Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions

by David Welch

  A heavy burst of fire erupted from the distant spaceport. It didn’t slacken, continuing on and intermixing with the lighter sound of Europan rifles. He magnified his vision, and could just make out waves of Europan warriors rushing toward the ship.

  “Shit.”

  He increased his pace, trying to get a better look. The roar of the turrets continued. A shape appeared in his vision, a black form silhouetted by the lights of Longshot. Jake brought his machine gun up but held fire, switching to infrared. The form belonged to a girl, a young teen from the looks of her.

  “Survivor,” Jake announced, slowing to a stop in front of her. Rick and his men filled in around him.

  “Elly,” said Rick as he approached. The girl’s face relaxed as she recognized him.

  “One of yours then?” Jake surmised.

  “Rancher’s daughter, lived here all her life. Free born,” Rick explained.

  “Good to hear,” Jake said with a smile. He flipped back to infrared, scanning the area. He spotted a blip on the infrared and then several more, hiding behind a knoll.

  “Are there more of you?” he asked the girl.

  She nodded, her voice weak as she spoke. “Didn’t know what to do. They-they kept showing up between us and the ship.”

  “Warriors?” Rick asked. “How many?”

  “I-I don’t know. It’s dark,” she said, looking warily toward the spaceport.

  “Give me a sec; I’ll look,” Jake said.

  “Take us to the others,” Rick said to Elly.

  The moved toward the knoll, the other survivors coming out and getting behind them. Jake moved out in front. He canvassed the area in infrared and then again in light-intensified night vision. He saw nothing, just the rolls of the land. Unfortunately knolls and low ridges could hide an infrared signature, at least from his position on the ground.

  So he leaped straight up, switching over to infrared. His head swiveled violently, trying to take in as much as possible.

  At first he saw only cold ground, but then he found it, another blip. Forty yards to their right, crouched low to the ground, behind a low rise. As he descended the blip became a body and then others appeared—eight in total—two drop teams, closing on them fast.

  “Coming from the west!” he cried, slamming down. Rick’s people spun and formed a quick line, putting themselves between the enemy and the civvies.

  Jake realized then that it was no accident the warriors were just now attacking. They’d been lying in wait, hoping somebody would come to rescue the refugees so they could get both in one go.

  Worthless bastards!

  “Jake, get at the north end of the line, between the ship and them,” Rick ordered. “Everybody, you move when we do. Stay behind us as long as you can, but if we get stuck in a fight, don’t stop moving. Keep going for the ship. Understand?”

  Heads nodded timidly.

  “Move!” Rick shouted.

  The militia were up, advancing on the warriors. Jake took up his spot at the end, moving in a slight arc to keep himself between the warriors and the refugees. Behind him the survivors broke into a sprint, making for the ship.

  The warrior arose from their concealment, streaking for the refugees. They skidded to a stop when they saw a line of armed men, and a cyborg, approaching them. For a split second they hesitated and then training took over, their guns refocusing on their foe.

  Jake switched to infrared and opened fire with his fifty cal. A warrior hurtled backward under his assault. Roars of gunfire erupted, the two sides trading lead as they sprinted closer. The militia had the advantage of surprise, and took down three warriors quickly. Then the warriors settled—the numbers now even.

  Fire burst around him, flashes of light as lead flew. The man to his left went down in a flash, his head jerking back in a spray of blood. Then the man next to him fell. Jake pumped two grenades toward the enemy, two large flashes momentarily illuminating the night. One went wide, hitting nothing. The other caught a warrior head on, flattening him with a wall of shrapnel.

  They were down to three men on each side, not counting himself. The warriors shouted something he couldn’t make out, and then focused in on the militia’s left. They charged faster, carpeting the leftmost man with fire, chewing him up.

  Then they were in among them. Guns roared point-blank, and painful screams echoing in the night. Jake charged in from his spot on the right, retracting his guns so he could put his hands to work. By the time he got into the scrum only one man was left standing, a warrior. He was bringing his gun to bear on Rick, who lay on the ground, wounded and clutching his ribs. Jake’s right hand shot forward, grabbing the man by the face and squeezing. Bones shattered beneath his grasp, a painful gurgle ripping from the warrior’s throat. Jake jerked his fist violently, snapping the man’s skull clean off his spine. The warrior went limp in his grasp.

  Jake tossed him away effortlessly, and turned back to Rick. The man gasped for breath, clutching at his body armor. It was pockmarked from a half-dozen impacts. Blood seeped from his side. At least one round had gotten through.

  “Guess we got them,” he managed, gazing at the dead around him. None of his compatriots were moving.

  “Yeah,” Jake said. He paused, the man’s words making him double check. He scanned the surrounding countryside in infrared, searching. To the south, a quarter-mile out, something caught his attention.

  “What is it?” Rick said.

  “Warriors,” said Jake. Their sprint was slightly awkward due to the guns in their hand and the body armor on their frames.

  “Give me my gun,” Rick said, motioning toward a nearby rifle. Jake slid it over with his foot. Rick grasped it, grimacing in pain. He groaned in agony as he sat up, pointing himself south.

  “No need to be a hero,” Jake said. “Grit your teeth.”

  “What…aaaah!” Rick wailed, as Jake lifted him up and threw him over his shoulder.

  “Just hold on,” Jake said.

  He turned north and took off. Rick’s painful moans filled his ears. Jake blocked them out, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it now. The man would be in excruciating pain until they got him to sick bay, but he would live. That was better than noth—

  A girl’s cry filled the air.

  “Help! Please! Don’t leave me here!”

  “W-who’s that?” Rick managed.

  “Hold on,” Jake said, scanning the area. He found the speaker ten yards ahead of him, stretched out on the ground. It was Elly.

  He jogged over. The teen was crawling, tortuously slowly, for the spaceport. She hadn’t been calling to him just now; she’d been calling to the figures disappearing toward the ship. Jake’s heavy footfalls caught her attention. She looked up at him, her face breaking into a relieved smile.

  “Oh thank you! Thank God! Thank you!” she babbled.

  “What happened? Can you walk?” Jake asked.

  She shook her head and gestured toward her ankle. It was bent at an unnatural angle, clearly broken.

  “Lucky for you I got two shoulders,” Jake said. He slung an arm under her and hoisted her up in one swift movement. She squealed in surprise and then settled against the metal skin of his shoulder.

  “You two set back there?” Jake asked.

  “Umm…yes,” said Elly.

  “Warriors c-coming,” wheezed Rick.

  “Right, I’m going,” Jake said, and began the sprint again. He made for the ship, the roar of the battle growing louder in his ears. Then it began to slow, the shots becoming fewer and farther between, before stopping altogether. Magnifying in, he saw the warriors falling back, making no move to attack. And Longshot did not fire at them as they went. Jake cocked his head quizzically. He may be new to war, but he was pretty damn sure that wasn’t normal.

  What the hell was Lucius up to?

  ***

  Longshot

  The survivors scrambled back, heading for the relative safety of the nearby buildings. Lucius let them go, not wanting to wast
e shots. He had about five hundred rounds in the rear turret, three hundred in the side turrets.

  “How many do you think you killed?” Helen said from behind him.

  “I do not know,” he replied. “Many.”

  “Both Kate and Keith’s forces are still behind their line,” said Helen.

  “I know,” Lucius replied. “Kate’s is priority, with the noncombatants in tow. Keith can hold out longer in a fight if he has too. When she and Rex make their move—”

  “We are being contacted on an open frequency,” the computer interrupted.

  “What? By who?” Lucius snapped.

  “A person identifying himself as Aetius Fitz-Titus. He says he is commanding the—”

  “Aetius? Did you say Aetius Fitz-Titus?” Lucius demanded.

  “That is how the speaker is identifying himself.”

  “That’s impossible,” Helen said, recognition flaring in her face. “Impossible! Your half-brother is an emperor’s son. They would never put a royal in command of a Forlorn Hope Brigade. It’s got to be a trick!”

  “He is saying that he will call on his men to cease fire, temporarily, if you agree to speak with him,” the computer continued.

  “It’s a trick, Baliol,” Helen repeated. “He’s trying to get you to drop your guard, so he can spring something on you. You can’t fall for this.”

  Lucius nodded, and then looked at the holograms floating around him. He found one, an infrared shot, showing the positions of various people. A cluster of dots was moving up the valley, directly for the ship. A quick glance at the bow cameras revealed them to be refugees, struggling to get to the ship.

  “Any time they’re not firing means more people onboard safely,” Lucius said, pointing to the screen. Helen had an exact copy of it, so he knew there was no doubt she saw them as well. “If hearing what my brother has to say buys us a few minutes, then I’ll do it.”

  Helen growled, “You’re a fool.”

  “Entirely possible,” he replied. “That’s why I’m keeping the guns ready. Keep an eye on what they’re doing. They make a move from their positions, we cut them in half.”

  Helen still didn’t look entirely satisfied, but said nothing. She crossed her arms, and turned her attention back to the holograms.

  “Connect him,” Lucius ordered.

  The computer chirped; the quiet buzz of an open line filled the bridge. Lucius turned his attention from the buzz to the console before him. He tapped out an order, telling the computer to track and triangulate the radio signal, hopefully revealing to him Aetius’s location among the various houses of the village’s southern flank. As he did he heard a throat clear over the line.

  “Lucius, are you there?” a familiar voice asked.

  “You already know that I am,” Lucius replied.

  The line went quiet for a moment.

  “I want to talk to you Lucius…” Aetius began, “…if you’re willing. I propose a truce. My men will cease their assault, if you restrain from using your cannons.”

  “Not sure that qualifies as a truce, Aetius,” Lucius declared. “Your men’s guns can barely scratch my paint, whereas I’ve laid out a third of your host already. And those houses you shelter in, do you really think wood planking will protect you from a turreted rail-gun? Why shouldn’t I just exterminate all of you?”

  “Because with an order, my men will turn from you and cut down the serfs still in town,” Aetius warned. “If you care for them so much, you will listen.”

  Lucius thought of a hundred things he’d like to say, but didn’t say anything. An idea formed in his head, bringing a smile to his face.

  “Well, seeing as you are—were—family, I suppose a short conversation can be indulged in…for the right price,” Lucius spoke.

  “A price?” said Aetius, disgusted. “You truly have gone Terran.”

  “Well, they do pay so well for information,” Lucius taunted. “But we’re getting distracted. You want to talk and don’t want to die, then you let my people through. You let them walk right through your lines, to this ship, unharmed and unmolested. You tell your men to stand down.”

  The line went quiet for a long moment. Lucius glanced back at Helen, expecting to see a smile but instead just seeing worry. She clearly didn’t think this would work.

  “You place a great value on your conversation,” Aetius grumbled.

  “Well, it’s also the price of your life,” Lucius added, glancing down at the console screen in front of him. It told him what he wanted to know. “My ship has deduced your location. Agree to my terms and we can talk; turn me down and I will bring that building down on top of you.”

  “You would kill your own brother?” Aetius asked.

  “I killed my own father,” Lucius replied.

  More silence. Lucius could hear the sound of his breath against the soft buzz of the open line. “Even if you get these animals on your ship, you will not get far. The fleet is surrounding this world,” Aetius challenged. “If you try to leave, you and everybody on board will die.”

  Lucius glanced over at a radar projection. No vessels of any size were in orbit around the planet. The fleet was hours away, and none of the fighters or transports that had delivered the Forlorn Hope Brigades would be much of a match for Longshot. The boy was bluffing, and bluffing badly. Lucius was tempted to call him out on it, but didn’t. He sensed an opportunity.

  “Then you have nothing to lose by letting them through; we die either way,” said Lucius. “But you have everything to lose should my finger slip and smash down on this trigger here…”

  He heard an indistinguishable grumble.

  “Fine,” Aetius agreed. “We stop shooting; your force can walk to your ship. But should any of them so much as cast their eyes at my men the wrong way—”

  “We’ll resume killing each other,” Lucius finished. “Same goes for your warriors, if you think you can control them. I saw how quickly their discipline crumbled after that little speech I gave.”

  “They will obey!” snapped Aetius. “I am sending word to my subcommanders now. See that you do the same.”

  “Of course, brother,” Lucius said. “We wouldn’t want anything to interrupt our talk.”

  ***

  Valley Town

  Rex raced down the back hall of the jail, exploding out the rear door. Ten yards away, in a small ditch, thirty or so warriors waited. A few had their guns turned on the jail, but most were aiming at Longshot. Rex saw a wave of warriors moving toward the ship in the distance and heard the roar of the ship’s turrets, but they vanished from his thoughts quickly. He focused on the men in the ditch and fired three grenades in a short arc. He raced into the explosions, shrapnel bouncing off his armor, weakening it with each blow. But he kept on, until he was in the ditch.

  “Bayonets!” he ordered. “Keep the guns ready.”

  The blades shot out. Since he’d kept both of his big guns extended, he only had eight inches of blade to work with; that was as far as they went past the fifty cal and the grenade launcher. But it was enough. He swung hard for a warrior to his left, shooting at him from point-blank range. The blade punched through the man’s sternum, skewering him. He swung him up and then down, smashing the dying man into another warrior.

  He jerked forward, a spray of fire hitting his back. He extended his left arm, shot a single grenade at a trio of attackers, and then turned back to the bulk of his enemies. At least fifteen warriors were filing down the ditch toward him.

  He lifted up his right arm.

  “Single shot,” he ordered, to conserve ammunition.

  He charged, bayonets stretched before him. The warriors spread out to his left and right, firing as they did. He charged on, lining up his gun with the center warrior. A single bullet smashed his head to a pulp, revealing another warrior behind him. Rex lunged into the man, transfixing him with both bayonets. He plunged forward, now in among the warriors. The shooting stopped, undoubtedly so the warriors would avoid accidently hitting t
heir own. The warriors charged him, rifle butts raining blows down upon Rex’s armored form.

  He ripped his arms outward, the bayonets nearly cutting the transfixed man in half. Rex stabbed at the nearest warrior, catching him in the shoulder, but not killing him. As he did another jumped onto his back, using his body weight to drive Rex forward. Rex stumbled, pinning the man on his bayonet underneath him. Rex let himself fall, the great weight of the suit crushing the warrior.

  Hard strikes ran along his back. One of the warriors opened fire, blasting at him from inches away. His HUD screamed out numbers at him, but screams of pain filled the air. The rounds had ricocheted, catching one of the other warriors in the neck. He crumbled next to Rex, clawing futilely at his ruined throat.

  A dog pile followed, a half-dozen warriors leaping upon him, dragging him down while others smashed at his suit. He tried to get his hands under him but couldn’t with the blades extended.

  “Retract all weapons!” he ordered. The blades slid in, and the guns slid back on their track. He lay his palms flat and pushed upward as hard as he could. The suit’s electroactive fibers jerked him upward, flinging the men from his back. Back on his feet, he extended both guns and blades again, and spun in a vicious arc. His right arm caught a warrior, slashing through his armor and into the flesh beneath. Rex kept his momentum going, flinging the dying man into another warrior, knocking him flat.

  He retreated two steps, bringing up his right arm. Two quick shots exploded the head of the two nearest warriors. The others retreated back, buying space to open up with their guns. A quick glance at his damage data told him he couldn’t allow that. His chest was down to 49 percent, his helmet one tick higher. And his right leg was moving slower. He had to actually jerk it forward to get it to go.