by James Rosone
McGinnis missed New Eden. He’d spent a little over three years in the new colony. It had been a slugfest fighting the Zodarks for a while, but they had mostly been hunted down and dealt with at this point.
McGinnis stretched his back, soaking up the rays of the three suns in the afternoon sky. He let the warm rays wash over him, wiping away the stress of the last couple years of war off him. This place felt peaceful, it felt inviting…and it felt like home.
“Ah, there you are, General McGinnis. It’s good to see you again,” said Governor Crawley. “I was very happy to hear your force was coming back to New Eden after these last two campaigns.”
The two men shook hands. McGinnis didn’t usually care for politicians one bit. That said, he’d really come to like David Crawley, the Governor of New Eden. The two of them were practically two peas from the same pod. Perhaps that was why they worked so well together.
“It’s good to be back home, my friend,” said McGinnis. “Let’s walk and talk away from everyone so you can fill me in on what’s been going on since I’ve been gone.”
McGinnis turned to his aide. “The governor and I are heading into the city. Tell everyone to get settled in for the day. Have the Chief of Staff put together a light-duty rotation with a special focus on giving as many soldiers as possible a forty-eight-hour pass to the city. Tell General Rossi I’ll talk with him later today.”
His aide nodded and dutifully left to carry out his wishes.
“Let’s go, David,” said McGinnis. “We have lots to talk about.”
Crawley smiled, seemingly amused at how quickly the general had just dispensed with an enormous amount of work. “Right this way, Ross. It only took Tesla five years to get the damn factory built with a limited number of vehicles a month being fabricated, but I’ve finally gotten some decent vehicles for us to use.”
As they walked away from the shuttlecraft and into the spaceport, they headed to a parking area reserved for VIPs.
“Tesla, eh? No Ford or GM out here?” asked McGinnis with a grin.
Crawley laughed at the question. “No, we’ve got them as well. I just happen to like the new Tesla. It’s fast as hell, and it’s comfortable.”
“Eh, they all seem the same to me these days. All electric and practically nothing new or different about them,” replied McGinnis.
“Oh, did I forget to mention the newest Tesla model is a hovercar?” inquired Crawley.
Stopping dead in his tracks, McGinnis exclaimed, “Shut the hell up! Tell me I heard that wrong?”
Crawley let out a deep belly laugh out. “It’s real, Ross.” He pointed to the car parked just outside the floor-to-ceiling window.
General McGinnis admired the car in awe. It was incredible, and larger than most of the puny cars these days. He was a bit of a car snob, and Crawley knew that about him.
McGinnis had grown up in the Show-Me State of Missouri, where his family had owned four Ford dealerships in and around Kansas City on both sides of the state. His family had been in the car business since the 1930s, so they’d been around a long time.
As he looked over the new Tesla, McGinnis thought that if he had to describe what it looked like, it resembled a 2021 Bentley Continental GT convertible—the really old first-edition model of the car that had become a legend for the Bentley brand. McGinnis’s great-grandfather had been so smitten by the car and the design he had actually purchased a single Bentley dealership license all the way down in Springfield, Missouri, the only place in the state where he could get one.
Nearing the vehicle, McGinnis asked, “Is Tesla the only one with hovercars?”
Crawley nodded. “For the moment, yes. This is one of the first ones. As a matter of fact, they’re only being allowed for commercial use on New Eden. I guess they want to figure out how they’ll function in society before they release them back on Earth with its twelve billion people.”
McGinnis gently ran his hand across the smooth shell of the body of the vehicle as he walked along the side of it and then around it. He was taking in every detail, every little feature he could as he sized it up.
“Can I drive it?” he finally asked.
Crawley laughed. “Not a chance. This bad boy set me back a good chunk of change, and you don’t have a clue how to operate one yet.”
General McGinnis smiled and shook his head. He climbed in the passenger seat of this new vehicle he found himself enamored with and noted how the interior looked like the cockpit of a fighter. He was ready to roll.
Governor Crawley pushed the ignition button, and the car came to life. In seconds, a digital HUD appeared across the windshield, providing them with several key pieces of data.
“Buckle up, Ross. I’m going to take you on a tour of the capital so you can see what’s changed since you’ve been gone. Then we’ll head over to the Ocean View for dinner. I’ve got us a reservation in a private room so we can eat and not be disturbed.”
When Crawley placed the vehicle in gear, it took off. Gentle, soft, and so smooth McGinnis realized he hardly noticed they were already doing almost one hundred and sixty kilometers per hour.
With the wind blowing through his loosely cropped hair, McGinnis held his right hand out and allowed it to flow up and down with the wind, just like he used to do as a kid with his great-grandpa. He loved convertibles. They reminded him of happier times with family, back before the discovery of the Zodarks and this never-ending war they seemed to have been drafted into.
Crawley steered them to the center lane of the highway, to what McGinnis assumed was the express lane. When their vehicle entered the travel lane, Crawley turned another knob and depressed a different ignition button. While they continued to advance at a good clip, moments later, they gained altitude until they were thirty meters above the ground.
“Oh wow. Is that really it? That’s how easy it is to turn this thing into a hovercar?” McGinnis asked, in disbelief at how simple and seamless the process appeared to be.
Crawley smiled and nodded. “It is. Once the vehicle shifts modes, it glides six to nine meters in the air when a small set of wings fold out from underneath the driver and passenger doors of the car. If you look down, you’ll see them. They aren’t very big, but they help provide the car with some lift and the flaps to raise or lower our altitude. If you turn around, you’ll also see a small tail has emerged from the back, which gives us another set of flaps to steer from left to right.”
“This is amazing, David. How high can you fly this thing, and how fast?”
Keeping his eyes fixed on the “road” in front of them, Crawley answered, “Not as high as you’d think. The hovercars only have enough juice to get you up to speeds of around five hundred kilometers per hour once in the air. As to altitude, again, they don’t have a lot of lift or big wings, so they’re constrained by those limitations. I think the maximum altitude is around one hundred and fifty meters.
“We’re doing a lot of testing and safety evaluation with the Department of Transportation so they can figure out how to regulate these vehicles back on Earth. Right now, people driving north have to fly at altitudes of fifteen to twenty meters and no more than three hundred and fifty kilometers per hour. People flying west fly between thirty to forty meters. We’ve basically established a buffer of ten meters between each lane. Also, because we’re talking vertically, we’re stacking the hovercraft lanes on top of each other. This ensures we don’t have any accidents in the air,” Crawley finished explaining as they zipped past some traffic.
As the two of them were talking, McGinnis saw another hovercar heading right for them. He was about to point it out to his friend when he saw on the HUD that the car coming toward them was more than thirty meters above them, just like Crawley said they would be. Moments later, it zipped right over them.
General McGinnis felt exhilarated by the experience. “Damn, this is cool, my friend. So, tell me, how has the colonization been going while I’ve been gone?”
“It’s strange, Ross,” said
Crawley. “Sometimes things go incredibly quick. We’ll get a major construction project or housing development built. Then another project will drag on or stop altogether because we run out of supplies. We’ve made good progress getting a lot of manufacturing plants built; however, there are still some items we can’t produce yet. We’re still a few years away from having all of the facilities we need to be fully independent of Earth for critical supplies—”
McGinnis interrupted, “Have you brought this up to the Chancellor or anyone else back on Earth?”
“I have, multiple times,” Crawley responded, sounding a bit irritated. “When I inquired about the supply problem, I was told most of our transports were being diverted to support a major alliance campaign. They said it should only be a short-term problem and not to worry about it. Then when it persisted, they told me another campaign had started, and it might be a while longer until the system levels out again. I’m hoping that since your army appears to be settling back in on New Eden, it might mean our logistic network can get caught up again.”
McGinnis grunted at the news; he’d had no idea his last two campaigns had practically halted the colonization efforts of New Eden. Getting this colony fully independent and operational was a critical priority of both the Republic and the Empire. New Eden needed to be a launchpad for future operations. It also needed to be able to support the war effort by building ships.
The two sat in silence as they rode to the city, and McGinnis admired the skyline. He thought they’d done a good job of developing the planet, even if they were short on supplies. They had specifically engineered these new megacities to support millions of people without overwhelming the public transportation system they were building. A network of subway tubes and delivery supply systems lay underneath the city. Instead of having delivery trucks clogging the roads, they had created a unique network of underground roads and a separate subway system to deliver food and other goods to the basements of the buildings.
Some of the finished buildings stretched to the heavens, reaching as high as fourteen hundred meters. They contained as many as three hundred and fifty floors of living or commercial space. Interestingly enough, at the hundred and then three hundred floor levels, there was a specially designed five-story gap built to provide a couple of functions. One, it gave a break in the building to allow for air to move more freely. It also acted as a firebreak should they ever need one. The gaps in the building had been turned into green spaces with flowers, hanging vines, and trees, increasing oxygen production and helping to bring joy to the citizens of this new city.
“For dealing with a supply problem, you have done a great job building the place up since I’ve been gone,” McGinnis commented, in awe of the cityscape.
“I think we owe that to the Altairians and a small army of construction Synths,” Crawley commented. “Walburg Technologies finished building a manufacturing plant two years ago. The synthetics even have their own supply and logistic system, so they bring in all their own components. They’ve been able to ramp up production to around two thousand Synths a week, but they still can’t keep up with the demand.”
“How about immigration? Is that still happening?” asked McGinnis.
Crawley followed a turn in the highway in the sky before answering. “It is, but it’s slowed like everything else. We’re still receiving one Ark transport a month, plus maybe three dozen smaller ones. I think the immigration numbers are somewhere around ninety thousand a month—nowhere near what we need them to be. Even with the supply shortages, we’re slowing down the construction of the skyline. We’re building up too much capacity.”
“Well, hopefully, that’ll change now that we’re back home,” McGinnis countered. “I believe the next campaign isn’t slated to start for close to a year. They want to wait until more of our new ships are finished. We have a lot of reorganization and training that needs to happen before this next campaign.”
“I heard about the losses. It sounds like it was a real slugfest out there,” Crawley said softly.
Ross reflected before answering. He took in some of the finished buildings and some of the ones under construction, lost in thought for a moment. The casualties from the campaigns weighed heavily on him. He’d lost more than a hundred and thirty thousand soldiers. Four times that number had been injured and, luckily, able to return to duty, but it had been a costly campaign.
“It was,” McGinnis finally admitted. “Now it’s time to rest and recoup as we prepare for the next one. So, how long until we reach this restaurant you were telling me about? I’m eager to eat some fresh food that doesn’t come from a replicator.”
“Come on, Ross, they aren’t that bad,” Crawley said with a laugh. “But don’t worry, we’re probably ten minutes away. Then you can try some fresh seafood from this new world of ours. It’s really delicious, and it’s healthy, according to my doctor.”
*******
Camp Victory
Third Army Headquarters
Lieutenant General Ross McGinnis said nothing, but he was very aware that his facial expression clearly said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
General Benni Pilsner, the Army Chief of Staff, responded, “I know, Ross. Your army just got back from a brutal multiyear campaign. But you’re our most battle-hardened force. If we send Army Group Two, you know it’ll take a ton of casualties learning what your force already knows. AG1 is out of the question—the Chancellor won’t let them leave Sol. They’re on standby in case the Zodarks or Orbots decide to launch an attack on Earth or Mars.”
“General Pilsner, sir, you know my force is down to seventy-six percent,” McGinnis countered, frustrated. “We’re not even close to being ready for another deployment. My people are worn out. They need some time to recuperate before they’ll be ready for another long campaign.”
“It’s just the two of us, Ross. Call me Benni,” said Pilsner, who turned away briefly as he took a deep breath. “Ross, I’m not happy about this request either. I don’t think our forces are ready for another major campaign. I’m still trying to get the Army up to its required size, and that’s taking time. It didn’t help that we had two major campaigns going on, chewing through soldiers as fast as we could get them trained.”
McGinnis snorted angrily at the comment. “It wasn’t as if we were trying to make your recruitment job any harder,” he retorted icily. “The bastards know how to fight, and we still don’t have the best equipment to fight them with.”
Pilsner held a hand up in mock surrender. “That’s not what I meant, Ross. Your men fought bravely and did a hell of a job. You’re frustrated at the rate and size of these campaigns, and I’m frustrated at the number of people I’m being told we have to draft and train every month to fight in a war that appears to have no end or strategic purpose.”
General McGinnis lifted an eyebrow at that last comment. It caught him off guard. “So you think something is up with this war too?”
Pilsner furrowed his own brow and didn’t say anything for a minute. Then his eyes darted to the brown liquid in a beautiful decanter on the side of the room. He got up and walked over to it. He filled two ornately decorated Glencairn glasses to the brim and brought them over to where the two of them were sitting.
McGinnis took the bourbon he’d been offered and sipped on it.
Pilsner gazed into the glass, deep in thought, then downed nearly his entire drink before he spoke next. “I’m not sure I like this alliance, Ross,” he said quietly. “Oh, and this conversation stays between us.”
McGinnis nodded but didn’t say anything; he wanted to let Pilsner do the talking. As a result of being off fighting for the last two and a half years, McGinnis felt rather clueless as to what had been going on back home.
Pilsner continued, “When we joined nearly three years ago, the Galactic Empire handed us a list of economic and military requirements for us to meet as part of the GE. I don’t know what all the economic requirements are, but I know some of the folks in those departm
ents are just as stressed as I am about meeting them. From a military standpoint, we’ve been directed to create a twenty-million-person force over five years. I told the Altairians that was impossible because, the way our military force is structured, basic training is only part of their training—they then go on to their secondary or advanced training for their specific job. The Altairians adjusted our timeline: instead of five years, they gave us seven.”
McGinnis sat there in stunned silence as Pilsner explained things. He finished off his glass and then got up to grab the bottle. He had a feeling they were going to need it. He caught a glance of the clock on the wall. It was 1823 hours. Well after quitting time. McGinnis poured Pilsner another glass, and the old general continued.
“Ross, we’ve known each other for coming up on fifty years, so I’m going to be blunt with you. I think we humans are being used as cannon fodder to fight in this war. I say this because the first campaign on Intus, while successful, had no strategic value toward ending the war. When that battle was done, they immediately invaded and captured Rass, which I concede did have some strategic value as it placed GE forces on the border of Zodark-controlled space.
“What we should have done, and what I know Admiral Hunt proposed to the Altairians through the Galactic Empire war council, was launch an immediate invasion of the Zodark territory. I saw a copy of Admiral Hunt’s proposal. He pushed forward a plan to invade Tueblets. You may not know where that is on the star map, but let me tell you something about this system. Aside from it being one of their core worlds, it’s also a transit hub. Tueblets, for whatever reason, has nine stargates in the system. Admiral Hunt planned for us to attack the system and seize control of it. In doing so, we’d effectively cut the Zodark Empire in half. From this position, we’d be able to attack their systems one by one until we captured them all or forced the Zodarks to sue for peace.”
“Let me guess, the Altairians disagreed?” asked McGinnis dryly.
