A twelve-inch-long finger pointed at him, and a pulse blast sizzled between the trees, exploding into the picnic table beside Ali, tearing it to pieces. Running in a crouch, he got out of the clearing and into the trees, where he figured he was safe. “You missed me, you scab on a monkey’s ass.”
Miriyam bolted out of the streambed and ran for the nearest cover. She ducked behind a thick palm just as a white flash ripped into the other side of the trunk and broke the tree in half. It crashed down, pinning her to the ground. Ali made it over to her and tried to lift the tree away.
“Get me out of here!” She winced.
“I will,” he said. Then he slipped out of view.
“Ali. don’t leave me here, you bastard.”
The exoskeleton’s head was in sight, bobbing above the vegetation as it moved steadily forward. Miriyam didn’t have a clear line, but she took aim the best she could and began to blast away. Ali hurried back with a thick plank of wood from the ruined picnic table and wedged it under the fallen trunk for leverage. The powerfully built soldier lifted the tree away as Miriyam continued to fire. The alien was almost on top of them. Its shell was cracking under the barrage of Miriyam’s bullets, but not giving way. It was too late to run. The creature stepped out of the streambed and pointed its curving spike of a finger down at Miriyam.
Before it could fire, a series of gun blasts came from a new direction and hit the side of the shell. This distracted the creature just long enough for Ali to swing the wooden plank. With a loud cracking noise, the alien’s hand broke off and hit the ground. Squealing in pain, the alien sent a tentacle forward to impale Ali, but he dodged it and jabbed the end of the plank into the thing’s face. The shell wall collapsed, and when he pulled the wood away, Miriyam pumped bullets into the opening he had created.
The eight-foot-tall body wilted into a heap on the ground.
Miriyam and Ali breathed a sigh of relief, then looked to see where the mysterious salvo of shots had come from. Tye jogged up to them and looked down at the dead alien. “There’s got to be a better way of killing these things,” he said.
*
In another area of the oasis town, Yossi, Sutton, and Edward were about to discover a better way. The three of them were pinned down behind a low stone wall, with bullets whizzing over their heads in one direction and alien pulse blasts going in the other.
The land was higher at one end of the oasis, ending in a set of hills. The slope had been graded into a series of terraces, three-foot-tall walls made of stone. A large group of Saudi civilians, members of the same clan, had been living there since the invasion started. When they heard the shooting begin, they grabbed their weapons and rushed out to the stone walls, using them as barricades. They opened fire when a pair of tentacled killers came marching down the slope. When the Brit, the Palestinian, and the Israeli rushed up the slope to help them, a second pair of aliens appeared at the top of the hill and began blasting away. After slaughtering the defenders near the top, the aliens began picking off humans one at a time with their pulse weapons. The members of the clan hid themselves at the base of the slope, doing their best to keep the alien invaders at bay.
But their numbers were dwindling quickly. The day before, in the air, the pulse blasts coming from the alien attack planes had been only marginally accurate, connecting with their targets about ten percent of the time. But in their bioarmor, the aliens were much more lethal. Every thirty seconds, it seemed, the humans sustained another casualty, especially those trapped on the terraced hillside. The pulses couldn’t reach them behind the walls, but almost everyone who broke into the open and dashed for the bottom of the hill was picked off.
Edward was desperate to get off the hill. “We’ve got to create a diversion and get down into the trees.”
“Go ahead,” Yossi sneered. “You’ll never make it. We’ve got to wait for them to come to us.”
“We’re dead. We’re definitely dead,” Sutton moaned.
A couple of kids bolted into the open, running together. While everyone else was trying to get off the slope, these two came out of the trees and started advancing up the hill. The sound of clanking bottles came from the cardboard box they carried between them. They crouched a little as they ran, but otherwise failed to appreciate the danger they were in.
“I don’t believe it,” Sutton said. “Those are two of the little punks who pickpocketed Tye.”
“What are they doing?”
“Sounds like they’ve got bottles,” the Englishman said. “Maybe they’re going to try selling us some sodas.”
The men cringed as they watched the boys zigzag their way up the hill, waiting for the inevitable flash of the alien weapons that would tear their bodies apart. But somehow, miraculously, they made it all the way up and joined the others behind the wall.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“We kill dem,” said the younger boy.
“We have many bombs we make,” announced Mohammed. He tipped the box and showed them what was inside: bottles filled with gasoline. Rags had been stuffed into the openings to act as wicks. Mohammed pulled out an engraved silver lighter and pretended to light the gas-soaked rag, then pantomimed throwing the bottle at his young friend, who summed up their strategy in three words.
“I am boom.”
“Yes, we know. Molotov cocktails,” Sutton said, shaking his head sadly. “The problem is that these creatures are wearing armor. They’re protected. We need bazookas, not these rinky-dink little bottle bombs.” The boys didn’t understand a word he’d said.
“I am boom,” repeated the younger boy.
“How much?” Sutton asked sardonically, assuming the boys were there to make a sale.
“Very good merchandise, very good price,” Mohammed said with a grin. “For you, my friend, price is free.” He offered one of the homemade weapons to Sutton, who refused it.
“I’ll stick to bullets, thank you.”
“They’re coming,” Yossi announced. The others peeked over the top of the wall and saw the four exoskeletons moving closer, one terrace at a time, peppering the area with pulse blasts as they came. When they noticed the human heads peeking over the top of the wall, they changed direction, moving in for a quick kill before continuing down into the trees.
The younger boy lit a bottle, stood up, and threw it as hard as he could. Rather than duck back down, he watched its flight through the air. Before it hit anything, he was dead. A pulse blast hit him square in the solar plexus and knocked him twenty paces down the slope. The alien energy bursts caused different kinds of damage depending on the material they interacted with. They twisted the heavy steel girders of the radio tower out of shape, but didn’t explode human flesh. The boy’s body was smashed, blackened, and bloody, but still in one piece. Mohammed’s first reaction was to run to his friend, but Sutton pulled him back and pinned him against the wall, holding him there until he stopped struggling. An angry roar of gunshots came out of the trees, but the aliens continued to advance.
Yossi lit one of the gasoline-soaked wicks, sneaked a quick look over the wall, then threw as best he could, grenade-style, protecting himself from the counterfire. The bottle landed without exploding.
“That was terrible,” Edward said. “You throw like my grandmother.”
“You think you can do better?” He handed over a lit Molotov cocktail. “Show me.” Edward measured the weight of the bottle in his hand before setting it aside and picking up a heavy stone.
“I know you Palestinians like to throw rocks,” Yossi said, “but these guys aren’t Jewish soldiers with rubber bullets.”
“Just watch,” Edward said. He lobbed the heavy stone high into the air in the direction of the aliens. As it reached the top of its arc, he stood up and tomahawked the bottle thirty-five feet on a straight line. As he hoped, the aliens were distracted by stone falling toward them. The bottle shattered against the blunt bone face of the closest creature and spread fire over the surface of the bioarmor. Edw
ard ducked behind the wall again before a single pulse blast was fired.
Behind the wall, the men heard squealing and thrashing. They peeked over the edge and saw the creature staggering around, swatting at the flames with its tentacles. The walls of the big skull-thorax shell opened, and the fragile, skinny creature riding inside jumped out of the suit. Before it could scramble into the nearest bushes, a barrage of bullets came from the trees at the base of the slope and ripped it to shreds.
“Incredible! It worked!” Sutton shouted. He patted Mohammed on the shoulder. “He went boom!”
“Don’t be too happy,” Edward cautioned. “There are three more, and they’re coming this way.”
Sutton stole a glance over the wall and realized he was right. “Don’t these things learn?”
“Let’s hope not,” Edward said. Then he turned to Yossi, who was staring at him, impressed, and explained his skill with Molotov cocktails. “I got some practice during the Intifada.”
The Israeli lit a couple more of the wicks. “This time, I won’t throw like your grandmother. I’ll pretend I’m throwing at Yasir Arafat.”
The attack continued. The aliens followed their strategy of trying to surround the soldiers, but it wasn’t enough. The men spread out and torched the creatures wherever they tried to cross the wall.
Half an hour later, all the aliens in Qal’at Buqum were dead. Those who had defended the oasis gathered near the post office, comparing notes and carrying the wounded to an infirmary at the end of town. Despite their victory and the fact that they’d found a reliable way of killing the invaders, there was only a guarded optimism. The officer in charge of the Saudi forces, fearing another sneak attack, sent dozens of men to stand sentry duty around the perimeter of the oasis.
In the strategy session that ensued, much of the discussion centered on acquiring the right weapons—flamethrowers. The Saudis had them, of course, but not many. None of the men milling around the center of town had ever trained with one. Locating them and getting them to where they were needed was going to take time.
Reg went to the Rolls-Royce and found Mr. Yamani exactly where he’d been since they arrived in Qal’at Buqum an hour before. He was curled up on the backseat with his arms wrapped around his head. Reg ducked inside to try and reassure the old man that he was safe, at least for the time being, but couldn’t get a response out of him. He was trembling and mumbling to himself in Arabic. Khalid came up behind Reg and was angry that Fadeela had left her father in such a state.
Someone told them she had gone to the infirmary, and Reg volunteered to go and look for her. He walked down the road to the edge of town until he found the building. It was a dilapidated doctor’s office that was ill equipped to handle the dozens of injuries sustained during the battle. He found the doctor in charge, a man who wore slacks and a silk shirt instead of the more traditional Saudi garments. He spoke English with a Scottish accent.
“She said her father was uncontrollably nervous and wanted something to calm him down. I kicked her out and told her not to come back until she was decently covered.” Then he looked Reg over disapprovingly. “Why do you want to find her?” Reg didn’t answer the man, just turned and left. As soon as he was on the street again, he saw the old truck coming in his direction. Miriyam and Remi were riding up front with Ali, who was driving.
“Hurry up and get in,” Miriyam said. “We’re going to a place where we can get some weapons.”
“What’s the big hurry?” Reg asked, glancing toward the center of town. A large convoy of military vehicles had begun to arrive.
“It’s Faisal. He has taken Khalid prisoner again, and he’s looking for you. Get in.”
There didn’t seem to be much choice, so Reg jumped in the rear compartment and watched the oasis town slowly recede from view. When he finally sat down, he noticed there was a man he didn’t recognize riding along with them. It was a Saudi soldier with his keffiyeh pushed down to cover his face. There was something oddly fragile about the soldier, and when “he” finally looked up and smiled, Reg saw that it wasn’t a man after all. It was Fadeela.
10
UGLY WEAPONS
As they motored east along a lonely stretch of highway, the only traffic they encountered was a convoy of military jeeps heading in the opposite direction and a Saudi army helicopter that buzzed up behind them before shooting ahead. It was about three in the afternoon, and the sun was at its most punishing. In the back of the truck, the breeze kept skin temperatures down, but the metal floor and walls were hot to the touch.
Tye hardly noticed. He had spread some rags on the floor near the tailgate and was busy examining his growing collection of alien biohardware. In the aftermath of the battle, he’d dislodged two more medallions from the backs of alien hands. But his concentration was centered on the examination of something that looked like a slightly warped piece of half-inch pipe. It was one of the pulse weapons.
Using a heavy stone, he’d broken open an exoskeleton forearm and dug the thing out. It lay just below the shell, nestled in the ropy white meat. Although it was the color and consistency of tooth enamel, the tube had soft flanges attached to its sides. He had found them wrapped around the muscles in the arm, and they had to be peeled away one by one before the weapon could be lifted out of its resting place. These flanges were about three inches long and one inch wide. They were flat and resembled the rubbery leaves of seaweed, but were the color of copper and composed of the same material found on the backs of the medallions. The pulse weapon looked more like a skinny prehistoric fish than any kind of gun he’d ever seen. It was hollow and open at the end where the ball of condensed energy was expelled. The other end was swollen and green—the same shade of green he’d seen flying along the underside of the city destroyer. The same green, Reg told him, as the crystalline pillars growing in the bowels of the ship.
“That thing is disgusting,” Sutton told him. “Don’t touch it. It’s probably full of germs.”
“I wiped it off,” Tye said. “It’s not like it’s rotting meat or anything. It’s some kind of machine.” The other passengers had a hard time buying that. It didn’t look like a machine.
“I don’t like it,” Edward said. “Remember when the Americans brought back rocks from Mars? The newspapers talked about the danger of germs or bacteria that we can’t defend against. And that was only rocks; this thing came out of a body.”
For once Yossi agreed with something Edward had to say. “I think we should get rid of it. It could be poison. Why take the risk?”
“If it’s true,” Fadeela said, “that the aliens have some strange diseases, it’s already too late. Thousands of people throughout the country must have already been exposed to them. And we don’t even know about the rest of the world.”
The debate ended when Tye reached down and picked the thing up with his bare hand. The coppery flanges came to life and wrapped themselves around his arm, strapping the machine to his forearm. Startled by the rapid movement, the others recoiled, but Tye was more fascinated than afraid. He lifted his forearm close to his face and examined it closely before turning to the others. “I think it likes me.”
“See if you can make it fire,” Reg said.
Since there was nothing that looked like a trigger, Tye did as he’d seen the aliens do. He pointed his arm out the back of the truck and extended his finger. Nothing happened. He picked up one of the medallions and touched the coppery side to various parts of the device. He peeled it off and allowed it to reattach to his other arm. He flexed his muscles and shouted, “Fire!” but couldn’t get the weapon to work. He turned to the others and shrugged. “Maybe you have to be eight feet tall and really, really ugly for it to work.”
“If that’s the case,” Sutton joked, “you’re our best candidate.”
“Let me try it,” Reg said, moving closer and reaching for the device.
Tye pulled away, not ready to relinquish control of the object. “This one’s mine. You’ll have to go out and find
your own.” He was only half kidding.
Reg explained his theory that the way to trigger the firing mechanism might involve some sort of telepathy or mental suggestion. “I’ve been thinking about these suits of armor they wear. How do they control them? It can’t be that the suits are imitating the movements of the little guy operating them. For one thing, there’s no room to move inside those chest cavities. And besides, the aliens don’t have tentacles, but their suits do. It might be a simple matter of willing it to work. Let me see it for a minute.”
Again, Tye pulled it away from Reg. “I’ve got plenty of mental control. I’ll try it.” He raised his arm and pointed his finger, this time with more ceremony. Speaking like a medium conducting a seance, he said, “I command you to fire a pulse blast. I am visualizing a pulse blast firing out of you. I command you to fire!” He was perfectly sincere, but some of the others began laughing at him.
“Oh ferchrissake, man, give me that thing.”
Fadeela spoke on Reg’s behalf. “Michael, let Reg try it. He has been inside their minds twice already. Perhaps he can make it work.”
Sutton was enjoying the show. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you people look? May I remind you that this thing is from another galaxy, designed by an intelligence we don’t understand?”
“Oh, go ahead,” Tye said, holding his arm out so Reg could peel the rubbery flippers away from his skin. The instant Reg’s fingertips came into contact with the device, there was a blinding flash. An energy pulse sailed into the sky for a mile or so before dissipating.
“Okay, you win.” Tye peeled the tube off his arm, set it on the floor of the truck, and pushed it toward Reg. “Whatever you got from those aliens, it works.”
Reg held the thing over his arm and allowed it to cling to him. His sweat quickly collected in pools under the flippers, which clung to his arm like clammy leaves. He willed the device to fire again, but had no more luck than Tye.
Complete Independence Day Omnibus, The Page 71