The Vampires of Antyllus

by Michael E. Gonzales

  "Well, thanks—what's your name anyway?"

  "Cerf Delaflote."

  "Okay, thanks Cerf."

  "Hey," the pilot smiled weakly, "you pronounced it correctly."

  Dave tapped the canopy and took off again, running, jumping, climbing. Making the best time he could toward Wilmington. He'd run another three kilometers when he noticed another Lentavat Top'Aya at some altitude descending toward a location behind him. Looking back, he could see that two of the big bugs were already on the roof attacking the V-tol. Doubtless they were attracted by the smell of blood.

  Dave stopped and raised his rifle, but as the image of the disabled V-tol came into focus in his scope the machine exploded in a violent orange and black burst. Cerf had pulled the trigger on a missile. The sympathetic detonation of the remainder of his munitions and fuel resulted in a spectacular eruption that must have gotten everyone's attention…even Wilmington's.

  Dave did not stop to ponder the fate of the merc pilot or his last minute change of loyalties.

  It felt like it took forever, but at last Dave reached the southwestern edge of the city. Out diagonally in front of him to the southwest, four kilometers away, stood Fac Nine. It resembled an observatory with its huge dome.

  Dave looked down; he was standing at the precipice of the city thirteen meters above the ground. As Dave looked, he spotted a PC coming up a ramp three and a half kilometers to his right. Wilmington was making a beeline for the shuttle.

  With no other options, Dave jumped off the side of the city. Thirteen meters was a dangerous fall, even for a SUB. Dave counted on the low gravity and said a prayer as he fell.

  His impact with the ground was hard, but he was undamaged. Rising, he began to run forward on a course that would have him intercept the vehicle less than a kilometer from the ramp. How to stop this thing was the question. At full speed, a PC on a flat track could make thirty-seven kilometers an hour. The cleared zone inside the compound was far from flat. The trees had been removed, but those obstacles not inhibiting a clear view from the city to the fence were left unmolested. So the stumps, rocks, rills, and depressions left in place were now covered by large low dark blue, black, and purple ferns, and orange grasses. The PC would have made better time staying to the trail cut by the bulldozers. Wilmington had obviously ordered his people to drive straight for the shuttle. They were making just under five Kp/H.

  Dave ran up behind the bouncing vehicle and leapt up onto its rear then climbed onto the top. Having no other plan, he began to hammer the pressure hull with his fist. Though hard, the pressure hull of a PC was nothing like that of a submarine or a combat fighting vehicle. Dave knew he could breach the hull with his bare hands—perhaps the Bios inside were without respirators. A long shot, but it was all he could come up with at the moment.

  Very quickly, the starboard airlock opened and a man in a respirator with a rifle took a shot at him. Dave leapt three meters through the air and slammed into the center of the man's chest. They both fell from the PC and tumbled along amid the ferns. The merc's mask had come off and he forgot all else in his panicked attempt to get his mask back on. When, at last, he had it on, cleared, and was again able to breathe, he looked up to see Dave standing over him holding his weapon. The merc instantly threw his hands up.

  Dave indicated the city wall and said, "Eyya."

  The man, now with tears in his eyes and his lip quivering, only shook his head and shrugged.

  "Run," Dave said. And the man did just that.

  Dave resumed his pursuit of the PC, and as he ran, he took note of the weapon in his hand. He did not recognize it, so he looked through his mental database to discover he was in possession of a very interesting weapon. Dave played the video and listened to the narration in his head as the weapon was described to him. "The ASG-12 is a semi to full auto 12-gauge shotgun. It fires three hundred rounds per minute and utilizes a thirty-two-round drum magazine. Available ammunition ranges widely from buckshot and slug to special fin-stabilized rounds such as High Explosive, High Explosive Anti-personnel, and High Explosive Air Burst fragmentation. The magazine can be loaded with a variety of ammunition and then selected by means of the weapon's ballistic computer." Dave had absorbed the tutorial and the entire training manual for the weapon in less than a second.

  Dave selected High Explosive and fired. The round was a slow mover; Dave watched it lob through the air. It impacted a couple of meters behind the vehicle; the explosion was only somewhat more powerful than a standard hand grenade. One hit would disable the PC so he started running again and adjusted his aim. He pulled the trigger.

  His round had no sooner left the barrel of the weapon than two figures jumped from the vehicle. The larger figure fired his ASG-12 launching a round of his own. The two rounds met in midair and exploded exactly as the big merc obviously intended. Dave's round was an HE, but the other fellow had launched an Air Burst fragmentation round. The tiny bits of shrapnel rained down on Dave and one struck him in the corner of his left eye. Instantly, he lost vision from it. Dave had long since turned his pain sensors way down—not off—because he wanted to know where he was injured.

  Dave knew the larger man had to be a SUB, no bio had aim that good.

  The larger fellow was a powerful looking man dressed in a rumpled, soiled, blood splattered, and unbuttoned merc uniform. His face, neck, and chest bore large tattoos. Adding to his terrifying appearance, his face was pierced, and Dave noted the pieces of metal were all servos from the index fingers of SUBs—most still twitching. His head was devoid of hair. It appeared that he'd been manufactured with hair, but he had crudely removed it.

  "Vlad?" Dave asked.

  "Dave," the big man responded.

  Slowly walking to Dave's left flank was the other merc, a bio given the respirator. Dave glanced at him. "So, Vlad," Dave called out, "is that how you like it, two to one?"

  Vlad punched a button on his ASG-12 and the mag rotated to a different round. Vlad smiled, and without looking lowered the muzzle and fired. The other merc vanished in a bloody froth.

  "Now, is just me and you. You are liking this better?" Vlad asked with a thick accent.

  "Oh, come on, you're a SUB, you can drop the phony accent."

  ○O○

  Vlad smiled. "Before I was a SUB, I spoke English like that, the boss likes it, so I keep it," Vlad said, his accent vanished.

  "If you'd rather," Dave said, "we can speak in Russian or perhaps Hungarian, Moldovan, Romanian, or even Tatar."

  "I'd be impressed, but your knowledge of those languages is on your hard drive, so it's meaningless. Just like you."

  "Vlad, join us, what could possibly be in Wilmington's plan for you?"

  "I don't know yet, Dave," Vlad rubbed his chin. "But he and the IIEA are going to win, and they will have all the power. And as we both know, power is where it's at. On the other hand, I do know what's here for me if I join you. Nothing."

  "So, we two SUBs have to fight it out?"

  "Not going to be much of a fight, Dave. You see, you were designed to assist and serve man. I was built to be his destroyer. Shall we keep the weapons Dave, or do this bare knuckle?"

  "You mean in a fair fight, Marquess of Queensberry rules, and all that sort of thing?" Dave asked.

  "Yes."

  "You gotta be kidding!" Dave laughed and fired three air burst frags at Vlad then began to run to the giant's left.

  The three rounds exploded directly in front of Vlad, ripping huge swaths of artificial flesh from him. He reached up and touched his face, neck, and chest, now nothing but bare metal. "Dammit!" Vlad shouted. "I was very fond of those tattoos!"

  "Well, come on, Tin Man!" Dave shouted back and fired an HE round at him. The round hit near, but not near enough. Vlad responded with a spread of six rounds toward Dave, two Air Burst Frags and four HE. The frags peppered Dave's back and shoulders with shrapnel, but Vlad knew it caused no real damage. The concussion from the HE rounds knocked Dave down, and Vlad watched as he scrambl
ed to his feet.

  Vlad's target kept moving. Vlad understood that a moving target is harder to hit, but he also knew his ballistic computer calculated all variables instantly. He knew that Dave could see the slow moving rounds in the air, which of course made avoidance simple.

  He was quick to see the strategy, so he fired a volley of twenty-four rounds in a pattern that would make it difficult to avoid even with Dave's great speed. The explosions of the High Explosive, High Explosive Anti-personal, and High Explosive Air Burst fragmentation rounds churned up the soil into a cumulonimbus cloud of red dirt and gray smoke. Vlad switched his vision to IR but could see no sign of Dave's heat signature through the billowing mass of falling dirt. "Got-cha," Vlad grinned.

  Slowly, he advanced into the cloud, scanning the area in infrared. Dave's warmer parts should be glowing brightly, but he saw nothing.

  Vlad stopped a meter or so into the floating dustball to check his magazine. He had only one round remaining. Vlad reached into his belt to retrieve a fresh magazine of ammunition.

  ○O○

  Hearing the mechanical clicks of a mag being removed from a weapon, Dave popped up from under the blanket of dirt that had covered him. Vlad was standing nearly over him. Dave fired a single HE round up at him. The round penetrated his abdomen and lodged under his breastplate right next to his primary load bearing structure—his spine.

  The force of the impact lifted Vlad off his feet. He dropped his additional ammo, and his weapon went flying out of his hand. Vlad landed on his back, stunned, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

  Dave walked up over him. "I'll bet you're wondering why the round hasn't detonated." Dave spoke slowly like an instructor. "As I'm sure you know, being that you’re a well-trained destroyer of man, I just placed an M-806 High Explosive round inside your chest. When it detonates, it produces a ground burst that causes casualties to Bios within a 130-meter radius, and has a kill radius of five meters. I'm sure you are also aware that once fired, it must travel between 14 and 20 meters before it arms. Your spine stopped it."

  Dave then reached down and grabbed Vlad by his collar and belt and lifted him over his head. "Let me see if I can help you with that," Dave then he threw him upward and away like a javelin. Vlad uttered an oath just as his body hit the ground and disintegrated in a puff of black smoke.

  Dave retrieved his weapon and started running again toward the PC, taking only a moment to glance over at the dark smoke rising from the burnt patch in the fern-covered field.

  The PC was some distance from him now, so Dave poured on the steam. The vehicle was moving much faster now and was bouncing violently. As he approached it, Dave could see that the outer airlock door on the starboard side was still open. Running alongside, he timed his pace and made a careful jump, landing inside the airlock. Dave did not bother with the mechanism. He grabbed the inner door, forced it open, and burst in with his weapon at the ready set for anti-personnel.

  To Dave's surprise, the vehicle was empty. Wilmington had set the throttle and jumped. "Damn!" Dave berated himself. He should have guessed when he saw the PC was no longer headed toward Fac Nine but had veered off in a northeasterly direction.

  Dave stopped the PC and looked through the forward windscreens toward the west, and there Wilmington was, running on foot, almost at the side of the building.

  Dave ran back and jumped through the starboard airlock and ran around the back of the vehicle. Then he headed hard for Wilmington who he could see with his magnified vision was just entering Fac Nine.

  Dave was less than a kilometer away when the dome over the building divided into eight equal slices with several puffs of white smoke. Then the pieces were jettisoned with eight small kicker charges. A huge billowing white cloud that was illuminated from within by a brilliant yellow light erupted from the building followed a moment later by a white sphere that seemed to lift slowly from out of the cloud and rise into the air. The higher it got, the faster it moved.

  Dave watched as its landing gear retracted and it arched upward. Soon there remained nothing but the long trail of white smoke that vanished into the dark blue sky.

  The heat and pressure of the launch passed, and all Dave could think of was that his failure would cost all the Bios, SUBs, and E'meset now in or standing in proximity to New Roanoke, their lives. There would be no time for evacuation. Dave turned to hurry back though. He wanted to be standing with Kathy when the end came.

  Dave returned to the roof of the city and again ran the obstacle course back. It was the fastest way, and he was determined to win this last race.

  "Indra, you there?"

  "Yes, Dave," the AVAC responded.

  "I take it you saw that?"

  "I did."

  "Don't tell Kathy or anyone else. It was my failure, I'll tell them."

  As he ran, he wondered what kind of bomb Wilmington had up there on the Demeter. Probably a hydrogen bomb, and a big one at that, unless the IIEA had something larger. Hell, even an old fashioned atomic bomb would do the job. Regardless, no E'meset or SUB could run fast enough to clear the blast radius.

  Dave ran past the burning wreckage of the V-tol and hopped over the remains of the Lentavat Top'Aya killed when the pilot fired his missiles.

  With an image of Kathy in his mind, he ran as hard as he'd ever run in his life. Seconds seemed so precious, now.

  Dave got some comfort from the knowledge that he had at least loved and been loved in his life. For that, he was truly grateful.

  Chapter 28

  A planet, both wild and dangerous.

  Wilmington sat in the shuttle, enduring the acceleration of takeoff with an expressionless countenance. In his mind, however, he was seething. His grip on the arms of his seat was such that he was bending the metal. Rage flowed inexorably through him like magma boiling up out of a volcanic caldron. Wilmington was on the verge of a catastrophic eruption.

  With main engine cut off came weightlessness. Wilmington knew he was in space. He activated his view screen and watched the limb of the planet fade into darkness as his spacecraft climbed into a higher orbit to rendezvous with the Demeter. The computer on the shuttle and Narcissia aboard the Demeter were in control of the docking maneuver. All Wilmington had to do was enjoy the ride. He did not, however. All he could think of was the destruction of that chattel down on the surface.

  Once aboard the Demeter, Narcissia provided Wilmington a schematic of the spacecraft and, at Wilmington's demand, the current location of the captain.

  ○O○

  The captain of the Demeter, who also commanded the four-ship fleet, was an experienced cargo ship's captain. Had he been born four hundred years earlier, he would have been a cowboy. He was born in Texas, and so western mythology was his forte.

  He'd started his life in space at age nineteen when he joined the Texas Astronaut Cadet Program. He had come to see space as nineteenth century people saw the west―as the last frontier. So naturally, he was drawn to its endless expanses.

  He retired from NASA at age forty, and with his training and experience, was immediately hired by the IIEA. He flew the IIEA's shuttle, their lunar transport vehicle, and various other cargo ships, rising quickly through the ranks to command the IIEA's entire interstellar fleet of four enormous ships.

  When the ESA, the European Space Agency, deployed the first Fa lándzsa class deep space heavy cargo ships to support the colonization of Antyllus, there was no one better suited to command them than Captain Quincy Maurice.

  He was a very pragmatic man; as such he concerned himself with practical matters as opposed to idealistic concepts. After so many trips out here, he had a pretty good idea what was going on, but to show too much interest in affairs that where none of his business would not be to his benefit. His pragmatism provided him an excuse. Whatever was happening on the planet's surface had no effect on him or his responsibilities, so they were none of his concern.

  Thousands of the most powerful leaders of Earth desired that his cargo be delivere
d on time—people who could do far worse to him than cause him the loss of his job. The four ships of his fleet were his mission, all else resided in the peripheral. His was a simple, uncomplicated existence.

  The hatch to the bridge opened, and Wilmington burst in. His shouting revealed him to be all but completely unhinged as he clumsily pulled himself toward the captain along the zero gravity guide lines.

  "Captain, ready a nuclear missile and target New Roanoke. That's an order. I assume full responsibility!"

  "Nuclear missile…just where the hell do ya think ya are?" the captain's response was thickly coated in a Texas drawl.

  "Then use your conventional missiles! Do it now!"

  "Mr. Wilmington…I fired all the Demeter's missiles followin’ your order to destroy all them communications satellites. I'm afraid I've nothin’ to offer you, partner."

  Wilmington's mind raced. Somehow, he just had to strike at them. "Narcissia!"

  "Yes, Mr. Wilmington?"

  "Send my shuttle back to New Roanoke and crash it into the east gate of the city's perimeter. You have the coordinates. They are all probably still standing there slapping each other on the back and hugging. At least I'll get a few of the bastards."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Wilmington," Narcissia responded, "that order is both immoral and illegal. Such an action would be in violation of my human protective governors."

  "I am invoking command override seven bravo november. Do you hear me, damn you!?" Wilmington became furious, his eyes bugged, and he screamed his commands…a very dangerous state of mind for any SUB with the power they held in reserve.

  Wilmington turned on the captain, "Now you listen to me you…you ridiculous Texas sheep herder. I order you to provide Narcissia the rest of the command code. Do it right fucking now!"

  The captain looked Wilmington directly in the eyes.

  "Let me understand you," the captain commented, squinting. “You want me to commit murder?"

  "You ignorant hillbilly, we are at war! Now, do as I have commanded!"