by Dayton Ward
A moment later, one of the suited figures on the screen moved toward whoever was controlling the camera recording everything from the site. The curved faceplate of the person’s helmet was reflective, providing Markham only with a reverse image of the camera operator.
“Hello?” said a female voice, sounding distant and weak as it was channeled through her helmet communications system and the satellite link. “Director Markham?”
“This is Markham. Who am I talking to?”
“Doctor April Hebert, sir. You asked to be notified when we had something worth reporting.”
“Time’s short, Doctor. What’ve you got?”
Hebert held up a large piece of twisted, scorched metal. There were no visible markings and no other easy means of making any sort of visual identification. “We’re still picking up pieces like this, and there are a hell of a lot of them. They don’t belong to the Xuanzang rocket or anything else you’d expect to find in China, sir. We’ve only got our portable scanners with us here, and two of them have already failed thanks to the radiation, but I’m willing to say now that this is definitely EZ31 material. More accurately, it contains elements of those compounds. If this isn’t a reuse of original elements, then it’s a pretty damned good approximation.”
“Just as we suspected all along,” said Burden.
Markham felt a weight settling upon his shoulders as everything he had feared for the past twenty hours and indeed the last five years was coming to pass. It had been that long since the last recorded sighting of an unidentified craft in low Earth orbit, which Majestic 12 satellites had confirmed as being Eizand in origin.
Then the vessel disappeared.
With American military planes moving to intercept the craft over the Pacific Ocean, the target slipped below radar. At first believing it to have crashed at sea, Markham and other MJ-12 supervisors deployed assets to the region in search of the ship or any wreckage or alien specimens that may have survived. Days of hunting the elusive craft were rewarded with nothing. Where had the ship gone? What about its crew, assuming there was one? The idea of one or more aliens running free anywhere on Earth sent MJ-12’s senior leadership into a frenzy, with personnel and other resources allocated across the planet with orders to hunt down and secure the ship and any passengers or crew it may have carried. Those efforts went unrewarded, and theories began to circulate that perhaps this ship had employed some manner of self-destruct system to prevent its capture. Unconvinced of this notion, Markham saw its merits. If the Eizand were stepping up their surveillance of Earth, and still searching for their lost probes as well as the one manned vessel Majestic had captured, then it stood to reason that they would take steps to protect themselves. Without proof in the form of wreckage, there was no way to to be sure this had indeed happened, and because of that, Markham and his people remained vigilant.
That persistence paid off when intelligence agents working in China soon reported unconfirmed rumors of the secretive government now possessing some form of alien technology. Confirmation was a much more difficult proposition, coming less than a month ago as the Xuanzang probe and its accompanying rocket were entering the final stages of assembly before beginning the lengthy series of diagnostic checks in preparation for launch. The proof had been slim, in the form of a single small piece of metallic composite smuggled out of the Jiuquan Launch Center by an undercover Majestic operative, but it was enough to send Markham scrambling.
The probe could not be allowed to launch.
With the constant threat of the Eizand returning, either to find their missing ship or to attack Earth itself, time was short. Paranoia remained high, fueled by the disappearance of the Arex IV command module seven years earlier to the apparent loss of the Charybdis, the third failure by NASA to send a manned spacecraft beyond the solar system. Communication and computer telemetry with the vessel had been lost only months earlier, two years after the ship’s launch. There was no way to ascertain whether the Charybdis experienced systems malfunctions or catastrophic failure, and there would be no opportunity to send another ship after the wayward vessel for at least another year. Had the vessel suffered from a critical design flaw, encountered some form of heretofore unknown stellar phenomenon, or been the victim of deliberate action? If the latter, were the Eizand to blame, or was this the fault of some other alien race? Such questions, though they could not be asked in a public forum, were the focus of much discussion within the hidden halls of Majestic 12’s leadership.
As for the Xuanzang, a ship constructed with components from an Eizand ship could not be allowed to leave Earth. Not yet. Majestic engineers were hard at work on their own version of such a craft, but the task was being carried out in absolute secrecy. Markham had not even told Burden, his trusted right hand, about this initiative, which was under way after being initiated nearly a decade earlier. There would be only one chance at such a launch before the Eizand became aware of humanity’s exploitation of their more advanced technology, and Markham and Majestic were going to make the most of that lone opportunity, provided China or some other world power did not first screw up things for the entire planet.
Hence, the “accident,” perpetrated by Majestic, and made to look as though the Xuanzang rocket had succumbed to a simple yet catastrophic malfunction, one with massive, lingering consequences. A single small explosive charge placed by a clandestine MJ-12 agent was all that was needed. The resulting detonation forced a chain reaction that ended up destroying the nuclear reactor that was to power the spacecraft’s ion plasma propulsion engine. There was no massive explosion as one might expect from a nuclear weapon, but the blast was enough to destroy the rocket as well as the launch gantry and surrounding infrastructure. All of this was followed by the massive fuel fire that still raged, along with an enormous amount of radioactive fallout and debris. The entire area had been quarantined until the fire died down, but the lingering radiation was enough to keep out anyone who did not possess the necessary protective equipment. In this regard, Majestic 12 had the edge.
What concerned him about this operation was the potential for interference from other outside forces. They had seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth, though Markham knew that at least one and perhaps more of the agents he had sought for years remained at large. Following Kirsten Heffron’s escape from custody and the director’s disappearance years earlier, and in the aftermath of the assault on their secret base of operations off the coast of Scotland, the agents went into hiding. All vestiges of their advanced technology were destroyed before it could be taken into Majestic 12’s possession for study. Markham knew they were out there, somewhere, likely still poking their noses into matters around the world. Would something like the Xuanzang attract their interest? Perhaps they were monitoring the launch, but from far away and beyond MJ-12’s reach. What would their reaction be to today’s “accident”? That remained to be seen, but Markham could not wait for the enigmatic troublemakers to show themselves.
“Doctor Hebert, how much longer do you think you’ll need?”
On the monitor, the figure in the bulky suit turned as though looking for other members of her team before replying, “We’ll have to leave here in about half an hour. That’s the limit of protection these suits can provide in this environment, but we have enough replacements to make three, maybe four more trips back if necessary. There’s really not much more for us to do here, though, sir. This place is an inferno. By the time anybody with regular equipment can get in there, any evidence we might be worried about will be long gone.”
“I’d rather not risk another trip. We’re pushing our luck as it is, and you’ve done remarkable work, Doctor. Get your people out of there.”
Hebert touched her hand to her helmet’s faceplate, mimicking a salute. “Understood, Director.”
“Do you think the Chinese will figure out it was sabotage?” asked Burden.
Shrugging, Markham turned from the monitor and moved toward his desk. “Hell if I know. So far as we’ve be
en able to figure out, they had no idea we knew they’d recovered that Eizand probe. That might be the one thing working in our favor. On the other hand, they’re paranoid, and they’re always accusing us of one thing or another. I figure the president will be getting an earful about this from the Chinese president, regardless, assuming he hasn’t already.”
This sort of saber rattling was nothing new and in fact had been on the uptick in recent years, thanks to everything from trade disputes and economic sanctions to incidents involving military vessels in disputed waters. Both sides were guilty of these transgressions, and until now both leaders had managed to smooth all ruffled feathers and maintain a semblance of civility. How much longer would that last?
Good question.
Settling into the chair behind his desk, Markham said, “It could be months or years before the Chinese can make any sort of educated guess about what happened.”
Burden rose from her chair near the monitor and approached his desk. “Yeah, but we can’t rule out one of their investigators or forensic scientists or engineers finding some shred of evidence that gives them the idea they were sabotaged.”
“Nope, we can’t, but proving it is a whole other kettle of fish, let alone pulling together enough information to level a formal accusation, at us or anybody else.” That was of little comfort, as Markham was well aware that in the world of political brinkmanship and ever-stressed diplomatic relations between global powers, accusation and innuendo were two of the most powerful weapons in any government’s arsenal.
“If they do find something,” said Burden, “then there’s a good chance we’re all going to war.”
Markham offered a humorless laugh. “If that happens, then we’ll likely end up making things a hell of a lot easier for the Eizand.”
And won’t that be grand?
22
Sralanya
2386
Flanked by a pair of male Tevent Coalition guards and with his hands bound in front of him by the now-familiar restraint bands, Picard sat on a bench along one wall of the personnel transport’s passenger compartment. Roused well before dawn after enduring only a few brief hours of fitful sleep, he felt himself being lulled by the ground transport’s gentle movements and the hum of its propulsion system as it proceeded on its antigravity cushion.
It would be easy enough to drift back to sleep, but he was doing his best to keep track of their journey, which he suspected would end up being a futile endeavor. The vehicle’s passenger area had no windows, and whatever changes in direction the transport undertook were without sharp turns or sudden slowing or acceleration. How long had they been on the move? Fifteen minutes; twenty at the outside, Picard guessed. He could not be sure if they were even still in the city.
“Where are you taking me?” It was the fifth time he had asked the question of his escorts since entering the vehicle. He made a point of employing the exact same phrasing and tone each time, refusing to offer the guards any hint that he was growing tired of posing the query. For their part, the two Eizand soldiers seemed to be growing irritated, though neither had ordered him to remain quiet. Until he received a reaction, Picard was content to keep needling them with questions.
It’ll pass the time, if nothing else.
He had already examined the passenger compartment’s interior. Besides the aft hatch through which he had entered, the only other features were the benches along both sides and a small communications panel set into the forward bulkhead. He and his guards were the only passengers. The rear hatch, he had observed during his loading process, could be opened or closed from the inside, but only with an octagonal key or access card each of the guards carried in a pocket of their uniform. Other than with assistance from outside the vehicle, the only way Picard was getting out of here was through the guards, which seemed an unlikely proposition.
Deciding to change tacks, he asked, “What about my people? Are they being moved as well?” Again, he received no reply, though one of the guards at least glanced at him. It was progress, Picard decided, if only a small portion.
The appearance of the guards in his holding cell had come as a surprise. All they had told him was that he was being transferred to another, more secure location to await his trial, and that time was of the essence. Having already been segregated from the rest of the away team, Picard’s first questions to the guards were about them and their current condition, but he was ignored then just as now. He wondered about the idea of being moved to a “more secure location.” Was the implication that his former holding area was somehow vulnerable? Perhaps his captors were anticipating the Enterprise attempting a rescue operation, assuming the crew had found a way to deal with the planet’s orbiting satellite defenses. Even without the use of transporters, due to interference from one source or another, a security detail from the starship would be more than capable of taking control of whatever base or installation was his current destination. Presider Hilonu would be doing everything in her power to prevent that from happening. She needed Picard for the trial she wanted held and also required the away team to use as leverage to ensure his cooperation. It therefore seemed obvious that the Eizand leader would be taking no chances.
Where was the presider? Picard had not seen her since their last meeting, following his separation from the away team. Would she not appear again until his trial got under way? As for whatever legal proceedings Picard soon would face, would they be broadcast around Sralanya? He knew the Enterprise would be monitoring all planetary broadcasts, if for no other reason than just one more means of attempting to track the away team.
A shift in the transport’s movements pushed Picard back against the passenger compartment’s sloping starboard bulkhead, and he shifted his feet to better brace himself against the deck. His two guards also were surprised by the odd maneuver, with both Eizand reaching with free hands to steady themselves.
“What was that?” asked one of the soldiers.
His companion shook his head. “I do not know.” He pushed himself from the bench, moving toward the front of the passenger compartment just as the transport lurched again, this time to port. Picard was able to keep steady in his seat by sticking out his right leg and planting his heel in a groove running the length of the deck, but the guard did not fare as well. Instead, the Eizand stumbled and rammed his shin into the opposite bench. Snapping a stream of invective Picard did not understand, the guard reached for a handhold to keep from being knocked off his feet.
Picard flinched as something slammed into the vehicle’s starboard side, behind his back. The effect was immediate as the transport lost power and began decelerating. Despite his best efforts, Picard felt himself dragged toward the front of the passenger compartment, pushing him into the other guard who was still seated on the bench. The second soldier, still standing at the time of the strike, stumbled forward and slammed face-first into the front wall. Picard heard bone snap and the guard whimpering as he dropped to his knees, reaching to cover his face.
“Ambush!” shouted a voice through the communications panel. “We are under attack!”
Who in the hell would be attacking a prisoner transport and why? Were the assailants after the guards, the vehicle, or him? Locked inside, he was a sitting duck. These and other questions and thoughts raced through Picard’s mind as a second salvo punched the side of the transport, and this time he had to grab on to the edge of the bench to keep from being thrown to the floor.
You need to do something.
His stomach lurched as the transport halted with no warning, and Picard and the guard started to come up off the bench. Whereas the Eizand tried to arrest his motion by reaching for the bulkhead behind him, Picard allowed the inertia to carry him forward. With his hands still clasped together, he swung upward, his fists smashing into the underside of the guard’s jaw. The strike was enough to snap the soldier’s head back and into the bulkhead, and he grunted with surprise and pain. He attempted to push himself to his feet, one hand making a clumsy move for
his holstered sidearm, but Picard gave him no quarter. Following his first attack, he lashed out at the guard again, chopping at his face with the edges of his hands. The blow was enough to drop the soldier back onto the bench and he toppled over.
“Stop!”
Ignoring the voice of the other guard, Picard scrambled to grab the weapon from his unconscious companion’s holster. It took two tries to pull the sidearm free, and it required effort to wield the unfamiliar pistol with his hands still locked together. He spun, leveling the weapon’s muzzle at the other guard in time to see the wounded Eizand, pale gray-blue blood streaming from his broken nose, struggling to push himself to his feet. The soldier had already drawn his weapon and now was attempting to take unsteady aim at his prisoner.
Picard fired.
The pistol bucked in his hands as it unleashed a single energy bolt, which was blinding and deafening inside the cramped passenger compartment. His aim was true and the bolt struck the guard in his left shoulder, spinning him around and pushing him against the forward wall. The soldier slumped against the bulkhead, dropping his own sidearm and rolling over onto the deck.
A quick check confirmed that the guard was merely unconscious, for which Picard breathed a sigh of relief. He had not wanted to harm the Eizand, but killing him would have only made an already tense situation far more uncomfortable.
The sound of metal against metal from behind him made Picard turn and drop to one knee, aiming the awkward pistol at the transport’s rear hatch. A moment later the door swung open and faint daylight streamed into the compartment.
“Captain Picard?”
The call was in halting Standard, as though its speaker was unfamiliar with the language, but it was enough for Picard to drop his weapon’s muzzle toward the deck as first one, then a second Eizand head poked through the doorway. One of the new arrivals was a female, but the other was a male that Picard recognized.
