EarthRise

by William C. Dietz

  Ah well, the Zin concluded as he shuffled down the hall, I had my problems, you must deal with yours. The nymph, well on the way toward recovery by then, answered with a jab from his elbow. Hak-Bin grunted, boarded the shuttle, and waited for the vessel to depart.

  Meanwhile, a machine no larger than the dot over an “i,” crawled down off the Zin’s shoulder, made it to the deck, and scurried away. It would take a while to reach the shuttle’s cockpit and the tiny docking station hidden there, but the effort would be worth it. Once ensconced in the bay, the robot would purge its memory banks, absorb some much-needed power, and go to standby. As for what happened to the data so recently gathered, well, that was for some other entity to worry about. Its function had been fulfilled—and that was all any machine could reasonably ask for.

  ABOARD THE SAURON DESTROYER NA GA, (THE RAVAGER)

  The Ravager had been under Sauron control when, during the height of the Ra ‘Na mutiny, she was erroneously attacked by a Sauron dreadnought and two cruisers. Such was the weight of the incoming fire that by the time the mistake was rectified, and the attack was terminated, the smaller vessel was little more than an orbiting wreck. That being the case, and having received no communications to the contrary, the Saurons assumed that the entire crew was dead and wrote the vessel off.

  But the entire crew wasn’t dead. Had anyone cared to investigate, they would have discovered that while injured, the ship’s Ra ‘Na pilot still clung to life. Something of a miracle considering the fact that the rest of the individuals in the control room had been killed when a missile opened a thirty-unit gash in the side of the hull and thereby released most of the ship’s atmosphere into the surrounding vacuum.

  Strangely enough, Kas owed her continued existence to the ship’s commanding officer, a Zin named Bri-Mor, who had just ordered the pilot to suit up and inspect the repairs made to the forward heat deflector two units earlier. That’s why she was dressed in space armor when the attack began—and why she was the only individual to survive the explosion.

  The impact hurled the diminutive Ra ‘Na across the control room, where she smashed a rack packed with electronics. Then, as if the fates were determined to find and kill her, the external vacuum tried to suck the pilot out through the crack in the hull. The gash was too narrow however—and her suit refused to pass through it.

  Finally, as if tired of playing with her, the pressures equalized and Kas was left to drift in circles. The pilot awoke from time to time, or thought she did, but wasn’t completely sure. It was hard to tell where dreams ended and reality began. Still, the one thing both states had in common was the pain in her head and the taste of blood in her mouth. It was the pain, plus the incessant beep, beep, beep in her helmet, that finally brought Kas around. The pilot was horrified by what she saw. Bodies, some of which belonged to friends, drifted through constellations of blood droplets. Others remained strapped into their chairs.

  The mind-numbing shock of the scene nearly robbed Kas of her capacity to reason, but the beep, beep, beep meant something and served to focus her mind. First the pilot realized that her oxygen was gone, or nearly gone, having already sustained her for days. Then she noticed that at least half of the control room’s indicator lights continued to glow, suggesting that one of the vessel’s two engines had survived the attack and remained on-line. And that was the moment when Kas found her purpose, a reason to live, and forced her body to comply.

  The movement made Kas’s head swim, but she refused to give in and managed to push-pull herself over to the place where the hull had been holed. The sealant, squirted into the gap on orders from the ship’s computer, had the appearance of gray fat. The Ra ‘Na’s helmet continued to beep at her as Kas struck the substance with her gloved fist, confirmed that it was solid, and turned toward the hatch. It was closed, just as it should be, which meant the compartment should be airtight. With the emphasis on should.

  Conscious of the fact that she had five, ten units at most, in which to pump air into the control room, Kas launched herself toward the main control panel. There were handholds, designed with that situation in mind, and the pilot grabbed one. Quickly, forcing herself to concentrate, the Ra ‘Na tapped a sequence of keys. The buttons changed color, a screen flickered, a blue bar began to creep downward, and the pilot knew air was entering the compartment. But would it enter quickly enough? Or would she remove her helmet only to die of asphyxiation?

  The beep extended itself into a long steady whine, Kas started to choke, and had to release her neck seal. A half twist to the left was sufficient to release the helmet. The Ra ‘Na attempted to breathe but discovered that the atmosphere was too thin for comfort. Her breath came in quick little gasps as her body fought to oxygenate her blood. Then, as more air entered the room, breathing became easier, and the blue bar hit the bottom of the screen.

  Kas was forced to pause. She tried to vomit, failed to bring anything up, and wondered why her head hurt so badly. But the pilot had a job to do and was determined to do it. The key was surprise, because once the ship started to move, an attack was likely to follow.

  Quickly, lest her own body betray her, Kas pulled herself over to the pilot’s position, released the thing that had once been her lover, and allowed it to drift away. Then, having strapped herself into the gore-drenched seat, the Ra ‘Na let her hands play the keyboard. Here, in her greatest moment of need, habit took over. Computers checked, systems reported, and the situation became clear. Assuming everything held together for a sufficient period of time, and assuming no one managed to blow the Ravager out from under her, the plan might actually work.

  Slowly, so as not to stress the single surviving engine any more than was necessary, Kas punched the appropriate coordinates into the navcomp, checked to ensure that they were correct, and handed control to the ship’s main computer. It considered the order, discovered a programming conflict, and kicked it back. Kas entered the code required for an override, and the Ravager broke orbit.

  Many of the Sauron vessels had been emptied by then, but a few remained active, and immediately took notice. Com calls were made, visual signals were sent, but there was no acknowledgment. That being the case, safeties were released, weapons brought on-line, and warnings given.

  Still receiving no response, energy cannon fired, missiles flashed through space, and the Ravager shuddered as her screens flared. Kas, still strapped into her chair, watched dully as ship-to-ship torpedoes tracked across her screens. Some came close but none of them actually struck the destroyer, partly thanks to luck, but partly because of where she was headed: down into the planet’s atmosphere.

  Vessels like the Ravager were the largest ships that could successfully negotiate Earth’s atmosphere. Now, as the warship nosed down through the exosphere, thermosphere, and mesosphere, the destroyer was tracked, predictions were made, and the efforts to destroy her doubled.

  Alerted by the Sauron’s activities, and certain that anything the slave masters objected to amounted to something they would approve of, the Ra ‘Na fleet opened fire. Having little choice but to defend themselves, the Saurons had to return fire, thereby reducing the number of weapons directed at the Ravager.

  And so it was that the ship, along with its sole living occupant, passed through the stratosphere and entered the troposphere, where it leveled out and began the final run. There was sufficient time for a warning, although there was very little that most of the Saurons could do beyond listen to the Klaxons and hope someone would deal with the problem.

  There were witnesses, of course, humans assigned to watch Hell Hill from the woods to the east, in preparation for the assault scheduled for the following morning. They saw a flash of light as artificial lightning tried to spear the vessel from above, heard the resulting boom, and spotted a dot low on the southern horizon. A dot that quickly grew, resolved into a spaceship, and screamed over Samish Bay.

  There was no way to know how fast the Ravager was going when she hit the south side of Hell Hill, but an ex
-airline pilot put her speed in excess of a thousand miles an hour, and there was no reason to doubt him. The resulting explosion knocked many of the witnesses off their feet.

  The citadel was destroyed on impact, the north face of the hill crumbled into Pleasant Bay, and a series of explosions marched through the ruins.

  As Kas died more than a quarter million Saurons died with her, or twice that number if one counted their nymphs. It was a victory for which she would never be credited—but which gave the humans a chance. Not a surety, but a chance, for which Boyer Blue was thankful. Though not one of those fortunate enough to witness the destruction of Hell Hill, he arrived less than forty minutes later, before the fire had burned itself out, and the back half of the Ravager’s hull could still be seen protruding from the hill’s south slope. The sight of smoke billowing up out of the wreckage should have made him happy, the historian knew that, but he couldn’t find the joy that seemed to fill all of those around him.

  What was it that Wellington supposedly said to a dinner companion? “Madam, there is nothing so dreadful as a great victory—excepting a great defeat.” Yes, Blue thought to himself as he looked out over the devastation, Wellington understood.

  ABOARD THE RA ‘NA DREADNOUGHT LIBERTY

  The compartment was packed with small furry bodies—as were similar compartments throughout the Ra ‘Na fleet. Screens had been rigged so that the audience could watch the proceedings and learn from what took place. Because soon, within a matter of hours for some, they too would be asked to board one of the Sauron-held vessels, pad down empty corridors, and murder every member of the master race that they could find.

  Dro Rul walked out onto a raised platform, and Shu felt her pulse pound just a little bit faster. Everyone cared about the boarding party and hoped their mission would go well, but no one knew the team’s commanding officer as well as she did, nor cared as much about his personal safety. The last thing the med tech wanted to do was witness her lover’s death, yet that was exactly what might occur as Fra Pol took a boarding party aboard the Sauron dreadnought Ib Se Ma in an attempt to find any changers who remained hidden aboard the ship. Something none of the Ra ‘Na in the room had been trained for. By watching Fra Pol’s team, the rest of them would learn what worked and what didn’t.

  The screens flickered into life. Each camera was mounted on a marine’s shoulder and showed that individual’s name under the shot. Shu sought out the frame labeled “Fra Pol,” and knew she was seeing what he saw. She wanted to be there, had requested to be there, but the request was denied. By Rul? By Pol? Or by someone else? There was no way to know. All she knew was that her stomach ached, her mouth felt dry, and the video made her dizzy.

  Rul looked down from the screen to the audience. His words were direct and to the point. “As you know the change has begun. Many of the Saurons, I daresay most of the Saurons, are on the surface or en route.

  “Once there, they intend to spawn a new generation of slave masters, reassert their dominance over our race, and reclaim the fleet. Something they will be better able to accomplish if at least some of them are born in space. Especially since their plan to maintain and breed a population of collaborators failed.

  “In order to cement our freedom and ensure that any Saurons who manage to survive are trapped on the planet below, it’s important that we control every ship in the fleet.”

  P’ere Dee was seated in the front row. He nodded approvingly. If all went well, the humans would eradicate the Saurons and thereby reclaim not only their planet but their freedom. However, should the furless ones fail, the Ra ‘Na would be free to depart for Balwur, confident in the knowledge that the Sauron menace had been effectively contained.

  “So,” Rul continued, blissfully unaware of his subordinate’s line of thought, “the Liberty’s commanding officer, Fra Pol, volunteered to lead the boarding part, which will show us how it’s done. Please pay close attention, as many of you will soon have an opportunity to take part in such missions yourselves.

  “Now, as Fra Pol and his brave crew near the Ib Se Ma, please join me in prayer . . . ‘From the ocean we came . . . and to the ocean we shall return . . .’ ”

  Though aware of the fact that his every deed would be witnessed by thousands of his fellow Ra ‘Na Pol couldn’t hear Dro Rul and wouldn’t have wanted to. Not with the Ib Se Ma’s enormous bulk looming ahead and no idea of what to expect. The fact that the shuttle he rode on remained unharmed was a testament to the fact that most of the ship’s crew had departed for Earth, but that was the extent of his knowledge. What if he and his crew were walking into a well-prepared trap? The training video would be short indeed.

  But there was no further time for doubts as the shuttle made contact with one of the dreadnought’s rarely used emergency locks. The entry point was driven by two considerations: the fact that the hatch which provided access to the ship’s Launch Deck was closed, and the hope that if a trap had been laid, the Saurons were waiting at some other location. Of course, Pol knew that if he could conceive of such a strategy, the Saurons could too, which left him where he had started. There was no way to know what awaited them.

  Considerable progress had been made where Ra ‘Na military gear was concerned, and as Pol made his way back toward the lock, he was pleased to see that all of his marines wore hastily manufactured body armor, combat harnesses, and were armed to the teeth. The small .22-caliber submachine guns used during the mutiny had proved extremely effective and now served as the standard assault weapon for all Ra ‘Na forces. Small two-shot .22 Magnum derringers obtained from the humans served as backup weapons—as did the newly released vibro blades.

  “All right,” Pol said, his words echoing throughout the Ra ‘Na fleet, “you know the drill . . . We blow the exterior hatch, enter the lock, and check to ensure that the ship is pressurized. Then, assuming it is, the first file will enter, secure the immediate area, and wait for files two and three. Once everyone is aboard, we search the ship, kill any Saurons still aboard, and seize control. Once that’s been accomplished, the Launch Deck will be reopened, the new crew will board, and we return home for lunch. Not just any lunch . . . but oysters from the planet below.”

  Shu smiled as the boarding party cheered, knew nobody else would have thought to provide an inducement like that one, and knew that others would do likewise in the future. Pol gave a lighthearted bow, and the camera bowed with him.

  Then it was down to business. A team of space-suited environment techs entered the shuttle’s lock, used a probe to access the hatch’s control mechanism, bombarded the security system with ten thousand codes per second, waited for one of them to hit, and opened the door. Then, happy still to be alive, they entered the dreadnought’s lock.

  A quick check was sufficient to establish that the ship remained pressurized. That being the case, the technicians withdrew, Pol entered, and the boarding party followed. The interior of the ship was dark, much darker than usual, which added to the gloom.

  Used as he was to the Ib Se Ma’s sister ship, Pol recognized the steady whir of air as it passed through a vent over his head, the faint tang of ozone, and the slight, almost imperceptible, vibration, which meant her engines remained on-line. Not because they needed to be on-line—but because the Saurons didn’t know how to shut them down.

  But there was something else as well—a feeling that might reflect reality or be the product of Pol’s hyperactive imagination. Perhaps it was the total absence of foot traffic when the Ra ‘Na stepped out into the normally busy corridor, the brooding silence, or the creak of steadily cooling metal as the dreadnought entered the Earth’s shadow. Whatever the reason, Pol found himself whispering as he directed his marines to take up defensive positions and wait for the rest of the boarding party to catch up.

  It was then, while the Ra ‘Na positioned themselves to defend their only line of retreat, that one of the thousands of cameras located throughout the ship made a fractional movement and zoomed in. It was difficult for Sel-Nam
to see, especially given what the change had done to his eyesight, but there was no mistaking the identity of the small bipedal bodies or the nature of their mission. The hunted had been transformed into hunters. Well, hunt away, the Zin thought to himself, because I have a surprise for you!

  It was difficult to concentrate, and each movement brought pain, but finally, after what seemed like a heroic effort, the Sauron managed to grasp the remote, squeeze the side grips, and activate the alien machine. Originally employed by a race called the Lopathians, thousands of such machines had battled the Kan some 157 years earlier and been destroyed.

  Now, having discovered a score of such mechanisms moldering away within one of the fleet’s asteroids, and having very little faith in Hak-Bin’s ability to carry out his duties, the Zin forced a Ra ‘Na computer technician to re-program one of the robots and subsequently put the slave to death.

  Metal clawed on metal as the long-dormant eight-legged robot came back to life, took its place between the Sauron and the hatch, and waited for something to kill.

  The fleet watched as Pol checked to ensure that the entire thirty-six person team was in place and properly oriented. Then, taking advantage of the fact that all of them were familiar with the Ib Se Ma’s layout, the Ra ‘Na boarders turned toward the core of the ship. A single Ra ‘Na took what humans often referred to as “the point,” followed by Pol, two fire teams armed with automatic weapons, a group of technical specialists, more marines, the team’s second-in-command, and the individual assigned to the drag position. It was his task to ensure that nobody was able to slip up behind the group—a responsibility that forced him to walk backward half the time.

  There were places where, judging from the pockmarked bulkheads and bloodstained decks, intense battles had been fought. Battles which the Ra ‘Na had lost. Pol felt as if the ghostly crew members were there, looking over his shoulder as he padded down the corridor, waiting for their revenge. Not a pleasant sensation and one he rid himself of by focusing his mind on the task at hand.