The Cold Dead Earth (The Jolo Vargas Space Opera Series Book 3)

by J. D. Oppenheim

  “Good point. I’ll find the local police force building. There’ll be an armory. Maybe older guns like we need.”

  “How will you break in?”

  Jolo thought for a moment. “I’ll have Koba rig up the jet I used to get down here. If it’ll melt through alacyte it’ll get through any old Earth vault.”

  Katy was sitting straight up with her eyes narrow and her chin in her hand. “Yeah, but what about transpo. Even if you could steal a ship, can’t get the engines to wind up.”

  “I’ll figure that one out,” said Jolo. He watched her staring off to the side, her eyebrows furrowed, thinking. Jolo checked his internal clock. He’d been gone 42 minutes and 14 seconds. It was time to go. He grabbed Katy’s hand. “You know I love you.”

  She nodded.

  “And I’m coming back for you. Stay here and learn as much as you can in the library. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

  She started to cry again. “It sucks being left behind.”

  “You aren’t being left. And it’s better than a cage.”

  She stopped crying and looked him in the eye. “Get the guns.”

  Alexxus

  The Federation patrol ship Alexxus lay on her side, nose down, starboard engine melting the ice. Jolo couldn’t tell whether it was smoke or steam or a combination of both rising up from the port engine. The rear hatch was open, but Jolo saw no survivors. The single turret on the underside and the two top-mounted railguns were black and smoking, as if she’d just come from a fight. The patrol ships usually ran recon missions in teams of two and Jolo wondered where her partner was. The hull had AXX-012B on the side so there was a matching 012A somewhere out there.

  Once again, inside the mall, there’d been a gravity shift and everything had floated. The moment everyone came back down they ran straight up top. The plan was to beat Hazuki and his men to the punch and so far so good.

  Greeley and Jolo ran most of the way to roughly the same location the Argossy went down. They’d stashed Koba’s ice melter jet and Jolo was relieved when he saw the orange box still there, not too far from the crash site.

  While Greeley went for the box, Jolo checked with his internal computer for the official specs on the AXX model Fed patrol ship. Stock configuration called for the twin railguns, so the turret was an add on. Five man crew. Two marines, one extra battle suit. Jolo scrolled through the data and started to think they’d have to abort. And then on the last page of specs: The AXX is equipped with a rear hold bay for a single Archer Crossley V4 hover bike, 40 meter drop capacity in standard gravity, forward laser gun on some models.

  “You’re doin’ it agin, ain’t you?” said Greeley, out of breath from lugging the box to the crash site.

  “I’m checking the specs on that boat. What’s it to you?”

  “Yeah, but it just ain’t right, Jolo. You starin’ off into the distance still as death.”

  “After all the shite we been through, Greeley?”

  “Just a little too much like George.”

  “George and I are similar in some ways. He likes to think we are brothers.”

  Greeley pondered that for a moment. “Yeah, but we are brothers, right?”

  “You and me? That’s about the--” and then Jolo stopped. Sometimes it was hard to tell if Greeley was talking shit but his usually strong, deep voice had hit a high thin note there at the end. “Of course, man. We are brothers. You and me.”

  “So we gotta include George, too, huh?” Greeley said in his usual, steady tone.

  “Yeah.”

  “But not Koba.”

  Just then a woman tumbled out of the rear hatch. The back of her flight suit was smoking. Jolo and Greeley ran up and she tried to pull out her weapon, one of the smaller Fed energy blasters Greeley called stingers, because they didn’t do much but sting when you had on a battle suit.

  Jolo grabbed her hand and gave the blaster to Greeley, then rolled her on her back so the ice would put out the smoldering flight suit.

  “Comm is down. Too many bogies.” she said. “Alexxus A miss—” and she stopped there, her breathing coming in short gasps.

  Jolo jumped up into the rear hold, the entire ship angling down into the ice. He half slid, half fell forward right towards the cockpit. The comms officer and navigator were dead. The impact from the crash had crushed the cockpit but there was a burn hole from a high-powered energy weapon that had cut a ragged gash from the nose straight down through the sub-level where the engineer and the marine would have been.

  They were gone, maybe sucked out into space. Jolo sighed. He could have used five good people right about then, even if they were Fed-trained grunts whose sum total fighting experience had been to get burned up by the BG then sucked down to Earth. They must have been desperate to to risk jump point one.

  The engineering hold was tight and full of access panels that held the core propulsion, control and life support systems. Somewhere in here was a gift for Greeley. Jolo accessed his computer again for the Fed protocol sheet on the Alexxus. He searched for the engineering section and then scanned for any mention of the word “marine.”

  Jolo didn’t understand why the Fed would house a single marine on a tiny boat like this. It seemed a waste of resources. No one wanted this little boat, including the BG, but if they did, they would take it easily with only one marine on board as defense. Better use of the weight would have been upgraded engines, more power cells, shorter jump calcs. Anything. But that was pirate thinking.

  Finally, he found it.

  Federation Marine assault armor shall be housed in the forward bay, section 14, beneath the main nav processor.

  Jolo pulled up the schematic, then glanced at the far wall and quickly spotted a rectangular alacyte panel in the approximate position. He pushed it but it didn’t open. The whole ship was slanting down into the ice, but even so he could see that the seams where the large inner panels met on the walls of the ship were not straight. The little boat was slightly twisted from the force of impact, which meant the panel was pinched. He searched around hopelessly for some kind of tool but in the end just gave it a good kick. Amazingly the panel slowly extended out. And there, still in plastiseal, was a case with Fed markings: AX34 Battle Armor, Close Quarters, Green, All-size.

  The close quarters rigs were lighter and designed for fighting inside buildings and for onboard ship defense. The standard blues had heavier armor, but made movement and response time a tad slower, which didn’t help when fighting a Jaylen. Jolo pulled out the case, lugged it back up to the edge of the rear hatch and tossed it down next to Greeley.

  “Present,” Jolo yelled as the box hit the ice.

  “What the hell’s tha—” said Greeley. “Ah Captain. Thank you! Holy shite balls! Ooh, come to papa,” he said. Jolo watched as Greeley attached the suit to his body. This was one of the newer models, each part adjusted to his size and shape, unlike the old ones which were form fitted to each soldier.

  “Always wondered how the greenies would hold up in battle,” Greeley said. He got both leg and foot armor in place, gingerly placing the big thigh piece on his wounded leg. He walked around with a hint of a limp. “Very nice,” he said. He got the chest and lumbar pieces on and waited for the suit to set in place. “Wonder how well it’ll take a hit.”

  “Fine with an energy weapon, but it’s the kinetic stuff I worry about. How’s the pilot?”

  “Breathin’. But she needs help.”

  “Ok. Hazuki’s boys are coming. We’ll take them out, but leave one. They’ll want the woman and they’ve got food and medicine. She’ll be better off there than with Riley and the wild boys.”

  Just then there was a loud BANG and Greeley hit the ground. He jumped up cussing. “HOLY SHITE BALLS! THAT HURTS!” There was a shiny round mark in the chestplate where a large caliber bullet had hit. Jolo took cover inside the ship while Greeley continued to cuss, his face red and spit flying out of his mouth. Jolo popped his head up and saw men approaching.

  Gr
eeley, in a rage, ran out to meet them, hop stepping to ease the strain on his bad leg. And this is why Greeley would never be a leader, Jolo thought. But as a soldier he was the best he’d ever been around, minus the moments of sheer idiocy. Greeley had the helmet on but his arms were bare. The man with the kinetic rifle had reloaded and fired again and Greeley tumbled to the ground again and Jolo jumped down onto the ice next to the pilot to do what he could. But by then Greeley was back up and running at them. The ragged men fired a flurry of wild shots, but Greeley was in range soon enough and took the man with the big rifle out, then the man next to him. The other two ran off in different directions.

  Greeley came back still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling quickly, the muscles on his bare arms bulging. There were now two round marks on his chestplate, but Greeley was still standing.

  “That hurts somethin’ fierce, Cap’n,” he said, wincing as he put on the arm pieces.”

  “You break protocol and you get killed,” said Jolo, coldly.

  “I got the job done,” growled Greeley.

  “I need you, Greeley. The crew needs you. Katy needs you. Don’t throw away your life in anger.”

  Greeley started attaching the arm pieces, ripping off the plastiseal and throwing it onto the ground. He pulled the last piece out and then he kicked the metal box the suit came it, sending it sliding over the ice into the ship.

  Jolo changed the subject. “How come Hazuki sent out four untrained goons to take the ship?”

  “That untrained monkey got me twice.”

  “Yeah, but they come at us from the wrong angle, all bunched up like idiots. It’s like they knew the ship would be poorly defended. I suppose they weren’t expecting us.”

  They stood there for a moment, Greeley’s breathing returning to normal.

  “What we gonna do with the pilot?” said Greeley.

  “Well, you just scared off her rescuers. So why don’t you drop her off in the mall near Paco’s. They’ll take her to the hotel and patch her up and pretty soon she’ll be sleeping on a bed with clean sheets and eating hot food brought to her on a tray. She can come with us when we go get Katy.”

  “Dang. I’d trade in Betsy and the suit for one tray of hot, freighter grub.”

  “Me too. Get her there as fast as you can. Don’t get too close. And don’t get cocky in the suit and engage them. You can’t take all of them even with the suit. Put that thing in low-power mode and keep Koba and the rest safe until I get back.”

  “What you gonna do?”

  “There’s a little somethin’ down in the lower hold waitin’ for me. Then I’m gonna head due South and hopefully find the main transportation route to another city.”

  Greeley helped Jolo gently pick up the pilot. “Be careful.”

  “I will. Thanks.” He watched Greeley head back and then ran down to the lower hold.

  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 packe
d 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.