A Fiery Sunset

by Chris Kennedy

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Golden Horde HQ, Tashkent, Uzbekistan, Earth

  “Damn paperwork,” Lieutenant Colonel Walker muttered. This was the part of command he detested—the paperwork that came with it. It sounded great—buy 20 suits of armor and go to war—but then you got into the all the minutiae of what it actually took to keep those suits operational and the pilots inside them trained and ready. And now he had to do it with both CASPers and some hopefully soon-to-be-acquired space fighters?

  Madness.

  His madness, anyway. He knew he’d end up going crazy if he had to do both for too long, and he made a mental note to ditch one or the other of his jobs as soon as he could. It looked like he was stuck with the space fighter squadron, at least for the duration of the war, so he’d have to find someone to take over command of the soldiers as soon as possible.

  Damn. That was the billet he really liked, too. He gave a mental shrug and forgot about it as a knock on his door sounded. He looked up to find a couple troopers and a Zuul with a cast on his leg. Walker did a quick facial recognition scan with his implants. The big cowboy-looking man was Staff Sergeant Keith Glass from the Houston office, and the woman was Sergeant Khulan Enkh. Gah, another Enkh. He understood the whole adoption thing…but couldn’t some of them choose a different surname?

  “Sorry to interrupt ya, sir,” the man said with a think Southern accent, “but I was told to bring this here pu—” The Zuul put a claw on the man’s leg, and he stopped mid-sentence. “This here Winged Hussar person to you. Apparently you wanted to see him, sir?”

  “Thanks, Staff Sergeant, I’ll take it from here.” The two soldiers turned and left.

  Walker crossed the room and held out a hand to the Zuul. “Welcome,” he said as the Zuul shook it. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Walker.”

  “I’m Major Drizz of the Winged Hussars.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Major.”

  “If it weren’t for your troopers, I wouldn’t be. They saved me from a very awkward situation.”

  “So you now understand the Horsemen aren’t welcome here or anywhere else the Mercenary Guild holds sway?”

  “I think they made their intentions quite clear.”

  “That’s outstanding,” Walker said. “We’re planning on leaving tomorrow, and our only real option is your secret base.”

  “As much as everyone seems to talk about it, I don’t see how you can still call it ‘secret.’”

  “Okay, your base, then.”

  “We call it Home.”

  Walker sighed. Dealing with aliens was annoying some days. “Okay, so we’d like to go to your Home. I understand you can give us coordinates for it?”

  “No, actually, I can’t. No one actually knows them, to the best of my knowledge.”

  “Well, then how the hell do you get there then? I’ve got a ship ready to go. All it needs is a destination, and you say you can’t give me one?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I don’t know the coordinates. That much is true.”

  Walker took a deep breath, held it for a count of three, then released it. “Okay, Major,” Walker said, speaking slowly so he wouldn’t totally lose his patience, “how then do you suggest we find our way there, if you don’t know how where it is?”

  The Zuul reached into a pouch hanging from his belt and pulled out a little box in the palm of his paw. The box had a small interface cord sticking out from one side and the logo of the Winged Hussars on it. “This is a special drive that will link up with a union-standard hyperdrive computer and transfer the coordinates as we approach the stargate. It’s a single-use drive and will destroy itself after it’s used. If it’s tampered with, it’ll destroy itself. If you try to copy the coordinates—”

  “I get it,” Walker interrupted. “It’ll destroy itself.”

  “Correct. It’s impossible to save the coordinates, and it’s the last one I have. If something goes wrong with it, there’s no other way to get Home.”

  “Then we’d better not mess it up.”

  * * *

  SOGA HQ, Sao Paulo, Brazil, Earth

  Sansar approached the building wearing a nondescript pair of jeans, a T-shirt with a picture of a local band on it, and a ball cap with the logo of a janitorial service pulled down low over her eyes.

  Security was tight at the world government headquarters. As Sansar approached the building that held the Secretary of the General Assembly’s offices, not only were there Human uniformed security officials, but also Human and alien mercenary troops as well. Currently there seemed to be a measure of détente in place, with the Besquith troops and the Human troops on opposite sides, while the local police force watched over the middle set of doors and kept the forces apart.

  The mercs seemed to be eyeing each other more than they watched for trouble. Sansar didn’t blame the Human mercs—the Varangian Guard, a quick pinplant search determined—she’d have been very uncomfortable that close to the giant wolves. It wasn’t the sharp teeth that bothered her, so much as there were several rows of them. Once they got a hold of you, you weren’t getting away.

  She tugged on the sleeve of the closest Guard trooper and asked, “What’s going on?”

  The private gave her a quick glance and went back to staring at the Besquith. “Don’t watch much Tri-V, do you, little girl?”

  Sansar bristled at the “little girl” comment, but he wasn’t looking at her and didn’t notice. “I’ve been kind of out of touch recently,” Sansar replied. “I’ve had a lot going on.”

  “So much so that you didn’t know what today was? Today is the day the aliens are going to take over Earth.”

  “They are?” Sansar asked. “Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know. The stupid Four Horsemen did something illegal and then ran off! If they don’t show up to account for themselves, the Mercenary Guild is going to take over governing Earth. This is all on those stupid Horsemen!”

  “Huh. This is the Horsemen’s fault and not the aliens?”

  “Of course it is. First they tried to unleash a plague on us, then they ran off.”

  “So you don’t think they had Earth’s best interests at heart?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “So you’ll protect us then, right? We obviously don’t have anything to worry about when we have big, strong men like you to defend us little girls, right?” She laid it on thick, annoyed at his lack of faith in the Horsemen as well as his earlier comment. “You’ll kick those aliens’ butts?”

  “Of course we will! The Varangian Guard always wins.” He puffed out his chest, although his eyes never left the Besquith.

  “I rather doubt it,” Sansar replied, scorn heavy in her voice.

  “Why’s that?” the trooper asked, instantly offended. He looked down at her.

  “Because you’re a jackass. You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about or who you’re talking to.” She pulled off the ball cap and her black hair fell to her shoulders.

  “Wait,” the trooper said. “I recognize you. You’re—”

  “Sansar Enkh!” one of the Besquith roared. The aliens immediately raced over, bowling over the policemen in the process. Seeing them coming, the Varangian Guard troops interposed themselves between Sansar and the aliens, and a pushing match ensued. The Humans were at a size and strength disadvantage and were thrown aside, and they drew their weapons as they got back to their feet.

  The Besquith responded by drawing their weapons, as well.

  “Stop!” Sansar yelled in her best command voice, and all the mercs froze and looked at the diminutive woman.

  “We must arrest you,” the lead Besquith, a staff sergeant, said.

  “Like hell!” yelled one of the Varangian Guard. “She’s Human; we won’t let you!”

  “Fuck that!” yelled another. The Guard started closing ranks around Sansar again.

  “Stop!” she yelled again. The Guard members looked at her with faces full of con
cern and confusion. “It’s okay,” she added. “I’m here to go with them and answer the charges.”

  “How’s this possible?” the Guard trooper she’d spoken with earlier asked. “You—you’re the head of the Golden Horde. You weren’t just ‘out of touch,’ you were dead! I saw it on the Tri-V.”

  “You should put less of your faith in the Tri-V and more into the Horsemen. We can’t lead if you’re too dumb to follow.”

  The trooper didn’t say anything and looked at the ground, his head hanging.

  “Okay,” Sansar said, turning to the Besquith staff sergeant. “Take me to your leader.”

  * * *

  Avander Pharmaceuticals, Chattanooga, Tennessee, Earth

  “Dr. Avander will see you now,” said the Veetch. The alien obviously thought he was stupid, Major Good decided, as it flipped one of its left hands to indicate the enormous mahogany door behind it that sported the nameplate, “Dr. Ezekiel Avander, CEO.” As it was the only door besides the one he came in, Good really didn’t need a lot of decision-making skill to figure that out.

  Apparently, showing in visitors wasn’t part of the alien’s job description, as it went back to what it was doing without getting up. Nice.

  Major Good walked to the door and turned the handle. The door was every bit the feature-piece it appeared to be; the solid mahogany door required a decent portion of his augmented strength to open. It was probably meant to overawe visitors; Good found it slightly annoying.

  “Dr. Avander?” he asked as he entered the room. The office was as ostentatious on the inside as it had appeared in the waiting area. Luxuriously-appointed furniture was tastefully positioned throughout the room, with bookcases artfully filled with a variety of works, from classical masterpieces to the latest treatises on the art and practice of war. It was a tribute to an extremely wealthy man who had equally eclectic tastes. The ceiling seemed ever-so-slightly different. Perhaps rebuilt in the recent past?

  The other feature of the room was a massive desk that matched the entrance door, upon which sat a forest of slates and monitors, to the extent that the man behind them was only glimpsed in portions and slices. From what Good could see, the man appeared in constant motion, working on a great many of the devices in front of him nearly simultaneously.

  “Yes?” came a distant voice from behind the monitors.

  “I’m Major Good,” the intel officer replied. “I’m here to speak with you about why you haven’t returned our calls.”

  The motion behind the monitors ceased, and a hand slid several the monitors out of the way so Good could see the man behind them. Whatever Good had expected from the merc-turned-CEO, this wasn’t it. The man wore a faded leather jacket, and a giant stogie hung from the corner of his mouth. Lines from his implants trailed off to four of the slates. Although the man was closing in on 150 years old, he looked no older than 55, and appeared in top physical shape. The piercing blue eyes stared at him for a moment as if looking into Good’s soul, then the man smiled and waved him to one of the two chairs in front of the desk.

  “Please sit,” the man said, “and call me Zeke.”

  “Hi, Zeke,” Major Good replied; “we’ve called you a bunch, and you haven’t returned any of our calls.”

  “There’s a damned good reason why, too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not interested,” Zeke said, and he started to pull the monitors back into their earlier positions.

  “One second,” Good said. “Can I ask why you’re not interested? Our planet has been assaulted by aliens, and all you want to do is to sit here and run your empire? Trying to milk a few more credits from old men and women in search of the Fountain of Youth?”

  “Look,” Zeke said. “I enjoyed my time with The Golden Horde, and I think I did very well for you. Certainly, my service helped garner some extra credits for the company. Now, I may not have the intelligence facilities the Horde does, but my network runs pretty deep, and I’m kept passingly familiar with anything important going on, anywhere on this planet, that might affect business. I’m well aware of the aliens on Earth and their intentions. I’m not, however, interested in coming back to work for the Horde; I have enough to do here.”

  “What could be more important than joining the resistance?”

  Zeke cocked his head and looked piercingly at the major again. “Do you know what we do here?” he asked.

  “You help old people live longer through a variety of treatments and enhancements.”

  “I help people live!” Zeke exclaimed. “I help them beat diseases that are untreatable anywhere else on this planet. I do this by working at the cellular level, fixing things that have previously been unfixable by mankind. I give people life!”

  Zeke turned one of the monitors toward Good. An image of a virus or bacteria cell was on it. “I can also take life,” he continued, his voice quiet, “just as easily as I can give it. You’re running around recruiting people for a war that’s already underway, a war that I am already fighting. Only my company can tailor viruses to do the things I want. To attack the creatures I want. Why am I not interested in coming back to the Horde? Because I’m far more valuable here.”

  * * *

  SOGA HQ, Sao Paulo, Brazil, Earth

  The Besquith led Sansar to a familiar room—the SOGA’s office at the top of the headquarters building—then left, closing the door behind them. A Veetanho was looking out the window at the town of Sao Paolo in the distance but turned as Sansar walked into the room and said, “Well, this is an unexpected surprise. I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “Didn’t waste any time moving in, did you, Peepo?” Sansar asked.

  “If there is one thing I have learned about your race,” Peepo replied, “it is that symbology is important. If I rule from the Secretary General’s office, by definition, many of your people will automatically assume I am their legitimate ruler.” Her lips curled back in an approximation of a Human smile. “Don’t you see me as such?”

  “I see you as a pain in the ass with some sort of grudge against us, who I am going to kill at my first opportunity. All I want to know is why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you doing this? It isn’t because we have some sort of resources you need. Earth is nothing special. We don’t have huge supplies of F-11 or even red diamonds. There are other planets and systems that are far richer than us. The only thing we have is people, and even though we’ve been pretty successful with the last few versions of our CASPers, that still doesn’t seem to make sense. We may be winning more battles than we’re losing, but that doesn’t justify wiping us out.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Peepo asked. “You’re rule breakers. You don’t do what you’re supposed to. You use nukes. You do planetary bombardments from beyond the 10-mile limit. You play with technology you’re not supposed to. It’s impossible to know what rules you’ll break or what forbidden science you’ll dabble in next. Left to your own, maybe next you’ll start experimenting with antimatter, for entropy’s sake! My message to the people of Earth said it all—your species isn’t ready to join the Union, and we need to govern you, not only for your own good, but for the benefit of the Union.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Sansar said.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I believe it with every fiber of my being. There’s no telling what a Human will do at any given moment. Take your appearance here, for example. Not only did I not expect you to show up, I didn’t even expect you to still be alive.”

  “Well, I’m happy to disappoint you on both accounts.”

  “I didn’t say disappointed; I said it was unexpected. I’m quite happy to have you here, as your presence will lend legitimacy to everything I have planned.” She paused, then asked. “I’m curious, though, how is it you’re still alive?”

  “That part’s easy; I wasn’t there when you attacked my base. Why you had to nuke my people, though, is something that seems extreme, even for you. Did you lose your temp
er, perhaps? Battle didn’t go the way you expected, and that was your final solution? Is this to be a hallmark of your administration of Earth? Should we expect more displays of unnecessary force from you?”

  Peepo froze for a second as some of the accusations seemed to hit home, then she smiled again. “You may say what you want to, Sansar, but we both know I had nothing to do with nuking your base. The explosions were, as you say, extreme, and they cost me considerably in manpower expended. But this is exactly what I was talking about when I said you do the unexpected. I never would have expected you to sacrifice your remaining people once the battle was lost or to use nuclear weapons on your own soil. If you’d do that, what wouldn’t you do?”

  “To keep out from under your claws? I would do nearly anything! My ancestors rode the plains of our country. They were free, and they passed that love of freedom down to me. You shouldn’t have come here; Humans will be free, and we’ll do whatever it takes to get that way!”

  “No. No you won’t. There are already a surprising number of troops who have come over to our side, like the ones at the entrance to this building, and more of your civilization recognizes our authority every day. The majority of your race are sheep, and they’ll follow along blindly, no matter what they’re told to do.”

  “That’s incorrect! Many of our mercenary units escaped. We’ll never do what you say.”

  Peepo waved a claw dismissively. “A few escaped, but most were captured at Karma, and the rest of them will be found and destroyed. We have a galaxy’s-worth of resources to draw upon; how is it you think you can fight us?”

  “I don’t know,” Sansar replied. “All I know is that we will.”

  “Those of you who fight will be destroyed, and the rest of your race will do as it’s told. If it doesn’t, your race will cease to exist.”