The Truth a5-7

by Robert Doherty

  “So in other words we have to seize control back?” Turcotte summarized.

  “Unless we can get to Final Option before he sends out a targeting matrix,” Quinn said. “Has our Tesla expert arrived yet?” Turcotte asked.

  “Chopper’s inbound, five minutes out.”

  “We can’t wait. We’re lifting now.” Turcotte grabbed Quinn as the man turned to go. “Did Majestic use implants?”

  “‘Implants’?”

  Turcotte tapped the back of his head. “Did they put something in my head?”

  Quinn shook his head. “No, sir. I never heard of Majestic doing that to anybody. They used the EDOM device to mess with memories, but no implants.”

  “Great.”

  Orbit

  Aspasia’s Shadow looked over Thayer’s shoulder at the laptop screen. A map of the world was displayed. He pointed as he spoke.

  “New York, Mexico City, Sao Paulo, Tokyo, Osaka-Kyoto, Los Angeles, Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro, London, Moscow, Calcutta, Bombay, Seoul — scratch that last one”—he said with a laugh—“already taken care of. Let’s see. Chicago, Lima, Paris, St. Petersburg, New Delhi, Tehran, Shanghai, Bangkok, Cairo.”

  As Aspasia’s Shadow listed each city, Thayer moved the small pointer on the screen to the spot and clicked. A small red triangle appeared over each.

  Aspasia’s Shadow smiled. “Let’s throw in Sydney, Athens, Baghdad, and Atlanta just for fun and an even twenty-five.”

  Thayer marked each of the additional cities. “All programmed into the target matrix for five nuclear warheads each.”

  “Send it.”

  CHAPTER 15: THE PRESENT

  Airspace Camp Rowe

  “What do you have?” Turcotte asked Kincaid. They were in the control room, watching the computer display that the JPL man had rigged, which was currently forwarding information from Space Command tracking Aspasia’s Shadow’s Talon. It was currently in orbit, moving to the east.

  “Give me a second,” Kincaid said. He tapped the screen. “He’s heading somewhere. No need for him to be moving.”

  “Where?”

  Kincaid hit the touch pad and made a few adjustments, extending out the flight path of the Talon. “There.” A small dot was directly on the flight path. “What’s that?” Turcotte asked. “The International Space Station.” “And Final Option?”

  “The platform is here. Directly above Kansas.”

  “Seal us up,” Turcotte ordered Yakov. He turned to Manning. “Get your men ready. We’ve got an immediate mission.”

  “Sir—” Major Quinn was holding his hand up, almost like a schoolchild, the other hand pressing the earpiece tightly to his head so he could hear whatever was being transmitted.

  “What?”

  “Space Command has copied a target matrix that was just transmitted by the Final Option Mission.” “Targets?”

  “Twenty-five cities around the world.” Quinn was looking at his Palm Pilot. “It looks to me as if he’s targeted them by population.” Quinn rattled them off quickly. “New York, Mexico City, Sao Paulo, Tokyo, Osaka-Kyoto, Los Angeles, Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro, London, Moscow, Calcutta, Bombay, Chicago, Lima, Paris, St. Petersburg, New Delhi, Tehran, Shanghai, Bangkok, Cairo, Sydney, Athens, Baghdad, and Atlanta.”

  Turcotte just stared at Quinn.

  “All targeted,” Quinn said, not sure if Turcotte had understood him. “By our own weapons.”

  Quinn couldn’t tell if it was a question or statement. “Yes, sir.”

  “So it’s too late to take out the platform.” “Yes, sir. The only way we can stop those nukes is to regain control of the computer.” “Which is where?”

  “I would say in the Talon with Aspasia’s Shadow. Barksdale confirms there is no one in the LCC and the mainframe there is off-line. Aspasia’s Shadow must have a laptop on board the Talon with a satellite link.”

  Turcotte turned to look at Yakov. The Russian had a bottle of some clear liquid, from which he took a long drink, then held it out to Turcotte. The Special Forces officer shook his head. “My head hurts enough already.”

  “I always tell you things can get worse,” Yakov said. Turcotte ignored the Russian’s comment.

  “Also—” Quinn dragged the word out. “What?”

  “Kaong”—Quinn glanced at his laptop screen—“he wants to speak to you.” “About?” “Aspasia’s Shadow has issued the UN an ultimatum.”

  Turcotte walked over stood next to Quinn, looking down at the face on the screen. “Deputy Secretary General, what can I do for you?”

  The Deputy Secretary General was listening to someone to his left, the sound muted. He reached forward and fiddled with something, then his voice came out of the small speakers. “We have received an ultimatum from Aspasia’s Shadow. If we give him the mothership he will relinquish control of the Final Option Missile.”

  “‘We’?” Turcotte asked. “You don’t have the mothership, sir.” He indicated the space around him. “We control it. Area 51 controls it.”

  Kaong frowned. “I don’t understand what you are saying, Major. You work for UNAOC.”

  “I didn’t see anybody from UNAOC when I was on Everest,” Turcotte said. “Or helping Yakov on Ararat. Or when Quinn and Kincaid were being attacked at Area 51. You, sir, don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. You don’t know Aspasia’s Shadow. We do. He cannot be trusted.”

  “But he contacted the United Nations,” Kaong said. “And he is threatening your country along with many member nations. I am—”

  Turcotte shook his head. “We’ll deal with Aspasia’s Shadow first. Then we’ll deal with the others.” “The others?”

  “I don’t have time for this.” Turcotte reached down and cut off the transmission. He walked back to the pilot’s seat and took his place. “Are we sealed?” he asked Yakov.

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” Turcotte put his hands on the controls and the mothership lifted.

  International Space Station

  Who would have thought a lock was needed on the airlock hatch for the International Space Station?

  Aspasia’s Shadow jetted across the narrow space between his Talon and the space station and simply spun open the manual latch on the outside lock. He slid inside and shut the hatch behind him. He removed his space helmet, then opened the inner airlock. There was a man floating in the narrow corridor, blocking his way and holding a crowbar, apparently the only weapon the crew of the station could come up with on short notice.

  Aspasia’s Shadow tucked the spear he had retrieved from the Talon’s armory under his arm and pressed the indentation set in its haft. A golden bolt hit the man, knocking him unconscious. Aspasia’s Shadow flexed his legs and pushed off, swinging the airlock hatch shut behind him. He let go and floated through the center of the chamber, shoving the unconscious man out of the way. The far hatch was closed and when he reached it, Aspasia’s Shadow discovered the latch wouldn’t move. He peered into the small glass and saw a woman looking back at him. He knew there was a crew of three on board the station, two Americans — a man and a woman — and one Russian.

  He didn’t have time for games. He edged back slightly from the hatch and aimed the spear at it. He adjusted the power setting and fired, keeping the trigger pressed. The golden beam hit the center of the door. After a couple of seconds, the metal began to buckle. Aspasia’s Shadow let go of the button as the hatch crumpled open. He heard the airlock behind him open and glanced back as Captain Thayer entered, his laptop and small satellite radio tucked under one arm.

  Aspasia’s Shadow entered the end module, the US Destiny laboratory. The woman had backed away from the hatch and was next to the other male member of the crew, who was desperately making a radio call to mission control. Aspasia’s Shadow wasted no time, firing the spear twice, knocking both out.

  He directed Thayer into the module. As the officer hooked his computer and satellite radio to the space station’s power and antenna array, several of the Guides
Aspasia’s Shadow had gathered in Texas boarded the station. He had them take the three unconscious astronauts and unceremoniously dump them in the airlock and purge it.

  Aspasia’s Shadow stood near the lock, peering out a port at the three bodies floating nearby. He glanced at a clock. Forty-five minutes since he’d issued his ultimatum to the United Nations. A few minutes until Thayer was ready to launch the salvo of nuclear warheads. Aspasia’s Shadow looked past the bodies, down at the planet below. “Your move, Mr. Turcotte,” he said, before putting his helmet back on.

  Space

  Garlin watched the Ark of the Covenant’s screen impassively. Now that the Swarm had the ship and knew where Duncan had come from, she was no longer a priority. The major purpose of continuing the probing was to learn as much about humans as possible so that a complete report could be rendered once they reached Mars and took over the communications array.

  As the Ark probed into Duncan’s brain, the artery gave way once more. The shunt kept her alive and the brain functioning, and soon Garlin was rewarded with a vision of a cluster of men dressed in armor gathered at a circular table set in the center of a wooden hall.

  And in the shadows of the hall stood Duncan, dressed in a white robe trimmed with silver.

  Into Orbit

  Turcotte was feeling more comfortable flying the mothership. The controls he used were quite simple, although there were a number of displays and controls whose function he had no clue about. He could see the curvature of the Earth now, indicating they were very high up. He indicated for Yakov to take his place.

  “I’m heading forward to join the team.”

  The Russian was less than happy. Once more he was being kept out of the action because none of the TASC suits were large enough for his bulk. He reluctantly took the pilot’s seat. “How do you want me to approach the space station?”

  “It’s not like we’re going to be able to sneak up on them,” Turcotte said. “Just get us close. About a hundred meters away will work.”

  “What if Aspasia’s Shadow uses the Talon to attack the ship?”

  “He wants this ship,” Turcotte said. “He won’t take a chance of damaging it.”

  Not wasting any more time, Turcotte ran from the command room to the forward cargo bay. A half dozen commandos were already suited up and waiting. He forced himself to be still as the SARA link pad was carefully wrapped around his head. He then stepped back into the rear half of the suit. The front portion swung shut, and he was sealed in. He could feel the flow of oxygen from the pack on the back.

  Turcotte had worn a TASC suit before, during the mission into the Giza Plateau to rescue Duncan. As soon as the suit was sealed, he was ready to move; but Manning’s voice echoed inside the helmet.

  “Hold on.”

  “What?” Turcotte demanded. He could see the interior of the cargo bay on the curved screen directly in front of his eyes.

  “It takes a minute or two for the SARA link to get in synch with both your mind and the computer.”

  Turcotte forced himself to remain still. He felt nothing different.

  He had an MK-98 attached to his right arm. It looked like a jackhammer with an open tube at the end instead of a chisel. It had a laser sight on top and, like the suit, it was painted flat black. A two- foot-long cylinder was loaded in the magazine hold. It held ten depleted uranium darts, each six inches long and an inch in diameter. Each tip was sharpened to a point. The darts were fired by a compressed high-tension spring. When fired, the darts lost no speed to friction going down the barrel because an electromagnetic field kept them in the exact center and on course. It was the best the Space Command had been able to come up with to use as a weapon in a zero-g, no-atmosphere environment. Since there was no atmosphere in space, the rounds would keep going until they struck something.

  On his left he had a fully functional oversize replica of a hand, with eight-inch-long fingers. Two of the commandos had MK-99s, which were similar except they fired larger rounds, about the same length but two inches in diameter, that contained high explosive.

  “Can I move now?” Turcotte asked. “Go ahead,” Manning said.

  It was different with the SARA link, Turcotte quickly learned as he brought his “hand” up in front of his visor. The suit’s arm was moving with his own arm, not in response to it. A small, but significant difference, he realized. The last time he’d worn the suit, the ever-so-slight delay until the suit reacted to interior movements had been something he had just taken as the price to be paid for the additional armor and strength. But now — all he had to do was move as he normally would and the suit was in synch.

  Turcotte picked up Excalibur and slid it into a leather sheath he’d had one of Manning’s men rig, attached to the side of the suit with a Velcro strip.

  Yakov’s voice echoed inside the helmet. “Space station is directly ahead, about five kilometers away. I’m closing on it. No sign of the Talon. It is not answering hails.”

  Turcotte had fought Aspasia’s Shadow several times now. He had learned that nothing was as it seemed and to expect the unexpected in such encounters. He doubted Aspasia’s Shadow would abandon the Talon, even if he left Guides on board the spacecraft. But he also knew that the alien creature’s goal was the mothership. There was the added factor that Aspasia’s Shadow had shown a strong inclination for vengeance, such as rigging Easter Island, and subsequently the entire Pacific Rim for destruction, and now targeting twenty-five major cities for destruction.

  “We’re a kilometer away,” Yakov said. “Closing slowly. I’m going to open your outer hatch. Is everyone suited?”

  “Roger that,” Manning replied.

  The lights in the bay went off, leaving them in pitch-blackness for a few seconds, then a sliver of starlight appeared at the cargo bay door, growing larger as the door opened. The bay decompressed with a puff of air. Manning and his men moved forward, weapons at the ready. Turcotte followed right behind them, switching his display over to night vision, amplifying the starlight.

  The space station was directly ahead, three connected modules and the large solar panels extended. And three bodies floated nearby, dressed in blue jumpsuits.

  “What was the crew of the station?” Turcotte asked.

  Quinn quickly responded. “Three — two American, one Russian.”

  Three more dead, Turcotte thought. A small number when considered against the toll from the recent world war, but still — why had Aspasia’s Shadow taken the space station? Turcotte wondered. He didn’t need it. And Turcotte also knew that Aspasia’s Shadow knew him.

  “The crew are dead,” Turcotte said. “We can see that,” Manning said.

  Turcotte realized he shouldn’t have pointed out the obvious to Manning, but he wanted the captain to realize that only hostiles were on board the space station now.

  “Holding in place,” Yakov said as he brought the mothership to a halt less than one hundred meters from the space station.

  “On me, circle wedge,” Manning ordered. The dozen commandos jetted out of the cargo bay, spreading out, left and right, up and down. Turcotte realized this was a very different venue for combat, one where three dimensions had to be considered constantly. He held back, on the edge of the cargo bay. He waited until the lead commando reached the space station.

  Then Turcotte activated his jets, moving out of the cargo bay. But he didn’t head across to the space station. Instead, he moved up, right next to the surface of the mothership, following it around to the side away from the space station.

  The other eleven men held back as the first man to reach the space station moved to the left of the airlock. He placed a shaped charge against the side of the module, and then backed off.

  The charge blew, peeling back the side of the module. A pair of commandos jetted in through the hole, weapons at the ready.

  * * *

  Turcotte watched as the Talon came in fast from directly behind the mothership. It had been hiding to the north, behind the curvatu
re of the Earth. As it closed on the mothership, the lean form rotated, so that the thicker stem was forward. The slightly curved ship decelerated abruptly, so that when it reached the mothership, it was barely moving. The Talon angled against the end of the mothership perfectly but didn’t make contact, holding just a few feet away.

  Turcotte was in the shadows near the top of the mothership, a shadowy figure that was almost invisible against the black skin of the craft. He saw a flash of light that lasted for a few seconds. On night-vision mode he could see a space-suited individual leave the Talon and move forward toward the mothership.

  Turcotte raised the MK-98 and sighted it at the figure. He waited until it was abreast of him, farther down the ship. Then he fired as quickly as the gun would cycle through the magazine, emptying half of it.

  The first depleted uranium dart hit Aspasia’s Shadow in the right side, punching through his space suit, through his body, and out the other side. The impact sent his body spinning. The second round missed because of that, but Turcotte was adjusting and the next three all hit, torso shots, tearing apart flesh and bone. Small puffs of red surrounded the body.

  Turcotte ceased firing with six rounds still in the chamber. He jetted “down” toward the tumbling body. He had to accelerate to catch up to it as the rounds had not only torn through the body, but also given it velocity. Reaching out with his articulated hand, Turcotte grabbed hold of the lifeless figure.

  He was now almost a kilometer from the mothership, so he held on to the body as he arrested his vector.

  Holding still in space, high over Earth, Turcotte used the hand to rip into the pack on Aspasia’s Shadow’s back. He located oxygen lines and pulled them out, keeping a grip on the lines, while turning the body around.

  Turcotte brought the figure in close in front of him. He lifted the dark visor and saw Aspasia’s Shadow’s face. A thick trail of blood leaked from the mouth. The eyes were vacant. Turcotte waited. The eyelids flickered, intelligence showed briefly in the face.

  Turcotte closed his “hand,” ripping through the oxygen lines. Aspasia’s Shadow’s mouth opened, gasped for air for several seconds. Then death came once more.