Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions Read online

  “Fools,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head. “Open intercom.”

  The computer chirped a response.

  “Ken, Cindy, we have warriors headed our way. Anybody gets past the guns, you guys take care of them.”

  He closed the channel and turned back to the image, floating in front of him, from the rear-gun camera. The warriors were nearing the end of the street, where the town dropped away, opening into a meadow, one hundred yards wide. There was another two hundred yards of spaceport after that before they would reach Longshot. Three hundred yards wasn’t the easiest shot with a handheld rifle, but to the turrets it was nothing. The only potential problem he could see was what to do if they reached the open meadow. They’d scatter, and he’d have to slew the guns around to cut them down—far easier to open up while they were bunched between the buildings.

  His hands gripped the yoke, and he aligned the targeting reticule. The camera magnified the image, giving him a good view of the warriors.

  He squeezed the trigger. Bright flashes shot through the descending night, and ripped into the sprinting mob. Warriors came apart as the rounds hit home, flesh and limbs flying chaotically as they were torn clear of their owners. Thirty-millimeter rounds, made to take out missiles and fighters, punched through body armor effortlessly, and then ripped through the warriors. The center of the mass disappeared in a wave of dust and blood, the best of the empire chewed up, reduced to a clump of ruined bodies. The rush stopped dead in its tracks, half of the force dead and in pieces. Surviving warriors threw themselves behind nearby buildings, looking for cover, abandoning all thought of attack. Not one of them reached the meadow.

  “My god…” said Helen.

  “Yes, well…it won’t all be that easy,” said Lucius.

  Flipping through projections from the ship’s various cameras, he saw other warriors. They filtered down multiple cross streets, advancing on their position. At the edge of the town they paused, several groups of them, weapons up and ready.

  The ship’s intercom crackled.

  “You seeing this?” Ken said, his voice filling the room.

  “Yeah, we see it,” Lucius replied. “Get ready for a rush. Focus your efforts on the flanks; leave the back to Cindy and her people.”

  “Copy that,” Ken replied.

  “Computer, autofire any turret I’m not using. Hold up only if friendlies should get in the way,” he ordered.

  “Understood,” the computer answered.

  Lucius took another breath and waited. Bit by bit the clumps of warriors grew, standing at the edge of the town, looking warily at the ship. He could hear gunfire to the east and west. More sporadic shots came from the south. The militia was still out there; Rex and Jake were still out there. But wherever they were, they didn’t have the force to hold back the assault.

  Which meant he, and the people on this ship, would be doing the heavy lifting.

  “They’re moving on the left,” announced Helen.

  “And the center,” Lucius said, seeing the survivors of his last attack pick their way around buildings toward the meadow.

  “And two groups on right,” Helen added.

  “Right turret it is then,” Lucius said, the image in front of him changing at the words. He slewed the right turret into place, targeting the nearer of the two teams. They had split, spreading out into a line, five to ten feet between them.

  Smart.

  He targeted the leftmost of the group and fired. The shots went wide, smashing into the dirt behind them and sending up a spray. He adjusted quickly, lined up a shot at the center mass and fired. One man’s stomach exploded from the impact, and he collapsed. Behind him Lucius heard the other turrets come to life, the computer opening up on the other advancing parties.

  He shifted right, picked off the next soldier, and then shifted again. His third victim began snaking, zigzagging to prevent a clear shot. Lucius ignored him, picked up the fourth, and fired. The man’s upper half flopped violently sideways, and he fell. The fifth followed seconds later, torn apart.

  Just as quickly he shifted to the second group, a larger force that had spread itself out even further.

  “Ken, focus your men on the group coming from the west. The guys on the east are being difficult,” Lucius said, the computer relaying his words.

  “Will do,” Ken said.

  Lucius focused on the second group, now only two hundred yards away. He could see at least ten, all running and firing wildly at Longshot. Their bullets were no real threat to the ship, given the thickness of its armor. But they could be a threat to Ken’s men on top.

  One by one he worked his way down, each shot turning a man to pulp. He was halfway through when it stopped. The remaining five ceased their advance, and turned to flee. Whether intimidated by the smears that had been their compatriots or just because they recognized the futility of the situation, Lucius couldn’t say. Nor did he care. Whether coming to him or running away, the warriors were a threat.

  To make their situation even worse, as they ran their discipline slipped. They began to bunch together, the old instinctive feel of safety in numbers overwhelming their training.

  Lucius lined up the right turret with the center of the clump and fired. The warriors collapsed, flung forward as the rounds hit home. They went down in an odd heap, ripped apart in such a short time that they fell upon each other, making a mass of ruined flesh.

  “Thirty men are approaching the rear ramp, they are within one hundred fifty yards,” said the computer.

  “Switch me to the rear turret—”

  “Cindy’s force is engaging.”

  ***

  Second could not understand why she was running, much less why she was running toward the barricade. When the first bullets had streaked in, she’d found herself descending the stair. Now she was sprinting across the cargo bay, darting around the various families that had filtered into the bay, all of them down on the stomachs and covering their heads. She still felt like she wanted to vomit, still didn’t understand how she felt about this or why she felt that way, still didn’t know if she would be able to pull the trigger. But her body had moved on its own accord, and here she was, crouching as she ran up to the line of grain-filled crates.

  She huddled up against the wood, her breath coming quickly. Beside her, freedmen and freedwomen blasted away, armed with battle rifles taken from the armory, the same as hers. She clutched hers tight, unsure what to do next. Screams of terror filled the air behind her, the cries of panicked children huddling under their parents. Second fixed her eyes on one particular child, a small boy sheltered by his mother, thirty feet back. His face was tear-streaked and he cried uncontrollably. A spray of gunfire went high, well above the huddled serfs, but the mother pulled the child tighter all the same.

  “You gonna be down here, you gotta be in the fight!” Cindy shouted, two people down on the line. Second looked uneasily at her, and then toward the open cargo bay doors. She could hear shouts as men approached, hear the screaming boom of the autoturrets. But she couldn’t see it, couldn’t make it real. The crates stood between her and them, between her and reality.

  She spun around awkwardly, crouching, instinctively bringing her gun up to eye level. She swallowed back nervously and closed her eyes, unable to move.

  Loud bangs filled her ears as shots struck the crate she hid behind. A line of warriors ran at them, spaced apart. She found one and squeezed off a shot. The warrior jerked backward and then steadied himself, his armor stopping the round. Second frowned. A burst of fire hit her crate, and she flung herself back down. Her breath rattled rapidly through her lungs, and bile rose in her throat. She retched, and then huddled back into a ball again.

  “Gonna need more than that!” cried Cindy, blasting away with her rifle. She ducked down, retrieved a fifty-slug magazine from the inside of her coat and slapped it into her gun.

  “Think you can do that again?” she shouted over the roar of the battle. “We need every gun we can
get!”

  Second spat to clear her mouth, and nodded uncertainly. Cindy sprang back up, her gun coming to life it a flash. Second took two deep breaths, and rose again.

  The warriors were closer, fifty yards away. They’d been reduced by half, to about ten in number. But they charged all the same. Second picked out one in the center, one with epaulets on his shoulders. She took aim and squeezed, holding down the trigger. Four shots leaped out, punching through the man’s armor and into his chest. The figure fell in a heap, dead.

  Second ducked back down, her breathing fast again. It slowed quickly, her mind returning to its senses faster than it had previously. This struck her as interesting. Perhaps this was how people like Rex did it? A simple question of habituation via experience—

  A barrage of shots struck her crate, sending up a shower of wood splinters and wheat. She clutched the rifle tight again, all thoughts vanishing in a wave of fear. Yet she still found herself rising again, taking aim.

  Nobody awaited her. She saw the last of the warriors fall, just shy of the ramp. His body hit the metal hard, bouncing and rolling down onto the pavement of the tarmac. She gazed at it for a moment, trying to comprehend it all. The overwhelming terror and strange compulsion to fight—all meaningless now. The fight was over. Just over. She didn’t know why this felt wrong, why she still felt uncertain, as if they were still charging her. And she couldn’t slow her thoughts down enough to figure it out. They raced, too fast to make sense of.

  “There will be more,” Cindy said, seeing her confusion. “You think you’re capable of another fight? ’Cause we really do need the help.”

  Second looked at her, then back at the dead warriors, and then back at Cindy. She nodded meekly and then crouched down behind the crates, fighting hard to keep herself from vomiting again.

  ***

  The Valley

  Jake stood at the southern end of the valley, seeing only flames. A ranch house burned in front of him, its roof a gaping hole, tongues of fire flickering out. Behind it the buildings near the mine were aflame. He scanned the area, flipping through the spectrum to make sure he didn’t miss anything. The only locals he could find were a man and a woman, lying motionless outside of the house, weapons in hand. Two dead warriors were strewn across the ground nearby.

  “Too late,” he said. He glanced up to the heavens, shaking his head in frustration. He’d been kicked out of his homeworld for merely speculating about a god’s existence. Now he wished one did so those two souls would have some peace.

  A crackle of gunfire caught his attention. It was distant, up the valley. The warriors were done with this place, content to move up the valley and rejoin their fellows near the village. Jake’s thoughts ran along similar lines. There was nothing more he could do here; there weren’t any freed serfs left to warn.

  He started north, running parallel to the road, which was a few yards away on his left. The gunfire grew louder. He magnified in and saw a clump of men, a mile or so distant. They were in a ditch by the side of the road, trading fire with figures in the pasture. He magnified in closer, able to make out the men in the ditch. They were militia, Rick and his people. Shifting, he spotted ten men scattered throughout the meadow, advancing. One would fire, covering another as he darted forward. Then he would fire, covering another, and so on and so forth, working their way closer to Rick’s people.

  The two sides traded fire incessantly, neither gaining a clear advantage. Jake ran through his options. They were too spread out to be taken out by grenades, and even with his speed, he wouldn’t be able to shoot them all before they turned on him, especially when he was on the run.

  A strange sound caught his attention—a guttural bleating that sounded like a cow trying to imitate a sheep. Fifty yards to his right was a small herd of those strange Bighorn Highlands the natives raised. They milled about nervously, edging back from the sound of gunfire, confused and scared. Jake stopped, an idea forming in his head.

  He sprinted right, running parallel to the herd, about twenty yards south of them. The beasts noticed and edged warily north, toward the gunfire. They hesitated, caught between two threats, unsure of what to do.

  Jake broke left, sprinting straight at the herd. The strange bleating filled the air again, the animals braying in terror. Jake lifted his right hand in the air, firing a half-dozen rounds from the gun, panicking the Bighorn Highlands even more. The beasts sprinted north, two dozen animals stampeding away from the strange, metal man.

  The burst from his gun had caught the attention of the warriors; the hammering of hooves seized it. The warriors turned their fire from the militia to the animals, spraying them with rounds as they drew near. The lead animal collapsed in a hail of bullets. Seconds later a rattle of shots caught one of the warriors, coming from Rick’s people. The warriors hesitated, caught between hard lead and stampeding livestock.

  One of the warriors stood out to Jake. There was something on his shoulder. It flashed.

  Jake was on the ground before his mind could realize what he was looking at. He’d ordered his computers to look out for shoulder-mounted rail-guns when he’d left the ship, and to send him to ground when it found them. As Jake slammed onto the dirt, a shriek rushed past him, inches over his head. The rail-gun round missed, streaking off behind him.

  Jake leaped up, pointing his grenade launcher at the man and letting loose. Four explosions consumed the man and his big gun. Seconds later the herd stampeded over the man’s torn remains. The terrified animals kept on, trampling two more warriors in quick succession. The other Europans broke, most heading toward the mountains, two blindly sprinting toward the road. Rick’s people opened up on the pair, cutting them down in seconds.

  Jake lifted his gun, aiming for the survivors, and then paused. The five remaining warriors sprinted north, toward the town. Jake took aim, the big fifty cal leaping across the two-hundred-yard distance with no problem. He caught one in the back, and then another.

  Then they scattered again, the three remaining warriors disappearing into the distance. Jake lowered his arm, turning toward the road. He saw Rick and his four remaining men getting to their feet. He jogged over. The men were sweaty and dirty, but unhurt. Another man lay motionless in the ditch, the front of his head missing.

  “Clever move there,” Rick said.

  “Yeah. Well, we’ve been watching a lot of westerns lately,” said Jake.

  Rick cocked his head in confusion, and then shrugged.

  “You’ve done your job well. Barely found anybody still in their homes,” Rick said.

  “Good. Didn’t find anyone left alive further down. It’s all on fire,” Jake explained. “I think we’ve done as much good as we can here.”

  Rick gazed south uneasily, frowning as he thought.

  “You’re sure?” Rick asked.

  “I didn’t see or hear anybody,” Jake answered. “Just bodies.”

  Rick sighed, nodding. “Let’s get out of here then. Everybody keep an eye out for people moving toward the spaceport. We find them, we provide cover the best we can. Getting them to the ship safely is our primary goal. Understand?”

  The men answered affirmatively.

  “I hate to ask, but with your tech it would probably make most sense if you’re on point, calling stuff as you see it,” Rick spoke.

  Jake hesitated, the flash of the rail-gun playing through his mind. But he nodded all the same.

  “We’re right behind you,” Rick said.

  “Keep those guns ready,” Jake said. He hefted his weapons back up, turned north, and started jogging.

  ***

  Valley Town

  The militia below lined the shot-out windows of the school, pelting away at the warriors swarming around the building. Rex stood atop the roof with Keith. Their reason for retreating here was obvious. The school was one of the few nonwooden buildings in the town, being made of cinder blocks. And it had a flat roof, with a balustrade for cover. It was a small building, it being a small town and all
, but it was large enough for a dozen men to take up a position on the roof and rain hell on the attacking warriors.

  He took stock of the situation. The warriors were running roughshod through the town. To the west gunfire could be heard, so at least some of the militia driven that way when the line had been split were still alive, still fighting. To the south the loud sound of Longshot’s turrets filled the night, again and again. Occasionally he’d hear the clatter of small arms and then it would be silenced, undoubtedly an attack being rebuffed by the ship’s big guns. But here, around the school, they had no big guns. What they did have were at least two hundred warriors pinning them down, including the noble in powered armor.

  The enemy’s vaunted speed was of little use to them here. They fired from the corners of buildings, from upper-story windows. Their shots peppered the school but did little damage. Keith’s people were in a strong defensive position, and held the advantage so long as they stayed here.

  But that wasn’t a permanent solution. Rex had no idea how far behind the first wave the main fleet was, but they were coming. The militia couldn’t stay here forever.

  Across the street a burst of fire came from an upper window. Rex flinched back instinctively and then paused, realizing all the fire was focused on the lower level of the school.

  A rush.

  A wave of warriors raced forward, sprinting for the lower-floor windows their compatriots had just targeted. The militia on the roof was not fooled. Fire tore into the wave, cutting a dozen down in seconds. The men tossed grenades down, chopping the wave up, blasting it to ragged bits. The militia on the lower floor focused their fire on the few remaining knots of men, decimating them. A handful ran back across the street, behind the cover of nearby buildings.