“Roger that,” Graves replied. “Kubai, drop clear!”
“Negative, Henry Graves,” Kubai said. “You know the saying about riding the tiger.”
Graves did indeed — there was no getting off once you started.
“Beth, Kubai can’t get clear… I’ll try to turn it so you can get a clean shot.”
“Negative again,” Kubai said. “Beth Graves, take your shot now, while I have it distracted.”
“Hank, honey?”
“He’s right, Beth, take the shot. Try to aim low, and be sure not to miss.”
Graves watched as the twin cannon slewed around and then dropped, aiming right for the creature’s chest, and fired three rounds from each barrel. At that range, they couldn’t miss.
The anti-tank rounds were a tungsten slug with a hollow charge, that turned into a shaped charge on impact…striking the creature, they formed and detonated, with enough heat to melt the tungsten and fire it at supersonic speeds into the target. The six rounds struck in quick succession, each a metre or so apart, and the resultant explosions turned the creature’s torso to pulp.
It rose up in its death throes and thrashed around uncontrollably… Kubai couldn’t maintain his grip and Hawk fell, landing heavily on its back, only to have the creature fall on top of him, its sheer weight crushing the exomech and cracking open plates of armour.
And then it died.
Graves, Jaswant Singh, Crazy Bill and Keith Jenkins stood outside the Bunker as the other colonists cleaned up the mess, which included cutting up and dragging away the corpse of the giant deebee.
With a lot of families dead, there’d be room for more colonists. The Donaldsons were gone, so their farmstead was vacant land, and Peters’ wife and family had decided to leave Tau Ceti and head home to Earth, which freed up that land as well.
They managed to drag Kubai Singh out of his exomech’s wreckage… he was still alive, but had lost both legs and an arm, and would require expensive prosthetics, which the Colony account would happily pay. Likewise, replacement exomechs for the Singhs, who had lost all three of their suits, would come from the Colony account.
Jenkins had put in claims for damages and repairs that they all knew were ridiculous, but no-one had the energy to argue — he’d survived, that counted for something, and they needed everyone to move forward together. Jaswant Singh had suggested giving Jenkins the deeds to the Donaldson and Peters farmsteads, in exchange for his own, as payment for his efforts, and the others had reluctantly agreed — the Singhs had lost too much for them to deny any reasonable requests right now. Graves could see Jenkins mentally rubbing his hands together in glee, and it sickened him.
The really good news was that Jake Wright had survived after all. Despite his complaints about his exomech, Carnigore had one feature no-one had counted on — it had more radiation shielding than any of them had ever seen, likely as a measure to protect patrons from radiation leaks from when it was still an amusement ride droid. It was a wreck and would need replacing, but Jake was okay.
And that left the giant gate on the ridgeline. It lacked the sparkle that indicated an open gateway back the deebee’s home dimension, but it was still there. None of them had any idea what to do about it, other than to arm up, stay vigilant, and invest heavily in defences. It was going to be expensive and hard work, and it dawned on Graves that Jenkins new farmstead would be right in the path of any further attacks… Jaswant Singh was much wilier than he’d given him credit.
With the creature dragged away and the other colonists gone, Graves and his wife surveyed the land they’d fought hard to defend. It never occurred to them to pack up and leave, to head to somewhere safer. This was home, and alien invasion or no, this was where they were going to stay.
Under Calliope’s Skin
Alan Baxter
Andy Collins flicked his eyes to operate his virtual HUD. An adrenaline suppressant dumped into his bloodstream along with a tweak of endorphin as the Alliance Battlecruiser Belvedere fell out of jump with a bone-deep whine. He hated the inertia of re-entering real space.
“Take a moment to message your loved ones,” Capstan barked. “We drop in three minutes.”
The massive Lieutenant stomped from one end of the dropship to the other, enhanced musculature rippling under his form-fitting battlesuit. He paused at each team member to stare hard into their eyes, his virtual HUD relaying reams of data — pulse rate, blood pressure, serotonin levels, a hundred other markers. You couldn’t hide a thing from a party Lieutenant. When he reached Collins, Capstan stared a moment longer.
“You okay, buttercup?” he asked, almost a whisper. His eyes were mean and his mouth pressed into a flat line as he waited for a response.
Collins watched the golden flicker across Capstan’s eyeballs, wondered just what data he was reading. “Fine,” he said, pleased his voice was strong. “You know I hate interstellar.”
Capstan nodded once, paused to read another roll of information. His deep forehead relaxed under a mat of salt and pepper hair shaved close. “Just as well you’re such a good soldier. Makes up for your flaws.”
He stalked away before Collins could respond, but Collins allowed himself a smile. Capstan always acted the hardass, but he was a father to the whole squad. Though no one would ever say so to his face. He might love them all, but he’d kick seven shades out of anyone who suggested he had emotions.
“We green, Daisy?” Capstan called out.
“Across the board.” The dropship AI’s voice was a soft, velvety feminine.
Capstan turned at the head of the bay and scanned the two rows of marines facing each other, four along one side, three the other.
“We are eight of the best,” he said, smiling to reveal the chromed shine of replacement teeth. He could bite through steel with those and his jaw augments. “In fact, we are the best eight and that’s why we get sent out to these asshole shitheaps on the edge to do things no other fool would do. But this one is pretty routine, right?”
Laughter rippled around the bay and Capstan grinned wider.
“Fuck yeah, ain’t no such thing as routine if we’re involved. So here’s what we know, and it ain’t much.” He tapped at his wrist pad and a holographic cube sprang into life between the two rows of warriors. A small moon swelled into view, orbiting a massive gas giant. “This is Calliope,” Capstan said. “Fourth moon of the third planet in the Arteeria system. Distant scans revealed huge deposits of allerinium beneath the crust, and you don’t need me to tell you what lengths the Alliance will go to for interstellar jump fuel. So a remote unit was sent to build a habitat. Once the robots had finished, a scientific team of twenty specialists was sent in to survey. Results were good for about two months and then all communications ceased. This is the last transmission.”
He tapped his pad again and the three-dimensional map switched to a recorded video. A face leaned close to the camera, sweat running down the brow from soaked hair. The man’s mouth was stretched in a wide grimace and his teeth were stained.
“That blood in his mouth?” Aiko Hayashi asked, her eyes narrowed.
“Looks like it,” Tanveer Malik said. He glanced at Hayashi with a smile. “But is it his or someone else’s?”
She flicked him a sour look, shook her head. Collins smirked. Those two were about due their occasional hook-up. It was a good tension diffuser that otherwise saw them fighting.
The man continued to stare and grin at the camera.
“He gonna say anything?” Collins asked.
Capstan shut off the image. “Nope. He stands there like that, not moving, not even fucking blinking, for three hours and fourteen minutes.”