The tail exploded. The blast knocked the breath out of Santiago’s lungs. The Hiver stumbled towards him, bringing its right claws slashing down.
Santiago stepped in to his left, his left hand slapping its arm over his right shoulder, and slashed upwards with his right. He felt the knife slide across its throat. He retracted the knife, ramming the blade into its neck. The dagger bit in, opening a hole. Retracting the knife, Santiago sprayed the wound with nano, kicked the hunter away, and blew its head off.
Gasping for breath, he staggered away and plugged himself back in. He panted, sucked in huge gulps of air.
Tik-tik-tik
Looked up.
More hunters spilled through the doorway.
“Fuck.” He brought both nanosprays up.
The Hivers halted.
He stared at them.
They stared back.
Nothing happened.
A cool voice filled his earpieces. “This is Central. We have control of the Hive Mind. All Hive personnel are now under the control of the Neuvo Corazon Armed Forces. The war is over.”
The announcement repeated. Santiago listened to it five times before finally hearing the last four words.
He collapsed. Blinked at the ceiling. When he finally found the strength to sit up, the hunters had departed. A lifetime later, he tuned his q-com.
“Major?” he whispered.
“Santiago! Abel! My God, man, you did it!”
“What the hell happened? What did we do to them?”
“The Academy AIs were coding a virus to corrupt the Hive Mind since the war began. The intel you collected helped us complete it.”
Every member of the Hive was in constant contact with each other. If a C&C node uploaded a Trojan horse into the Hiver command net, every single Hiver would be infected in minutes. Khabarov couldn’t have told him, of course. Operational security. As he pondered Khabarov’s words, a thought slammed into Santiago’s brain.
“We… we did to them what they were going to do to us.”
“We won the war.”
“We turned into them.”
“We won the war,” Khabarov repeated. “Look. You need treatment. Get to the outpost and into a medbox. Now.”
Santiago picked himself up. Dusted himself off. Left the ship. Wandered out the park.
The Hivers gathered themselves into little groups. They dropped their weapons into neat piles and kneeled on the ground, hands to their heads, dutifully awaiting collection. Hunters prostrated. Golems disintegrated. Wasps landed. Gunshots rang out in the dark. The shooting was entirely one-sided. The Hive’s starships were doing nothing to stop it. They must belong to Nuevo Corazon now.
Santiago pulled off his mask, letting the frigid air caress his burned skin and fill his lungs. Looking up, he saw billions of stars with uncounted worlds. Most were lifeless, some not, more than a few occupied by different strains of humanity. Including the Hiver homeworld.
Now ready to be conquered.
Kill Streak
Samson Stormcrow Hayes
Spencer dropped into the hole, cautious of any mines or tripwires. Two teammates dropped in behind him, but they recklessly took off through the tunnel. He followed behind, but lost them around the bend. A flash of light indicated an explosion followed by a burst of gunfire. They’d fallen into an ambush.
He tossed a grenade into the darkness and heard the enemy shout in fear before they died. Cautiously, he peered around the corner. He never saw the sniper who killed him.
Spencer punched his mattress, shouting, “Fuckin' pussy-ass snipers.”
Three seconds later he spawned elsewhere on the map. He tried to hunt down the sniper, but the jackass kept moving. Spencer died twice more before the game ended.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “I can't get anything going.”
He finished the game with a miserable 24–20 kill/death ratio. It didn't look like Deathdirge would be online so he played a few more games before getting ready for school.
He finished his homework and double-checked his math. His grades were slipping and he couldn't let them fall below a B or his parents would restrict his game time. They expected him to go to college.
His parents were still discussing the election when he sat down to breakfast an hour later. It was the first Tuesday of November and it was all anyone talked about, even online. It was driving Spencer crazy.
“I think it's going to be close,” his father told his mother. “You sure you don't want to come with me to the polls before work?”
“No,” his mom replied. “I'll vote online when the polls open in ten minutes. I don't know why you don't do the same.”
“Call me old fashioned.” His dad forced a smile, but Spencer could tell he was worried.
“You think Hanley's going to win?” asked Spencer.
“It's possible.”
“Hanley's awesome,” shouted his younger brother Toby.
His parents exchanged a worried look. His mom placed her hand on his father's shoulders and said, “He's too young to understand.”
“Am not! Hanley wants us to kick ass.”
“Toby!” his father rebuked. “Language!”
“Sorry,” Toby whined, his head bowed.
“So you're voting for Barker?” Spencer asked, and his dad nodded. “Does it even matter?”
“It sure does,” his father explained. “I know right now it might not seem like it, but if Hanley's elected, this country will undergo some big changes.”
“Change! Change! Change!” Toby chanted, echoing Hanley's slogan.
Spencer was tired of the whole thing. Even the players in other countries were talking about it.
“Don't you think it matters?” Spencer's mom asked him.
Spencer shrugged. He just hoped that when it was over, people would stop arguing online and focus on the game. Politicians came and went, but the game went on forever.
“With only two choices, is there really much of a choice?” he asked. His parents didn't answer.
It was the same at school. Students and teachers alike drew battle lines over who should be the next president and there was even a fistfight between Tim Roonie, one of the seniors, and Mr Cooper, the science teacher, that ended with Mr Cooper being arrested.
Spencer felt relieved when the day was over. He came home and quickly did his homework while his father, looking dejected, watched the election results. Hanley was winning. After dinner, Spencer dropped his dishes in the dishwasher and headed upstairs.
He wasn't surprised to see Toby playing his GameStation 3000. The GS was the latest in 3-D gaming technology. His parents bought it for him for his birthday as a reward for getting all A's in school. He lifted the headphones from his brother's ear and shouted, “Get out, assface!”
“But I'm in the middle of a game,” Toby whined.
“Don't care.” Spencer tore off the headset so Toby couldn't play.
“But it's not fair. You're not even going to play.”
“It's my room. Get out.” Spencer punched his brother in the shoulder.
“Oww!” he cried.
“Second one's harder,” Spencer warned. Toby ran out the door.
Spencer shut down the game console and went to bed. It was only 7 pm.
The alarm rang at 2 am. Spencer jumped out of bed and quickly shut it off before the noise disturbed anyone else in the house. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Spencer realized he had overslept. He set two alarms, but didn't remember the first one going off. He must have woken up just enough to kill it.
He quietly slipped down the hall to the bathroom to relieve himself then hurried downstairs to grab an energy drink before returning to his room. Once the door was shut and the earphones secured, he activated the GS 3000. Spencer's preferences instantly loaded his favorite game, Elite Soldiers. It was the closest video games came to reality. Within seconds he was online.