“You organics have peculiar ways of conducting your affairs,” Hekar said from the comdisk. “If the members of the Church of the Revealed Word of Christ wished to die, why don’t they ask someone to kill them?”
He looked down at the comdisk, shock flooding over him. Then he remembered, these are aliens. It was a very logical question by a quantum computer whose algorithms were created by the green piezoelectric crystals of the Thoranian Group MIND.
“That’s . . . not the human way,” was all he could say, his eyes aching from lack of sleep. He rubbed them, feeling cold despite the warmth emanating from the stone floor. “What happens now? Is the ship safe?”
“Yes, the ship is safe,” Hekar said, “But every Human outside of the Human Compound is being checked by a Strelka. Two South Sudanese Farm indentures have been held for organic questioning, and the Human Compound will be released from security lock once everyone has been empathed.” Which meant neither he, nor Colleen nor any of the other 2,000 humans in the compound would be going anywhere anytime soon. “Human-crewed vessels are being put into parking orbits at 10,000 kilometers out, while our representatives at Tycho and the UN are being tach-consulted. The Military Compound has issued necessary orders”—what the hell did that portend?—“and a joint meeting of the Compact Council and the Conflict Commander is planned in one hour. Earth is aware of the attack and words of sympathy are arriving from most national governments.”
“What will the Compact do?” asked the somber voice of Colleen from the bed where she had finished packing their travel bag. She sat primly on the edge of the waterbed, hands folded on her lap, her eyes dry. He began to understand her intuition.
“Why, we will respond of course,” Hekar said. Colleen’s eyes squeezed shut. “Such an attack cannot go unanswered. How we will respond is now being determined. One moment—” the machine paused once more. “Watch Commander Arix Sargon Arax has asked for you, the Liaison, to join him in starboard hangar 12, aboard the Horem ship Sarenflex. Will you come?”
Jack felt a chill run down his spine. Sarenflex was one of the Horem dreadnoughts that carried a neutron antimatter beam. Was he to be witness to the nightmare death of his own world? He couldn’t believe the aliens would do that, but he also didn’t know how they would act. He walked over to Colleen and put his arms around her. She pressed her cheek against his chest. They felt better together, but also very alone.
“Yes, Hekar, tell Sargon the Liaison is coming. Along with Ms. McIntyre. We’ll see this through to the end.”
♦ ♦ ♦
In the Emergency Compact Council meeting in the Attack Room of the Military Compound, Sargon felt like a failed Trader-In-Charge. Clan Coordinator Maran sat beside him in the crowded room, barely big enough to accommodate the refrigerated tracglobe of Algonesus and the wheeled water tank of Mother Esay. Others he knew from decades ago were there also. Looseen, Maker-of-Eggs, floated on a massive repulsor disk, looking forlorn. The Hive Master Swirling-Blue-Thoughts moved about restlessly, his sensorium strip elevated and shivering from the impact of strong emotions. Lady Essene seemed nearly ready to shed her black armor plates, so constrained did she appear to feel in the crowded room—something no Gosay willingly chose to experience. His friend Eeess floated nearby in his quartz crystal globe, green crystals flickering strangely in the room’s orange light. And then there was T’Klose.
Conflict Commander T’Klose’s whistling ultrasonic voice had dominated the preceding minutes of status reports and option discussions. It still dominated their meeting. With his broad wings flapping wildly, T’Klose seemed as close to fury as he’d ever seen in an Arrik.
“We must use Scenario 23-Aquamarine!” T’Klose yelled.
“No!” Maran growled. “Using antimatter beams to attack planetary targets is excessive. I suggest Scenario l7-Garnet.”
And so the argument swayed back and forth. Stand off the Human planet and bombard the Penitent, NeoMarxist and Libyan Protectorate cells in the Human urban centers with full safety for all Compact sapients, or go down and dig them out. On a planetary surface crawling with nine billon Humans.
Sargon remembered his father’s counsel the last time he’d seen him. He remembered his father’s caution that the Horem must be first among equals. He knew whose duty it was to put this disaster right. He stood up, moving to the center of the room to stand before a glowering T’Klose.
“Conflict Commander, you were right.”
T’Klose’s wings stopped moving. His central eye fixed on Sargon. “What? You admit failure? Too bad you didn’t listen to me when these signals first came in!”
“Not failure,” he said, speaking as much to the All-Hailer translator globe floating nearby as to T’Klose. “There is a need to uphold Compact traditions. And to show the few Humans who are non-rational that we mean business. Our Trade motto is ‘you don’t get something for nothing.’ Right?” The other Council members had quieted. Maran watched him hopefully, perhaps calculating the odds. “Our other motto is ‘No one harms the Compact without suffering equal or greater harm.’ I support a strike against the Penitents, the Libyan Protectorate and the NeoMarxists. I support Scenario l7-Garnet—” T’Klose stomped both claw-feet, wings spreading wide in anger, “because this planet still has promise! The American President has offered a mutual defense treaty whereby her military forces will attack targets alongside our LACs. We should accept the treaty offer.” He looked around the crowded room. “And I volunteer to lead Sarenflex in the vanguard of our forces, under the co-leadership of Conflict Commander T’Klick T’Klose. Agreed?”
T’Klose’s wings suddenly contracted inward, folding themselves against his back, leaving only the heaving of his yellow and white-scaled abdomen as a sign of his anger. T’Klose watched Sargon as he might watch prey suddenly turned to predator. “You will attack the Humans. With me?”
“I will, T’Klose.” Feeling intense sadness, Sargon realized that a small sacrifice now might yet preserve a unique future for both the Humans and the Compact. “What are your orders, Conflict Commander?”
T’Klose rose up to his full height, spreading wings wide even though they brushed against other Council members.
“My orders are Scenario l7-Garnet. Implement it. Now! I Call the question.”
Sargon returned to sit beside Maran, ignoring his uncle’s sympathetic look. The die was cast now. There was no turning back. He hoped others from the Clan would understand. And would come with him to help.
The memory of his father Salex thrummed within him as the Council voted to chastise the Humans. The hard way—for the Compact. With Scenario l7-Garnet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sargon sat in the Command seat of Sarenflex in high Earth orbit, acknowledging operational reports from the flotilla of ten Horem Light Assault Crafts, ten Zik Strike-Saucers, twenty Arrik Claws, ten Gosay Teeth and ten Strelka Bite ships. Above Tycho Crater, the dreadnought Horemhold was in command of all Moon traffic. Nothing would attack them from the rear. Elsewhere on Command Deck his crew were preparing multi-species commando strikes against the Libyan Protectorate, NeoMarxist and Penitent cells in Baton Rouge, Wichita, Cuzco, Belo Horizonte, Montevideo, Parnaiba, Copenhagen, Tirana, Volgograd, Tripoli, Misurata, Benghazi, Mogadishu, Niamey, Juba, San’a, Hyderabad, Hong Kong, Pusan, Melbourne and Sydney. Persa would lead the Horem LACs, while Kagen, Lord Tarq, T’Set T’Say, Nomik and their Strelka, Gosay and Zik colleagues conned the other craft. Elsewhere on Sarenflex, Corin did his best at deciphering encrypted Human communications, Bethrin served as fleet Communications Chief, his mother Peilan handled the Remotes station with determination, and scores of other Horem from all the Clans of the habitat helped on the many levels of the dreadnaught Sarenflex. And standing next to him was Conflict Commander T’Klick T’Klose, whose wings were pressed tight against the Arrik’s body.
In her Liaison cubicle, Sparkling-Yellow-Thoughts had already advised the Human national governments of the presence of Penitent or terrorist cells in
their cities, of the Compact’s determination to strike back at its attackers, and of its desire to minimize any conflict with national military forces. Without saying how, the governments involved were advised the commando companies would selectively strike at the cells and that the city populations would be immobilized during the operations.
Life-Who-Is-Song, serving at Detection station, told him several national governments were offering to capture the cells themselves, one stupidly complained about the sacred sovereignty of their home soil, and the Australians had bluntly warned they would attack any craft entering their airspace. It looked like the Australian operation was going to be messy. Best to save it for last when a good defensive perimeter could be set up. However, that still left the laser battlestations in low Earth orbit. They were controlled by the UN Space Authority and Russia. Their sensors and weaponry could harm any member of the flotilla. Either the battlestations had to be killed, or the UN must turn off the sensors and weapons on the stations. He cared not for words. Actions were all that mattered now.
“Sparkling-Yellow-Thoughts, advise the UN Space Authority on Amaterasu station they must shut down their battlestations or we will destroy them.” He paused, recalling a detail. “Advise the Russians on Tsiolkovsky station to do the same for their battlestation. Advise me of the responses.”
“Contacting the stations,” hummed the Strelka.
To Sargon’s left was coiled Life-Who-Is Song. His longtime ally was scanning low orbit space and Earth with the ship’s sensors. “What is the status of the American hydrogen-fluorine lasers at Washington D.C., Kirtland, the Bangor and Kings Bay SuperTrident bases, SAC headquarters, and the Hampton Roads naval complex?”
“Operational,” Life hummed. “They are under the control of the American Space Command at Peterson Air Force Base in the interior territory called Colorado. There are also three neutral particle beam sats in geosync orbit. They are now above us. Your orders?”
Sargon had expected the news. Now would come the test of the American president’s mutual defense treaty. “Contact them. Tell the general in charge to shut off power to those lasers, and to deactivate their tracking radars. Tell him to do the same for particle beam sats. Otherwise, we will destroy them.”
Life reached out a flexarm and touched an instrument block. “Acting. What do I say if the general offers to help us in attacking the Penitent cells in Baton Rouge and Wichita?”
“Tell the general his combat jets and spaceplanes may strike at ground locations that our forces hit. Provide the comlink frequency for our strike craft. Let us see if this mutual defense treaty of McDonnell is real,” Sargon said.
The tracglobe of Belisarus raised a mecharm. “Amidst my laughter at these Humans, what use do we make of their ocean-traveling aircraft carriers? Some lie near other nation-Clan targets. Their aircraft and missiles might be of value.”
Sargon blinked. He felt embarrassed that a methane-breathing ball of silicon had caught him in a lapse of Command awareness. “The joke may yet be upon the Human Hartman. Provide aircraft carrier locations to Life. Our Science Contemplator will add that question to his contacts with the American general.”
The mecharm extruded a fiber optic cable that socketed into the Defense instrument block before the Thix-Thet. “Transmitting. May the Humans enjoy our jokes.”
Sargon did not think any Human would mistake the arrival of Compact strike craft for a joke. A movement by Sparkling-Yellow-Thoughts caught his attention. “Yes? You have news on the battlestations?”
“I do,” hissed the Strelka at Liaison. “The Russian at Tsiolkovsky cursed with obscure gestures, then agreed. The Russian battlestation in polar orbit is powered down. Its sensors are offline.”
“What of the UN battlestations?” Sargon said, feeling impatient.
“The UN colonel in charge at Amaterasu station said he could not make such a decision. He put me in contact with a Raoul Espinoza, who is the UN Secretary General. Espinoza said shutting down the battlestations would require a vote of the General Assembly. The group’s next meeting is set for a month from today.”
So it began. “Sparkle, are there live humans on the nine UN battlestations?”
“Yes. Five per battlestation,” she hissed.
“Contact each station,” Sargon said, looking at the Earth orbital space hologram that showed the locations of all satellites, shuttles, space stations and battlestations. “Advise those Humans to leave in their orbital shuttles or emergency vehicles. Tell them they have three minutes to comply before we destroy their station.”
“Contacting,” Sparkling-Yellow-Thoughts hissed.
“Watch Commander,” Life hummed. “A Brigadier General Jane Howard at Peterson Air Force base informs me the six American hydrogen-fluorine ABM lasers are now powered down. Their target acquisition radar is also powered down. My sensors confirm her statement.” The sensorium strip of Life angled forward as it perceived input from its Detection block. “General Howard now confirms the three neutral particle beam sats in geosync are also powered down, with their targeting sensors shut off. I confirm her statement.”
“Did she offer battle assistance to our strikes on Baton Rouge and Wichita?” Sargon asked.
“She did. General Howard said F-35s from Barksdale AFB in Louisiana and from McConnell AFB in Wichita will assist our strike craft. Also, she said four Aurora spaceplanes from Peterson will assist with our attacks in South America.” Life touched his Detection block. “And she says American supercarriers will assist with our attacks on cells in Mogadishu, Hyderabad and Pusan.”
Interesting the global reach of the American military assets. “Advise her we accept such assistance. Advise her forces to contact our strike craft using the comlink frequency given her. Otherwise, they risk being viewed as hostile. Which will result in their destruction,” Sargon said. He looked away and back to the other Strelka on duty. “Are the battlestations evacuated?”
“Seven of the nine are now empty of Humans,” Sparkling-Yellow-Thoughts hummed. “The remaining two are close to exiting. The Human Espinoza has lapsed into curses spoken in Spanish.”
Briefly he wondered what Jack and Colleen thought of their front-row seats in the ship’s food hall, in company with wise Lorilen and patient Grethel? The hall, covered with Imager screens, would provide real-time vidreports from each strike unit and the convoying ships, along with news reports from CNN WorldNet, YouTube, ChatTube and many bloggers. He had not objected when Jack said he wished to send live vidreports to Earth by way of the sat-vid unit carried by his mate Colleen. Perhaps the live imagery from space, from the Sarenflex and from the strike craft as they hit ground targets would convince other Humans it was a deadly mistake to ever attack a Compact member, let alone their home of Hekar. Looking at the front viewscreen, Sargon quickly read the glyphs, sine-waves and images for their Tactical import. It was time. He looked to T’Klose, standing at the Tactical pedestal.
“What is your command, Conflict Commander?”
T’Klose looked over at him, spread his wings to full measure, and screamed an ultrasonic whistle. “Attack! Attack! Use our antimatter beams against those battlestations! Tell our strike craft to dive on those who would harm our children!”
Around them, the metal walls reverberated with T’Klose’s order. Now was his duty come. A bitter, sad duty. He looked to the Thix-Thet who controlled the Defense block. “Belisarus, impale those battlestations with our front, spine and belly antimatter beams!”
“Acting.”
On the front screen, black lines struck out. The six battlestations on their side of Earth brightened and became tiny white stars as their matter converted to raw energy. The three stations on the far side of Earth would soon die thanks to Remotes controlled by his mother Peilan. She would also be sending Remotes down with the attacking strike craft to keep watch for any effort to attack the Compact units.
As Belisarus signaled the waiting ships and crew to dive on Earth, Sargon reflected upon the possible genet
ic influence of yellow stars upon sapients. The Arrik and the Humans certainly did like their theatrics! But a long ago memory of his actions as a very young Light Assault Craft commander told him stars had nothing to do with the fight to defend one’s friends and family. And memories could not be allowed to hinder his responsibilities. He turned to making war on Humans.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Jack,” called Colleen from her seat at a food table beside the port bank of Imagers. “It’s starting. Look!”
Feeling tired, Jack looked at the central Imager, which showed the Compact attack fleet. They now orbited at 900 kilometers above Earth. The Goddard and Tsiolkovsky space stations were on the opposite side of Earth. But Tiangong 4 and Amaterasu orbited just below them. He suspected that such positioning mattered not to Sargon. While the Compact ships were invisible to PAVE-PAWS, over-the-horizon and ozone backscatter radar, their location had been shown by the antimatter beam strikes on the battlestations. On the Imager he saw the Strelka Bite ships, Zik Strike-Saucers, Arrik Claw ships, Gosay Teeth pods and the Horem light assault craft or LACs begin to move. Each strike craft had a name, like Clan’s Tooth, Claw of the Coordinator, Hard Trade, Water Shield, Egg-Crusher, Tekar, Horemheart, Hive Prey, Predator, Raw Meat and Ferocious Mind. The Compact ships pulled away from the dreadnaught, heading down toward America, South America, Europe, Africa, South Asia and the Far East. The list of target cities had been broadcast an hour earlier by Sargon.
Retread Shop 1: First Contact Page 34
