Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions

by David Welch

  Vermella’s eyes went wide, with fear and rage. She knew the rumors of Europa, of what they did to people. She knew what they would do to her. Putting up with Rex and his self-righteousness was a good deal better than being bred like cattle, and much better than seeing her feminine power being bent to serve the will of twisted, evil men.

  She turned to the small camera mounted on the ceiling in one of the sick bay’s corners.

  “Hey! Hey, Baliol! Calidus has escaped! He’s free and armed—”

  Her words ended abruptly as a hard fist smashed down on her face.

  ***

  The Valley

  Two hundred yards from Longshot, the roar of gunfire erupted, deafening in Jake’s ears. It all went so quickly, from a still silence to a rush of motion, flashes, and sounds. He glanced from left to right, trying to make sense of the renewed battle. He could see a small group of people moving from the west, and could make out the bulk of Rex as he covered them.

  “Warriors!” Rick screamed from his shoulder.

  A spray of rounds erupted behind him, knocking him forward. Rick roared in pain as Jake fell to one knee. With a violent motion, he jerked both Rick and Elly forward, in front of him.

  Another burst of rounds peppered his back. An alert flared in his vision. His back integrity had taken a hit, which wasn’t good. His spine may have had more protection than a fleshling, but it was no less vital to his biological bits—not a place he wanted hurt.

  He jerked around, rotating his guns back forward so he could fire. Before he could a burst came from his right, from Rick. A warrior in the distance went down. A trio of others were behind him, still out of range.

  Rick groaned painfully, and collapsed back. He coughed blood violently. Jake and Elly crouched over him.

  “You hit?” Jake said, sadness coloring his voice.

  Rick managed a weak nod. Jake frowned, knowing the wounds were in his back, which he now laid on. However much pain the man must be in, moving would just make it worse.

  “Not l-long,” Rick managed, his words gurgled. He glanced at the girl and then shifted his eyes toward the ship, his head moving ever so slightly. But the message was clear to Jake. He nodded, and rotated his guns back. He grasped Rick by the shoulder, and jerked him up to a sitting position. The freedman coughed out a spew of blood, a lot of it, enough that even Terran surgical bays couldn’t help. Rick nudged his gun back against his shoulder, pointing at the approaching warriors rather than aiming.

  Without a word he shifted and grabbed Elly, throwing her back over his shoulder.

  “Wait! What about—” Elly screamed.

  Rick opened fire, drowning out her words. Jake sprinted on, listening as bursts of gunfire went back and forth. For long seconds the exchange continued…and then stopped. Jake frowned but didn’t look back.

  He shifted Elly, so she was in her in his arms like a woman being carried over the threshold. His body shielded her as the warrior’s opened up on him, spattering more lead across his back. He ignored the warnings flashing up in his vision, focusing only on getting to the ship.

  But a new problem arose. With the battle in full swing, the rear of the ship, with the open cargo bay doors, was awash in gunfire. He could see the bodies of militia and refugees lying nearby. And there were hundreds of warriors firing on it, not just two or three—enough to hurt him, and most definitely Elly.

  So he made straight for the front of the ship. It loomed in from of him, the twin columns of missile doors projecting down from the main hull. Just above those doors, fifty feet up, were the ship’s light pulse cannons. One extended from each side of the ship. He locked in on the port gun.

  He shifted Elly again, into his right arm. She squealed in surprised as he did. He clutched her tight to his right side with superhuman strength, and then leaped.

  He hurtled through the air, extending his left hand. It grasped the barrel of the pulse cannon, clamping hard. His momentum swung him forward, Elly screaming all the while. The swinging abated, and they hung in space. Two feet ahead of him, the barrel jutted from a protruding pylon, wide enough to stand on.

  “Just hold on,” he cautioned. He inched forward with his left hand, grasping and releasing as he went. Reaching the pylon, he grasped Elly by the shoulder and swung her up. She shrieked, but landed on the pylon, and then clung to it. Understandable, given she was flesh and blood and fifty feet off the ground on a narrow ledge.

  Jake pulled himself up, positioning his feet carefully in front of her. He extended his right hand.

  “One more leap and then we’re safe,” he said.

  She frowned, terrified, but released her grasp on the pylon. Jake pulled her against him again, locking her in with his right arm, and then leaped again. This jump was ten feet shorter, and they sailed above the forward hull. He handed easily on his feet, and gently placed Elly down. She glanced around nervously and then sighed in relief, safe atop a broad, flat surface.

  Ahead of him sat the dorsal turret, unused in the battle. Behind that was a sloping rise to the top of the main hull. A figure appeared atop it, his gun up and aiming straight at them.

  “Friendly! Friendly!” roared Jake, dashing in front of Elly to shield her.

  The figure didn’t lower his gun, but didn’t fire. Another appeared and said something to him. The first figure finally lowered his gun, and waved them on.

  Jake picked up Elly again, and made the short run, up the slope to the main hull. Ken was waiting, the man who had warned off the other. Ken smiled as they approached, and clasped Elly in a warm embrace as soon as Jake helped her down.

  “Thank God,” Ken said. “Your parents?”

  Elly shook her head sadly. Ken frowned.

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “Think we should be getting out of here sometime soon?”

  “Yes, but we’re not done yet,” Ken said. He turned, motioning to one of his men. “Scott, get Elly into the sip. Jake, follow me. We could use your help.”

  They took off, running to the rear of the ship. As they approached the now-silent rear turret, a burst of intense fire filled the air, followed by the hard sound of something heavy slamming into the pavement. Jake screeched to a stop at the edge of the ship, gazing down at the sight of Rex, lying motionless just shy of the ramp. And then, to his horror, he saw a familiar feminine form streak out toward him.

  ***

  Longshot

  The survivors flooded onto the ship, the militia around her pouring fire onto the advancing warriors to buy them time. But Second didn’t really see them. All she saw was the large, metallic form of Rex in his battle suit, lying flat on the tarmac ten yards from the ramp, not moving.

  She vaulted herself over the barricade, gun in her free hand. A half-dozen shouts rose up, the fire slacking around her. She paid them no attention, and sprinted straight for Rex. She snapped her gun up to her eye, trying to keep it level as she ran.

  She fired instinctively, blasting at a trio of warriors who had broken from the advancing front. One went down fast, dead. Another got caught in the leg, collapsing. The third stopped, grabbed the wounded man by the arm, and retreated. As he dragged his comrade he shot wildly, more for cover than to kill.

  Second let him go, running on toward Rex. She slid to her knees beside him, gun up and ready. Her eyes widened in terror as the reality hit. She was alone, with a motionless Rex, and one hundred Europans approaching her.

  ***

  “Second?” Rex said, his words muffled by the helmet of his suit. “Second! What the hell are you doing out here? Get back on the ship!”

  If she heard him, she gave no indication. Instead she looped an arm under his armpit and pulled.

  Nothing happened.

  “Second, get the fuck back on the ship! You can’t do anything here!” Rex roared.

  She didn’t listen. Instead she dropped her gun, looped a hand under each armpit, bent her knees, and threw her whole back into it. Rex squeaked backward a fraction of an inch and then stopped.

&
nbsp; Second screamed in frustration, bending low to get a better grip.

  “Second, listen to me,” Rex asserted. “You have to get back on the ship. You can’t—”

  A round struck her armor, and she flew backward. She slammed against the tarmac, screaming in pain.

  “Second? Second!” Rex shouted, trying vainly to move his locked armor. Behind him Second dragged herself across the pavement, trying to get back to him. She cried out painfully at each move, but she kept going, slowly. Rex prayed her body armor had held. With a painful yelp, she grabbed his shoulder, desperately pulling at him.

  To no effect.

  Rex closed his eyes, roaring angrily at the futility of it. She was inches away. The ship was yards away. They were on the edge of escape, and he couldn’t do a damned thing. And he could see, through his cracked visor, the front of the Europan wave. They were fifty yards away, drawing a bead on them.

  “Fuck…”

  A ripple of explosions erupted across the front of the warriors, cutting down half of them in a heartbeat. Rex’s eyes widened in disbelief. What the hell was going on?

  A large figure slammed down onto the tarmac, a familiar metal arm extending down to absorb the impact. The large gun on the arm shivered from the impact, but another on his left swung around, flinging out grenades at the disorganized warriors.

  “Son of a bitch,” Rex said with a smirk.

  “Ouch,” Jake said, taking a moment to regain his focus. “You look like you could use some help.”

  “Dead in the water here,” Rex remarked.

  “Give me a sec,” Jake said and turned to Second. “I got him. Don’t worry. Get back on the ship.”

  Second stared at him warily for a split second, and then began retreating. Jake grabbed Rex’s right arm with his own (now-gunless) right arm, and jerked back. A heavy screeching filled Rex’s ears, loud and piercing. But they moved. Slowly they went back, Jake pumping out grenades to cover their withdrawal.

  “Goddamn, you’re heavy,” Jake grumbled.

  “Yeah, well, you can’t always be the big man,” Rex shouted, loud enough to get himself heard through the helmet. Jake laughed, and Rex couldn’t help but shake his head at the sight. Or he would have were he able to move his head in the nonfunctional battle suit. It all struck him as delightfully insane—Jake laughing as bullets bounced off his chest, half of those rounds ricocheting down onto his powered armor. He knew he should be worried that one of them would collapse whatever integrity was left in the chest of the powered armor, but instead he laughed sardonically himself.

  “Next time you drag me,” Jake continued.

  “Next time you take on one thousand angry gunmen,” Rex replied.

  They reached the edge of the ramp. Rex felt it thump against the back of his helmet. Jake planted his feet and pulled him up while speaking.

  “If you think I’m doing this again—”

  A loud blast cut him off. Flame filled Rex’s vision, shrapnel pelting his battered armor. Grenade! Jake slammed backward against the ramp, hitting with a loud clang. Bullets streaked above them, the people on the barricade firing back at the warriors.

  Jake groaned in pain, the first time Rex had ever heard him groan. Bullets bounced of Jake’s feet and Rex’s head. He lay on his back, facing the approaching warriors. He could see one now, lifting something to his shoulder. It was a rocket, the kind used to take out vehicles or people in powered armor.

  “Jake, order the ship to raise the ramp! Close the bay doors!”

  “Wha…what?” said a groggy Jake.

  “Order the ship to close the doors!” Rex yelled.

  Jake nodded, his computers sending the message without speaking. A half second later, Rex felt the ramp shift beneath him as it pivoted upward. His lower half was still on the tarmac, and then it was in the air as he hung in space. He felt himself slip, shifting toward the edge, and the tarmac below.

  “Uh, Jake…help!”

  A hard hand clasped his shoulder, jerking him hard, away from the edge. Jake pulled him back, close to him. They were rising quickly, already past parallel to the ground. The warrior with the shoulder rocket dropped to one knee and fired. Another loud clang filled the air as the rocket struck the outside of the ramp, just opposite them. The ship’s armor shrugged it off, Rex feeling only a few vibrations from the shot as the ramp kept rising.

  “Hold on; I gotta move you,” Jake said.

  “What?” Rex said, trying to look about but still unable to move his head. He was jerked around roughly by Jake, until his feet faced the barricade. Jake had himself in a similar position. They were still near the top of the ramp as it continued upward, and Jake wouldn’t have time to drag him to the barricade before the ramp closed; it was going too quickly. So he’d decided that they’d slide down.

  “Back up. Back up!” Jake shouted at the militia below.

  The militia pressed back, shouting at the refugees behind them. The people scampered up from their positions on the floor, no longer needing to dodge bullets.

  “This is gonna hurt,” Rex predicted.

  “Yep,” Jake concurred, nodding his head as they continued to rise. Rex felt his weight shift as he angled more and more toward vertical.

  “So you can hear me through the helmet?” Rex asked, trying to take his attention away from what was about to happen.

  “I have remarkab—”

  A screech filled his ears and then Jake slid away. The bodies of fallen warriors who had fallen on the ramp dropped away with him. A half second later, Rex felt his stomach lurch, and he plummeted straight down, toward the line of crates. Rex gritted his teeth, and tensed his legs.

  A jolt of pain ran up from his feet followed by an explosion of shattered wood and flying wheat. It enveloped him as he slammed through the crate, covering his field of vision with brown.

  Rex roared painfully inside his visor, his legs and spine sending lances of pain upward. His injured left ribs didn’t help. He let himself yell for several long seconds, too tired and agonized to think rationally.

  “Fuck!” he bellowed. “Fuck; fuck; fuck! Ahhrr!”

  The brown haze cleared, small hands whipping away the offending cereals. Second came into view, a determined look on her face as she brushed him off. Moments later Jake stomped into view, rotating his shoulder mechanically to make sure it was still working. He had dropped the grenade launcher. His chest was blackened from the last grenade, and his once-shiny metal skin sported a hundred small dents from bullet strikes, giving it a dull and mottled look. But Jake was still moving fine, and in far better shape than he.

  “Where’s the manual release?” he asked.

  “Left side, under the armpit,” Rex replied.

  Jake bent over and found it, rotating and flipping upward. The armor did not open; it just unlocked. A moment later Jake’s hand filled his vision, and slowly pulled at the helmet until it released upward.

  Fresh air hit Rex’s face for the first time in hours. He let his head loll back for a moment and then glanced up.

  “Tell Lucius to get us out of—”

  The ship lurched, sending a murmur through the crowd. The murmur grew as Longshot lifted upward, slowly at first, and then quicker.

  “—here,” Rex finished.

  “Everybody hang on,” Lucius’s voice announced over the intercom. “We’re outbound.”

  Rex sighed contentedly, and let his head fall back down. Jake went to work unlatching the other sections of his suit.

  ***

  The ship’s engines rumbled, low and throaty as Longshot rose though the atmosphere. It sounded delightful, most notable for the absence of gunfire. Lucius had been listening to it for so long it seemed almost odd not to hear it.

  Definitely a good type of odd, he thought with a smile.

  He leaned back in his seat, letting the automatic pilot do the work. He’d never had much of a feel for ships this big anyway. They didn’t move like his old fighter did—always felt like they were being sluggis
h and slow just to bedevil him. He couldn’t help but think that were he in a fighter, he’d be in the void already and jetting off into space—away from this doomed planet, its surly inhabitants, and its new, evil overlords.

  “Are we off? Off the planet?” Helen asked nervously behind him.

  “We’re off,” Lucius said conclusively.

  There was a long moment of silence. He could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. He turned and met her gaze. Her eyes were blank, emotionless. He didn’t know what he expected after all this. Hate? Forgiveness? She’d declared that she’d put up with him for the sake of her people’s safety. With the blackness of space enveloping them, her people were no longer in danger. Which made him wonder if he was.

  “You won’t be needing my assistance any longer,” she said coolly.

  “No. If you want to go find Keith—”

  “I think that would be a good idea,” she asserted. As she walked to the door, she glanced back at him, looking angry one moment, strangely resigned the next. Lucius’s hand slipped to the gun on his thigh, silently praying to Christ that she not do anything to make him use it.

  She paused at the door.

  “Your sick bay…we’ll be needing it,” she said.

  “Go right ahead. Just make sure you get some big people with guns to move our two ‘guests,’” Lucius said. “Women with guns, in Vermella’s case.”

  “I think we can manage,” she replied ,and then waved the door open with her hand. She disappeared into the forward corridor. Lucius released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his hand pulling back from his gun. A lightness spread over his body.

  “A vessel has been detected approaching the planet,” the computer announced.

  And the lightness was gone.

  “How far?” asked Lucius.

  “Sixty-eight million miles, closing at .2C.”

  “Warship,” Lucius sighed, rubbing at his eyes. Only the big ones could move that fast, twice the speed Longshot could manage. A half hour from now, a Europan capital ship would be in orbit, and it was in their best interest to be far from here when that happened. He did not panic. They weren’t the only ship fleeing Anglesey. He could see a dozen others rising from the planet, trying to outstrip the few Europan fighters not down in the atmosphere, supporting their brigades. To anybody watching they were just one ship of many, doing what anybody on a world being invaded would do. There was no indication that the warship was coming for him.