The Hundred Worlds

by J. F. Holmes

  Another trooper slapped a compression bandage on the stump that sealed tight, then hit the remainder of the arm with an injection. The screaming stopped, though the man continued to cry. The woman had bled out before they could get her armor off to treat her, and her chest showed a hole that lead straight to her heart.

  “We having fun yet?” said Humphreys, blood splatter dripping from his face.

  Smythe-Zumwalt shook his head, trying to clear it while his ears rang. His heart was beating quickly as he realized he could have been killed just as easily as the two who had. “No one pick up anything until we can scan it,” he ordered with a shout. He’d thought better of his people’s training, but one mistake had cost him three effectives.

  “Someone get Nguyen back to the village,” ordered Vandermeer. “Not all of you,” he shouted, as too many seemed ready to volunteer for the duty. “You,” he said, pointing to one of the soldiers.

  The captain sidled up to his leader and leaned close. “I think they know we’re coming, if they didn’t already.”

  It took over an hour to reach the mine, and that was just the beginning of their problems.

  ***

  “How many of these fucking tunnels are there?” growled Smythe-Zumwalt, frustration at not finding anyone battling with the fear those people might be waiting to strike out at them from the dark. He didn’t like being in the field. An office and an interrogation room were his normal environments. He didn’t like being here where people might mean him harm. Unfortunately, here he was, and leaving at this time would mean a loss of face.

  The mine was mostly played out, though there were still some veins of silver along the walls. That was the least valuable of the precious metals in the remains of the asteroid. The gold and platinum had been taken out and sold on the market, and was now scattered all across the planet, part of the infrastructure that would support the future population. Gold and platinum were among the best electrical conductors known, vital in most modern electronics. The mine must have produced several trillion credits in profit, and at least two hundred billion of that had disappeared from the books, into the hands of the rebels to fund their plan to break away from the control of the UN, no doubt. And there was no telling what they’d stashed down here in this maze of tunnels.

  “We’re looking at over a hundred levels, sir,” said Captain Vandermeer, holding out a flat screen comp that showed the level they were on, the third down.

  Tunnels ran for scores of kilometers. The asteroid had broken apart when it hit; maybe thirty percent of it had flown outward as ejecta to land far away, some after traveling outside the atmosphere. There were hundreds of cross tunnels on each level, and each had small chambers that had served as temporary tool storage and quarters.

  “We’re going to need more people if we want to pin down whoever might be hiding here. Otherwise, they’re just going to stay ahead of us, maybe come in behind us after we pass. We’ll have to be incredibly lucky to take any of them.”

  “What do you suggest, Captain?”

  “I think we should ask the police barracks in Lowell to send us two more companies.”

  “Why in the hell couldn’t they have strip-mined the damn thing?” asked the citizen, turning a baleful eye on Humphreys. “Don’t you worry. We’re going to get enough people in here to keep your compatriots from escaping.”

  Vandermeer got off the comm after a couple of minutes. “They’re going to send us three companies under the command of Colonel Xin,” said the smiling officer.

  “The Butcher of Burroughs?”

  “The same,” said the captain. Xin was notorious as the man who had wiped out an entire village that had refused to cooperate with his troops.

  “You hear that, Donald?” he said, looking at Humphreys. “Xin will root your fellow rebels out, and I could almost feel sorry for them.”

  For some strange reason, the man didn’t seem to be too concerned. In fact, a small smile played around the edges of his lips before he wiped it away and presented a mask of indifference.

  “We’ll make sure Xin doesn’t hurt your little girls,” said the citizen. “That job belongs to my own captain.”

  That elicited a glare from the man, and Smythe-Zumwalt smiled back at him. He really didn’t care about closing down this operation. It was already done, near to closing down. There might be a few billion left to be mined, but compared to what had already been sold, that was small fare. What he needed to find out was where the cash had gone, who had been involved in moving it, in providing whatever it had bought, and where that material was going. If they had all that information, a UN fleet could move in and take out the threat, forever.

  It took an hour for the colonel and his people to arrive. They immediately went to every known tunnel opening and set pickets, while others spread out and started the search. Xin himself reported to the chamber where the citizen had set up his own headquarters. The colonel wasn’t that impressive looking in person, short and thin, but his eyes looked like a window into death, and even Smythe-Zumwalt felt himself shivering slightly in the presence of the man.

  “I’m so glad you could come, Colonel,” he told the officer. “I guess you’ve been apprised of the problem?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the small man in a surprisingly deep voice. “If they’re still here, we’ll find them.”

  Vandermeer bowed up some at the challenge in the senior officer’s tone, as if his own people weren’t good enough.

  “Think you have enough of your butchers to do the job?” asked Humphreys, the slight smile again on his face.

  “This man is not to be harmed, yet,” said Smythe-Zumwalt before Xin could step forward. “We need the information he has.”

  “And you couldn’t beat it out of him?” asked Xin.

  “He’s an unusual specimen,” said Vandermeer.

  “I bet I could get it out of him, if you want to give it a go.”

  “Maybe later, Colonel. Right now, we need to find people we can use for leverage against him. Or possibly others we can get what we need out of.” He looked over at the prisoner, right into his eyes. “I doubt the rest of your people will be as resistant as you are, and I doubt you’ll hold out very long when we have your little girls.”

  “How many of your scumbags do you have on the ground?”

  Smythe-Zumwalt waved Xin back before he could hit the man. “We have over four hundred on the ground now,” said the citizen. “Most of them in the tunnels. Three times what you had in your whole operation, so don’t think a force of your compatriots are going to take us. Especially since we’re prepared.”

  “Are you? Prepared?” The prisoner started to laugh, a deep, gut-level laugh that made the citizen wonder if he’d gone crazy from the stress.

  Well, it might give us the leverage we need to break him.

  Humphreys stopped laughing for a moment and looked into the citizen’s eyes with a stare that had no sympathy in it. “You know, we also found a vein of uranium in this asteroid. It’s rare, but it does happen. Uranium 235, the same stuff used in fission devices. Seven-hundred-million-year half-life. Most of it had turned to lead, going through over six half-lives. But there was enough, and with some refinement, we had all that we needed. Most of it shipped out.”

  “And we’ll find it, as well,” said the citizen, wondering how much he was talking about. If this pack of rebels had nuclear weapons, things might have gotten much more serious.

  “Oh, we didn’t ship all of it out. And the tritium we bought from Saturn took a payment of some uranium as well. They wanted their own bomb, and we were more than happy to provide the materiel.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?” shouted Xin. “You gave someone the means to make a thermonuclear weapon?”

  “Yep. But like I said, we didn’t ship all of it out. We kept some here.”

  Humphreys started to laugh again, tears streaming from his eyes.

  “My God. They have a bomb here,” cried Smythe-Zumwalt. “We need to get…”<
br />
  That was the last thing he would ever say.

  ***

  Janet and Maggie Humphreys stood on a small rise in the forest. The twelve-year-old, Joanna, had her arm around the shoulders of her sister Sandra, aged nine. Both girls had their breathing masks and traveling coats on. A cat carrier was on the ground in front of them, a frightened Calico mewing from within.

  Thirty kilometers away, a small mushroom cloud climbed into the atmosphere. It wasn’t as large a cloud as could have been expected of a ten-megaton warhead, though the ground shook underfoot with a respectable tremor. The larger bomb’s blast had been caught underground, in the mine their daddy had started. The smaller, thirty-kiloton device had taken out all the aircraft that would have escaped the subterranean explosion.

  “Your father was a brave man,” said their mom, Haley Humphreys, looking at the cloud continuing to rise into the air. And he promised me those people wouldn’t get their hands on you two, she thought. Donald was a man of his word.

  “Now we need to get you two out of here,” she said.

  “Molly, too?” asked Maggie.

  “Molly too,” said Dana, picking up the carrier with tears in her eyes.

  It was a short walk to the ground car waiting on the other side of the rise, under the trees. Other people waited there, among other vehicles. The entire village. They would meet up with the men who had sprung the ambushes on the UN aircraft about fifty kilometers away. As soon as they were safe, she would set off the other two devices that were still on Mars. It would be a red day for the UN, with many more to follow out among the stars.

  ___________________

  Doug Dandridge has been writing on and off for fifteen years. He concentrates on intelligent science fiction and fantasy in which there is always hope, no matter how hard the situation. No area of the fantastic is outside his scope, as he has completed works in near and far future Science Fiction, Urban and High Fantasy, Horror, and Alternate History.

  The Only Planet We Have

  by James Schardt

  _____________________

  84 Terran Years before Present Day

  Though it had been expected, in fact seemed inevitable, that humanity would eventually discover intelligent life on the universe, the actual happening came as a shock. The lifeform, a mammalian herd species, called themselves “The Karan”. Their culture was much older than Earth’s, and indeed had turned away from technology once they reached the equivalent of late twentieth century tech, some hundreds of years before first contact. Politically unified, except for some more backwards herds on outlying islands, the Karan are a quick and able people, matriarchal in theory, if not always in practice.

  ~From Wikigalactica, Karan subsection

  The following story was adapted from a popular play performed on the Karan homeworld, derived from recollections of actual participants in events, both Human and Karan.

  _____________________

  “We must ensure they leave before they do more damage,” the Senior Scientist Na’Galla said to the Assistant Department Head.

  “Your Grace, none of the reports show they have done any damage at all. They have only been talking to the villagers and asking a lot of questions.” Ka’Pella responded, confused. She enjoyed her role as a junior member of the Patents Bureau, and saw no issue with advancing knowledge. This often brought her department into conflict with Senior Scientist Na’Galla’s Department of Scientific Ethics. Indeed, no new civilian patents had been allowed in over a decade.

  The carriage carrying the two scientists was opulent with wide wheels and the best suspension system the Protocols of Environmental Service would allow. It barely jostled over the rough road that had not seen a maintenance crew in years. It was pulled by six heavy garnah, the long legged shelled mammals commonly used for work.

  “Have the villagers been asking the aliens questions as well?” the Senior Scientist asked, inquisitorially, tapping her six digited hand on the center table in annoyance. The rings on both her thumbs cracked ominously. Ka’Pella knew she had come close to a line, but was not sure where it was. She did not understand why the Senior Scientist was so angry. The head of the Department of Scientific Ethics had been agitated the whole trip. Ka’Pella leaned back and crossed her arms across her front shell, tucking her forearms into her shell as a showing of submission.

  A message had come by tap-graph two six-days ago of an object landing near the small village of Agoro. The steamrail did not even reach that far out in wilderness. It had taken a week to organize the entourage, and another three days of travel just to get to the end of the tracks. A day to disembark from the rail and another two days of travel by coach to Agoro, a small hunting village near the southern coast. The aliens had been there for eighteen days.

  Reports on the aliens were sketchy, as should be expected from farmers and hunters. They walked upright on two legs, with two upper limbs, just like the Karan. They were pink, brown, or tan, with hair primarily on the top of their heads. However, they did not have shells on their front, back, and arms as Karan did. It was assumed they were all male as none of them had the second elbow of the female Karan. Their hands only had one thumb to their four fingers where Karan had two, one on each side of their hands. They were far thinner than the Karan. They breathed through a small, downward sloping bump on their faces, much smaller than the Karan beak. They spoke to the villagers through black brooches that seem to translate what they were saying. She really wanted to know how those worked.

  Na’Galla banged on the roof of the carriage to get the footman’s attention.

  “Get me Herd Leader So’Latho!” she bellowed, “We need to go over what will happen when we get to the village.” The Senior Scientist said to Scientist Ka’Pella.

  A few minutes later there was a heavy tapping on the door.

  “Enter,” Ka’Pella responded.

  The door swung outward and she had a glimpse of a cavalry garnah trotting alongside just as its rider slid out its saddle and swung into the carriage, the rider’s cavalry pick smacking against the table as he caught himself. Herd Leader So’Latho unceremoniously plopped himself down beside her, his heavy pistol brushing the side of her lower shell. He was showing off.

  “Decorum!” Senior Scientist Na’Galla twitched her beak in anger.

  “Decorum would require you to stop your carriage when you request my presence, Your Grace,” the veteran cavalry commander responded calmly.

  He was junior to her in status, but Scientific Ethics had been forced to lighten their hand on the Department of Intercontinental Affairs ever since the Surapa uprising 25 years ago. The forces on the continent of Sur had almost been overrun because they were unaware the tribesmen had innovated in secret. Being allowed observation and signal balloons had turned the tide and allowed the army to remove and destroy the potentially environmentally damaging technology. Intercontinental Affairs was now experimenting with controlling the flight of the balloons so they would not have to be tethered to the ground. So’Latho had helped test those balloons until he had been assigned a staff position in the capital.

  Na’Galla stared at him, her neck slowly lengthening, trying to will the male down. The cavalry commander just looked back. Impasse.

  “How soon will we arrive, Herd Leader?” Ka’Pella asked to break the stalemate.

  “We should arrive in Agoro in about three hours,” So’Latho responded, “I’ve already sent a hand of troops ahead to ensure the Senior Scientist is greeted with the proper honors.”

  Na’Galla calmed slightly, but she was still angry.

  “When we arrive, I want your troops to set up a perimeter around the village. Nothing gets out. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” The So’Latho responded, his lower jaw twitching perplexedly.

  “And one of your best to be my assistant while we are there.”

  “Yes, Your Grace, I assumed as much and SubLeader To’Lullo is already aware of his assignment.”

  “Be s
ure to check with the Intern to ensure all the villagers have returned. They were told to do this two six-days ago. Make sure they have complied.”

  “Yes, Your Grace…”

  “You wish to add something?” Na’Galla inquired archly.

  “The village is a trading post. There is some agriculture, but, they mostly hunt dugar pelts. The hunters are an independent lot. They work outside of their herd. They’ll trickle back when they are ready. And keeping them in the village if they want to leave will be difficult.”

  “Are you not up to this task? Maybe I should have Ka’Pella here handle it for you. Never send a stud to do a mare’s job.”

  So’Latho flexed his hands, trying to suppress his anger. The misandry hit home.

  “It will be done, Your Grace,” he responded tersely.

  “Scientist Ka’Pella, your job will be to find out if these aliens have given the people of this village any innovative ideas. You will be our primary contact with the aliens.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the Assistant Deputy responded, “I’ll gladly report what I find. They flew here, maybe they can help Intercontinental Affairs with the development of the new balloons.”

  “NO!” Na’Galla snapped, “You will tell no one but me what you find. Neither of you are to talk of anything you see to anyone. This contamination must not spread!”

  “Your Grace,” the Captain interrupted, “We have reports of a white sky demon coming from some of the tribes near the ruins on the continent of Vatosh from two planting seasons ago. There were tales of strange, large insects that accompanied it. I do not think this is their first time visiting us.”