A Hole in the Sky

by William C. Dietz

  “There’s something I need to tell you. Something important.”

  “Okay, what is it?”

  Susan looked up at him. “I—that is to say, we—are going to have a baby.”

  Capelli was stunned. There had been so much going on, so much to do, that the possibility of a child hadn’t occurred to him.

  “Well?” Susan demanded. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “That’s wonderful news,” Capelli said warmly, and was pleased to discover that he meant it.

  Then something else occurred to him. “Wait a minute! You knew you were pregnant and you came on this trip anyway? You’ve been riding a horse!” he said accusingly. “What about the baby?”

  “I knew you’d go all Capelli on me,” she said affectionately. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. Besides, these are early days. There isn’t anything to worry about yet.”

  “So I’m going to be a father,” Capelli said, as the realization continued to sink in.

  “Yes,” Susan replied, softly. “And a good one.”

  Capelli felt his wife’s lips melt under his, and for that brief moment in time, they knew what true happiness was.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  KNOCK, KNOCK, WHO’S THERE?

  Monday, January 4, 1954

  Osage Reservation, Oklahoma

  The night passed without incident. Once the sun was up, breakfast was over, and nearly all traces of the encampment had been erased, it was time to go looking for the VTOL. By using a grid search, the humans were able to locate the downed aircraft in less than an hour.

  The ice-encrusted fuselage was a hundred yards east of the floodplain, where it was hidden in a narrow ravine that the forces of wind, water, and time had cut into the bluff over the centuries. Judging from the dozens of holes in the fuselage, the Suzy Q had been badly shot up as Larson tried to bring the transport in. Capelli figured it had been dark. He could imagine the stomach-wrenching moment when both of the ship’s stubby wings were torn off. But damaging though the blow was, it had slowed the VTOL down, and preserved the hull. It was wedged between two rock walls about fifty feet off the ground.

  Capelli was ecstatic. And it wasn’t long before he and a half-dozen other people had scrambled up to the point where they could enter the Suzy Q through an open hatch. Capelli had a flashlight, and as the beam played across the crates that were still strapped to the deck, he saw that the VTOL was loaded with everything from carbines to individually boxed MP-47 Pulse cannons that were sitting on top of the load. It was an extremely rich find, and he was still in the process of inventorying the newly acquired arsenal when something unexpected happened.

  The interior lights came on. It took him a moment to process the development. Then he shouted, “Turn the power off!” As the lights went off, he followed the downward-sloping deck to the cockpit, where Tilson was seated next to a raggedy skeleton busily flipping switches.

  “You fool!” Capelli said, as he jerked the businessman out of the pilot’s seat. “The moment you drew power from the battery the plane’s nav system came on, and the odds are pretty good that a light appeared on a stink control panel somewhere. If so, they know where we are and you can bet a shitload of the bastards will arrive soon.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tilson said lamely. “I didn’t know.”

  “Get Bo,” Capelli ordered tersely. “And tell him to hurry.”

  The Chimeran drop ship came in from the west. It was all angles. Artificial lightning stabbed the ground as onboard sensors detected heat sources and weapons fired on them. Deer, wild horses, and rabbits died. Pressor beams crushed the water flat as the ominous-looking vessel drifted across the creek. Loose snow billowed into the air, icy pebbles sleeted sideways, and a wave of heat rolled over the land. And it was then, as the ship hovered, and a cloud of steam rose, that Capelli fired the Pulse cannon. He was hidden behind a cluster of snowcapped boulders that fronted the open area west of the crash site.

  The bolt of concentrated energy hit the Chimeran vessel a fraction of a second before Bo fired the second cannon. The combination of two nearly simultaneous blasts caused the drop ship’s bow to tilt alarmingly. It hit the ground at a steep angle and plowed a deep furrow into the rocky soil. A grinding crash was heard as the hull lost forward momentum and pancaked in. That was when Capelli swore. The plan had been to destroy the ship, not just damage it. He fired again and saw a flash of light as the bolt hit the hull. But it took a moment for the cannon to recharge, and that was long enough for half a dozen Hybrids to open a hatch and come charging out.

  The humans had one thing going for them, however, and that was the element of surprise. As the stinks trotted forward, three Osage warriors rose from their various hiding places to release carefully aimed arrows.

  Capelli saw a feathered shaft penetrate a Hybrid’s neck as another arrow took a stink in the thigh. It stumbled and fell. At that point the humans opened up with a wide variety of conventional weapons. The battle might have ended then and there except for the Ravagers who lumbered out of the ship’s hold with more Hybrids right behind them. And because of the powerful energy shields that the eleven-foot-tall monsters carried, they could protect both themselves and the ’brids to the rear.

  The humans had two hand-held radios and Capelli spoke into his. “Sixkiller! Get around behind them if you can. We’ll divide their fire.”

  The stinks were only yards away by then, and all Capelli could do was trade the Pulse cannon for a Rossmore in hopes of taking as many of the Chimera with him as he could. But Capelli had a guardian angel—and her name was Susan. She was positioned on a rocky ledge above the Suzy Q, firing over the shimmery energy shields. So as a Ravager arrived in front of Capelli he saw the stink’s head jerk spastically. That was followed by an explosion of blood as the bullet blew a hole through the back of the Chimera’s skull.

  When the Ravager went down, it left the Hybrids sheltering behind exposed. Capelli was only a dozen feet away. The shotgun had a devastating effect. Projectiles pinged all around him as he fired again and again. A blood mist fogged the air and turned the snow pink as a succession of stinks fell. Some had the misfortune to be hit by both a hail of buckshot and a succession of skillfully aimed bullets from Susan.

  As this took place, the warrior Sixkiller and three Osage braves thundered onto the scene. They controlled their mounts with their knees. That left their hands free to fire a variety of weapons. When the second Ravager and its escorts turned to confront the new threat, the humans were free to attack. There was a risk, however, which was why Capelli shouted at them, “Aimed fire only! We have friendlies out there.”

  Now, having been caught in crossfire, the aliens were going down one after another. The battle was far from one-sided, however, as a Hybrid jumped an Osage who had paused to reload. The stink left the ground with powerful arms spread wide, wrapped them around the warrior, and was in the process of ripping the human’s throat out when they hit the ground together.

  There was blood all over the ’brid’s face as it bounded to its feet and ran straight at Sixkiller. The warrior released his bow to grab the cut-down Winchester Model 37 shotgun slung across his back. He pulled the weapon free, brought it to bear just in time, and jerked the trigger. The charge blew half of the stink’s face away. Sixkiller’s Pinto jerked his head wildly as the coppery smell of blood flooded the horse’s nostrils. What was that, anyway? the warrior asked himself. Number nine or ten? Maybe a name change was in order. Tenkiller had a ring to it.

  The voice came from the radio lying on the ground next to Capelli’s right foot. It belonged to Bo. He was a hundred feet away, half concealed in a dry channel. “The ship! It’s taking off.”

  As Capelli turned his attention back to the shuttle, he saw that the Osage was correct. He put the Rossmore down and brought the Pulse cannon up onto his right shoulder. The drop ship was a couple of feet off the ground by that time. Steam rose all around it. Once it was high enough, say fifty feet or so, the vessel
would be able to fire down on the humans with impunity. So as Capelli pulled the trigger he was conscious of how high the stakes were.

  The side hatch was in the process of closing as the bolt of energy passed through the opening and struck somewhere inside. After a flash of light came the partially muffled sound of an explosion. A gout of plasma shot out through the hatch. The ship shook wildly and blew up.

  Capelli was flat on his stomach by that time. The shock wave rolled over him, sent small stones skittering east, and flattened a clutch of young trees. Capelli lay there for a moment, stunned by the violence of what had taken place, and gratified to be alive. Then he did a push-up and was in a kneeling position when Bo arrived to pull him up all the way.

  “That’ll teach the bastards,” the Osage said grimly. “We sent at least two dozen of them to hell.”

  As Capelli looked at the still-smoldering wreckage of the ship and the bodies that lay helter-skelter all around, he saw that Bo was correct. But it wasn’t over yet. There were millions more.

  “Come on,” he said soberly. “Let’s get to work.”

  Tunnel-Through, Oklahoma

  Captain Marvin Kawecki had been lying on the same spot for more than ten hours. He was cold and needed to pee. But he couldn’t stand up. Not until complete darkness had fallen. Because if he did, one of Judge Ramsey’s carefully hidden sentries would spot the movement and kill him. The well-camouflaged hide had been constructed the night before. Now, as Kawecki lay there, he continued to study the area through his binoculars.

  Other than the hump-shaped hill through which the railroad tunnel had been bored, the surrounding area was mostly flat and open. A railroad siding was located to the east of his position, complete with an elevated water tank, and a low-lying brick building. And the sentry Kawecki feared most was located high on the walkway that circled the metal tank.

  But there were other sentries, too, hidden in clumps of bare-branched trees, in carefully screened weapons pits, and behind the rocks on the hillside in front of him. All of which had been carefully mapped into the notebook that lay to his right. He figured that at least some of the outposts were serviced by underground passageways that led back to the main tunnel. And that was something of an enigma. However, he knew it was there thanks to a pair of rusty tracks that disappeared into a rockslide.

  There was no way to know how thick the blockage was, whether it had been caused by a Chimeran attack or was the result of a human effort to create a place to hide. Although Kawecki would have been willing to put some serious money on the second possibility. Ramsey might be a ruthless bastard, but it appeared as if he was equipped with a good deal of foresight, and had been smart enough to make preparations back when such a thing was still possible.

  All of which was interesting but less critical than the need to pee. Slowly, careful not to disturb any of the leafless branches around his hiding spot, Kawecki rolled over to face what he thought was the downhill side of his position. Except that the ground was very nearly flat. So he wasn’t absolutely sure that he had it right. And, when the moment came, it was clear that he didn’t. Rather than trickle away as Kawecki had hoped, the urine pooled right next to him. The liquid was absorbed, but the odor remained. And like it or not, he had to roll back onto the damp ground. It took what seemed like a long time for the sun to go down.

  Finally, once it was dark, Kawecki had the opportunity to emerge from his hide. Then, having turned south, he elbowed his way forward, where he hit a number of obstacles. He had to crawl around them, pausing every now and then to listen for signs of pursuit before continuing on his way.

  Eventually, Kawecki decided it was safe to stand and make occasional use of his flashlight. That was how he found his way back into the ravine that led him south.

  “Who goes there?” a voice whispered out of the darkness.

  “Bob Hope,” Kawecki answered, as a dimly seen sentry materialized out of the gloom.

  “Welcome back, sir. I’ll get Sergeant Pasco.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Kawecki was busy wolfing down some hot rations as Pasco and those who weren’t standing guard listened to his report. “We don’t have enough men to force our way inside, much less root Ramsey out,” Kawecki observed. “These people have good security, they’re well disciplined, and they’re dug in.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Pasco wanted to know. “Head back to base?”

  Kawecki took a swig of hot coffee. “Hell, no. The President gave us a mission and we’re going to accomplish it.”

  “Okay,” Pasco replied. “How are we going to do that?”

  “I figure Ramsey has neighbors,” Kawecki replied thoughtfully. “And, given the way he operates, at least some of them have got to be pissed. So they have a reason to help us. And there’s another thing, too …”

  The fire lit Pasco’s face from below. “Which is?”

  “We represent the U.S. government, god damn it! So we’re in charge.”

  Pasco nodded. “Sir, yes sir.” But his voice was flat, his face was blank, and it was clear he didn’t believe it. Kawecki wasn’t surprised, because truth be told, he didn’t believe it either.

  The team traveled north. It wasn’t long before the difficulty with Kawecki’s plan became painfully apparent. If there were communities other than Tunnel-Through in the vicinity, they were well concealed and, being strangers to the area, the soldiers didn’t know where they were or how to approach them.

  So rather than simply blunder around, and possibly wind up in an unnecessary fight, Kawecki decided it would be best to gather intel from the kind of people who knew the area and might be willing to talk. Namely itinerant merchants of the sort they had run into during the trip up from Freedom Base Two.

  Of course that took some planning, because the traveling gunsmiths, preachers, and medicine men were a wary lot who went to great lengths to avoid being seen. Still, almost everyone succumbed to the temptation to use established roads at least part of the time. And Kawecki knew many of them liked to travel during the early morning or evening, when there was enough light to see by but less chance of running into trouble. With that in mind, he set up an ambush of sorts next to a long straightaway and resolved to wait until the right sort of individual came along.

  A patrol made up of six slouching Hybrids walked past early on. Their lean frames were barely visible through a driving snow. Kawecki let them go rather than run the risk of attracting more. But the better part of a day passed before three humans, all mounted on horses, and leading a string of mules, appeared. A lookout located half a mile to the south had alerted him, so Kawecki shed his gear, with the exception of the Magnum revolver. That went down the back of his pants. He was standing on the badly faded white line with hands clasped behind his neck when the first rider clopped out of the quickly gathering darkness and stopped.

  The woman was middle-aged and dressed in a Stetson, a duster, and a pair of cowboy boots. The businesslike M5A2 carbine that was resting sideways across her saddle quickly came to bear. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded suspiciously. It wasn’t snowing anymore, but her words were accompanied by jets of lung-warmed air.

  Meanwhile, her companions were spread out to divide incoming fire and sat with weapons at the ready.

  “Captain Marvin Kawecki, United States Army,” came the reply.

  “There is one?” the woman inquired incredulously. “Yes, ma’am. And a President. He sent us here. And I need your help.”

  “Us?”

  One by one, the soldiers rose from their various hiding places in the scrub next to the road. The woman’s eyebrows rose incrementally. “Okay, Captain! My name is Meg Bowers. That’s Sam Henry to my left—and Parcel Brown on the right. What sort of help are you looking for?”

  Kawecki told her and she nodded. “You came to the right people, Captain. We’re salt merchants, and we sell to everyone except the stinks.”

  “Including Judge Ramsey?”

  “Yup, but that doesn’t mean we li
ke the bastard. It’s getting dark. Let’s camp. I’ll tell you what I can—and you tell me about this government of yours. If it’s for real, then there are plenty of people who are ready and willing to help.”

  The combined groups made camp near an abandoned farmhouse, and by the time most of them went to bed, Kawecki knew all about the community of Haven, and Bowers had a verbal contract to distribute Hale vaccine on behalf of the U.S. government. It was, as she jokingly put it, “a marriage made in hell.”

  The Osage Reservation

  Now that the Haven group had found the Suzy Q, and won the battle with the Chimera, the race was on to unload the VTOL and clear the area before more stinks arrived. So a frantic effort ensued as mules were moved into position and crate after crate was lowered to the ground using ropes.

  Then came the ticklish task of loading the often recalcitrant animals properly as even more boxes were sent down from above. After persuading Susan to function as a lookout, Capelli worked shoulder-to-shoulder with the others to get the pack train ready. It was difficult to keep his eyes off the sky, knowing it wasn’t a question of whether stink reinforcements would arrive but when.

  So Capelli felt a tremendous sense of relief when the final box was roped into place and Bo led the group away from the bluff and into the creek. It was impossible for the heavily laden mules to travel at anything more than a walk. And the relatively slow pace set Capelli’s teeth on edge as the pack train followed the creek bed north before turning into a half-frozen stream. It led them in under the branches of trees that grew along both banks. They offered a little bit of cover as a pair of sonic booms rolled across the land. Capelli couldn’t see the Chimeran aircraft, but figured they were fighters, sent to scope out the situation before the shuttles arrived.

  Bo led the pack train up out of the streambed into a covered sluiceway. The sound of hooves echoed back and forth between concrete walls as the group continued up a gentle incline to a point where the dry sluiceway ended and a metal roof hid them from above. Capelli saw the words “Osage Cement” on the huge processors all around and realized they were in what had been a tribally owned manufacturing facility. That was when Bo came to speak with him. “I suggest that we hole up here, split the load, and go our separate ways once it’s dark.”