Crash

by Guy Haley

  “I have your girlfriend. One wrong move and I’ll blow her away. Tell me who you were working with.”

  Dariusz stared at Anderson. Sand was defiant.

  “Don’t tell him anything. The sooner we’re rid of this bastard, the better,” she said.

  Anderson slapped her hard, causing her to cry out. He drew back the hammer on his gun.

  “Last chance, Dariusz. You don’t tell, and I’ll kill her first, then that girl she’s so fond of, then whoever else I can think of until you do talk. It is in furtherance of my mission. Their lives are of no consequence to me. Can you live with all those deaths on your conscience?”

  “You have no idea,” said Dariusz.

  Anderson pushed the barrel of his gun hard against Sand’s temple.

  “I will not warn you again.”

  Dariusz dropped his gaze to the floor. “Corrigan. That’s all. It was me and Corrigan.”

  “There,” said Anderson. He removed his gun from Sand’s head. “Thank you. I’ll make an example of you both tomorrow.”

  He jerked his head at his soldier. A stun beam hit Dariusz square in the chest, and he collapsed to the floor.

  IN EVENING COUNTRY the unchanging sky stood in as well for Earthly dawn as it did for evening. In the morning, as the colony reckoned it, Dariusz and Corrigan were dragged out into the main square by several Alts. A scaffold carrying two nooses had been erected. The sky was a mackerel of orange stripes; they were being taken for a dawn execution in all respects, save that there would be no day afterwards. Anderson had the whole colony out to watch. The wind blew strong. Cables rattled on the new flag pole crowning the command centre, the Petrovitch flag snapping impatiently from the top of it. But the people – people crowded the windows, the roofs, all the uneven stone expanse of the mesa top – they were silent. Grim-faced Alt and uneasy human troopers stood guard, guns pointing at their own kind.

  Leonid was there, and those of the council who had capitulated. The Pointer looked past Dariusz, and barely blinked. His eyes were sunken, more so than the rest of the hungry populace, although he had plenty to eat. Sand was within their group, hands bound, a guard at her side.

  Dariusz and Corrigan were dragged to the scaffold. Dariusz was unhurt. Corrigan looked like he had taken a beating. His lips were bloody, both eyes swollen, nose broken. They were forced to kneel under the nooses. Thin wire things, uglier than rope, if that were possible.

  Anderson came out, bold as Caesar before the senate. A guard of two Alts, weapons gleaming, followed him up to the platform. Anderson stood before the prisoners, and addressed the crowd.

  “Today!” shouted Anderson. “I deliver the Petrovitch family from two grave threats. That from without” – he gestured beyond the fences – “and that from within!” He looked down at the captives. “Dariusz Szczeciński and David Corrigan have plotted against me, and in doing so, they have plotted against your rightful leader, Leonid Petrovitch, and therefore against you. Doubtless they sought to return the colony to the lunacy of rule by council. This will not happen. This colony is the property of the Petrovitch family, and I, and all of you, are their servants. Do not resist their enlightened rule. Better to serve gladly under the direction of one, than die under the confusion of many. It saddens me to bring these two men here. Both have skills that greatly benefit us, but as I have shown you before, and will show you again, it is the survival of the body that is paramount, not that of the limbs, and I have no choice but to sever the limbs when they are diseased.

  “Today, we activate the radar fence. The product of our scientists, this barrier of energy will drive the enemy away from our home. We shall be able to sleep safely in our beds, and begin without fear the task of taming the Evening Country for humanity’s prosperity.”

  Anderson gestured. In a piece of pure theatre, a white robed technician bowed his head and went inside the Command Centre.

  Upon the mast, a red light started to flash, once every second and a half.

  “It is done,” Anderson said. He nodded at the men beside him. They wrestled Corrigan and Dariusz to their feet and reached for the wire nooses.

  A shot rang out, and the man holding Corrigan folded over. The crowd rippled. Guns tracked back and forth. Yuri stepped out from the group of dignitaries. He wore a ridiculous costume, bright with feathers and beads, a Pointer’s pleasure garb. He held an assault carbine awkwardly, training it on the group as he walked forward. The Pointer’s troops aimed their guns at him, but did not dare fire on their employer.

  “Come threatening me, Yuri?”

  Yuri laughed, a tinkling feminine sound. “Actually, I meant to kill you, but I’ve never been a very good shot.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Stopping this madness. You’re beholden to my family; I’m the only one that can. At least, I think I am. Will you shoot me, Anderson? I don’t know. But I have to try. I spent my entire life standing by. I’m a little bored with the sidelines of history. Now let them go, and stand down. That is an order.”

  He advanced.

  “I have orders from your father. Orders that he explicitly told me supersede anything you can tell me to do.” Anderson held up his gun. “And my orders are to protect the interests of the house of Ilya Petrovitch, not you.”

  He fired. Yuri fell to the ground, hit in the shoulder. Anderson jumped from the scaffold and strode over to him.

  “That was a warning. Are you going to behave yourself, or shall I send you to join your father?”

  “Fuck... you...” said Yuri. He sighed. “There, I said it. I feel surprisingly good.”

  Anderson raised his gun.

  “No!” Leonid forced past his own troopers, drawing his gun. “Leave my brother alone.”

  “What’s this? Have both the boys grown into men? Well, well,” said Anderson, and Ilya’s spirit shone through him. “You realise, if you shoot me, then my men will continue to do what I ordered them to do? They will kill your useless excuse for a brother, and nothing will change. Do you have it in you to defy them again, and again, and again? These people will not help you!” He swept his gun around the square. “They are sheep, to be led by a wolf. And I see you are not lacking in teeth.” He aimed his gun at Yuri’s head again.

  Leonid tensed, then held up his gun to his temple. “It is not you I will kill, Anderson. It will do no good. There is too much of my father in you, and a little too much in me also. I’m sorry, Yuri,” he said. “It turns out that I was not the better man, after all.”

  All modern guns were silenced, but the slight sound of its discharge was enormous, laden with murder. Yuri felt something warm splash across his face, and his brother landed beside him. He groped for his own weapon.

  Anderson stood, gun hanging in his hand. The crowd stirred. He could not finish Yuri, not now.

  “I...”

  Three bullets, one burst. Anderson fell onto Yuri, dropping his carbine. His breath came with difficulty.

  “Release those men!” shouted Amir, gun in hand. “It is over! Release them!”

  Confusion reigned. The Alts reacted, a couple opening fire on the crowd. Some of the human troops and militia fired back at them. A group of soldiers organised themselves, falling back together. Sides were drawn quickly. Other soldiers dropped their weapons.

  The crowd went into uproar, running to get away, and chaos reigned. Someone freed Dariusz and Corrigan, Dariusz never knew who. He ran over to Yuri, shoving panicking colonists out of the way. People were shouting, trying to introduce order, but their shouts were lost in the crowd. Dariusz reached Yuri, rolled the dead Alt from his body. Corrigan pushed people away from them, shouted for aid. “Medic! Get him a medic!” he roared.

  Yuri lifted his head. His hair was matted with his own blood and that of his brother and Anderson, blood all of Ilya Petrovitch, returned again to one. He grasped Dariusz’s shoulder. “Looks like they are going to have their votes now,” he said. “Looks like I’m off the hook...”

  “Yuri...�
��

  “But you’re not.” He smiled, showing bloodied teeth. “Help me sit.”

  Dariusz hesitated. Yuri was losing a lot of blood. The young Pointer pushed at him, grimacing in pain as he was pulled upright, his hand twisting in the cloth of Dariusz’s suit.

  He turned to the crowds. They paid no attention.

  “Listen!” bellowed Corrigan. “Listen! The Pointer speaks!”

  The eddies of people around them slowed. Yuri spoke to only a score or more of colonists. He hoped it would be enough.

  “I am Yuri Petrovitch! Some of you think I am the rightful leader here!” He paused, gritted his teeth. “Until such time as elections can be called, I order you... to follow this man... Dariusz.” He coughed and cried out, and sank forward. Dariusz struggled to keep him up.

  Yuri smiled up at him. “Sorry about that,” he said. His eyes closed.

  “Medic! Get him a medic!”

  They came, eventually, and took Yuri.

  The gunfire moved away, toward the edge of the settlement. A group of Anderson’s soldiers, Alt and human both, making a break for the desert.

  Some semblance of order returned, growing outwards from the fallen Pointers. The council’s members were found and brought together, from work gangs and cells, pulled from the crowd. Moore was released from his imprisonment and consulted. The radar fence was shut off immediately. Corrigan, at the council’s insistence, was put in command of the colony’s small military. Tense stand-offs occurred all over First Landing for the rest of the day, and Corrigan had his hands full ensuring violence did not erupt again. Dariusz was let free, but not for long. He was captured by a delegation from the council, and hauled in to their arguments. He had defied the Pointers’ man, and so he found himself a fulcrum in their argument. Both sides appealed to him. Amir, following always the course of power as a river follows the terrain, attempted to beguile him. Brzezinska, sorely treated for her outspokenness during the coup, poured venom on Amir as a traitor and an opportunist. It was all Dariusz could do to prevent them setting about each other with their fists.

  Corrigan hunted down the remaining Alts and had them incarcerated. Debate about what to do with them raged most fiercely when the council reconvened; only accusations of who was to blame for Anderson’s coup, and who had co-operated most fully with him, outmatched it.

  They were still shouting angrily at each other when the natives attacked.

  CORRIGAN HAD A watch posted at the highest points of the settlement. He was called up to the comms tower by Bulaweyo at 15:26 hours. She handed her scope wordlessly to him, and he scanned the horizon, west to east and back. The natives came boiling toward them, making no attempt at stealth. Not in neat groups of eight, nor in single file, but a disordered wall of chitin a kilometre wide. He returned the scope.

  He spoke into the radio. “Darius, I think you’re going to have to come and look at this.”

  Ten minutes later, Dariusz was on the comms tower.

  “Like Moore feared,” said Corrigan. He indicated that Buleweyo should hand over her scope. Dariusz put it to his eye. “He said that the radar fence would do this. It looks like turning it off didn’t help. The damage has been done.”

  “That is a bit of a fucking problem, don’t you agree?” said Corrigan. “There must be two hundred of them.”

  “Are there many people outside?” said Dariusz.

  “Negative, the majority of the colony had been called in to watch us die,” said Corrigan. “Which is handy.”

  “We should get everyone in.”

  “Do you think?” said Corrigan testily. “I’ve already sounded the evacuation. How’s it going downstairs?”

  Dariusz shook his head. “Badly. Half of them want to hang Amir for supporting Anderson, the other half to crown him for killing him.”

  “You can worry about your politics later. This is a mite more urgent now.” He laughed. “Which is what Anderson was saying all along, eh?”

  “How long do we have?”

  “About twenty minutes or so. You’re going to need a weapon. Let’s get the ultralights up. Give them some grenades. Every little helps.”

  Dariusz, thinking of Sand, did not agree immediately, but what choice did they have?

  Alarms went up. With much misgiving, Corrigan ordered the release of the captured soldiers, extracting oaths of allegiance from them all. He passed out arms, knowing that the common threat would keep them on the same side, for now. He gave those he trusted least the rail rifles: their low rate of fire made them less effective against human targets. The last few Alts he left where they were, not knowing how they would react.

  Soldiers and militia went running for the defences. There were few of the professional soldiers left. Fifteen had broken out, the Alts were jailed, seven had been killed in the fighting. The militia was more numerous, but untrained.

  At almost exactly 17:00 hours, the aliens assailed the base. Without plan or cohesion, they ran at the defences. They were agitated, enraged. They behaved abnormally, rocking on their leg clusters, or scurried around and around in tight spirals. A handful simply collapsed. They swarmed all around the base, attacking anything of Terran origin they came across, animate or inanimate. Bullets streaked out from the machine gun nests on the outer perimeter. Grenades fell among them, blowing off their vulnerable legs. They fell into the ditches, scrabbling ineffectually at the smooth metal until they were dispatched. Many were destroyed by concentrated fire from the defence emplacements, but every corpse provided the beginnings of a bridge, and they swarmed over their own dead. They clambered over the sand berm on the far side, into the open area before the inner gates, tearing men and women to pieces wherever they found them.

  By the riverfront, things were worse. The defenders there were overwhelmed in quarter of an hour.

  Corrigan ordered a withdrawal to the mesas, abandoning Anderson’s outer perimeter, which they had too few men and weapons to hold. Rail rifles stationed on both rock formations reaped a heavy toll on the creatures, but they did not falter. They did not stop to tend to their dead. They were insane, driven mad by Anderson’s invisible fence. They clambered swiftly up the cliff faces, smashing through the electrified wires as if they weren’t there. And over it all, the horrendous buzzing of the creatures, their alien screams of rage.

  Corrigan noted that they attacked the East Mesa with less force.

  “They’re going for the comms mast!” he shouted into his radio. “All non combat personnel fall back from the command centre! Stay out of their way!”

  Bullets whispered through the air. Rail rifles slammed hunks of iron into hard alien bodies with resounding bangs. People screamed. Fires burned. The pandemonium of battle: death, stink and noise.

  The fight went on. Every push of the aliens that was destroyed was followed by another, each successive wave wearing down the defenders and their defences. They got in, and broke up the human defenders into groups.

  Dariusz fought alongside men who had tried to kill him, defending the infirmary against creatures ten times his mass with a gun that barely scratched them.

  Sand and Kasia flew overhead, dropping grenades into the seething mass, and when those were gone, shouted frantic directions into their radios as creatures clambered upon vital buildings, or peeled them open to exterminate frightened colonists.

  Corrigan directed fire from the comms mast, until the number of natives in the courtyard grew so heavy he headed down to fight.

  Every man, every woman, fought. If they had weapons, if they did not. Many died.

  Corrigan blasted a native at short range with his rail rifle as it reared over him. The magnetically-impelled slug blew a hole in it he could see through.

  He glanced at the comms mast. Buleweyo shot from the top, calmly placing high-velocity rounds into the creatures’ faceplates as they swarmed up at her. Two pairs of hands reached for her from an alien face. She dropped her gun as the alien dragged her over the railing, and pulled at something in her belt. A brig
ht explosion annihilated the front half of the alien and obliterated her; the native fell from the mast, trailing fire. At the base of the tower, aliens pulled and shoved, rocking the mast. It groaned in protest, then began to topple.

  Over his radio, Corrigan heard, “The gates are falling, the gates are falling!”

  “You, you, you!” he shouted, pointing at his men. “Form a line, form a line!” He went around the courtyard, snapping shots at stray aliens, grabbing as many men as he could and forming them into two ranks of fifteen, one end anchored to the row of buildings containing the infirmary.

  The rail rifles were devastating, but slow to fire. Each took a second to charge. He interspersed the men bearing them with carbine-carrying soldiers. Colonists joined them, spilling out from the buildings where they had been hiding. They sensed his intent. There was no point in waiting; this was the last stand. Dariusz was among them. He found Plock and together they gathered a group of ten and headed off to the rear of the courtyard. The creatures were still coming up the cliffs.

  Screams from the radio. Men came running back from the gates, firing behind them.

  “Concentrate fire!” Corrigan hollered. “Rail rifles, pick one target, move on to another. On my order...”

  The natives on the tower were spilling from it. More were coming around the corner from where the gate had been.

  “First rank, fire!” he called.

  Seven slugs spat out to the rifles’ distinctive hum. Seven aliens died.

  “Second rank fire!” he called. Five rail rifles in the second rank. Five more alien dead.

  “First rank fire!” he called. Again, the rail rifles hummed. Iron, that most base of man’s metals, shot forward with deadly force.

  And again, and again. The aliens were many still, and they kept up their advance. When they were within fifty metres, Corrigan ordered his men to retreat two steps by rank after each shot. “Carbines, fire!” he bellowed. The lesser weapons added their tut-tut-tut to the tumult. He placed a wall of metal and carbon composites between his men and the natives. His group retreated backwards step by step, until his men were pressed back to back with Dariusz’s rearguard, and the edge of the mesa and the buildings that lined it were metres away.