43 Days to Oblivion

by J. D. Oppenheim

  Jolo stood up, still unable to speak. He rubbed his eyes and gave Merthon a tired look.

  “Here’s the silver lining in all of this,” said Merthon. “If you ever wondered if you were too much synth, then don’t. You act as stupid and emotional as any human I’ve ever known. I should have mentioned we had her. I need her for research. That’s all. Marco and Katy thought seeing her might upset you. They were fooled, too, Jolo. Just like you. The only one not fooled was George. And me, of course.”

  “How did you catch her?”

  “She killed two of Mantis’s men before she took several hits to the head with an energy rifle, which slowed her down enough.”

  “Do we have a chance in this war?” said Jolo.

  “I don’t know. But I never even had a chance to fight for Vellos. I’ll fight now for this planet. On Montag, my friend Jamis and I helped create these creatures. We tried to destroy them several times but couldn’t. The Emperor killed Jamis, but not before he added something to their physiology, something the BG would never find, but could be used to kill them.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you are too valuable to die on this planet for nothing.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Bertha

  Duval

  22 days left

  Jolo gingerly stepped out into the main hangar, his head full of hammers, and little knives stabbing at his sides. Merthon said the pain was a good sign and his body would heal fast. He needed to get out and see the bright blue sky. Tower buster crews came in, their hover craft covered in orange dust, reloading with zirk charges. Big pirate ships loyal to the cause brought in supplies freshly relieved from the Fed and the core world trading companies. And somehow George kept it all running smoothly.

  Katy said good morning from behind but he waited for her to come into his field of vision. He couldn’t turn without another shot of pain to his side. He pretended to be eyeing an ugly transport, dented and dirty from years of abuse. It was an old Fed boat but so covered in dust you couldn’t tell.

  “Still in pain, huh?” she said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t lie well.”

  “Merthon said I heal faster than, uh.”

  “Than un-modified humans?” Katy said.

  “Is that what I am?”

  “Yeah, a modified human. Better than human.” She smiled and put her arm around him and he winced and she pulled her arm back, then she patted him on the back and he winced again. “I’m making a run to Bertha’s, wanna come?”

  “Yeah. I need to get out of here before I go crazy.”

  “What’s Merthon gonna say?”

  “He ain’t gonna know.”

  They took the Scout, which Marco had outfitted with a Halbrock Industries Phase 4 turret. He’d welded it straight on to the front of the hover craft partially obscuring the pilot’s view. The Phase 4s, usually fitted to the undercarriage of the big freighters, had long since been replaced with the 5s, because the 4s had a tendency to lock up with tracking system issues, usually right when you needed them most. So the pirates and the free traders salvaged them or bought them for scrap, then added modified logic chips that fixed all the previous issues and suddenly the 4s were helping to take down the ships they were supposed to defend.

  Jolo couldn’t help but stare at the big barrel, aimed down to the side, reminding him of the giant turrets on the ice harvester.

  “You get used to it after awhile,” said Katy. “Could’ve used the thing when the BG hit us a week ago.”

  Jolo slowly turned around in his seat to say hi to the girl in the back, Misha. The shots of pain under his ribcage were distant and dull, thanks to one of Merthon’s pain killers. He tried to make eye contact, to make some kind of connection. But she stared straight out and watched the gray morning sky turn bright blue.

  They made it to Bertha’s right at lunch time. The old wooden house was partially obscured by a giant UFP freight hauler sitting on a makeshift landing pad. The large, white ship looked out of place next to the tin-roofed house. The kids swarmed around Jolo when they spotted him and Katy had to act as body guard. “Can we play, Cap’n Jolo?” they all yelled. The big cargo hauler’s side doors were open, each one nearly as big as the house, and kids had set up camp in one of the large empty rooms. Meanwhile a team of engineers and mechanics worked on the engines.

  A man in a Federation engineer’s black coverall came up to Jolo and saluted. “Captain Vargas. It’s an honor. I’m Biggins. I heard you rescued Captain Barthelme. I was on the Valhalla with him for a time when you were gone. How is the cranky old fart?”

  “Getting better,” said Jolo. “Are you still with the Fed?”

  Biggins smiled, ran his fingers through his dark, greasy hair. “Is Captain Barthelme? I got reassigned to a recon boat after they took the Captain. It was just before they pulled all Fed boats back into core world space. Anyhow, we had it out with a pair of pirate ships and they took our boat and dropped us here. I thought they were gonna kill us, but I ended up staying and helping out.”

  “You know what’s happening then?” said Katy.

  “Of course.”

  “But the Fed don’t, right?” said Jolo.

  Biggins shook his head in disgust. “It’s like they’re blind. You’ve seen it. All the strange stuff happening. The dang towers. BG boats letting the pirates run free on the fringe. Even heard of BG boats attacking core Fed haulers.“

  “Are there others like you in the military?” said Katy.

  “You mean freaks that don’t fit? No. I ain’t upper-crust core world stock. My father worked as a mechanic in the bowels of a freighter his whole life. And I bounced around on the bottom of the Fed pay scale. You think they put the up-and-comers on the Valhalla, way out here?” He looked around with his arms outstretched and laughed. “Not many like me. But I’ll tell you one thing. Most of us want to do what’s right. If a BG boat comes at us we’ll give them hell, alliance or no.”

  “Is this ship gonna be ready?” said Jolo.

  “We been workin’ day and night. It’s got to be ready.”

  They found Bertha in the kitchen chopping greens on a huge wooden cutting board. A big man with a mech leg and a young girl were laying out bowls and mixing the greens with Fed meal packs. The whole operation ran like a factory assembly line.

  Bertha gave Jolo and Katy a hug when they walked in. Jolo grunted in pain and the big woman just laughed.

  “I heard you saved a Fed man from a prison planet. I didn’t think that was possible?” she said.

  “I thought the garden was destroyed by the BG ship?” said Jolo, changing the subject, pointing at the greens on the cutting board.

  “That’s mainly chicory, with a few other edibles. When we lost this year’s crops we started foraging out near a patch of green a few kilometers away. We taught the kids what to look for and they’ve been a big help.”

  “Looks like you’ve got even more kids,” said Katy.

  “They keep coming. Kids without mommies or daddies. Kids that have seen too much.”

  “Are you gonna make it out in time?” said Jolo.

  “Our Fed man Biggins is on it. I have faith in him, but I also have faith in Jolo Vargas,” she said. She put her hands on either side of his face and stared into his eyes. He could feel her rings, little bits of cold metal against his cheek, and her warm, thick fingers. Her green eyes were old and watery, but deep and calm. The feeling was familiar and comforting to him, like maybe he’d felt this before, maybe when he was a child, but the memory of it was lost.

  “If that hauler ain’t ready to make the jump out, then you give us a call and I’ll steal a transport ship or come in the Argossy.”

  “I know. We couldn’t do this without you, Jolo.” She smiled at Katy. “And your crew.”

  “I’m very sorry, Bertha,” said Katy, “but I’ve got one more for you. Jolo pulled her off an ice harvester on
Sotec. Her name is Misha.” Misha had been hiding behind Katy and peeked out from behind her legs.

  “Well hello, my dear,” said Bertha. Soon, Misha was hand-in-hand with another girl a year or so older. Katy gave her a kiss and said they’d be back to check on her in a few days. Misha walked off with the older girl, her eyes wide.

  “She doesn’t speak,” said Katy.

  “Give it time,” said Bertha.

  That’s exactly what we don’t have, thought Jolo.

  They ate lunch with all the kids inside one of the hauler’s storage bays. Bertha said they were going to try to take everything they had with them, hence the big ship. The kids sat around Jolo, dirty bare feet, ragged clothes, each with a plastic bowl of Fed meal pack stew with bits of fresh green. A tiny, messy-haired boy sat on Jolo’s lap and they all ate and laughed. The kids filled the whole cargo bay.

  The kids demanded Jolo tell them a joke and he looked to Katy for help and she just shrugged. He wracked his brain but couldn’t think of a joke and decided maybe he didn’t know any. He took a big bite of Fed stew to stall for time but still nothing came. Then he remembered. He had access to every joke ever written in Fed space.

  Computer, he thought, display a list of jokes. Instantly he had several thousand. So he started right at the top with Why do people not like restaurants on Galafor? He paused, staring into a sea of round, blinking little eyes. Then he hit them with the punch line: Because there’s no atmosphere. One tall kid laughed, but most just stared at him. The next one, about a space gnat on Qualus, also bombed. And the one after that. And most of the kids went back to staring down into their bowls and the cargo bay fell silent.

  Not one to suffer defeat lightly, Jolo wracked his brain until inspiration hit. Then out of nowhere he stood up and said: Why did the BG Lord die a screaming death? Every little head popped up, all bug-eyed and leaning in. Now I got them, he thought. But then he realized he didn’t have a punch line. One of the kids in the back went back to his bowl, others began to fidget around. In desperation, Jolo said: “Because Jolo Vargas shot his ass!” And the crowd went nuts. All one hundred plus kids jumped up and started screaming, laughing, yelling. Bertha came and peeked inside to make sure everything was okay. More jokes followed: Why did the Fed cargo hauler lose four boxes of Fed rations? Because Jolo stole them! Again, pandemonium in the empty cargo hold.

  Katy looked at Jolo. “You can’t say A-S-S to kids.”

  Jolo shrugged, grinning. “I’m funny,” he said.

  Katy smiled. “Just don’t try to entertain anyone over the age of, say, eight.”

  An hour later Katy came and dragged him out. They had to get back. He was still grinning like a little kid as they said their goodbyes. But half way home to Marco’s Jolo’s face turned serious again.

  “Why so quiet?” said Katy.

  “Just thinking.” He stared off to the horizon, a straight, dark line to the west with pink and purple streaks of light above. “It felt good to play with the kids today. I like Bertha.”

  “She loves you. So do the kids.”

  He shifted in his seat, the jabs of pain sharper than before, the drugs wearing off. “Really?”

  She laughed. “You are so smart and gifted. You can do things most people can’t. But you sure are boneheaded about the simple stuff.”

  “Katy, I want you stay and help Marco. George should stay, too. I’ll take Barth. We’ve got to go. I have no faith in the tower busters. No faith in the Fed government. We’ll ask the military for help, they’ll say no, then I’m getting you, Marco, Bertha, the kids, everyone, out. And we can stop this little we-can-take-on-the-BG game.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Soon.”

  “You’re not healed up yet. And Koba sucks at piloting the Argossy. I’ve gotten the reports from Hurley and Greeley and it ain’t pretty.”

  “We’re out of time. Besides, I don’t need Koba to duel with the Fed, just get me there. Barth and Marco should know where Filcher is by now.” It was darker outside, the pink sky had become a deep purple. He looked at Katy, the green display lights silhouetting her sharp features against the night sky. He followed the curve of her nose down to her chin. He wanted to touch her.

  Last Gasp

  Duval

  18 days left

  Jolo glanced down at the screen while the computer made final calculations for the jump into Astid. Three more jumps would put them in Callen, and hopefully nose to nose with the Federation warship Persephony. Would Filcher see their side of it? he wondered. They had to try now, that’s all he knew. The faster they did this, the faster Jolo could get back and get Katy and Marco and the rest off Duval.

  Tichel, Barc, Qualus and a few other planets in the system appeared on the screen. He didn’t know where he’d take them when Duval was destroyed. Tichel? Cold as Sotec and tough to grow anything. How would the kids survive? People lived underground there and ate a green mush derived from a special moss that grew on ice. Barc would be gone soon. And Qualus was the Federation’s trash dump. The toxicity levels on that rock, in the soil, in the air, made scratching out an existence tough. The humans that worked the refuse facilities didn’t look right. Some had begun to morph. Some in minor ways like an extra finger or toe, or one part missing that you wouldn’t notice at first, but others weren’t so lucky. He’d heard of some humans with extra limbs, or animal features like tails. No thanks. He’d rather float out in space on a stolen cargo hauler than subject his people to the horror show on Qualus.

  Hours before, back at Marco’s, George had given his latest report. He started with the good numbers. The tower crews had made steady gains. Each day taking down more than the last day with more people coming on board and better efficiency. This seemed like good news. But in the end, the numbers don’t lie and with a mere 18 days left, the people on Duval weren’t going to make it. Katy didn’t want to hear it. Nobody did.

  At current pace, George calculated they needed to double their output to hit a 50% kill rate. They were close, but not close enough. There was no way to double the amount of downed towers, they were already maxed out. Already very efficient. The tower teams would continue but evacuation started to take the fore.

  The last hope of saving Duval was to get the military involved. If Jolo and Barth could convince Filcher and a few other Galaxy class Defenders, maybe some gunboats, to converge on Duval, they could take down the towers by force. The big guns on a Defender could kill a week’s worth of towers in a day. Add four or five gunboats and there was hope. Jolo had no faith in the Fed, but he was desperate and had to try. He took a deep breath and sat down in his chair. He would go to Callen and find Filcher, a man he used to know, and ask for help.

  “Take us out of here, Koba.” Koba nodded. The Argossy shuddered for a moment then straightened and started the jump into Astid. The computer would make the calculations, finding a safe jump point to emerge into on the other side to prevent reanimating into another ship, a rock, or some bit of space debris. At the beginning of a jump Jolo’s body felt light, like he could float off his seat. He closed his eyes and his fingers tightened around the cold metal armrest. The middle of the jump was the worst. It was if parts of him slipped out and started to drift off, like he’d been digitized, detuned somehow and the parts didn’t fit anymore. Koba had laughed at him when he said this and launched into a formal explanation, but his brain shut down early on in the lecture.

  The Argossy popped into Astid and the inertial dampeners kicked in and Jolo felt whole again. He opened his eyes and the big screen showed nothing in the sector but a class D transport, maybe a mud humper from one of Astid’s moons. Greeley sat in Koba’s chair staring into Koba’s custom display with a smirk on his face. He looked like a kid who’d forgotten his numbers taking a math test. Greeley was at his best on the ground with Betsy in his hands. Koba started the calculations for the next jump immediately.

  Jolo called down to Hurley and Barthelme. “How we doing down there, Boys?”

/>   “Good to go, Captain,” said Hurley. Jolo had wanted to hear Barthelme’s voice but Hurley would’ve said something if anything was wrong. They’d bolted a metal seat to the floor near the engineering control panel just for Barthelme. He was still weak. He’d started walking only a few days before, but he was determined to go.

  Three jumps later and the Argossy was finally in Callen. Immediately blue dots started popping up on the sector scan. Greeley had his boots up on the console with his fingers interlocked behind his head. Jolo moved Greeley’s display onto the big screen. “How many we got?” said Greeley, eyes fixed on the blue dots continuing to show up.

  “Shitpot full,” said Jolo.

  “It looks like at least half the fleet,” said Koba. “Two Defenders, one of which is Filcher’s, a squadron of gunboats, three frigates and a few transports.”

  “Yep, that’d be a shitpot full,” said Greeley. “This don’t feel right. We aught to be headin’ in the exact opposite direction.”

  “Thanks to Koba’s transponder we’re just a merchant vessel carrying wood chips to the settlement on Cresser,” said Jolo, the Argossy’s green dot just on the outside edge of the fleet of blue dots. Without Koba’s transponder scrambler Jolo and crew would have shown up as a hostile red dot on every Fed boat’s scanner.

  “We’re being hailed,” said Koba. “It’s the Defender.”

  “Okay, stick to the plan,” said Jolo. “Put ‘em on speaker. We’ll hold ‘em off on the open channel until Barthelme can get a lock on a point to point.”

  The Persephony came through on speaker: “Federation Defender Persephony, to class-D transport Torino. Please hold position and prepare to be scanned.”

  Jolo got on the comm to engineering: “Barth, you got a secure channel to Filcher’s boat?”

  “Gimme a sec, Captain,” Barth said.

  “Hustle up because the bastards are gonna scan us.”