Black Infinity

by Salvador Mercer

  “If we do more, we could very well face an increased reaction?” Rock asked.

  “Definitely,” Marge said.

  “So we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t.”

  “Pretty much,” Marge said, “though mostly damned, especially if the Chinese or Russians do anything rash.”

  Eyes in the room turned to Mister Smith, who cleared his throat and said, “That’s actually a given.”

  Admiral Nicholson sighed. “Damn.”

  Chapter 14

  Bright Jade

  PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC CONGRESSIONAL Building

  Beijing, China

  In the near future, Year 4, Day 187

  THE MORNING AIR WAS brisk, and the hustle and bustle of nearly thirty million people could be felt throughout the region. The morning commute was just winding down, and the National People’s Congress had already convened for the day, in another emergency session. Most of the leaders of the Communist Party were there as well, as part of the government.

  The many subways were still busy, and equipment train twenty-eight was called to enter the Mainline and conduct a run past the newly-constructed parliament building and help carry passengers heading to their administrative jobs. The equipment train was used as a geometry car and normally would run at night, when headways were less frequent. Its primary purpose was to record geometric readings of the track such as cant, elevation, and gauge, alerting the maintenance-of-way workers if the rails and support bed and ties were out of alignment. It also was multi-purposed and had a strong enough electrical motor to carry a small equipment car behind it for the track crews, so that they could work at specified work zones.

  The rail control center authorized its movement between revenue trains, which would normally not be done, but the track permit specified an emergency work zone from a report that the rails were widening, and that the threat of derailment was real. Rather than take the track out of service and risk major service delays, the controllers had approved the stamped orders and the move commenced.

  When the vehicle passed the Congressional Station, it was being monitored by a SCADA system—Supervisory Control and Data Acquisition—from the many track circuits built into the rail line. This SCADA system, in turn, was being fed to servers which functioned as inputs for the controllers to route trains as needed. A secondary server fed this information into a transmitter that was hard-wired to flow from fiber optic lines to a command station located thirty kilometers away, where one renegade PLA general was overseeing its movement.

  At the precise moment it was approaching the new parliament building, the general himself sent the text message to the train using the city’s own cell phone towers. It took nearly a dozen seconds to register, but when it did, the result was immediate.

  The conventional explosion triggered the fissile material within the bomb, once a large artillery shell, to explode. The equivalent of ten kilotons of TNT went off under the most important building in the People’s Republic of China. Those above the blast died instantly in temperatures that reached over six thousand degrees. The subway tunnels conducted the blast down their narrow pipes for well over two kilometers, vaporizing several trains in the process. The heavy bedrock of the area kept the explosion channeled in a vertical manner, ensuring the destruction of the Chinese leadership in the blink of an eye.

  PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC SPACE Command

  Beijing, China

  In the near future, Year 4, Day 187

  “WHAT WAS THAT?” LIN asked her boss from across the room, raising her voice to be heard and not using her headset.

  Hun took off his own headset and stood while the wave passed. The lights above rattled, and a few small items—pens, pencils, clips—rolled or fell from various consoles. Everyone looked around, and the desire to flee the building was being fought by their duty to remain at their work stations.

  Within seconds, the movement stopped, and calm resumed.

  “Earthquake?”

  “It sure felt that way,” Chon said, stepping away from his console and picking up the items that had fallen into the aisle.

  Most of his staff resumed their duties, and Hun walked around the room ensuring that normalcy was restored. It didn’t take long before he was sure their attention was back on their duties—that was, until the news feed switched over from an anchor to an all-too-familiar face.

  “Turn that up!” Hun barked, the order making Lin scramble at her desk and get the room volume to increase. It was extremely rare to broadcast any noise room-wide. That was reserved for headsets and small speakers to avoid distracting others from what was being monitored, but in this case, everyone would want to hear what the man was saying.

  Oddly enough, General Wang sat still, looking into the camera as if patiently waiting for Hun’s crew to get their act together. It was an illusion, of course, but the inference and visual timing was too odd not to notice. Lin spoke quickly. “It’s loud enough; he’s not broadcasting.”

  As if on cue, a sudden and loud bang occurred, signaling the transmission of audio. A voice was heard saying, “We’re live now, General—you may proceed.”

  Hun watched what he thought was a ghost as the man nodded and looked deeply into the camera. “Fellow comrades of the People’s Republic. I come to you this day with grave but joyful news. No longer will we be held to account to foreign states, nor be constrained in the pursuit of our rightful destiny. Today, we take our rightful places as the leaders of the world, and we pursue what is our right from now unto eternity.

  “There will be martial law in the capital of Beijing for the next twenty-four hours. If you are at work, remain there. All others must remain in their homes or businesses until the curfew is lifted. Violators will be dealt with swiftly and disobedience will not be tolerated. Do this for your country. Do this for your families. Hail China.”

  The signal went blank, the feed completely black. No news anchor, no text animations, nothing. Hun headed for the door, not realizing that most of his staff were following him. Ignoring their security guards, he headed out the main doors and onto the Space Command’s common grounds, walking over the grass and looking north at the massive tower of smoke and debris that was still rising in the cool morning air. The smoke and haze were already having an impact on the sun’s morning rays, and only their predominately horizontal approach kept the city well lit.

  “What was that?” Lin asked, coming to stand next to her boss, as did more than a dozen other workers.

  Chang answered, “That was once our seat of government.” His voice was soft and awe stricken.

  “Tell me I’m not seeing this,” she whispered.

  “Only one thing could do that,” Chon said, stating what was on everyone’s mind.

  Lin turned to face Hun. “What now?”

  Hun sighed. “Now, we pray.”

  “Prey, sir?” Chang asked.

  “Why pray?” Chon added.

  It took Hun a long time to tear his eyes away from the spectacle to look at each in turn before answering, “Because the Devil has returned.”

  DIVINE DRAGON

  On approach to Mars

  In the near future, Year 4, Day 189

  “WHAT’S WRONG?” COMMANDER Mingyu Shen asked.

  Captain Yao kept swiping between the two sets of orders on his tablet. “They are both verified commands from General Wang himself but....”

  Mingyu tried, from her seat in the cockpit of the Divine Dragon, to look over the lip of the tablet in frustration. “But what?”

  Yao seemed to take offense and lifted it higher and pulled it closer to his chest where he floated next to her in between the piloting seats. Deciding he could assert some independence with the classified material, he answered, “The targets are wrong.”

  “How can a target—” Mingyu stopped in mid-sentence to correct herself and change her train of thought. “Did you say targets, as in plural?”

  “Yes, that is the issue.”

  “We only have one mis
sile; check them again.”

  “I have, three times already, and I’ve even asked for a resend in order to verify—and instead of receiving one order, I receive two, both with different targets and coordinates.”

  Mingyu pulled her belt out slightly and unclipped the buckle to allow her to exit her seat. She didn’t go far, but used the freedom to turn and face the captain. “What are the targets? Let me look at the orders.”

  Captain Yao seemed reluctant, then said, “You may take the reader from me. I will not give it to you.”

  Mingyu understood the man’s dilemma. He would not lie—he was far too honorable for that—and neither would he violate the strict interpretation of what he had been ordered in the past regarding operational security, which meant he couldn’t give the tablet to her. She’d have to take it so that he could plausibly deny giving it to her. It seemed silly, but was most logical once an officer had experienced any sort of dealings with General Wang. Taking it, she looked at it, then said, “It seems that both the primary and secondary objectives have been targeted.”

  “Exactly,” Yao said in frustration.

  “Did you refresh the cache and check to see if the authenticator was scripting properly?”

  “Of course I did, over a week ago, and everything seemed to be in order.”

  Mingyu eyed him closely, noting that he was avoiding making eye contact. “This isn’t the first time a glitch in your communiques has occurred, has it?”

  Yao almost visibly squirmed. Mingyu was certain the man was incapable of lying. Finally, he blurted out, “Only the military orders, and they were in perfect harmony with one another.”

  “What do you mean by ‘perfect harmony?’ Have you been receiving duplicate orders more than this singular incident?”

  Yao would have squirmed, but the weightless environment was of no help to the man. “The orders were valid. They said the same thing. The general was simply ensuring receipt since we’ve had more than one communications blackout and radio defect. What’s wrong with that?”

  “I didn’t say anything was wrong, but you said they repeated each other up till now, or at least the second order mirrored the first, correct?”

  “Correct, Commander.”

  “Up till now.”

  “Yes, up till now.”

  She looked at the coding and noted that the time stamps were different, but all else matched almost perfectly, excepting the targeting. “Why didn’t you inform me of this anomaly earlier?”

  Captain Yao looked at her with narrowed eyes and took back the tablet rather abruptly. “Operational security.”

  “Don’t you think if our communications are compromised that, as commander of this ship, I should know about it? What if we’re ordered to execute a burn or other maneuver that is not in our original operation’s plan?”

  “You would tell me if that were so.”

  “Oh, so now I would inform you, but you don’t inform me?”

  “You’re confusing things, Commander. I’m the military leader of this ship, and its defense and safety are of my concern.”

  “I’d say safety would fall within the scope of my duties as well. Either way, a decision must be made soon. We’re only several hours away from our orbital burn and both orders call for an immediate strike on the target upon our arrival. I’d say that doesn’t give you much time.”

  Captain Yao nodded his agreement. “I will be back in the communications module. Do not disturb me. I’ll return in a couple of hours.”

  “As you wish,” Commander Shen said, strapping back in again and noting the departure of the military officer. It would be a long couple of hours.

  THE MONITOR SHOWED Captain Yao exiting the cockpit and moving down the main corridor towards the inner part of the ship. Engineer Xia Tai turned it off when the man looked at the camera, sending a chill down her spine.

  She floated to the intercom near her work console and pressed the talk button. “Are you alone, Commander?”

  “I am,” Mingyu said.

  “Did the captain indicate which target he would choose?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  Xia sighed. “Must you ask again?”

  Mingyu’s voice sounded disconcerted as well. “No, that was foolish of me. I should have suspected that he’d inform a sergeant while keeping me in the dark.”

  “Don’t take it personally, Commander. Sergeant Yin and the captain have grown quite close the last few months. Captain Yao trusts him.”

  “So, you’re saying he doesn’t trust me?”

  “Not after your rejection, but we both knew that already.”

  “Does he know that his non-commissioned officer is telling you state secrets?” Mingyu asked.

  “I thought we agreed not to be that way between us,” Xia said.

  “You’re right, I’ll drop it. In the meantime, did the sergeant say what the targeting system’s default is set for?”

  “It was always the primary target—that alien tower of theirs near Pavonis Mons. It would require an abort or override in order to change the targeting on its guidance system.”

  “You seem to know much about our military hardware,” Mingyu noted.

  “Only what Yin shares with me, though I’ve seen enough weapons and equipment to know better.”

  “Once launched, the targeting could only be changed via radio with a code, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “What are you getting at?” Xia asked.

  “Nothing,” Mingyu said. “I’m calculating the maximum amount of time the captain could use in making his decision.”

  “Do you expect trouble?”

  “No, Xia, I don’t think we’ll encounter the same problems that the Tiger did, but the dynamics involved could be different once we arrive, and the captain may need to adapt.”

  “Target a ship instead of something on the surface?” Xia asked, tension in her voice.

  “God, no,” Mingyu said. “That would be horrific.”

  “I wouldn’t put that past the general. It would be like him to initiate hostilities once we arrive. There may be a calculated action to counter what happened to our own ship.”

  “Many have died ... this is not what we expected,” Mingyu said softly. “I would wish better.”

  “As would I,” Xia said. “What do we do now?”

  “Now, we wait and see what the captain decides will be annihilated.”

  MINGYU HIT THE SHIP-wide broadcast button, frustration and urgency in her voice. “We’re on final countdown to entry burn, Captain Yao. Please take your station and report.”

  Both Sergeant Yin and Engineer Tia had suited up and reported that they were at their assigned stations for entry into Mars low orbit. Intel from their space command indicated that the Soviets and Americans had boosted to a much higher, geosynchronous orbit due to hostile actions from the alien primary target.

  Commander Shen had already turned the Divine Dragon rear-first as it hurtled towards the red planet. Its speed was relatively high, and it would burn its primary engines, which hadn’t been activated for more than four months, in an effort to reduce their speed and have Mars capture their ship within its gravity well. A perfectly executed maneuver would allow the ship to enter low Mars orbit, where it could deploy its lander.

  Yao’s voice came over the radio. “I’m manning our CP in the observatory cupola. Proceed with your burn, Commander.”

  “Understood,” Mingyu said. “Did you clarify the situation?”

  “I did.”

  Mingyu didn’t like this curtness, but maintained her duty station as the pilot of the ship. Technically, Captain Yao was supposed to be sitting co-pilot, but that space was now vacant, and this was not part of their procedure. She wanted to lodge a protest, but actually felt relieved at the freedom she had, being alone in the pilot’s chair.

  “Time to burn, two minutes,” she said, following procedure and checking her row of gauges and alarm displays, which were all green and within norms.

&n
bsp; “Commander, we’re getting a video feed from Beijing, priority one,” Engineer Tia said, acting as their signals technician in her dual function role on board their ship.

  “Send it,” she ordered, looking at her main monitor and wondering what could be so important as to interrupt and distract from the most important and dangerous move of their trip.

  The feed began with Director Hun Lee’s face in front of the Beijing Command Center, then the man began to speak. “People’s Republic Space Command to Divine Dragon. It is imperative that you abort the last order given. The order to ram the American ship is not sanctioned nor authorized by Space Command.”

  Mingyu sucked in her breath at the shock of the message, and then interference began to break up the message. Static covered the screen and General Wang himself replaced the Space Director and he said, “You must do your duty for honor and country. Destroy the base and destroy the Red Horizon.”

  The picture was replaced again by Director Hun Lee, who made a cutting motion with his hand at someone off camera and then the signal feed died.

  “Did you see that, Commander?” it was Xia. “Video terminated at source.”

  Mingyu didn’t answer, instead addressing the captain, “What orders did you receive and fail to relay to me, Captain Yao?”

  “You will perform the maneuver to insert us into low Mars orbit,” the captain began, “Once I have launched our missile, you will follow orders to ram.”

  There was silence on their system and it dawned on Mingyu why the man wasn’t in the cockpit. He was in the observation cupola at the center of the ship in order to monitor the deployment and launch of their nuclear missile using his remote command tablet. He wanted to visually confirm the missile’s launch and ensure his first objective before moving to the cockpit.

  She watched the computer program count down and calculated that she would just have enough time to unstrap herself, lock the cockpit door, and resume her seat before the massive engines fired. Anything not secured would experience more than five gees, slamming them into the rear of whatever was nearby.