The Gathering Storm

by Marshall Miller

  An hour later, Bettie lay on her back. Her body smelled of sex and sweat. Sandy was snuggled up against Bettie, her head on Bettie’s left shoulder. She was caressing Bettie’s left breast with her hand.

  “So, Colonel. How do I compare with other women you have had?”

  Bettie looked down at her. “Honestly, I fooled around once at a sorority function in College. We played a bit of drunken feeling each other up. Nothing was mentioned after that night.”

  Sandy laughed. “Well, I guess making love to another woman must just come naturally to you.”

  “So, Sandy, how many women have you...slept with.”

  “Quite a few since coming to Key West. There must be something in the water, as I have discovered I am an equal opportunity sex partner. Man, woman... doesn’t matter, as long as you attract me.”

  Bettie kissed Sandy’s forehead. “So I attract you? Well, you definitely turn me on, the first time a woman has to this extent.”

  “Previous love affairs with men, then?”

  Bettie’s expression turned dark. Sandy noticed the change and rose up on her arm so she could look down at her.

  “Hey, sorry if I said something wrong. I don’t want to ruin the moment.”

  Bettie smiled at her, then rose up and kissed her. “Sandy, I was in love with a man, a pilot, when the Squids attacked. He was a Colonel by the name of Clifton Hunter. Neither one of us were spring chickens. He had a previous wife and kids. I had put my career first, so my lovers I had were not serious… until Cliff.” She sighed. “He was sent to Area 51 during the first days of the invasion. That is the last time I heard from him. I assume he is dead, since I imagine he would have tried to contact me by now. My face has been on the television for over a month.”

  “So why me, then? A woman, years your junior?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe there is something in the water. Look, I can’t make promises. This is new to me.”

  “How I feel about you is new to me as well. You aren’t like my other lovers. I have real feelings for you.” Sandy looked into her eyes. “I could love you, Bettie. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

  They kissed again, passionately, and Bettie separated from the embrace to lay head to head next to her lover. “I don’t know why, but this relationship feels like something I’ve needed for a long time. We have to fly a mission together with me as the Command Pilot. I won’t have time to love you. And, you cannot treat me any differently. If you can’t accept that, you stay behind.”

  “You are tough, aren’t you? Good. I like strong people, not pushovers.” Sandy smirked. “I’ll agree. Just don’t expect me to ignore it if some other woman starts sniffing around you. I’ll mess her up.”

  Bettie, moving quickly, had Sandy pinned to the bed, hands on Sandy’s wrists. “This is how we started. Two falls out of three?”

  CHAPTER 21

  KEY WEST, FLORIDA

  Adam Lloyd sat at his office desk, watching the live feed from the Cape. Launch Day. Now, humans made one more relatively crude attempt at spaceflight to Platform One. Buried in it were the remains of the International Space Station. The launch was being broadcast all over North America, and parts of the rest of the world.

  Ever since they began broadcasting the accomplishments of the occupation administration, especially the space program, a steady stream of people from the Feral areas–those areas not occupied or part of the Rebel areas–had begun to move to the occupied areas. After some six years of hand to mouth existence, the medical care, food, power, shelter, and amenities like television and the internet were a huge incentive to “reconnect” with the coastal areas. More ex-technical people, aircraft mechanics, pilots, police, EMTs, you name it, were checking into the major ports up and down both coasts. The Vigilance Committees, small groups of humans under watch by a robocop, were now tasked with the inserting and inclusion of the new arrivals into the existing framework. Already, a dozen pilots and two dozen maintenance types were up at the former Eglin Air Force Base, working on getting an air fleet together. Other maintenance types were hard at work on equipment and infrastructure. A half dozen new medical centers were being brought online. Agricultural crops were being grown in the fertile valleys of Southern California, fruit crops in Florida. Other groups of humans were traveling along the Gulf of Mexico and salvaging the remains of crops and fruits that had gone wild but still existed.

  With the help of the Tschaaa, manufacturing plants were being set up around San Diego and Los Angeles to produce traditional consumer goods. Others were popping up in Florida, Louisiana, and Texas. Because of this, people had real jobs again, instead of subsistence living and scavenging. Recycling of usable goods had been increasing during the last three years, helping to provide raw materials for new goods to be manufactured. Adam was trying to reopen mines in Mexico, and in small areas in Nevada and Arizona with the help of the lizards, who thrived in the hot, dry climates. Yuma, Arizona and Twentynine Palms, California, as well as Area 51 in Nevada, were now the home of lizard settlements. They in turn were breeding another generation.

  He stretched, and rubbed his eyes. His body was worn from working long hours the past week, waiting for the launch. As he took a short break his thoughts returned to a virtual meeting he had with Lord Neptune some two weeks after the Eater attack on the base. He had asked about the recent meeting of all the Lords. His Lordship’s tentacles seemed to indicate a bit of agitation before he answered.

  “My Director, to be honest, the Lord of Africa is…no more.”

  “No more? Does that mean what I think it does, my Lordship?”

  “I believe so. The Lord’s body has been recycled into Mother Ocean.”

  Adam fell silent. He did not see the Tschaaa as having mafia-like sensibilities.

  “I sense surprise, my Adam.”

  “Yes, I did not think that you…summarily executed your own kind.”

  Lord Neptune signed resignation. “The first time in centuries, and we have had to terminate the life of a senior Tschaaa. Usually, someone conducting such aberrant behavior would become catatonic after being forced to acknowledge what they have done. Our species does not have a history of lying or espionage. By smuggling those Eaters into your area, he not only committed a form of humanlike spy-craft, he also endangered young Tschaaa. An Eater can be dangerous to an adult, and have preyed on our young since we first migrated to land on our home world.”

  His Lordship began to display rage. His body changed to a dark camouflage, the digits on his social tentacles clenching and unclenching like a human’s hand would. “He endangered the young. Just to seek revenge upon me, and upon my ‘pet’ humans. He was either insane or evil. Maybe both.” The artificial voice did a bang up job registering humanlike emotion.

  His Lordship’s body began to shift back to its normal color, a light aqua. He was calming down. “I apologize for the display of anger, My Director. But to threaten our young is the ultimate crime.”

  “Will this action affect us, Your Lordship?”

  “Human reactions to the loss of a young one to an Eater forced my fellow Lords to admit that at least non-cattle may have Tschaaa like sensibilities and intellect. Your launch will hopefully help them to further recognize your useful abilities.”

  Joseph paused. “Your Lordship, I hope that soon we can have a relationship with the other Lords similar to the one we enjoy with you. But, who will take over Africa?”

  “One of my distant Crèche members, Director. I have been tasked with trying to reorganize what is left of the meat resources. And, to be completely honest, thanks in part to your efforts of showing what Tschaaa and human coordinated actions can accomplish, I am now considered what you humans would call the Senior Lord here on Earth.”

  “Congratulations, My Lordship. Won’t this limit your time you can spend directly with us here on North America?”

  “Never, My Director. I have become an expert in what you humans call ‘delegating authority and responsibility’. I am
also grooming the Tschaaa you know as El Segundo for additional duties. In the very near future, you will also be dealing with him.”

  “He will have a distinctive human voice?”

  “Yes, he will create one much as I have. I will help him chose a voice that matches his Tschaaa personality. However, I will still spend much time with you, if for no other reason that I obtain a level of intellectual stimulation I have trouble finding with my fellow Tschaaa. Part of that is due to your alien outlook on things, and part is due to the change in my outlook that has come about through contact with you humans, especially you, My Director.”

  “So, you believe we, an alien species, are affecting how you think?”

  “You specifically, Director, you affect me. Our conversations have enabled me to see an alien viewpoint. The lizards did not have that effect on any individual Tschaaa, nor any other prior race or species with which we have come in contact. Maybe it is because, on one hand, you are prey. On the other, you are entering into a cooperative relationship, where you assist us and we assist you. Your relationships with your dogs are one of profound affections as well as a symbiotic relationship that is mutually beneficial. That relationship developed over thousands of years. Possibly because our intellects are so much closer to equal, a similar relationship is developing many times faster.”

  His Lordship signed the Tschaaa equivalent of a shrug. “As some of your Humans say, it is what it is. Now, we must get back to the business at hand. Tell me about how close you are to launching...”

  Now, Adam was watching the real-time broadcast from the Cape, listening to Kathy Munroe’s commentary.

  “In less than fifteen minutes, the first humans to be launched into space for many years will be headed toward Platform One, a supersized space station. Colonel Bettie Bardun, Commander and Pilot, will guide the spaceplane to dock with the platform. Professor Fassbinder has been trained as a co-pilot should the Colonel become incapacitated. Mission Specialists Sandy and Samuel Olson round out the crew, and will remain on Platform One for at least a month, assisting in ongoing projects.”

  The cameras cut away from the launch gantry and focused on Kathy. Damn, she was gorgeous. Her sex appeal seemed to translate, even over the airways. At least it did to him. Kathy had become The Symbol, the face of the future. Even threats, like the Eaters, seemed less insurmountable after she had explained the situation. Her calm demeanor and signature perky smile communicated, “Don’t worry. Things will be alright. We can work this out together.”

  Kathy continued. “Twelve other humans, including four Chinese nationals, are currently residing on Platform One. The Chinese astronauts have been there since when the Tschaaa first arrived.” No mention of invasion. That was unspoken. Rather, it was arrival, as if the aliens had been anticipated and welcome visitors. “They will return to Earth when Colonel Barden and Professor Fassbinder navigate the spaceplane back to Earth, in about a week or so. They are waiting to be reunited with their countrymen at the first opportunity.”

  In reality, they would likely stay in Key West and raise families, if they hadn’t been exposed to too much radiation. Former Communist China had been broken up into warring municipalities ruled by warlords. The chance the Chinese astronauts could locate any surviving relatives and get to them in one piece was very remote.

  Internal strife, nuclear winter brought on by the rocks, and the breakdown of central control within a month of the invasion had reduced to Chinese population to five hundred million. Still a sizeable population, but nowhere near the one and a half billion former residents of the Celestial Kingdom.

  “The voice in my ear says we are now going to cut to live audio feed from launch control and the spaceplane crew.” What followed was a fairly mundane exchange reminiscent of pre-strike and invasion days. However, with the six year gap since the last launch of any spacecraft or satellite, the event took on greater significance.

  The final countdown began. “Twenty, nineteen, eighteen,...” interspersed with comments from both Colonel Bardun and the Launch Control crew notifying each other of actions taken, equipment status. It was “zero” and the main thrusters began boosting the whole shebang skyward. The Tschaaa fuel in the pocket boosters led to a quicker and more powerful burn rate, so the complete launch vehicle looked like it was running in fast forward. Some of the launch gantry appeared to have been damaged due to this additional power, and Adam held his breath when he expected to see pieces start flying. The structure held together for the most part and Adam began breathing again.

  What Adam couldn’t know was that on board Bettie Bardun was trying to adjust to what felt like being hit by a giant fist while on a bucking bronco. “Fuck!” she exclaimed, as she struggled to adjust to the unexpected thrust and Gs. She had visions of the human designed spacecraft crumbling apart under the extra acceleration. However, as any good engineer will tell you, a “fudge factor” is often built into any design to take into account unforeseen forces and Murphy’s Law. The spaceplane and rocket boosters held together. Before she knew it, she felt and heard the “bang” that indicated the first stage had separated. Much faster than expected, the small second stage booster kicked in, then quickly expended itself. Bettie was on her own now. The unexpected acceleration kicked them into the beginnings of a low orbit without any use of the spaceplane engines. Bettie, recognizing the change in the flight characteristics, quickly overrode their automatic activation.

  The G forces had been reduced so Joseph could now focus on what Bettie was doing. Bettie looked like a one legged man in an ass kicking contest, flipping switches, checking gauges, talking to Mission Control. Joseph heard the rising fear in the Mission Control specialist’s voice when he realized that things were happening a lot faster than planned. Colonel Bardun’s voice was cool and calm, like she was in a kindergarten classroom rather in a speeding craft. She turned her head slightly toward Joseph.

  “Professor, keep an eye out. We are travelling a lot faster than was expected and I do not want to collide with something that sneaks up on us.” She began to use the attitude and steering jets, making sure the craft was adjusted to the correct attitude. Finally, they had completed almost a full orbit and could see Platform One. “Station Control, OSA Spacecraft Hope approaching from course 100. Do you have me on scope?”

  The calm, mostly monotone voice with a slightly odd accent came back. “I have you, Colonel Bardun. Please release control of the craft.” Joseph recognized it as one of the original robocops, which had learned modern human language recently. Grown from proto-human DNA, every bit of their demeanor was different than other cyborgs. Human, but not quite human. They felt a slight jolt, and then the craft seemed to be pulled toward the space station on a leisurely yet straight course. “Holy Captain Kirk! It’s a tractor-beam,” Bettie exclaimed.

  Joseph checked in on the Olson twins, located in seats behind them.

  “Fine, Professor,” Sandy answered.

  “Are we about to dock with the platform, Professor?” Samuel asked.

  “Yes, we are. Ahead of schedule. That Tschaaa fuel was a hell of a lot more efficient than anything we have.”

  The robocop brought the spaceplane into a large docking bay as effortlessly as placing a plate on a table. It seemed so anticlimactic. Joseph turned to Bettie. “Thanks for saving our asses in the first part of the flight. A lot of pilots would have lost their heads.”

  She shrugged inside her protective suit. “I was just doing my job. Not a big deal.”

  “Colonel, that was a huge deal, and you are one impressive pilot.”

  She smiled. “Oh, all right. I’ll accept a compliment, Professor. By the way, have you noticed that we have a bit of gravity on board?”

  Joseph tried moving his arms and felt the difference from weightlessness. “You’re right! So soon.”

  “They can generate a gravity field, but if you remember our briefings, the Platform has a slight spin on it as well.” Colonel Bardun hit her intercom connection with the Olson twin
s. “Just as a reminder, we have a substantial gravity field as of now. Don’t trip and fall, it will hurt. Keep your helmets secured until we make sure the docking bay is pressurized.”

  About five minutes later, someone knocked on their small airlock door. Sam went in, locked the inner door, and opened the outer one. It was a gray. The large expressionless eyes scanned Sam. “Humans…please follow.”

  Five minutes later, after informing Mission Control they had arrived safely and would broadcast more details once they were officially received, the four humans followed the gray out of the docking area. The whole structure looked like a classic sci-fi space station, a huge wheel slowly turning, but with a shot of steroids. Over two miles in diameter, with each of the eight mile-long spokes containing three stories, the available capacity was breathtaking.

  They had been told one of the humans would come and take them to the head office to meet the senior Tschaaa in charge of the Platform. As they proceeded into one of the main corridors running through a large “spoke” that connected the outer ring to the center of the superstation, Bettie saw a figure approach slowly. An odd and unexpected feeling of both excitement and fear went through Bettie as she thought she recognized their human contact.

  “Im-fricking-possible,” she muttered under her breath. Then she heard a familiar voice she had not heard for over six years.

  “Welcome aboard, Bettie Bardun. It’s about time you got here.” It was Cliff Hunter. Dead Cliff Hunter, apparently very much alive. Bettie stopped dead in her tracks, her crewmates nearly running into her.

  “Anything wrong, Colonel?” Joseph asked.

  “It’s okay, Professor. Bettie has just seen a ghost,” Cliff replied. “Come here and give this old specter a hug, Bettie. To hell with protocol.” In one quick motion, she was in his arms. He was only about an inch taller, but his broad shoulders and chest engulfed her small frame. Bettie used to kid him about looking like a cartoon character, with his v-shaped chest, chiseled features, and slender waist.