“I see that. I…” The helmsman looked desperately at his controls. “Did we lose another thruster?”
“I can’t tell. My instruments aren’t showing anything.”
Trel covered his face with his hands.
“We’re still descending,” the sensor operator said.
“I can’t overcome the gravi—”
A wall panel from the back of the bridge exploded into the open area, shot forward like a bullet. The room instantly filled with purple fluid, and then the screen went dark.
Mehta’s fingers wrapped around the arm rests and she swallowed, while the silence around her hung in the air, heavy and damp.
Finally, Uboldi spoke. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?”
Another long silence followed Trel’s confirmation. Mehta put her hand on her stomach, to keep it from lurching, from spewing up her coffee and the left-over pizza she’d had for breakfast. Someone here needed to break the silence, but it wasn’t going to be her.
In a moment, Brown cleared his throat. “Uboldi, I need you to leave. And you, too, Ramirez.”
They both gave Brown angry looks—especially General Uboldi, who surely thought he should remain, rather than the two colonels who stayed in the shuttle. But he was smart enough not to object.
When the shuttle door closed, Aahliss approached the group, still huddled around the cockpit entrance. Brown seemed uncertain if he should address Aahliss or Trel, so he spoke to the wall. “How long has this been going on?”
“About ten and a half years,” Aahliss said. “At first, we thought we could handle it. When we finally exhausted our ideas for how to solve the problem, it took us a while to research the protected planets—to figure out if there was one who could help us.”
“You don’t have any allies out in space?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Who else is out there?”
Mehta shifted in her seat. They needed numbers, a status of the Mralan fleet. The direction Brown was taking the conversation wasn’t going to get them those answers.
“A few additional space-faring species, but none that’s a real danger to you.”
“How often do Species X attack?” Mehta said.
Brown frowned at her, but he didn’t object, perhaps because he recognized that she was asking good questions.
“Every six to eight days,” Aahliss said.
“And how many people are on a ship?”
“About 300.”
“Any of those attacked ships ever win the battle?”
Aahliss dropped her gaze to the floor. “Unfortunately, no. They have all been destroyed.”
“Jesus,” Brown muttered.
“Then you’ve lost one hundred fifty thousand crewmembers,” Mehta said.
“Right,” Trel said. “There’s not a Mralan alive who hasn’t lost someone very dear to them.”
“And,” Aahliss said, “Our fleet has been cut in half. We’ve built other ships, but we can’t get enough recruits to crew them. So, very few of the destroyed ships has been replaced.”
“Who would volunteer?” Freeman said. “Sounds like joining the fleet is tantamount to committing suicide.”
Another silence intruded itself into the conversation. What did they need to ask about next? Why did the size of the Mralan fleet matter to humans?
“What does your fleet do out there in space, besides protect Earth from the Dakh Hhargash?”
Aahliss gave her a wavering smile. “My dear, there are over 5,600 planets with intelligent life in the area of space we patrol. Most of them have not left the hunter-gatherer phase of development, so they’re in greater need of our protection than Earth.”
“Five thou…” Brown sputtered. “That’s a lot.”
“Space is a big place,” Trel said.
“And the protectorate has kept you safe for the last two thousand years. We wish to continue to do so.”
Brown nodded vigorously. “Any habitable planets without intelligent life?”
Aahliss looked askance at him. “There are plenty, but you have no way to get there.”
Getting off topic again.
“So, is the reduction in the fleet the reason you haven’t been able to protect Earth as well recently?”
“It’s much worse than that,” Aahliss said, turning now to stare at the same wall Brown had addressed earlier. Her face sagged, cheeks sunken, lower eyelids drooping into brown wads of skin. She looked tired. No, weary.
“Twice now,” Aahliss continued, “as our fleet has been diminished, we’ve had to reduce the size of the protectorate. With each reduction, over two thousand planets lost their protection.”
“So, you used to protect nine thousand?”
“Approximately. And now, we are struggling with the fleet we have left. Soon, we’ll have to reduce again.”
“How soon?” Brown said.
“Once we lose five more ships.”
“Five weeks,” Freeman said.
Brown shook his head, his face puckered, brows drawn together. “And now, when you run across a Species X ship, you just try to survive?”
“No one has succeeded.”
“But haven’t you ever tried to talk to them? Negotiate with them?”
Aahliss drew her frame up, her expression turned hard. “You think we’re stupid? That was the first thing we attempted.”
“What did they say?”
“My husband was on the first ship to encounter them,” Aahliss said, her erect posture so tense she trembled. “They tried every type of communication known, every frequency, every language. They begged and pleaded with the other ship for them to explain what their problem was. They tried to demonstrate that they were not a threat, but Species X just cold-bloodedly destroyed them.”
Mehta stood, then directed her attention to Colonel Freeman, who stood nearest Aahliss. “John, I think she needs to sit. Why don’t you help her?”
“Good idea,” Brown said. In a moment, Aahliss was settled into a comfortable chair, while everyone else gathered around her.
Brown took in a deep breath, as if gathering his. “Perhaps we could be your allies in space. We could help you patrol the protectorate, provide additional crew for your ships and our own ships as well.”
Aahliss chuckled, but there was a weary quality to it. “If we give you technology, I suppose?”
“Well…”
“We couldn’t possibly provide crew to their ships,” Mehta said. “There’s no way we would put our troops under a command that works like what we just saw.” She pointed back to the cockpit, to the memory of the ship that had just been destroyed.
“I agree,” Freeman said.
“There, you see?” Aahliss said, “she’s recommending a clever person come tell us how you fight.”
“No,” Mehta said. “It would take more than one person. It would be a massive effort. It would be classes and exercises and drills…” Hell, half the time, the Army didn’t even get it all right.
“There’s no time for all that,” Aahliss said. “We must come up with a solution quickly. So, the Council of the Protectorate agreed that we would run a trial of human techniques with one ship. If it succeeds, we can apply the technique to the rest of the fleet and stop the destruction.”
“How many could we send?” Mehta said.
“I told you. One.”
“Not enough. We need another number.”
Brown cleared his throat, as if he was trying to tell Mehta to back off. But he didn’t argue, didn’t say anything to her.
Aahliss sighed. “Very well, then. Perhaps we could do four.”
Oh, my, that was not even close to what would be needed. If they agreed to those restrictions, this mission would be a disaster.
“So,” Brown said, looking back and forth between her and Freeman, “given only four people, who would you recommend?”
Mehta looked back at him with a sense of doom. If he was planning to accept that co
unter-offer, he was crazy. “You’d need at least fifty. And that’s not really enough, either.”
“Four. Give me some recommendations.” His eyes glared right into hers.
Why was he asking her? She didn’t want to have anything to do with this crazy operation, much less get blamed for its failure because she recommended the wrong people. “I’d have to think about that.”
“I want an answer now.”
“Someone who knows how to run a staff,” Freeman said.
Brown nodded and looked at her with raised brows. “And?”
“Someone who knows about intelligence,” Mehta said. “And someone who has experience with fighting in three dimensions—a submariner or a fighter pilot.”
“Good. Then add in a commander, and you’ve got four.”
“But why is there no time for a train-up?” Mehta said.
“Because,” Aahliss said as she came shakily to her feet, “in five weeks, the Protectorate will be reduced in size again. This time, nineteen hundred planets will lose their protection, and one of those planets will be Earth.”
CHAPTER NINE
What were the people inside the shuttle saying, and what were they deciding, LTC José Ramirez wondered sullenly as he paced across the floor of the hangar, his soft boots hardly making a sound, his arms folded across his chest. The shuttle door remained closed.
At least he knew why he’d been asked to leave. It was that Aahliss bitch.
He’d never had this kind of trouble with women before. He’d learned early how to keep his face neutral, even when he found their behavior disgusting or frightening. He’d been successful at avoiding working for a woman, and the few times he’d had women working for him, he’d always given them better performance reviews than they deserved, so they could never accuse him of sexism. But it rankled him that in so doing, he was contributing to the promotion of officers who couldn’t do their jobs as well as men, officers who would inevitably let their emotions take control of themselves, who would make cowardly decisions when bullets started to zing past their heads.
Who would get competent soldiers killed.
There shouldn’t be any women in the military. They couldn’t be trusted.
He walked to the refreshment table and poured himself some coffee. He wasn’t a sexist, that was for sure. He just saw things more clearly, had not allowed himself to be brainwashed by their pretty eyes and their deceitful complaints. He, unlike most others, could see what was really happening.
The door to the shuttle opened, and Brown and Freeman descended, leaving Mehta as the only human remaining on board. Just as well. They should let the shuttle take off with her, and that would be one less woman in the Army.
“I’m going to go talk to the president,” Brown said to Freeman. “But in the meantime, I need you to gather the team together.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
They walked toward the hangar door, and Ramirez followed as they passed him.
“Okay,” Brown said. “But I need to add some requirements.”
Freeman pulled a notepad from his back pocket and started writing.
Now stopped several hundred feet from the door, Brown bounced on his heels, hands stuffed in his hip pockets, fingers fidgeting beneath the blue cloth. “First, I want one of these guys to also be a physicist.”
Freeman glanced up from his pad and looked at Ramirez. Oh, hell. Tell me this is not happening.
“And not just someone who majored in physics in college. Someone who’s kept up with all the latest.”
Damn. Freeman had seen the journals Ramirez read in his spare time, all highly technical articles written by other physicists, detailing their theories, experiments and results. A non-physicist would roll his eyes after the first paragraph of most articles. But Ramirez gobbled them up, reading through each journal within a few days of its delivery.
And Freeman knew.
“Then, I want one to be an aeronautical engineer — or better yet aerospace engineer.”
“Right. That shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“And these guys have got to be local. We don’t have time to ship in guys from halfway around the country.”
Ramirez closed his eyes. It sounded more and more like he was going to be selected. How could he get out of this?
Maybe Mehta wouldn’t be selected to lead the mission after all. He could always hope.
“And if you pick a pilot, make it’s someone who’s been grounded recently. If we have to fight off the Dakh Hhargash again, I don’t want to have taken any of their resources away from the Air Force.”
“Right.”
“Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“All right. But just make sure you understand — my requirements are more important than the military capabilities.”
Freeman looked up and frowned. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t think I can convince the president without something like this.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll let you know what happens.” With that, Brown turned and walked briskly to the door.
Ramirez knew he had to act quickly, or he would be put in an untenable position. He approached Freeman, who stood staring at his notes. “Sir, could we talk?”
Freeman smiled. “Are you volunteering?”
“You remember how Aahliss reacted to me?”
The smile faded from Freeman’s face. “Damn. You’re right.” He looked back at his notes. “Can you come up with someone else? You heard the requirements.”
“Yes. I’ll get right on it.” He started walking toward the door, then changed to double time. He had to hurry.
Because he didn’t want to go on a mission with Colonel Mehta
She would certainly get the entire team killed.
CHAPTER TEN
Major Wendy Hiranaka had to force herself to not grin as she entered the red brick building marked “Space Command (Provisional)” and asked for directions to Col. Freeman’s office.
Two stories up. She took the stairs. Two at a time.
If she’d understood the conversation correctly, she was being considered for a job that would be in space. That was too good to be true. She’d applied twice to be an astronaut and was told she’d almost made it. But almost was still no and she had resigned herself to a life on earth and in its atmosphere, until now.
But what if she had misunderstood? What if she was just going to work in some operations center, monitoring what was going on in space?
Either way, she would be happy — at least until she got back to her apartment, where she could cry. Still, she had to brace herself, just in case she was here on a misunderstanding.
She reached the office area, then stood in front of the open door. Freeman sat at his desk, staring at his phone, from which a voice projected. “… not had a lot of time to keep up with that. I’ve been with infantry units almost my entire career, and believe me, sir, they can work you into the ground.”
Freeman glanced up at her, then waved her into the office and indicated a chair. There was someone else in the office, a guy with black hair and light brown skin in an Army uniform. She couldn’t see his name.
“Thank you for your honesty about this,” Freeman said into the phone, then wrapped up the conversation.
The Army guy shifted in his seat. His name was Ramirez.
“That’s the last one,” Freeman said to Ramirez.
“What about Bennett? Have you called him?” Ramirez sounded agitated, defensive. Something was wrong. Should she leave, before these two senior officers got into an argument or something?
Freeman let out an exasperated breath. “Have you seen his assignment history? He’s hardly even worked in intelligence. He’s got no breath of knowledge about how to operate.”
“But you heard Mr. Brown. The technical ability is more important.”
Freeman sat back in his chair, which leaned just enough to give the message that he was in charge, and he wasn’t going
to be rattled by arguments and raised voices.
Hiranaka wished she felt so confident.
“That doesn’t mean the military expertise is irrelevant. José, that ship’s probably going to have to go to battle. They’ll need competent Intel if they’re going to survive.”
“I understand.”
Freeman nodded, then looked at Hiranaka for the first time. “Close the door, please.”
She pulled the door shut, the click echoing in the now silent room.
Freeman leaned forward, hands folded on his desk. “So, here’s the deal. You are going up there to do your jobs, whatever Col. Mehta assigns you to do, but you have a separate mission as well. You two are going to work together to see if you can figure out their technology.”
Hiranaka swallowed hard. Did he have any idea how difficult a task that would be? What was she supposed to do — take things apart and analyze them while they were in use?
“Now this is a secret mission,” Freeman continued. “Obviously, the Mralans are not to know. But neither is Col. Mehta.”
“Why?” Hiranaka said, then wished she’d stayed quiet.
But Freeman didn’t look perturbed at the question. “She’s going to have enough to deal with. And anyway, the fewer people who know about this, the less chance one of the Mralans will figure it out.”
“You don’t trust her,” Ramirez said.
“That’s not it at all,” Freeman said, and his tone made it clear there was to be no more discussion on the matter. “Now, do either of you have any questions about the mission?”
Hiranaka stared at him, unable to summon words. Yes, she had questions, dozens of questions, not a single one of which this man would be able to answer.
“I want you two to spend a little time together and discuss how you’re going to divide out the tasks, or how you will work together. Your knowledge sets will complement each other, so it’s important you share data.”
“Right,” Ramirez said. His voice sounded flat, monotone.
“The shuttle doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning, so take some time to get to know each other.”
Ramirez stood. “Anything else, sir?”
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
No Plan Survives (Tales from the Protectorate Book 1) Page 7
