. Something definitely man-made. Jolo slowed the bike, engaged the hoverbike’s single laser gun and the heads up screen changed to a green mesh, much like the heads up screen in a battle suit. He locked on the structure and came to a stop fifty meters away. He stayed on the bike just in case, keeping his eye on the structure. Suddenly a red blip appeared, moving towards the road. It was a heat signature. The bike’s computer added the red blip to the targeting array. Jolo looked up, but in the low light couldn’t see much more than a dark blur.

  The nav computer couldn’t tell him if it was human or mech or synth, but Jolo guessed it was a man. It gave off a lot of heat and moved slow.

  Jolo got off the bike, pulled out the Colt and walked straight down the road. The hoverbike went into follow mode and trailed him 20 meters back. Jolo could fire the laser gun on either target via voice command.

  “I’m from the Federation. Who are you?” Jolo called out.

  No answer. But Jolo could see he was sitting on the road with a rifle across his lap. Jolo kept coming, Colt pointed straight at the man. Jolo got close enough to see him clearly: long gray hair which blended into a beard that hung down his chest, old Fed flight jacket, an even older energy rifle that probably hadn’t been used in fifty years. Newer ones have a blue charge light, this one didn’t, but Jolo guessed it was a
dead gun.

  “Do you speak?” Jolo said. But the man just stared at him with watery eyes. They held the stalemate for a few moments. Jolo could feel the air getting colder and the light was fading orange to brown. He’d have to camp soon and would rather not have some lunatic old man on the loose disturbing his sleep.

  Jolo started to head back to the hoverbike, but the man finally spoke. “I see they’ve upgraded the bike.”

  “You see in the dark, old man?” The bike was twenty meters back and Jolo was blocking his view.

  “Naw. There’s more than a few in the trench. This is the first to make it.”

  Jolo didn’t say anything, but the surprise on his face gave him away.

  “Oh, you are not the first fool to come this way.”

  “You BG?”

  “The lines are a bit blurred here on our happy home. I suppose I do suckle at the teat of the Bakhane Grana. We would all be dead without the Queen. But as to your question, I used to be a Fed man, like you.”

  “And now?”

  “Remaining alive is good.”

  “I am no Fed.”

  “You stink of purpose and ambition. You have the answers. Yours is the right way, yes?”

  “Is this I-75?” Jolo said pointing the Colt at the road.

  “I don’t know the name of the road, I am only the watcher.”

  “So there are others in town? Like you?”

  The man paused, he closed his eyes tight like he was in physical pain, then he recovered, and smiled again. “There were. Many years before. But no longer.”

  “I’m going to town.”

  “There you will only find death, Fed man.” The man struggled to get to his feet and Jolo holstered the Colt and helped him up. The old man stood there for a moment, teetering, a light wind blew past. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. “Come. Eat with me and you can tell me news of the Federation. I have not spoken to a real man in several years. There are fewer and fewer of you that make it this far out into the wild. Leave your bike out here. It will not be disturbed. But you must come inside or you will not survive the night.”

  The man hobbled towards the structure on the side of the road. Jolo realized the building was actually a piece of an old ship sticking up out of the ground. They entered through a small access hatch wide enough for just one man. The inside was lit with a small torch on the wall. Jolo could see the last bit of brown daylight through a hole in the ceiling, which was actually an interior wall of the old ship. The space was surprisingly roomy. The floors were clean with ancient Fed-issue food containers lined along the wall for seats. There were pictures of tomatoes on one, a picture of pickled anthelore cutlets on another. He knew they’d been empty since before he was born but the pictures made him think of food.

  “This was an M-class transport made in Arlen way back. Used mainly to carry food.” He stared out through the walls of the ship to some faraway place. “We ate well for about two years.” And then he snapped out of it, and went to the corner and produced a small field burner kit, placed it on the floor with a pan on top. Jolo stared at the empty pan and licked his lips. The old man looked up from the small fire. “I got hundreds of burners that still work after all these years and a ship full of empty food containers. The irony is maddening.”

  “What you gonna cook?”

  The old man’s back was to Jolo and then he turned and threw a piece of red meat on the pan. It instantly started to sizzle, the bottom getting wet with grease.”

  Jolo’s mouth began to water. “That looks good.”

  “You don’t want that.” The man reached back and produced a few chunks of the black stuff.

  Jolo didn’t even look at it, his eyes fixed on the pan. “I want that.”

  “That’s a big step. Let’s not go there just yet.”

  “No. I’m ready for it. What is it?”

  The old man hesitated. “Dog.”

  “Dog? I didn’t think earth could support even small animals.”

  “And yet here we sit.” The man turned the meat and cut it into smaller pieces with a large Fed blade the infantry grunts carried. When it was done he took a bite and ate without looking up.

  Wild thoughts popped into Jolo’s mind: the man tied up and Jolo eating all of the meat for himself. Or worse. But then he regained his composure. He was the guest, like it or not, and the old man was not hostile.

  “Eat the black for now,” he said. “You’d not deprive an old man his meat, would you?” He took another bite, grease dribbling down his chin, his lips wet. Jolo couldn’t help but stare at each bite going into the old man’s mouth. The man looked up and smiled. “I believe the dog is not healthy and I would not want a man of purpose such as yourself dissuaded from his task,” he said, his voice muffled by the half-eaten meat.

  Jolo nibbled on some of the black and then splurged and ate a few precious bites of Fed green he’d been saving. They drank water from small plastic cups.

  The next day for breakfast Jolo had to endure the same torture. This time he just got up to leave. But the man grabbed him by the arm. “Wait,” he said. “Let me check.” Then he climbed up onto some boxes and peered out into the dim morning light. There was one uneaten morsel in the pan and Jolo just moved away from it. Soon the man came down. “Give it another thirty minutes or so and then we’ll have better visibility and you can be on your way.”

  “What are you worried about? No giant worms out here to eat you. No nutjobs with old guns trying to kill anyone out here. Just a—” and here Jolo was about to say something cruel, but he reigned his anger in. “Just you.”

  “You have no idea what this place is,” said the old man.

  “What is your name?”

  The old man paused and Jolo wondered if he really couldn’t remember his name or was just didn’t want to reveal his real one.

  “Mac.”

  “I’m Jolo.”

  “The Queen doesn’t eat people. Well, she has, but she gets her power from the deep in the earth where there’s no poison from the final war. They just want you to think she eats people.”

  “Then where do the people go? The ones they put into the cage? The ones that get sucked down onto this Godforsaken rock?”

  “Off to work farms all over the planet. Don’t you know what this place is, Jolo? Can you not see it? You are on the doorstep, barely made it into the building and you’re talking like you know things. You don’t know shite, Jolo Vargas.”

  “Where does the power come from? The power to suck down a ship? And why do the big boats die when the hoverbike still works?”

  “Living at the behest of the Queen one does not ask the why and how of things. That is a waste of time. My own life wasted on such useless thought. Far better is to ask the simple, pure question: How can I survive given this particular set of circumstances?”

  Jolo stood up. “I’m going to town. Thanks for— Thanks for the conversation.”

  “Go there and die. The town is death. The ice is almost as bad. Here is the best place. Right in between.”

  “More worms? More bad guys?”

  The old man stood and pulled a rifle down from the wall. It was an old-style kinetic weapon and he checked the magazine for bullets. “I’ll take you to the edge.”

  The Thing About Town

  The morning dawned brown and dingy as Jolo and Mac set out for the edge of town on the hoverbike. On the way Jolo peppered him with questions.

  “What ship did you come in on?”

  “The Maruten 7, a long time ago. We were hauling supplies to some of the settlements reaching out beyond the core.”

  “What’d you do on that boat?”

  “Cook.”

  “Well if last night’s spread was any indication of your culinary skills I’d say the crew was dead before they got here.”

  The old man’s voice got serious. “Yes. They all died. But not on the ship. They died here, one by one on this frakking black rock. And I watched every one of them pass on and nothing
I could do about it.”

  Jolo knew he’d gone too far. Katy’d be shaking her head, he thought. There was an awkward pause, then Jolo muttered a forced, “Sorry.”

  Eventually the old man broke the silence and Jolo was happy he didn’t seem angry.

  “What do you seek?”

  “Guns,” said Jolo. “Not core-world energy weapons. Old stuff like that rifle you carry.”

  “To what end.”

  “Get some guns, take out Hazuki, kill the worm, steal Hazuki’s weapons cache and get off this rock.” Jolo couldn’t see the man’s face but he heard him chuckle through the comm. “Oh,” said Jolo. “Almost forgot. Save the Fed.”

  There was a long silence. “Ambitious.”

  Soon after Jolo saw the first glimpse of the city. There were tall buildings, but with no walls, just the steel girders that once held walls and floors. Some had fallen down. Everything was covered in black dust. There were the metal transportation boxes like at their hiding place at the mall, but these were barely visible, swallowed up by the earth. Now just mounds of black. And just like everywhere else, there were no trees, no green, no animals. Nothing. Just the skeleton buildings and dust and wind and the orange sky above.

  Jolo stopped at the edge of the city. “I don’t see nothing scary. Don’t see no dogs.”

  “Good. In the city you’ll want to keep your voice down and don’t make any big noises.”

  “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “Most men are running away. They are smart. You aim to return, which is stupid. You need all the help you can get.”

  “Alright, well, just stay out the way.”

  Mac put his hand on Jolo’s shoulder. “Listen, do you trust me?”

  “Uh, not really. You’re lying about the whole cook thing. I see how you handle that old rifle. That ain’t cook training. And you’re lying about the food. You gotta stash somewhere.”

  “Ok. Fair enough. Create your own little fantasy world. But if you want to live then do I as say. This is a small city, laid out like a grid, we need to check each intersection before buzzing through to the next one. It’s best to be unseen and unheard. Stay quiet.”