Conquistadors!, page 6
“Hold position,” the captain ordered. “No one enters or leaves.”
Martín nodded and checked in with the rest of the team. The locals might be armed, but resistance had been minimal ... and futile. That would change, he was sure, as the locals realised they were under attack ... there was no way, unless they’d grossly overestimated the local technology, to keep word from spreading. His superiors might be a little overconfident, given how easily they’d overrun the town, but they knew better than to assume the rest of the campaign would go the same way. The locals had been taken completely by surprise. They’d lost before they’d even realised they were under attack. The next engagement would be far harder.
Another icon blinked up in front of him. A local car was driving down the road, straight towards the town – and the infantry. He took up position and waited, his mind churning. What was it going to be? Someone who had no idea what was lying in wait, or an enemy scout trying to determine their strength before a counterattack was mustered and launched? The drones were fanning out further now, hunting for enemy troops and finding none, but that was meaningless. The locals had aircraft. They presumably knew how to hide from drones, too.
A pair of headlights came into view. Martín tensed. It was time.
***
Fucking waste of my fucking time, Sally Luanne thought, as she drove down the road. Fucking monumental assholes ...
She cursed again and again, the car lurching slightly as it hit a pothole. She’d gone to law school and done well ... and for what? There were so many newly graduated lawyers that the big firms could pick and choose their recruits, and none had chosen her. Sally had been trying to get a job for the last year, all too aware her student loans needed to be repaid before she could even begin to build a life for herself, and it had proven futile. She was too inexperienced, or too young, or simply too far away. The really big law firms were in Washington or New York and moving there was so far beyond her budget she might as well have dreamed of migrating to the moon. There was only one law firm in Flint and the bastard who ran it steadfastly refused to die, let alone take on a prospective partner. Sally had been desperate enough to try to seduce him – she had little else to offer – but he hadn’t been interested. It was being a woman, she knew it. Or something. Her ambitions had been squashed before they’d even gotten off the ground.
The car wobbled again. Sally blinked, wishing she’d thought to bring more coffee. She’d been driving most of the day, after heading all the way to the nearest city for an interview that had been nothing more than a meaningless formality – she hadn’t needed anyone to tell her the fix was in; that had been clear the moment she arrived – and heading back, if only because she was too broke to rent a room at a roadside motel. Not that she would, she reflected tiredly. The nearby motels were either insanely expensive, by local standards, or sleazy enough to be dangerous for a young woman. It wasn’t fair, but what was? She’d been born in Flint, a town that had been prosperous until the factories closed, and it was starting to look as though she was going to die there. Half the girls she’d known as a child were already single mothers, or lost to drugs and despair ... she feared, sometimes, that she would go the same way. Or worse. She was starting to think she’d wasted her time at law school.
She frowned as the road curved and headed down towards the town. It was surprisingly dark ... probably another power cut. The infrastructure had been failing for years and no one cared enough to try to fix it, certainly not the governor in his air-conditioned mansion in Austin. He might as well have been on the other side of the world, for all the care he paid to the poor and desperate. Her headlights briefly illuminated a VOTE TRUMP sign no one had bothered to take down, even though the election had been years ago. Trump had been and Trump had gone and nothing had improved, not really. Sally wasn’t surprised. The man had promised too much to have any real hope of success, even if he’d had the best will in the world ...
And something was ahead of her. A roadblock?
Sally hit the brakes, the car skidding to a halt. That was all she needed. The local sheriff wasn’t that bad – he’d been quite understanding of minor and local issues – but the state police had a bad reputation, particularly when it came to harassing drivers. She had no idea why they’d set up shop on the edge of town, particularly so early in the morning, yet ... she gritted her teeth, wondering if they’d make a fuss about the busted rear light. She didn’t have the money to fix it, or ...
Her eyes opened wide as she saw the figures standing beside the roadblock. They wore silver suits that covered them from head to toe, carrying weapons that looked to have come right out of a science-fiction movie. Sally stared, wondering what the hell she’d just driven into ... a trap? There were all sorts of horror stories about bandits pushing buggies into the path of oncoming drivers, forcing them to slow down so they could be robbed or murdered, but this ... whoever they were, they clearly weren’t the State Police. A flash of panic shot through her – she knew a girl who had driven out one day and never returned; her body, discovered weeks later, had been so badly mutilated they’d buried her in a closed coffin – and she gunned the engine, trying to get back before it was too late. One of the figures raised a hand and shot ... something ... into the hood. The engine ground to a halt, the stench of smoke assailing her nostrils. She was suddenly sure the car was about to explode, that she’d be burnt to death if she stayed where she was. She threw open the door and climbed out, unsure what she should be doing. What were these people?
“Keep your hands in the air,” a voice said. It was weirdly atonal, as if it were produced by a primitive computer. “Walk forward.”
Sally’s earlier thoughts returned to haunt her. The figures were ... alien? Sally’s father was a gun nut, and she knew how to handle a gun, but she’d never seen anything like the weapons the figures were holding. She bit her lip hard, trying to concentrate. The proportions were human, she thought, but ... but what? Did that mean anything? Or ...
A figure ran a device – she guessed it was a scanner – over her body, then confiscated her keys, smartphone and pepper spray. She kicked herself for not having thought to grab her phone earlier to record the encounter, although ... she still didn’t know what was going on. The figures seemed to look at her, then motioned for her to follow. Sally wasn’t sure if she should lower her hands or not, so she settled for resting them on her head. If they took offense ... she hoped they’d tell her. She stared at the figure, wondering if he was wearing a biohazard suit of some kind. Had something nasty gotten loose in the town? There were rumours about diseases resurfacing, after humanity had beaten them, but she didn’t recall hearing anything definite. But if that was the case, why were they taking her into the town? It made no sense.
She felt an odd little pit in her stomach as they walked through the streets. A pair of bodies were lying on the ground, unmoving. She recognised one as the town bum, a man forever begging for money to support his habit; the other was a stranger, probably one of the wanderers who moved from town to town in hope of a better life. Many homes were dark, but she thought she saw eyes in the darkness, scared townspeople staring at the force that had invaded their streets. A low tingle ran through the air as a vehicle moved up the street, towards them, and ... Sally swallowed, hard. The vehicle – it was clearly a tank, bristling with weapons – was hovering above the ground, rather than resting on tracks. Her last desperate hope that there was a rational human explanation vanished as the tank glided past her and vanished into the darkness. Two more followed, their gun barrels traversing as they searched for targets. Somehow, she had no doubt they were perfectly capable of slaughtering anything they encountered.
Her mind stopped dead, just for a second, as she saw the dark shape where ... where half the town had been, only yesterday. It was impossible ... where the hell had it even come from? And what had happened to the rest of the town? Sally had grown to hate Flint over the years – she wanted out, and she didn’t care what price she had to pay – but she didn’t want everyone dead. She wanted ... her captor led her to what had once been the sports field and pushed her through a gap in the fence. It had been turned into a makeshift prison camp ... Sally almost giggled, remembering a conspiracy theorist who’d insisted the government funding for the field was actually a secret plan to build a network of prisons for patriots, gun owners and everyone else who refused to believe government lies. She’d thought him a crazy old loon, but now ...
She sagged, and barely managed to sit down before her legs gave out. The camp was surrounded by bright lights, driving away the shadows and ensuring there was nowhere to hide. A handful of other people were sitting or lying on the ground, the latter set carefully in the recovery position. Sally had no idea what had happened to them, but she doubted it had been pleasant. One was twitching so violently she feared he’d been given an electric shock. It didn’t look as if anyone was trying to help. She didn’t blame them. The victim was a man everyone knew would come to a bad end one day.
Her heart sank as she looked around. The looming building – whatever it was – was half-shrouded in darkness, but she could see a steady stream of floating tanks and smaller vehicles heading into the unknown. She started to count their numbers, then gave up at thirty. It looked as if they’d brought enough firepower to conquer the whole country. Armoured men marched beside the tanks, some carrying weapons and devices; others were clearly on the alert for trouble. A handful appeared to be keeping an eye on the prisoners, although it was hard to be sure. Their suits hid their faces ... if they had faces. She frowned as she spotted a small party keeping their distance from the rest, then sucked in her breath as they removed their helmets. She’d half-expected aliens, after everything she’d seen, but they were human. And surprisingly diverse.
And if they’re human ... Sally composed herself with an effort. Aliens were ... well, alien ... but humans were predictable. If they really were aliens ... she ignored the part of her mind that suggested they might be alien minds in human bodies ... there was an opportunity here, perhaps more than one. The fact they hadn’t killed her and everyone else suggested they were bent on conquest, rather than slaughter. What can I do with this?
Her ambitions sharpened. She had no idea who they were, or what they wanted, but she could make herself useful to them. They would need native guides, she was sure; they’d need someone who could explain the lay of the land. Who knew what would happen then? Who knew how far it could take her? And if it meant committing treason against her country ...
What had her country ever done for her?
Chapter Six: Flint, Texas, North America, Timeline F (OTL)
Dawn broke, the sun shedding bright light over the occupied town.
Captain-General James Montrose stood in the command centre and stared down at the holographic image of the alternate town. Flint – as good a name as any, he supposed – was thoroughly weird, a strange mix of advanced technology and primitive devices that wouldn’t have been out of place in Timeline B. The locals lived in squalor – their drains were appalling, their streets littered with garbage – and yet they had technology that should have served as the key to a better life. They had cars and weapons, far more than would ever have been permitted back home, and communications devices ... they even had a datanet-like system, the internet. The advance guard had also discovered a pair of aircraft, resting in a tiny airfield. They were primitive compared to their own flyers, but light-years ahead of anything from any other timeline. It just made no sense.
Stuart joined him. “Resistance was minimal, sir,” he said. “They had no time to prepare.”
“Good,” James said, curtly. The intelligence staff would complete their preliminary assessment shortly. “Remind the troops to keep the locals indoors as much as possible and keep order in the streets.”
“Yes, sir,” Stuart said, stiffly.
James smiled tiredly, then frowned as the display expanded. The long-range sensors were picking up aircraft – so far, none had come near the lodgement but that would change – and orbiting satellites, staring down at them. Their arrival had clearly done a great deal of damage – the local technology hadn’t been shielded against the energy flux – but far too many orbital spies had been on the wrong side of the world and were now shifting into position to take a good look at the newcomers. It was weirdly disconcerting, not least because he didn’t know just what they’d encountered. Prudence said to take down the satellites as quickly as possible- they were easy targets – but it would be very far from diplomatic.
His intercom changed. “Sir,” Abigail Hatter said. “Please could you join me in my suite?”
“Take command,” James ordered Stuart. “Don’t expand the lodgement any further, but don’t let anyone in or out either.”
“Yes, sir.”
James turned and headed down to the intelligence department. Their position was precarious, even though the locals didn’t seem to have orbital weapons platforms or even a major space program. The sensors had spotted no Luna base, no ships making their way to the asteroids and back ... nothing beyond hundreds of orbiting satellites, none of which were advanced enough to prove more than a minor nuisance. It felt profoundly wrong to be watched from orbit – normally, their enemies didn’t have any way to spy on them – but he could correct it in a moment, if they chose war. He was fortunate, he supposed, that there hadn’t been time for his captains to unite against him. They would, once they knew what they were facing.
“Sir,” Abigail looked tired and thoroughly disgusted. “Sir, these people are degenerates!”
James raised his eyebrows as he took his seat. “All of them?”
“Enough.” Abigail took a breath. “They have an internet that’s about as secure as ... as a door that is not only left unlocked, but open as well. Half of it appears to be nothing more than pornography, vile enough to shock even one of our degenerates. Sex intermingled with violence, scenes involving adults and stepchildren ... even scenes involving actual children. They’re not even trying to hide it! Their entire culture is steeped in degeneracy!”
“Really?” James wasn’t sure what to make of it. “They don’t keep their children out ...?”
“Their computer tech is no match for ours,” Abigail said. The anger and disgust in her voice was all too clear. “We have no difficulty hacking their systems, but really ... they’re not hiding anything from themselves. A child could get onto a computer and see things that ... that can’t fail to warp their minds. Or worse. These aren’t French Postcards, sir. This is pornography so vile that ...”
She shook her head. “Their culture is sick. Their TV shows and movies are practically pornographic by our standards, even ones aimed at children and teenagers. They’re not trying to impart the right lessons, but shock and excite. Their popular music is even worse. The top of their charts, right now, is a song called Fuck Cancel Culture, followed rapidly by Rape the Bitch Now. The first is surprisingly catchy; the latter is accompanied by a video that would be banned back home, with everyone involved sent to jail for life. They raise children in this garbage and they expect sane, reasonable adults?”
James held up a hand. “First things first,” he said. “Do we have a technological edge ... and, if so, how big is it?”
Abigail calmed herself with an effort. “Their development is somewhat schizoid by our standards,” she said. “Their computer tech is at roughly 1900 levels; their rocketry and space program barely at 1850, although they do seem to be finally trying to get themselves into space to stay. Their weapons appear to be, at most, 1900 levels too ... I have to caution you, though, that our preliminary assessment may be misleading. Their stealth aircraft are primitive compared to ours, but more advanced than anything we had at ... well, roughly the same level of technological development. They may have other surprises.”
“I see,” James said. “Nukes? Lasers? Plasma weapons?”
“They have nukes,” Abigail said. “Their lasers appear to be quite low-power by our standards, and plasma weapons appear to be purely theoretical.”
James shook his head in disbelief. “How ... what happened?”
Abigail took a breath. “It’s hard to say for sure,” she said. “Their online databases often contradict themselves. I’ve got the minibrains trying to put together a consensus, at least in general terms, but it may take some time before we have a proper outline of their historical development. What we do know ... there’s no Protectorate here. And never truly was.”
“Pardon?”
“Apparently, in this timeline, the Protectorate stagnated after the death of Charles Stuart and his son was apparently invited back, after Richard Cromwell proved incapable of maintaining his father’s state. Quite how he succeeded his father I haven’t been able to figure out, not yet, but ... the steam revolution never took place. Britain became a monarchy again, colonised America, lost America, built an even bigger empire and lost it again ...”
She keyed her terminal, displaying a map. “This is the current political situation,” she added. “To call this world disunited is to understate the case.”
James sucked in his breath. The Protectorate had always held that advanced technology always led to planetary unification, with the bigger nation-states absorbing the others until there were only a handful left. Here ... there looked to be nearly two hundred independent nations, from giant entities such as the United States of America and Russia to states so tiny their neighbours could have overwhelmed them with ease. Why hadn’t they? The map in front of him looked like an insane version of Conquest, a game he’d played as a child, not something that could be real. He was tempted to ask her to check her results, just in case they’d made a terrible mistake. The scene in front of him made even his indomitable ego quail.
