President Powell and General McIver looked at each other in disbelief. They said nothing.
“We now offer you ... a peace treaty...” continued the monotone voice being broadcast across all radio frequencies.
Powell’s hopes started to rise in anticipation of a favourable end to the nightmare they’d found themselves in. The nuke must have done the trick and laid waste to their fleet. He willed the voice to move faster.
“Here are ... our terms…”
Powell didn't like the sound of ‘our terms’—it suggested a position of strength, which was not consistent with his mental picture of the Atlantic’s last act of destruction. He kept an open mind, rationalizing it as their ignorance of the subtleties of English. The atmosphere in the room was tense with expectation.
“You will launch no more ... machines into space ... via any method. You will stay on Earth... We have destroyed ... all of your machines in space...”
The president’s heart sank when he realised the implications of this. If it was true that all military space assets were down, then mounting another attack on the remnants of the alien fleet would be virtually impossible.
“Screw them! We’ve still got Operation Shotgun to hit them with once we get through to Groome Lake!” said an angry General McIver. The classified underground bunker complex there was deeper and more secure than anything outside of Cheyenne Mountain. From there some of the last remaining FTL gates could send hundreds of nuclear warheads to the coordinates of the surviving alien ships. Operation Shotgun would secure victory and buy time to get back into space, so McIver hoped. He was forgetting one thing.
“Only we can ... stop the asteroid from colliding with Earth ... in twelve months’ time.”
President Powell and General McIver realised that they had no choice—the Sword of Damocles would be threatening Earth until the aliens decided otherwise. The tragedy the asteroid strike would bring was unfathomable. It would end human civilization, causing a mass extinction the likes of which hadn’t been seen for sixty-five million years. They knew the number and accuracy of the warheads they could transit into space was not enough to defeat what remained of the alien fleet and knock the asteroid off course. They no longer even had the radar capability to track either threat. Powell felt a wave of despair as the ugly truth became clear. Unless something changed, humanity was powerless to resist and that shook his inner beliefs to the core.
“We now have ... dominion over Earth... You will move all humans ... from the area of Earth ... you call the ‘Tropics’ … within one hundred Earth days... Any remaining humans there ... will be killed... You will submit to … our rule and stay in ... human regions.”
“That’s ridiculous! That’s not even possible!” exclaimed McIver, turning red and shaking his head vigorously.
McIver was right, but their audacity and the scope of their demands were staggering. ‘Victors’ justice’, thought Powell. He did not think it was coincidence that they wanted the tropics. This was the region of Earth most like their home planet. Historically, human colonizers from Europe had similar preferences for climates they found favourable in conquered lands.
“Representatives of … Western Global Alliance, Russia ... and China will ... agree to this ... peace treaty within ... five Earth days... Your cooperation will be ... monitored and the asteroid ... will continue on its path... We will divert it if you ... continue to cooperate for ... three-hundred Earth days.”
Abruptly, the broadcast ended and was replaced by the civil defence emergency message once more. Powell, McIver and the others in the control room were left stunned into silence, lost in thought. They were being held hostage by the aliens. They didn't have the invasion force to take Earth and probably wanted to avoid the massive undertaking even if they did. It was clear to Powell that the aliens wanted to keep them on ice until they reinforced their fleet and assembled the means to take the planet by force if they had to. They could resist and billions would die, or capitulate and become a vassal world of the nascent alien empire.
“Mr President, I think it’s time we reconsidered the other offer,” suggested McIver, gravely.
The exhausted, scruffy-looking President Powell, nodded once, looking at the General, and said, “I think you're right, Fred. I think you're right.”
“Oh, I almost forgot with everything going on, they’ve located the NSA guy who was instrumental in making it possible—Captain Yusuf Kaya.”
President Powell smiled. “That’s good news, Fred, but I’m afraid he’s going to have to wait to get his award until I return. Keep searching for Yau Min Chang’s surviving family members won't you, Fred? If it wasn’t for him and Captain Kaya we wouldn’t have this option right now. They’ve done a great service to their country and the world.”
***
Other than being safe and secluded, there was a more specific reason why this particular bunker was chosen. Out of the many secret bunkers dotted the length and breadth of the country this one had a special purpose. Although it had been there since the first Cold War it had only taken delivery of the equipment that now sat in the middle of the reinforced natural cave after Operation Far Light had run its course. The six-month reconnaissance mission had uncovered something that very few people knew about. Powell had lobbied hard to ensure it was kept out of the mission report and had won his case. The leaking of that report proved the desire for additional secrecy well founded. It had also become glaringly obvious that the aliens knew a lot more about Earth than humanity did about Gaia—how else could they have targeted Earth’s military and command and control sites so efficiently?
President Stephen F. Powell stepped out from the narrow corridor three floors down from the control room and into the well-lit cavern. The First Lady, Alyssa, and their twenty-one-year-old daughter, Saskia, joined him and linked arms either side. As large as a basketball court, the curved roof extended down to the floor on three sides and somewhat resembled a semi-circular aircraft hangar. The fourth side led off into a narrowing cave and the darkness beyond. Apparently, an extensive network of natural caves stretched for miles beyond. The air felt cold and dank in the underground space; the sound of voices and footsteps echoed from the hard surfaces all around.
“Mr President, the others are all strapped in and ready to go,” informed the tech dressed in the standard blue Space Force jumpsuit.
A handful of military officers and Secret Service agents lined the short walk to the crew capsule suspended close to the high ceiling on cables. The vice president waited at the bottom of the temporary steps up to the hatch, making eye contact with President Powell. Below the capsule, also suspended on cables, was the FTL gate through which it would soon depart. The metal ring sat just above the ground with a round, concrete-lined sump extending below floor level for the dark sphere to grow into once the gate was active. Powell unlinked arms with his wife and daughter then turned to wrap his arms around them both, pulling them close.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promised them both.
He placed his hands either side of his daughter’s face, looked her in the eyes and told her, “I’m going to make this all go away. I’m not going to let you grow up under their rule. Take care of Mom and yourself. I’ll be back soon. I promise.” He kissed her gently on the forehead and recalled her as a child in her pink pyjamas after her bedtime story. She’d had her university education cut short and, like countless millions of others, had had her life turned upside down. He wasn’t just President of the United States but Saskia’s father and protector, and that meant the world to him.
He turned to Alyssa, his wife of thirty years, and took her in his arms, hugging her tight, kissing her cheek. They turned face-to-face and kissed goodbye, tears streaming down both his wife’s and daughter’s faces. His daughter started sobbing softly.
“I have to go now,” he whispered reluctantly, not knowing if he would ever see them again.
They’d been given a time window in which to make the transit and it was fa
st running out. He turned and walked towards his friend and deputy, Blake Jefferson, Vice President, who waited with his broad, warm smile, his eyes watery. He was clearly touched by Powell’s emotional goodbye, no doubt thinking of his own family, absent but confirmed safe in another bunker. Powell approached and bear hugged Vice President Jefferson. They had been friends and allies since the early days of their political careers and spent much leisure time together out of genuine friendship.
“If anyone can make it work, you can, Stephen. We’ll see you back here soon. Take care, friend,” he said.
“We’ve got a good team. Look after my family. Look after the country—it’s in your hands now, Blake,” said Powell.
He knew that the world’s nations were likely to be divided over how to manage the aliens’ demands—evacuating the tropics, presumably so they could settle or exploit the planet; capitulating to alien rule. Agreement between Earth’s disparate powers, even before the alien bombardments, would have been hard to achieve. Now it seemed that a united front would be almost impossible. There would be resisters and collaborators. Nations would try to cut deals with their new overlords, while others would fight to the death. As society was ripping itself apart and law and order breaking down, a bloody guerrilla war could engulf the globe. The aliens were devilishly clever in their strategy. Divide and rule. Then there was the ten kilometre wide asteroid, 375 Nemesis. With the asteroid hurtling towards Earth, it provided a strong incentive against further attacks on the alien fleet with the aliens the only force left with the power to stop it. Things looked bleak for the, once undisputed, rulers of planet Earth. Some would be thinking that humanity had finally met its match, but very few people knew what Powell and those in the bunker knew. He just hoped it would all turn out as promised. It had to. It was their last best chance to turn the tide and challenge the aliens’ power once again.
He turned to salute the assembled officers and stepped back to shake hands with the Secret Service men and women. He climbed the stairs and turned at the top to see his wife and daughter one last, precious time, trying as best he could to sear the image into his mind. With a simple blown kiss to each, he turned and took the one remaining seat of six in the crew capsule.
The Space Force tech followed him in and helped him get strapped in. After some last minute checks, he rapidly made his way to the hatch and sealed in President Powell with General McIver, Defence Secretary Romero and Deputy Chief Scientist Christina Frewer, along with two of his best Secret Service agents. There was no space to bring personal effects in the cramped capsule—only the EQP transceiver, a computer and the gift. The computer carried the wealth of information – technological and otherwise – that would help to win the war against the alien invaders. Humanity had the technology to beat their foe, but was now no longer in a position to leverage it.
Non-essential personnel were led away from the cavern and the temporary steps were removed. The last two techs left the capsule, still suspended above the FTL gate and retreated to the small operations room adjoining the cave. With its large, reinforced glass pane, the operations techs had a clear view of the capsule.
Several minutes passed as they completed the pre-launch checklist before initiating the singularity. From a tiny, imperceptible dark point grew the watery-skinned, black sphere that grew to fill the entire space inside the hoop of the FTL gate. The lights flickers then dimmed with the immense draw from the bunker's power grid. The cable release command was given and the klaxon sounded urgently, a single flashing light pulsating, red reflections bouncing off the satin grey alloy of the capsule. The capsule fell then contacted the top of the dark sphere and was dragged into the nothingness by the unseen forces beyond.
***
Powell had felt the capsule drop then blacked out into unconsciousness. It reminded him of being sedated in hospital except it happened instantly. He opened his eyes and was relieved to see the familiar faces of his companions alive, but seemingly mesmerized. The weak light of a distant star poured in through the portholes, casting pools of illumination that shifted slowly with the orientation of the drifting capsule. He sensed his weightlessness only as the movement of the unrestrained end of a safety belt pointed it out to him. He heard only the sound of his breathing and the background noise of the air circulating around the capsule’s life support system. No one spoke, as they gathered their thoughts and took in the tantalising vignettes outside. As the capsule turned, the curved horizon of the swirling, green gas giant filled the portholes. A percussion of lightning flashes lit up the thick clouds from below. Powell sensed the change to a dark-red shade in his peripheral vision and strained to turn his head to the porthole on his far right.
A rocky, rust-coloured orb slid into view. The thin, translucent atmosphere with wispy ribbons of cloud looked like delicate paint strokes over its rarefied skies. A plume of darker gas trailed from the glowing tips of a cluster of volcanoes near the equator. The poles were covered in ice, encouraged by the lack of warmth and minimal atmospheric blanket. Mountains, valleys, craters and plains dominated the surface, but there was no vegetation or oceans. As the vista continued to scan over the world, Powell momentarily discerned the distant lights of a city far below. For the foreseeable future this marginal world would either be the seat of their government-in-exile or would see the betrayal of Earth’s last best hope.
To be continued in…
THE VASSAL WORLD
Now available to pre-order, only on Amazon, (for release March 25th, 2015)
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TIP0A2G
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The First Exoplanet Page 39
