by Dean M. Cole
"Stupid cow!"
The animal blinked again and licked its snout. After snorting its disapproval of her appraisal, the cow turned and sauntered out of view.
She pushed off the wall, returning to her feet. Holstering the Baretta, she scanned the wash for a way out. Here, the sides were completely vertical and ten feet tall. Looking past the pickup, she spotted the other vehicle fifty yards farther up the gully. There, the sides didn't look as steep.
Squeezing through the narrow gap between the truck's roof and the wash's west wall, Sandy walked up the small ravine toward the H2 Hummer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
"All attack squadrons are to launch the instant we drop out of parallel-space!" ordered Admiral Thoyd Feyhdyak, commander of the Galactic Defense Forces Third Carrier Group.
His massive command ship, the Galactic Guardian, headed the task force. Similarly named, and second only to the Helm Warden in mass, it shared the same grand design, history, and military capability. He was confident of a quick victory against the Zoxyth. I just hope we're not too late.
Thoyd watched the countdown in his EON's synthetic vision.
One of his staff read it out loud. "Three, two—"
A second early, the entire fleet snapped out of parallel-space. Unceremoniously, the Guardian and its formation of ships slammed into regular space. The forward star-field orb exploded to encircle the ship. Thoyd expected Earth's sphere to swell from a pinpoint and fill the view-wall. However, it barely expanded enough to differentiate from the background of stars.
As if a falling axe had cleaved half his mind, Thoyd's EON lost connection with his omninet-based self. Judging by the reactions of his bridge crew, they had all experienced the same disconnect sensation. The schism of being cutoff from his network based id left him feeling vulnerable and oddly alone.
An epiphany rocked Thoyd. "Hold all fighters." Dropping out of parallel-space a second early meant tens of light-seconds separated them from their planned deployment point. Even with the gravity drive's impressive speed, traveling that far was going to take some time. So much for the element of surprise.
Already knowing the answer, Thoyd turned to the officer manning the tactical console. "What happened?"
"A quantum disturbance is jamming our wormhole generator."
Thoyd nodded. "Someone's dropped a disruptor field around the planet." It made sense. The ability to enter and stay in parallel-space required the capacity to open and maintain a stable wormhole. Any technology capable of collapsing that powerful quantum field would easily collapse their zero-width communication wormholes, as well. The thought opened up a hopeful possibility. To slow the Zoxyth approach, Admiral Tekamah may have dropped a disruptor in Earth space.
"Are you detecting any GDF transponder codes in system?"
Looking for other Galactic Defense Force ships, the tactical officer ran another sweep. After a few seconds, he looked at the admiral and shook his head.
"Then, where the hell is it coming from?"
The officer bent over his console, his fingers dancing above its surface. "The effect is centered on…" Pausing, he cast a confused look at the admiral. "Earth. It's coming from a body of water along one of the planet's continents."
Turning his attention back to his display, the officer froze, a look of horror banishing his confusion. "Sir! I'm also detecting a faint Zoxyth drive signature at that same location."
Frustrated, desperately wanting to report the development to Admiral Tekamah, Thoyd turned his inner eye to the inactive omninet link. "How in the hell did Zox get disruptor technology?"
Wide-eyed, the officer looked up from his terminal. "It's not the only Zox ship, sir. I'm detecting fifteen additional ships spread around the planet."
CHAPTER THIRTY
An unending high-pitched squeal rang in his ears. After an eternity, his eyes fluttered and opened. Flashing amber and red beams swirled through the dark misty atmosphere. He shook his head, and the ringing subsided, a cacophony of horns rising to supplant it.
Salyth's arm groped in the strobing darkness. Finding the helm, he fought to gain his footing on the slanted floor. Excess moisture was everywhere. With a mighty effort, he hoisted his large frame upright. Struggling to maintain the hard fought gains, Salyth grasped the sides of the wet console like a drowning drycat lizard. He activated the emergency lights. Very weak, they didn't provide much illumination, but he could see his blood splattered across the console. The tilt of the floor told him the ship was pitched forward on its bow and badly listed to port. Inertial compensators were offline.
Shaking his head, he tried to clear the swamp-fog from his thoughts. "These Argonians will pay dearly for this!" Salyth swore, the words triggering another bout of coughs.
As he actuated the controls to reboot the bridge's computers, one of his officers stirred. "To your feet," Salyth growled, a gurgle rattling deep within his chest. Another wet cough spewed more of his blood across the control panel.
Computers restored, the bridge's artificial gravity re-exerted itself, and the inertial compensators came back online. After a wave of vertigo, Salyth felt the floor level. Although, sensors showed the ship was still pitched forward and leaning left.
"I need to know what I have left," Salyth said weakly, this time fending off the cough.
"Yes, Commodore Salyth," the officer said. Struggling to his feet, the junior commander coughed up blood, as well.
While the officer evaluated his computer console, Salyth inspected the bridge. Now that the computers were coming back online, normal lighting filled the cavernous room. The rest of the crew members were dead. Broken bodies and severed limbs littered the bridge. Most of the control stations were black.
"Commodore Salyth, all passages leading from the bridge section have sealed. All communication links are gone. With the built-in redundancies, the only way we could lose all contact is if all other sections were destroyed," the bridge officer reported in a low guttural voice. "We must be the only viable portion of the ship."
Furious, he wanted to walk over and send the officer to an early meeting with the Forebearers. Knowing he was already shorthanded, he decided to reserve his vengeance for the Argonians.
The officer's next report removed himself from Salyth's ire. "We have no shields, but the bridge section's drive system is coming online." He looked up with a toothy grin. "It appears to be ninety percent operational."
For the first time since regaining consciousness, Salyth felt a glimmer of hope. "Bring up the exterior display!"
"Yes, Commodore Salyth," the officer replied through another bloody cough.
The main display flickered to life. The point of view was from behind and above the bridge looking forward. They had fallen into an angry body of water. Rough, steam-filled waves crashed against the Forebearer's visage.
The bridge was the only recognizable section. Scraggy trusses reached out for missing structures, steam rising from their melted and distorted features.
As Salyth surmised, the bridge section was listing to port and pitched forward, resting on its lower bow. The image of the Forebearer's face buried in this alien estuary's muddy bottom enraged him.
"Get my ship off this filthy planet. I want to know the progress of my fleet."
"Yes, Commodore."
Salyth felt the floor shudder as the bridge section struggled to raise from its watery grave. Turning to the display, he watched the outside view as the ship leveled. It stopped for a moment, the muddy bed unwilling to release its prey. Then, it broke free with a final shudder. Clear of the sea, it accelerated toward space. Unshielded from atmospheric friction, the muddy water boiled from its surface and burned up in the ship's meteoric plasma trail.
"Commodore, I have numerous targets entering Sector Sixty-Four!" shouted the officer. He paused for a moment, studying the display. Turning to Salyth with renewed energy, he said, "It's the Galactic Defense Force, sir."
Reaching the desired altitude, the remnant of the Forebearer
's Revenge parked above the planet's curving surface. "Excellent! Instruct all ships to fallback and reform on my position," ordered Salyth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jake toggled the comm panel. "Vampire Six, this is Turtle One, over."
Stepping up to the helm, Richard started bringing the ship's systems online. Vic carried the newly acquired weapons to the left end of the view-wall. As he approached, a rack with a slot for each weapon grew from the floor.
"I still can't understand how it does that," Vic said as he placed the weapons in their appropriate slots.
Richard impatiently shrugged as he grasped the flight controller. "Arthur C. Clarke once said, 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.' Guess you'll have to go with that."
The ship turned east while gently rising to an altitude clear of the buildings and the gathering crowd. After hovering for a moment, Richard said, "Let's get back in space so we can see what's going on." His arm tensed, and the outside world blurred as the ship rocketed skyward.
Jake activated the radio again. "Vampire Six, this is Turtle One. Come in, over."
The speaker crackled to life. "Turtle One, this is Vampire Six. We're setting up to attack the ship that just hit Mexico City."
Richard looked at him with shocked dismay. "Twenty-million people live there."
The news struck Jake like a sledgehammer. "My god, there were sixteen of those ships. How many people have we already lost?"
Colonel Newcastle continued his transmission. "What can you tell me about their weapon's range? What did you find in Western Maryland?"
Swallowing down the rising bile, Jake activated the mic. "It's bad news, sir. It looks like we've lost everyone within ninety-three nautical miles of the weapon. Unfortunately, its effect doesn't fall off with distance." Pausing, Jake shook his head. "Jesus, sir. There wasn't even a drop of blood … not until the edge, anyway." Recalling the scene in Old Downtown sent a shiver down his spine.
A long pause greeted his report. Finally, Newcastle said, "Almost a hundred miles and no drop off … holy shit."
Richard said, "Yes, sir. We don't know how the weapon does it, but we've seen, very graphically, what happened to those on its periphery."
"Thank you, gentlemen," Colonel Newcastle said wearily. "I'll call you back after we kill these bastards. I want to take 'em out before they wipe humanity off another two hundred mile swath of—"
He cutout mid-sentence. By the background noise, Jake could tell he still had his mic key depressed.
"What the hell," Colonel Newcastle whispered. "They're bugging out!" Hope blossomed in a voice that, only a moment before, had carried the weight of the world.
"Say again," Jake said, praying he'd understood.
"They're bugging out, leaving. They just vertically accelerated back into space."
"They must be falling back to regroup after your success over the Chesapeake," Jake said.
"I don't think so," Richard interrupted.
Jake shook his head. "What else could it—" Turning toward Richard, he froze. Apparently, while he'd been talking with Newcastle, the hologram had come to life. Still rendered in red, the regrouping alien ships appeared to be gathering a couple of hundred miles above the North Atlantic.
Lieutenant Croft pointed at a small red dot that the alien ships were surrounding "What's that?"
"I don't know, but look," Jake said. Both he and Richard pointed to the display's top left corner.
A new fleet of huge ships was sliding into view, their holographic color: green.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Reaching the floor of the valley, Sandy guided the Hummer onto Carmel Valley Highway. Negotiating another smoking heap of burned out cars, she turned left, heading south. After a few miles, a city limit sign came into view: Carmel Valley Village Population 4,704. It was the unincorporated rural community her parents called home and Sandy's favorite place on the planet.
Growing up, she'd witnessed the explosive growth of the region's vineyards and wineries. Stone walled villas dotted the landscape. The lush green peaks of the surrounding hills and the corduroy carpet of vinery flowing across their lower climes looked like a slice of Southern France.
Sandy's concern for her parents deepened with the passage of every desolate mile. She was now just over a hundred of them from the epicenter. She'd been about this far away when the alien ship had fired its weapon. However, other than the looters, Sandy had seen no humans, alive or dead. The expectation of finding someone around each corner was drawing out the search. It was an agonizing never-ending cycle of optimism and dashed hopes.
Sandy's heart raced in anticipation as yet another blind corner loomed. Rounding the bend, she slowed the Hummer. Ahead, forming a T-intersection, a secondary road dead-ended into the highway at the apex of the curve. Again, she had to inch the vehicle over the curb and onto an empty parking lot to get around an intersection-clogging calamity. On Sandy's right, the back of a black Range Rover protruded from a winery's cobblestone-lined glass storefront. Its engine was still running. A thin wisp of fumes trailed away from its dripping exhaust pipes. Every few seconds, the rear windshield wiper swiped empty air. Apparently blown out by the impact, the blue glass pebbles of the SUV's shattered rear window had rained down onto the crushed cafe patio furniture that jutted from under its rear bumper.
Two obstacles later, Sandy steered clear of the last of the wreckage, guiding the H2 back onto the highway beyond the curving section of road. Her heart skipped a beat. A few hundred yards down the straight roadway, a line of police cars formed a roadblock, flashing red and blue lights adorning their roofs.
Reacting to her sudden appearance, a swarm of police officers took up defensive positions. In a matter of seconds, Sandy was staring down the barrels of several rifles, shotguns, and pistols.
Careful not to make any sudden movements, she allowed the Hummer to roll to a stop. As she'd been going less than twenty miles per hour, the truck halted in a couple of seconds, two hundred feet shy of the heavily armed roadblock.
Sandy killed the Hummer's engine and heard a nervous amplified voice. "—and step away from the vehicle. If you do not turn off the vehicle and show us your hands, we will be forced to open fire."
Sandy realized she was probably the first thing they'd seen emerge from the affected area. Shouting loud enough to be heard across the distance, she said, "Don't shoot! I'm an Air Force pilot."
Even from a couple of hundred feet away, she saw some of the officers visibly relax, the aim of their weapons shifting away from her. Sandy wondered what they'd been expecting to encounter, looters assuredly, aliens possibly. Although, Hummer-driving little green men with blond hair seemed slightly less likely. Many of the weapons still pointed at her. Belatedly, Sandy realized she was likely invisible behind the glare of the mid-morning sun reflecting off the vehicle's windshield.
The loudspeaker crackled back to life. "Show us your hands, and step out of the vehicle."
Not wanting to tempt a trigger-happy deputy into firing, Sandy slowly slid both arms through the open driver's window. Grasping the exterior lever, she unlatched the door and eased it open. Swinging her legs out, she placed both boots onto the road's asphalt surface. With her arms still protruding through the driver's side window, Captain Fitzpatrick leveraged her forearms against the top of the door and pulled herself to a standing position behind it.
A few more weapons lowered. However, having shifted from the vehicle to point at her, several still aimed at Sandy. Evaporating her patience, the grainy red flicker of a laser sight's light filled her vision. "Lower your damn weapons, for Christ's sake! I'm one of the good guys!"
A portly balding officer rose from his crouched position behind a police cruiser's front fender. "Sandy?"
Sandy squinted at the man and then smiled. "Uncle Bobby?"
"Holy shit!" He waved both arms in wide downward arcs. "Lower your weapons. It's Johnny Fitzpatrick's girl!"
Finally, the last o
f the weapons veered away from her head. Sandy stepped from behind the door and limped toward the roadblock. Bobby did the same, meeting her in the middle of the impromptu No Man's Land.
He nodded at her left leg. "Are you okay?"
Sandy waved a dismissive hand. "I'll be all right." She studied his face. Not really an uncle, Bobby had been one of her parent's closest friends. While he wasn't a pilot, he had spent many an afternoon in her father's hangar sharing post-flight beers and war stories with dad and his small collection of instructor pilots. She'd just seen Bobby a few months back. At the time, he'd looked like his usual self, youthful for his sixty years. However, today, he looked bone-weary and haggard. The morning's events appeared to have aged him. Sandy placed a concerned hand on his shoulder. "What about you? You look like I feel."
"I don't know, Sandy." He shook his head. "Between missing bodies and rumors of aliens and the such, everybody's scared shitless. There was an explosion or sonic boom early this morning. Sue and I heard it, but I thought it was lightning. Then, we woke up to blinding light and one hell of a burning stomach. Since then, we've had no TV or Internet. Hell, I can't even raise anybody on the radios or the phones. What the hell happened?" He paused, looking over her shoulder. "And, where'd you come from?"
She told him about the alien's arrival and her unit's deployment. Having apparently heard this news, he nodded. When she told him about the energy wave and what she'd seen between San Francisco and their roadblock, the man's face darkened, appearing to sag under the weight of the news.
"It goes on for a hundred miles from here?"
Sandy nodded. "Yeah, and a hundred miles to the north, as well. I've heard it went that far on the east coast too."
Turning pale, he shook his head. "Oh my god, hun. That's gotta be millions of people."