Alien Wars

by Vaughn Heppner

  That couldn’t be any worse than the buzzing in his head. Cyrus frowned. He sensed something . . . It seemed terribly important.

  “Mikhail, strap in. We’re going to accelerate.”

  “I don’t see—”

  “Get down on the deck plates!” Cyrus shouted. “Do it now.”

  The beam shining at him went away. The first sergeant finally got it. Sergetov needed to get back to his acceleration couch before the ship’s engines started.

  Cyrus adjusted his suit, aiming thruster nozzles at the stars and his faceplate toward the ship’s surface. Using his index finger, he gave the gentlest of squeezes to the throttle. White hydrogen fog sprayed from the nozzles, propelling him downward. He released the throttle and took out grappling hooks, readying them for impact.

  Jabbing the hooks onto the rock, he used his gloved thumbs. Each grappler shuddered as it thrust an anchoring spike into the rock. Cyrus rotated his body so his back floated just above the surface. Quickly and nearly as efficiently as a space marine, he attached filament lines to the hooks so they crisscrossed his suit. He didn’t have official combat training, but he knew how to do some things now. Mikhail had been teaching him. In trade, he’d shown several of the marines a trick or two about vibrio-knives.

  Such combat sparring between a Special like him and space marines would have horrified Dr. Wexx if she’d known about it. Likely, it would have horrified everyone aboard ship.

  Cyrus’s breath went out in a whoosh as the Teleship accelerated, the surface rushing up several millimeters to meet his back and push him. In seconds, he felt the one-G acceleration. He liked it, as floating weightless in the ship for nearly three standard days had heightened his headache.

  He blinked several times. The razor pain in his mind receded with the one G. His eyes had become scratchy and dry. This felt better, and his breathing began to even out.

  “You okay, Mikhail?” Cyrus asked.

  “You’re a bastard,” the marine radioed.

  It was technically true, but Cyrus didn’t believe the first sergeant had meant it like that.

  “Acceleration should stay at one G for a while,” he told Mikhail. “You can probably walk back to your A-couch if you’re not there already.”

  “Meaning you can walk to the dome and get your butt in here,” Mikhail said.

  “Yeah, but I’m not going to do that.”

  “I should come out and get you.”

  “Sure,” Cyrus said, “but no one is ever going to find out I floated outside during a shift unless you report it.”

  “They could be monitoring our comms, you idiot.”

  “They aren’t.”

  “Yeah?” Mikhail asked, with a sudden lilt to his voice.

  Cyrus heard the unease, and he shook his head. He knew better than to do that. Don’t show the Normals you’re different. It always upsets them. That’s what his instructors in Psi Force had drummed into him, into all of them, weak or strong.

  “I don’t know for certain,” Cyrus amended. “But I sure don’t think they’re going to stop accelerating anytime soon.”

  “If that’s true, why don’t you come in? If something happens to you out there, I’m the one who’s going to bite it.”

  This was a poor way of repaying the marine for letting him into the laser dome. But sometimes when taking matters into your own hands—

  A chrome ring suddenly appeared around the Teleship. The light caused the nearest stars to fade away and others farther away to lose their luster. The ring was awesome, and it had been there all along, although with a black-matted color. The chrome appearance meant a shift opening—a null portal—was about to occur.

  It was too bad it had to be this way: him coming out during a shift. He got along better with the marines than anyone else aboard ship. They were a band of brothers, in many ways just like the Latin Kings of his youth. They looked out for each other, never leaving one of their own on a battlefield. As a knife boy in the slums, living by his wits like a wolf surrounded by a million hyenas, Cyrus had learned similar values.

  The ring pulsated with light, with an intense chrome color. It was beautiful, it was an illusion, and for some reason, the razor pain in his head lessened.

  Teleships were a relatively new invention, Cyrus knew. Seventeen years ago, there had been a serendipitous occurrence near Neptune. It happened in a miles-long science lab where people had created the first “discontinuity window” in the solar system.

  Since the marvelous accident seventeen years ago, work to exploit it had proceeded feverishly. The Teleship Discovery was the latest and most important result.

  A discontinuity window now appeared before Cyrus and before Discovery. The null space blotted out the stars, and it might have appeared black, but motes of gray light danced in it. One of those motes grew incredibly fast and strange colors blossomed, brightened, and—

  Special Fourth Class Cyrus Gant began to rave like a lunatic. The pain in his mind shut off, but a new agony struck. He closed his eyes and that helped a little. His visor darkened and that likely saved his sanity. The impression on his mind of the hole in time and space caused him to writhe and flop like a landed trout. Fortunately the filament lines kept him secure. He groaned and his consciousness attempted to reject what he’d seen. The sheer nullity of it—

  Under the filament lines, Cyrus curled into a fetal ball and he tried to press himself into the surface of the ship. He never wanted to see something like that again. It felt evil and vile, much as that time he’d broken into the S&M Palace to peek at what they did there. The brutality he’d witnessed . . .

  “I’ll win through,” he whispered, repeating a childhood mantra taught to him from an ancient book.

  Think, Cyrus, he told himself.

  What he’d seen was a discontinuity window formed through a combination of powerful AIs merged with human clairvoyant and telekinetic abilities. Together, they had joined two widely separate points in space. And—

  Although his eyes were screwed tight, Cyrus knew the Teleship sped at the DW and passed through it . . . now. A sudden icy sensation in his head accelerated a terrible feeling of loneliness. A rasp of sound caught in his throat. The grim feeling—it snapped into blazing heat, which told him they were through again, thank God.

  During the momentary opening, a ship passed through the discontinuity window, shifting from one location to the other. In this instance, the jump occurred between two points 8.3 light-years apart. Cyrus knew because he could feel that Venice had done it.

  Venice is dead. What’s going on? Why am I reenacting all this?

  Abruptly, the one-G acceleration quit.

  Cyrus eased open his left eye. The tele-ring had changed back to black. It no longer shone like chrome. That meant the discontinuity window was behind them. Likely, it had already closed. That meant Discovery was 8.3 light-years closer to what everyone—news corps and citizens alike—called the star system of New Eden.

  Cyrus unlatched the filament lines crisscrossing his body. Gingerly, he sat up.

  The black dome was still there. The stars still shined, although in a slightly different pattern as before. And the buzzing headache had vanished.

  It was time to get into the dome and placate the marines, particularly Mikhail. For a battle-hardened veteran, the man was a worrywart.

  “Cyrus?”

  A light shined from the portal. The circle of brightness sped along the surface until it reached Cyrus.

  “Are you all right?” Mikhail asked.

  “I’m feeling—” Cyrus winced and he suddenly gasped as he felt something new. This was different from the agony earlier. It was a lance of pain rather than a blanket of buzzing. This mind lance, this drilling sensation, was human in origin. Reflexively he blocked as they’d taught him in the Psi Force. The mental attack, the strength and uniqueness of it—it had to be
Venice that did this.

  “Mikhail?” Cyrus asked.

  The marine groaned as if someone had shot him in the thigh.

  Understanding lit Cyrus’s eyes. This attack didn’t make sense; it had come from nowhere. Was it the trouble? The thing that he’d been sensing was coming? Venice had just shifted. She shouldn’t have the strength to hurt anyone with a mental attack. So what was going on that had changed the rules?

  A stronger and more concentrated drill of purified hatred struck his mind. It was Cyrus’s turn to groan even as he struggled to deflect the mind bolt.

  Over the headphones, First Sergeant Mikhail Sergetov howled with madness in his voice.

  If Venice was doing this to the marines out here on the surface, what was happening inside the core of life support in the tele-chamber?

  Cyrus shoved off the surface, propelling himself toward the dome’s portal. He used his index finger, triggering the thruster throttle. Hydrogen spray blew from the nozzles, pushing him faster, even as he prepared himself for the next mental attack.

  Yet as he flew for the combat dome, the stars began to disappear, winking out one by one.

  Submit to me or you will fade with the universe.

  That didn’t feel like Venice. It was alien—

  Yes! The alien tried to trick him.

  It’s no good, Cyrus telepathically told the entity. I’m on to you.

  Do you believe that?

  I sure do. This is the second time you’ve failed.

  Let us test your theory one more time. Then you shall submit and I can begin the great work.

  13

  As Cyrus Gant fought his strange mind war with the alien entity, Darcy Foxe aboard Ice Hauler 266-9 fended off Jick’s latest advances.

  She had returned from her excursion on the snowball, put away the vacc-suit, and showered.

  That was the one luxury in taking these icebergs to Jassac. Once they landed on the chosen asteroid and hooked up the lines, they could shower to their hearts’ delight. She had spent an hour letting hot water pummel her flesh. It had felt glorious.

  She exited the tiny stall, dried herself before the vents, and heard pounding on the hatch.

  Ice Hauler 266-9 was a small place to spend four long years with each other. They had a rec room, a library or reading chamber, and tens of thousands of holo-vids. Exercise, reading, and watching holo-vids all began to pale after two years. So they wouldn’t murder each other, Spacer Command enforced staggered rosters. One third of the time, three crewmembers worked together. One half of the time, two crewmembers worked as a team. The remaining stretch awake was spent alone.

  That meant each of them had to enter stasis tubes during part of the journey. Putting them in storage saved on food, water, and energy. Soon now, everyone would wake up and help install the engines onto the asteroid. Then they would ride the snowball back to Jassac. That meant this would be the last rotation this cycle Jick and Darcy would work alone together. She just had to endure him another day.

  “I know you hear me!” Jick shouted as he hammered on the shower-room hatch.

  “Go away,” Darcy said.

  “I ran my hand under an analyzer, you witch. You lied to me. There aren’t any toxins in my system.”

  After tucking the edge of the towel so it was as secure as it was going to get around her, she looked up. “Are you that daft? The analyzer can’t pick up the toxins I used.”

  “More lies!” he shouted, sounding outraged.

  She was the one who should be angry. Jick tracked her with his eyes wherever she went. Sometimes, she’d thought about spacing him. The punishments were too gruesome, however. The Kresh always discovered the crimes through the hated Bo Taw, the mind rapists.

  The spacers were one of the few human groups that thought of the Kresh as Kresh. On some occasions, certainly, they called a Kresh overlord “master” or “Revered One.” Normally, however, the crew of the haulers thought of them as Kresh. Perhaps the aliens didn’t feel a need to subject the spacers to love conditioning.

  Darcy now moved closer to the hatch. “Think about it, Jick. How do you think I got the toxins past the inspectors in the first place?”

  “Because you made it all up!” he shouted.

  “Right,” she said, deciding she’d have to use psychology on him. “Tell me this, then. How come your member hasn’t stiffened since you’ve ingested the toxins?” She was guessing here, hoping his fears had made it impossible.

  “You’re lying about the toxins!” he screamed, pounding on the hatch.

  Her eyebrows rose. He sounded demented. Then the hatch clicked open. It astonished her. She backed away as her stomach clenched.

  The hatch opened wider and Jick stood there. He had an override switch in his hand.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, licking his lips obscenely. “This is very interesting.”

  “It’s illegal to use an override code for personal situations.”

  “Ah-ha!” he said, triumphantly. “I’m here to enact ship law. You violated the codes, going outside alone. Now I’ve come to violate you, Darcy.”

  She backed away.

  Jick stepped over the portal opening. He was thin and unappealing, with long features. Unfortunately, he had wiry strength because he spent an inordinate amount of time in the exercise room.

  “I’m warning you, Jick.”

  “No!” he said. “I have come to warn you. Lie to me again and I will rip away your towel and expose you to my gaze. Then I will unbuckle my pants and mount you to my satisfaction.”

  “Rape, Jick? Are you threatening me with rape?”

  He grinned so wide that his back molars were visible. “While you floated outside against custom, I opened the recording panel. I tinkered with it, Darcy, and I’ve shut it off.”

  “And you claim I broke custom?”

  He scanned her ill-clad form. “Rip off your towel,” he said in a husky voice. “Let me view your naked beauty.”

  A greasy feeling writhed in her stomach. His lecherous gaze sickened her. She felt faint. If he attempted to rape her—

  No. You must think clearly, she told herself. Going alone outside was forbidden. Tampering with the recorder would bring the death sentence. Does he mean to rape and then kill me?

  Each of them had passed psychological tests by mentalists. They were each supposed to be able to withstand the pressures of long space voyages. Had Jick snapped?

  No. His lusts have gotten the better of him. All he does is watch porn. Now, he finally wants the real thing.

  The sick feeling in her stomach made her nauseous, and that stole some of her strength. It wasn’t fair that a geek like Jick was stronger than she was. If she kicked him in the groin and failed to reach her room . . .

  “Go away, Jick,” she said, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. “Fix the recorder. Otherwise, when the others wake, I’ll tell them what you’ve done.”

  “You’d let them hand out a death sentence against me?” he asked in a thick voice.

  “Leave, Jick.”

  “No,” he said. He moved toward her.

  Darcy backed up until she bumped against the shower stall. The pit of her stomach throbbed.

  Jick reached out. She slapped his hand. He snarled and slapped her across the face. It whipped her head to the side, dazing her. Jick reached out again, grabbed her damp towel, and yanked hard.

  She yelled as the towel moved away, and she realized Jick stared at her naked body as he held the towel in his hand.

  For a moment, he stood with his lips parted and eyes glazed.

  Darcy covered her breasts and lower area as best she could.

  Jick chuckled nastily. He grabbed one end of the towel and began to spin it. Then he flicked the towel like a whip, snapping it at her side.

  She cried out. The wet end hu
rt as it snapped her. “Stop it, Jick.”

  He flicked it again, snapping it at her face. She swatted it away, and her breasts jiggled free.

  “Nice,” Jick said in a husky voice. “Those are very nice.”

  The greasy feeling worsened in Darcy, but now anger bubbled in her. Lousy, freaky Jick toyed with her. She was in charge of the ship. He was nothing but a tech, tagging along to make sure the equipment worked. How dare he do this to her.

  She covered her breasts, and she plotted.

  Jick laughed. “This is fun, Darcy. I’m going to make you dance for me. I want to see your tits again.”

  She slid away sideways, trying to keep from staring down at the floor. It looked slick to the side of Jick. She’d been dripping water there. If she could maneuver him onto the spot—yes. He followed her.

  “Show me your tits again,” he said in an ugly voice.

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll snap out your eyes,” he threatened.

  “Your member will shrivel.”

  “Are you looking at my pants?” he asked. “I’m as hard as a rock, Darcy. You’re in big trouble.”

  She stood glaring at him, covering herself.

  He flicked the wet towel again.

  With a shout, Darcy lowered a shoulder and charged. The end of the towel struck her in the face, but she was too determined to let it stop her. She collided against him. Jick cried out, and his feet slid on the wet tiles.

  He crashed onto his rear. His shoulder blades struck the floor and the back of his head knocked with a thud.

  Darcy almost stumbled onto him. She jumped at the last second and landed on the other side of him near the portal. Another hop took her into the corridor.

  Jick groaned.

  Darcy didn’t look back. She ran down the corridor, twisted into another, and reached her room.

  “Darcy!” he shouted.

  Her heart beat wildly. She heard him running down the corridor. With trembling fingers, she punched in her room’s code. The hatch unlatched.

  “I’m going to have you!” he roared.