Peter Baines

  Date: Unknown

  Location: Repelling boarders

  "Aquatic Pete." The voice in the translation earpiece was still Microsoft Sam, but over the ringing in his ears Pete could still hear Harpa's distinctive voice behind it. "Functioning are you?"

  "Yeah. Two down." Pete looked over his handiwork. Even in the dim light, he could see the nearby crates had been splashed with . . . blood? Bodily fluids of some kind, anyway. Probably some bits of other stuff that had never been designed to be worn on the outside.

  It didn't really affect him. Was it because he'd killed aliens, not humans? Or just that he was still caught up in the moment? He hoped it was the latter. He'd trained for this kind of thing . . . well, he'd trained in the Corps for combat, but his father had been the one to drill him on pistols as a kid, and it had come with advice from his own days in the service.

  One in particular had always stuck with Pete. You can't think about how the target is a human being. Not in the moment. When you squeeze that trigger, he's just a target. Service the target, move on. But don't forget it later. If later on you start justifying that you hadn't killed a real person, then you get selective. And when you get selective enough to decide who's a person and who's not, then you stop seeing everyone around you as human, too. I saw that, Peter. Too many damn times, I saw that. You can kill a human and still be human, son. But you can't be human if you pretend you didn't. The worst people in the world, people that need killin', are still people.

  Pete didn't know if it counted when the target literally wasn't human. But he didn't like the alternative, either.

  "Down?" Harpa stepped into view, rifle at the ready. He saw the two corpses. "Affirmed. 'Down.'"

  "Let me guess, you don't use a word like that, either?"

  "We have. Say we 'killed.'"

  "I guess that works." Pete looked around. That couldn't have been all the pirates, right? "But what do you say if they're still alive?"

  "That missed I. Try I again."

  "You must not take a lot of prisoners," Pete said dryly.

  Harpa nodded, clearly missing the tone in Pete's voice. "Not occupation mine. Purpose of Agency of Stellar Intelligence. Follow. More raiders exist."

  Pete frowned, but let it slide for now. "How many?"

  "Seven indicated by ship control. Two killed, leaving five."

  "Yeah, I can do math."

  "Indeed. Including calculations of --" There was a hesitation in the translation as Harpa eyed Pete's 1911, with the computer's voice finishing noticeably after Harpa's. "-- [primitive powder ballistics]."

  "You guys don't use guns, huh?" Pete eyed Harpa's rifle. "I mean, other than ray guns."

  "Inaccurate weapons of history. Much fiction. Historical dramas of war and intrigue."

  Pete nodded. "Guess you don't want to poke a hole in the side of the ship."

  Harpa tilted his head. "If primitive powder weaponry possesses such capability, deserve we the loss of air. Weapon yours is not so strong."

  "Two world wars, bub." Paul eyed the maze of stacks. "They had to have heard that. Where are they?"

  "Waiting. Tracking." Harpa tilted his head as if thinking. "Visual feeds cut were upon entry, however brief images retained were. Lead raider apparently a --"

  "What? I think the translator cut out."

  "Said I, a --"

  Pete frowned. "Is that a name or something? Kleenti?"

  "Klint," Harpa corrected, and this time Pete heard it more clearly. "Species of leader."

  "Ah. You know I have no clue what a klint even looks like, right?"

  "Chastised. Affirmation. Scavenger species. Social organization high. Carapace. Segmented eyes capable of heat-seeing."

  "Okay, sounds like an insect with built-in night vision."

  Harpa almost looked like he was reading something. Was his implant feeding him something? "Affirmation," he answered after a moment. "Very cautious species."

  "So if we fall back and hold the airlock, he'd have to come after us."

  "Cargo would stolen be."

  "So? You guys are headed back to port, right? Do you need all these supplies?"

  Harpa was silent for a moment. "My knowledge lacking is, beyond food supplies."

  "And?"

  "Survey time reduced after visit to planet yours. Considerable food supplies we have."

  Pete frowned at him. "So the short rations you've been giving us were deliberate, huh?"

  "Non-comprehension. Rations normal height were."

  "Never mind. Look, I'm not helping you to save your supplies if you've got plenty. I'm protecting my people. And the best way to do that is to guard the airlock. It's a natural bottleneck. We're outnumbered. Pick your battles."

  The alien considered this, his body language indicating his reluctance. Pete wondered why. Did Harpa feel the need to actively drive the pirates away? Pete could understand that -- he'd feel the same way if it were a Navy ship and pirates were given free access to the hold. But a Marine's duty wasn't to guard materiel over people, not if doing so put those people at risk.

  From Harpa's reaction, he didn't see it that way. Distantly, Pete wondered if that was an alien thing, or if it had something to do with these "guilds" that seemed to control things in their society. Did they value the cargo over the crew? Or was it just a territorial, "don't touch my stuff" kind of reaction?

  For that matter, even with all the weird translation glitches they had, why had their term for their organizations come across as an archaic word like guild rather than corporation or association? From the little Pete had seen, they acted like rivals even though their names suggested entirely different spheres of interest.

  "Aquatic Pete," Harpa began, "Think you that--"

  Whatever the reptilian would have said, it was cut off by a blast of electricity that hit him squarely in the chest. Harpa collapsed, arms and legs twitching.

  "Shit!" Pete ducked, and another bolt slammed into the deck, having passed very close to where his head had just been. He twisted to return fire, but only got one shot off. It took him a moment to realize his slide had locked back. "Fuck!"

  He scrambled behind a stack of crates, mentally cursing himself. He'd been shooting pistols since he was seven. He'd easily hit Expert on the Corps' pistol quals each year. He could hear his father yelling at him for not counting his damn shots.

  Pete ejected his mag, swapping it for the full ten-round mag and carefully stashing the empty in his pocket; he might not have any way to get more bullets, but that was an original Browning magazine and he was not going to just drop that on the deck to get lost. He racked the first round and considered his options.

  Five unknown enemies. Fifteen shots left. He couldn't use Harpa's alien rifle because it had some sort of genetic sensor. The sensible thing to do was exactly what he'd told Harpa: retreat to the airlock and hold the choke point. He owed nothing to the aliens. They'd kidnapped him and ten other humans, dropped them in a cargo hold with lights that never shut off, barely enough food to go around, no booze, no smokes, and one damn toilet with zero privacy.

  His job was to protect the humans. Not alien cargo. Not alien crew.

  Not alien Harpa, unconscious on the deck.

  That was the logical thing to do. Pick your battles. Pete's own words to Harpa.

  Fuck logic. Whatever the circumstances, Harpa had fought by his side. If he turned his back now, the ghost of Chesty Puller would fly across the light-years to personally kick his ass.

  "Alright, ETs!" Pete shouted. "I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I haven't been laid in months! Who wants to get shot first?"

  

  Jessica Richards

  Date: Invasion

  Location: More aliens? Seriously?

  The door that no longer led directly to a star-filled emptiness swung inward, and out stepped another alien.

  Jessica wasn't sure what she had expected. Obviously not another human, so of course it would be an alien. And since they'd only seen three so far, and they all looked completely different from each other, she couldn't have expected this one to be familiar. Not exactly.

  It -- he? Did the aliens use gender identification, or was that a human thing? -- was tall, almost as tall as Thando, and very lean. He was dressed in something that almost looked like the riot gear the police wore to student protests at her old university, but had a light layer of red-brown fur where that clothing ended. He had backward-jointed legs, and cold eyes set into an elongated face with a protruding snout. It was almost dog-like, but it curved noticeably downward, and his mouth wasn't as large as a typical canine on Earth. His ears were set close to the top of his skull, long and oddly-shaped, narrow at the base and widening to the top. They stood straight up, but rotated to face forward as the alien watched the humans.

  Jessica glanced at Chris, expecting him to make another "take me to your leader" joke, but apparently he had the sense to realize this was a different situation and stayed silent.

  More creatures followed into the room, other aliens, other species. There were two lizard-like guys similar to Harpa but with different colored scales, another fox-like alien, and something that looked like a bird with arms instead of wings. They were all wearing what seemed like variations on tactical gear fit around their body structures, over garishly multi-colored clothing in bizarre designs. And they were all carrying weapons, pointed at the humans.

  Incredibly, none of them bothered looking behind them. Jessica very carefully didn't look at Nash, who was now standing mostly in the shadow of the now-open door. She didn't know what he was planning, but whatever it was she hoped he'd do it soon.

  "No cargo there is," one of the lizard-aliens complained. "No bounty that was promised. Only smelly nothing."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "Too warm," the avian added, spreading its feathers as if to try to cool off. "And air this burns. What species so much oxygen requires?"

  "These, it appears." The lead alien with the weirdly familiar head gestured toward the humans. "What species you are?"

  Jessica glanced around again, but no one said anything. Finally, she spoke, if only to keep their attention aimed at her. "We're humans."

  The aliens all glanced at the first one to enter. So that one was in charge.

  "What language is that?" he asked.

  "Um . . . English," Jessica answered. "Though I guess you don't really have any context for that. I don't know what language you're spea--"

  "It in our translator database not," the fox-faced alien told the leader.

  "Well, I can understand you just fine," Jessica protested.

  "Our translators aren't two-way," Chris reminded her. "They tell us what they say, but it doesn't go the other direction."

  "Waste of spans," the leader growled. "They must new-discovered species be. Primitives. Ptol Var!"

  "Affirmation, Tinan?" a voice called through the hatch. A green-skinned alien stepped through, oddly human-like. She -- and "she" seemed the proper term, what with the pair of small but obvious breasts set mostly where a human woman's would be -- was dressed in the same cacophonous style but without obvious weaponry. She stopped short as she saw the humans, and her mouth split into a too-wide smile that, with her overly-large eyes and green skin, made her seem almost frog-like. "What those are? New species? Greetings to them!"

  "Primitives," the lead alien, Tinan, repeated. He flicked one of his ears, gesturing to the sleeping mats on the floor. "Librarians them left here. Unimportant. Subvert protocols on hatch so we may our raid continue. Others, kill primitives these."

  Jessica took a step back, nervous, as the aliens raised their weapons. "You might not want to do that."

  "Understanding of your language is impossible, primitive." Tinan's right ear did a weird fold in Jessica's direction, but she had no idea what his body language meant. "No market for slave species unknown, but Domination may pay for knowledge of--"

  Jessica didn't know what it was. Something in the humans' behavior might have clued them in, a stray glance behind them or maybe how studiously they were avoiding looking at Nash. Or perhaps it was some alien instinct that they were being watched. Whatever it was, Tinan picked that moment to start turning to look behind him, his ears going completely flat against his skull, and spotted the human.

  Nash, on the other hand, had clearly been watching them the whole time. With a smoothness that seemed far too graceful for the rough Mexican, he reached out to pluck an object from the nearest reptilian's harness, which flashed in the overhead light.

  A knife, Jessica realized. For a split second, the absurdity of it was all she could think of. Aliens used knives? Like, normal-looking military knives, not something blinking with random lights or with a laser blade?

  She barely had time for that thought before Nash brought the knife down, pointy end first, on that back of that same alien's neck before it had a chance to even turn. Blood, far too dark to look real, splattered on the wall where Nash had been standing; but most of it missed the short Mexican, because he was already on his way to his next victim. The reptilian dropped his weapon and fell to the floor, twitching.

  "Damn." Chris stared in wonder at Nash.

  Nash was already fighting the other reptilian. He didn't have the element of surprise, but he was moving too fast for the alien to aim, ducking and weaving around him, slicing and stabbing with his stolen knife, unable to get a killing blow in but still spilling more blood.

  Tinan snarled and swung his weapon around, but he had to step back to avoid hitting one of his own crew.

  Thando took the opportunity to cross the distance of about twenty feet or so and grab him. The African wasn't nearly as smooth or practiced as Nash -- and who was Nash, anyway, the Mexican John Wick? -- but he was the only one there bigger than the dog-like alien. He brought his full bulk to bear on Tinan, surprising the alien and pinning his weapon against his own body.

  Tinan snarled loudly. "Release me you will, you native with a head full of excrement!"

  Nester triggered his broken drone, zapping the fox-faced alien who had been about to shoot Nash. Most of it hit the alien's rifle, causing an amber light to start rapidly blinking on its side; but enough got through that the alien still stumbled and fell to one knee, apparently dazed and disoriented. The Russian then turned to aim at the avian, but it raised one arm and caught the blast on its feathers, which seemed to shimmer and ripple.

  "Electrical stun you use on a lishtaran?" The avian made a sound that was clearly its species equivalent of a laugh. "The turn is now mine."

  The alien lifted its own weapon one-handed, its other arm still shielding its face, and shot back. Nester managed to dodge, rolling to one side just in time for some kind of projectile to ricochet off of the wall a couple dozen feet away. Nester's drone fell to the floor, more pieces breaking off of it.

  Jessica crouched, hands cradling her head, trying not to make a sound, and fully aware that if any of those shots had gone in her direction there was no way she'd have dodged it. Panic welled inside of her. How was this happening!?

  Hua, who had been standing back next to Jessica and Chris, sprung forward. She rushed the bird-alien, who swung its weapon at her but missed. In a motion that looked far too graceful to be anything but dancing, Hua dropped under the alien's arm and hooked the back of its knee with her foot. The avian fell, its weapon clattering to the floor.

  Another shot rang out, this one a sizzle-crack kind of sound accompanied by an orange flash. Jessica stepped back, startled, and Chris stepped in front of her like he was trying to shield her. Tinan, his giant ears still flattened against his skull, was struggling against Thando's grip and had fired his weapon into the floor during the struggle. The alien couldn't seem to break the African's grip, but Thando also seemed unable to wrestle him to the ground.

  Jessica didn't understand. The alien leader was tall, sure, especially when his ears were raised; but other than the width of his shoulders, he just wasn't as bulky as Thando. The African man was large and almost as chiseled as a Hollywood action hero, but he was straining to move Tinan like the alien was two or three times larger.

  Or, she realized, like he was heavier than he looked. She glanced at Nash, who was still fighting with the second reptilian -- the same species as Harpa, who had taken both Nash and Pete working together to pin to the floor. The reptilian was covered in cuts where his skin was exposed, but he was still on his feet. Were aliens just . . . heavy? What did that even mean? Tinan didn't seem particularly strong, straining as he was against Thando; and the first reptilian didn't seem extra tough, since Nash had . . . killed him in one hit.

  Whatever it was, Thando was effectively in a stalemate unless someone did something. But Nash and Hua were busy with their own fights, and Nester was frantically trying to get his drone working again. That left her and Chris. Jessica eyed the short, chubby Japanese guy standing in front of her like a bodyguard. Sure, he wasn't the teenager she'd thought he was, but he looked even more useless in a fight than her.

  And what could she do? Jessica hated violence. She'd signed every anti-violence petition in college. She'd stood in protests. And here she was, regretting that she didn't know how to fight. Other people were fighting for her. Even Pete, who represented everything she'd stood against back on Earth.

  She felt utterly useless. All she could do was watch as Hua, Nash, and Thando fought. And that fox-faced alien was starting to get up again -- the stun effect, or whatever it was, from Nash's drone had apparently worn off. Jessica looked around and saw the green-skinned alien was over by the door into the ship's interior, completely ignoring them all as she worked on an open panel. Jessica hadn't realized the panel was there, but at least that was one less alien.

  Tinan snarled loudly. He tried to slam his weight against Thando, which caused the big human to grunt and slide back a step. Seeming to realize this advantage, the alien stopped struggling against Thando's grip as much and instead tried using his greater mass to force his assailant off-balance. His ears, which had been flattened against his skull, rose slightly in what Jessica thought might be triumph.

  His very mobile and expressive ears . . .

  Before could second-guess herself, Jessica hurried over to Tinan and Thando. "I know you don't understand what I'm saying, you murderous bastard," she growled, causing Tinan to look at her in surprise. "But you can go to space hell."

  Then she reached out, grabbed his raised ear, and pulled.

  Tinan howled in pain, dropping to the floor like he'd been kicked in the balls. Jessica wondered briefly if his species even had balls. Realizing that the alien had briefly loosened his grip on his weapon, she kicked it hard, sending it sliding across the floor.

  "Thanks!" Without that to worry about, Thando shifted his grip so his arm squeezed across Tinan's neck in a half-nelson. "You probably don't have all the parts of a normal person," he grunted, "but you still need air."

  "Jessica!" Chris yelled. "Look out!"

  Jessica turned to look at Chris, which she realized was stupid a split second too late. She completed her turn to see what Chris was looking at, and came face-to-gun-barrel with the fox-like alien that Nester had shot. She flinched as he pulled the trigger from only a few feet away.

  Nothing happened.

  Both Jessica and the alien looked down at his weapon. There was a rapidly-blinking amber light on the side, accompanied by a disapproving beep as the alien tried the trigger again. Then it sparked, and the alien hurriedly dropped it.

  "Insufferable primitives!" the alien snarled, pulling a knife from its waist. "Expensive was that weapon!"

  Jessica screamed as something slammed into her side -- Chris, she realized. The pudgy nerd then fell to one knee, gasping like he was out of breath. For a moment, Jessica thought that was all it was -- he was obviously out of shape, after all -- but then she saw the blood on his shirt. She was barely aware of Nester rushing forward swinging his broken drone like a club at the alien who'd just stabbed Chris.

  Who'd just tried to stab her.

  Chris coughed, and flecks of red stained his teeth as he smiled at her. "Told you . . . I'd . . . protect you . . ."

  "Chris!" Jessica screamed again, as she tried to catch him.

  

  Knizz Porzt

  Date: 15.7.3.6.218 HC

  Location: Cargo bay of prey ship Curious Observer

  "Get those crates loaded." Knizz's frustration came out as a harsh trill. "Hurry! If we cannot secure the hold, we must not return with empty manipulators. Mta will have our thoraxes if we do."

  "She is not that unforgiving," Plenaril Varn protested over the radio.

  "To you, perhaps." Knizz checked the charge level on his laser rifle once again. He did not want to be caught unready. This had looked like such an easy acquisition, but now two of his crew had been killed. "Have you repaired the drone yet?"

  "Negation. So I am loading crates as you ordered."

  Knizz suppressed a screech of frustration and tucked his antennae closer. They had no drone support as long as the second one was generating its disruption field; and if he ordered Plenaril to cancel that, the two Farmers defending the ship would be able to use their better weaponry. Not that it seemed much of an issue. The first Farmer had been as accurate as an Orbital Combat Agent with electrical stun strikes, and the second was using some kind of loud weapon -- an experimental design, able to use targeting assistance even through a disruption field?

  If so, that would be a prize. His share of the sale to the Domination would be enough to buy entry into a high-status harem.

  "One of you, get to the stunned Farmer," Knizz ordered. "Make sure he is killed."

  "We do not know the position of the other!" one of his crew protested.

  "I will be ready for him." His segmented eyes could see the faint traces of heat-glow invisible to most species without special equipment. "He hides from my weapon. Go."

  Reluctantly, one of his crew, a prangalian, moved forward. Her plasma rifle was slung across her back, useless as long as the disruption field was active. She had a short-range stunner in her hand, with an effective range of barely four marks -- practically a melee weapon, but it was all she had.

  "Knizz." Plenaril spoke over the radio. "Tinan's team broke contact. There appears to be fighting in the other cargo bay."

  "Good," Knizz chirped. "Tinan could benefit from--"

  "Discovery!" his other crew-member shouted, firing a stunner between stacks of crates.

  "What did you see?" Knizz demanded. The afterglow of the electrical blast made it impossible to pick out any lingering heat-trails.

  "Something -- I affirm it was there! But it moved fast!"

  Knizz cursed the void-spawned Librarians; bringing Farmer soldiers on a research vessel was not fair. "Plenaril! Disable the--"

  His pranglian crew-member -- Knizz knew he should remember their names, but they were simply too inexperienced for him to care -- also triggered his stunner. In the opposite direction. Were there two of them? The drone had only picked up two heat signatures.

  "Disable the disruption field, Plenaril!" Knizz chirped harshly into his radio. "Return it to scouting mod--"

  Two loud claps sounded, like the simulated thunder on the orbital habitat where Knizz had been hatched. The prangalian screamed and fell, hot blood-spray glowing a vibrant purple in Knizz's infrared sight.

  "Snik!" his remaining crew-member yelled.

  Affirmation -- that was the Prangalian's name; Knizz remembered it finally. Too late for it to matter, of course. Snik had not been very interesting anyway.

  "Knizz," Plenaril radioed back, "it will take a few ticks."

  Once more, that strange, alien language called out to them from the shadows. Terrible words, seeming to mock them. "Yipikiyi, mudhr ferkeh."

  Knizz froze at the sound, wondering what the words meant, and why his thorax tightened so instinctively. "Do it now, Plenaril! Or I will have your green hide for a tunic!"

  Movement caught his attention, and Knizz swung his laser rifle up in time to see the heat-glow of a creature's passage -- above him. The Farmer was jumping from stack to stack! Knizz triggered his laser twice, but the creature kept ahead of both shots.

  That certainly narrowed the possible species they were faced with. If it was a lishtaran, it would explain its agility and comfort with heights, as well as why it was seemingly unconcerned for stunner blasts.

  One more thunderclap rang out. Knizz's remaining crew-member stumbled into view, attempting to aim his weapon; then another thunderclap, and his head exploded in a spray of blood.

  "Smash the egg!" Knizz had had enough and began running for the hatch. "Prep for detachment! Back to the ship! Immediate--"

  Knizz might have abandoned the Hegemony Compact cycles ago, but unlike many of his fellow dissidents and separatists, he refused to join religious cults. Whether they believed in living star-spirits, ancient gods of forgotten worlds, or the indifferent creator-god of the Dominion's war on eternity -- he believed them all false delusions now just as much as when his mother's harem had taught him.

  But as the strange, smooth-skinned alien stepped in front of him, the impossible radiant heat of its body making it glow in the dark of the cargo bay, Knizz found himself believing in something supernatural for the first time. He raised his prized laser weapon; but the other being was faster, and Knizz saw his own death reflected in the creature's heat-glow.

  And Knizz's last thought was the realization that he did, after all, believe in demons.

  very nervous when it sparked), and the lishtaran (the avian) had a weapon that launches physical projectiles called flechette darts. Knizz had a laser rifle, because someone needed a classic ray gun in all of this.