Independence Day: Crucible (The Official Prequel)

by Greg Keyes

  “Anyway,” he said. “Give Connie a hug for me when you get home.”

  “You mean Senator Connie,” David said. “You can walk across the street and hug her yourself.”

  “Yeah,” Whitmore said, “but I don’t want to get belted again.”

  8

  JANUARY

  2001

  “Here, Dad,” Patricia said. “Let me help you with that.”

  At first she didn’t think he’d heard her. It wasn’t that unusual these days. She knew his sleep was still troubled, and the strain of trying to stay on top of everything, to get everything done, was taking its toll. He was, to say the least, preoccupied.

  After a moment, his shoulders slumped a little, and he stopped trying to fix his tie. She saw that his hands were shaking.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with my fingers,” he murmured.

  “You’ve actually never been all that good at this,” she said. She picked apart his attempt and then began retying it. “There,” she said when it was done. “Perfect.”

  He smiled. “What would I do without you, Patty?”

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “I’m just nervous, I guess.”

  “You?” she said. “Nervous? The greatest orator of all time?”

  “Don’t overdo it,” he said.

  She patted his lapels. “You can do this, Dad. It’s just one more speech.”

  He nodded and looked at her sadly. “How did you get so grown up all of a sudden, Munchkin?” he asked.

  “I’m only eleven,” she said.

  “It seems like yesterday that you were just eleven days old,” he said.

  “I’ll try to slow down a little,” she said. “Now come on.”

  When they reached the Oval Office, his aides took over. She took a seat in the back, behind the cameras, trying to remember to breathe, praying that nothing went wrong. It was almost over…

  All too soon, the moment came, and the cameras started rolling. For what seemed like a long moment, her father just stared at them. Then his expression settled into his familiar, affable, slightly rakish lines.

  “My fellow Americans,” he began. “It has been the highest honor I have ever known or will ever know to have served you and served this country, both in the military and in this office. As a nation—as a world—we have suffered terrible loss and heartbreak, but we have also shown incredible resilience and resolve. This will not end when I leave office—your strength comes not from me or from any political leader, but from yourselves. Indeed, all of my strength these past years has come from you. Today, I address you one last time as president of these United States.”

  He went on, but she almost wasn’t following the words anymore. Instead she watched his cadence, his countenance, intensity and honest sentiment. Her dad, through and through, still at the top of his game.

  When he finished, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room, hers included.

  * * *

  APRIL

  Jake was celebrating his eleventh birthday when he saw that the new kid was about to get his ass kicked. He was in his secret place, in the cockpit of his fighter with a little piece of sugar cookie he had hidden in his pocket during lunch a week ago, the last time the noon meal had included a dessert. He didn’t have a candle, but he had some matches, and he had some cedar bark he had twined together.

  He was about to light it when he saw the kid cutting through the park on the way back from school. If Jake hadn’t already known he was new, that would have been a giveaway—seven-year-olds didn’t cut through the park. That was where the older kids hung out. Jake was big for his age, but even he tended to avoid the place this time of day.

  He looked down at his little crumb of makeshift cake and improvised candle.

  “Dammit,” he said.

  He climbed out of the cockpit and made his way down to the ground. Then he went after the kid, hoping he would find him before trouble did.

  No such luck.

  * * *

  There were only two of them—Doug and Edwardo—but that was plenty. Edwardo was dumb, but he was built like a Humvee, easily the biggest kid in the school, despite being only fourteen. Doug was smaller, older, smarter, and by far the more dangerous of the two. Edwardo was a bully. Doug simply didn’t care about anything—he didn’t care if he got hurt or even if he died. Once, on a bet, he’d let Tony Chu burn his arm with a lighter. His skin was smoking before Tony lost his nerve and gave up. Doug never made a sound.

  “What’s up, kid,” Edwardo said.

  “Nothing,” the boy said. “I’m just walking back to the dorms. Somebody said I could go through here.”

  “Sure,” Doug said. His voice was soft, and a little reedy. He didn’t sound dangerous. “You’re the new kid.”

  “My name is Charles,” the boy said.

  “I didn’t ask your name,” Doug said. “Don’t ever tell me anything I didn’t ask.”

  Charles took a step back. He wasn’t stupid—he knew something was wrong.

  Jake took a deep breath, stepped from behind his tree and started toward them.

  “Charlie,” he said. “There you are. You dummy, I told you to go around the park, not through it.” He grinned at the older boys. “Not the smartest tool in the shed,” he said. “Come on, Charlie. You have that meeting with Mr. Marshall, right now. I’ll get in trouble if you get lost.”

  Doug looked at him dubiously.

  Jake had never had any trouble with Doug. As far as he knew, Doug barely knew he existed. Now he examined Jake through narrowed eyes. Jake met his gaze and smiled, or tried to. He wasn’t sure he was successful. For a moment, no one said anything.

  “Sorry,” the little boy said. “Sometimes I don’t listen.” He inched back toward Jake.

  Doug looked at the boy, then slowly turned his cold gaze back on Jake.

  “You’re sure about this?” he said softly.

  It felt like ice water had been poured over him, but Jake nodded.

  “Come on, newbie,” he said to Charlie.

  Edwardo started forward, but Doug put a hand on his chest.

  Jake started walking, feeling like he had a bullseye on his back. The kid followed him.

  Once he figured they were out of earshot, he turned on the boy.

  “Are you mental?” he snapped. “Don’t ever cut through the park, especially not after school.”

  “But Danny said—”

  “Danny Clausen? Red-headed guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was trying to get you hurt,” Jake said. “Or worse. Now I’m on Doug’s radar, exactly where I don’t want to be. Thanks.”

  The boy made a sort of hiccuppy sound. Jake looked back and realized he was crying.

  “Hey,” he said. “Don’t do that.”

  “I can’t help it,” the boy said.

  “Alright, look. Charlie?”

  “Charles,” the boy sniffled.

  “No,” Jake said. “It’s not. It’s Charlie, unless you want to get your head dunked in the toilet pretty much every day. I don’t know where you were before this, but obviously things are different here. You need to get a grip on that.”

  “I was with my Aunt Betty,” Charlie said. “In Portland.”

  “Why aren’t you still there?”

  “Aunt Betty died,” he said.

  “Oh.” He paused. “So you’ve been living in a nice place—how many other kids at Aunt Betty’s?”

  “Just me.”

  “Okay,” Jake said. “So most everybody here, we’ve been orphans since the Fourth. We didn’t have an aunt to go live with. So things are different here. Mr. Marshall and most of the other grown-ups mean well enough, but there aren’t enough of them to protect you. There’s over a hundred kids here, and we’re all on our own.”

  “But you helped me,” Charlie said.

  “I’m sure I’ll regret it,” Jake said. Charlie stopped walking.

  “Come on,” Jake said. “What are you doing?”r />
  “I don’t want to be here,” Charlie said.

  “Charlie,” Jake told him, “none of us does.”

  * * *

  The Darling Home for Boys and Girls had been a motel, back in the day. It was basically a two-story rectangle arranged around a courtyard that had once had a pool in the middle. Their first few months there had been spent filling the pool in with dirt to make a vegetable garden.

  Jake took Charlie to the front office. Mr. Marshall wasn’t there—he stayed in his room most of the time these days, alone with his vodka.

  By the time they’d found the refugee camp—by the time they learned that against all odds the aliens had been defeated—his son Hank’s leg infection had progressed to an untreatable point, at least in terms of what little medical care was available in the camp. Hank had died a few days after they arrived, and Mr. Marshall hadn’t been the same since. It seemed like setting up the orphanage took the last of his willpower.

  The Fourth had left a lot of orphans, and Jake knew that many of them still didn’t have roofs over their heads. He was one of the lucky ones.

  Nadia Lu was at the counter. Her hair was the color of steel and her eyes were tiny and utterly black. The old lady was nice if she wanted to be, but she could also come down like a hammer when the situation required it.

  “Hey, Jake,” she said. “Who’s this?”

  “Charles Miller,” Charlie said.

  “Charlie Miller,” Jake corrected. “He says he doesn’t have a room assignment yet.”

  “Uh-humm,” Ms. Lu said, flipping through some paperwork. “No, I don’t even have him on the list.”

  “I just got here today,” Charlie said. “They dropped me off at school.”

  “They?” Ms. Lu said.

  “Some guys,” he said. “Ms. Patel and Mr. Smith.”

  “Patel and Smith, huh,” Ms. Lu sighed. “Another unauthorized drop off.” She looked at Charlie. “You’ll stay in the shelter until we sort you out, Charlie. Show him where it is, Jake.”

  The shelter had once been Conference Room 4. The lettering was still there on the wall. Now it was crammed with cots and mattresses. It was where they put kids they didn’t really have room for, so most of them were transient. Ms. Lu was probably already on the phone, trying to get some other place to take Charlie, because they were full up.

  Jake left a frightened-looking Charlie there and went to his room. It wasn’t exactly nice, but it was a lot better than the shelter. The rooms had windows, for one thing, and their own bathrooms. He shared his with three other boys. Shane, the oldest at sixteen, was plucking at his guitar when Jake came in, the opening bars of “Stairway to Heaven,” which Jake was now hearing for about the two millionth time. They nodded at each other, but didn’t talk. Jake unloaded his backpack and started on his homework.

  Arkady came in a few minutes later. He was stout and dark-haired and talked louder than necessary.

  “I can’t believe you’re bothering with that shit,” he said.

  “Busy,” Jake said. “Studying.”

  “Why? Nobody cares if you do that. The teacher doesn’t even care. She doesn’t even read it.”

  “I care,” Jake said.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Arkady said. “You’re suffering under the delusion that you’re going to be someone. A fighter pilot, right?”

  “Well,” Jake said, evenly, “I certainly won’t be a pilot if I can’t do math.”

  “You can’t be one period,” Arkady said. “We’re fricken’ orphans in a world full of orphans. You know how many people get into the STEP schools? Three percent, and almost all of them come out of private schools, or are homeschooled, or whatever. You don’t have a shot.”

  Jake closed his book and stood up. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Arkady, but if you don’t shut up, I’m going to take a shot—at your ugly face.”

  Shane put the guitar down. He stood to his full height, almost six feet, although it was a very lean and willowy six feet.

  “Knock it off, Arkady,” he said. “I know you’ve had a rough day, but leave Jake alone. And Jake, you sit back down.”

  Arkady dropped his backpack.

  “Why don’t I just leave, period?” he said, and with that he bolted back out of the door.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Jake asked.

  “Marisol dumped him,” Shane said.

  Just like that. It was like someone had switched on a light inside of him.

  “Oh,” Jake said. “That’s, uh… that’s too bad.”

  Shane chuckled and picked up the guitar.

  “Yeah, right,” he said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jake said.

  “You’ve had a crush on her since you were six. You need to let it go, son. She’s four years older than you, and even if she wasn’t, she’s way out of your league.”

  That actually hurt more than what Arkady had said about his prospects of becoming a pilot, but he wasn’t going to let on. Instead, he turned back to his studies.

  * * *

  After an hour or two, he realized he couldn’t concentrate. He kept thinking maybe he should go find Marisol and see how she was taking the breakup.

  He found her, on one of the benches in the corner of the courtyard.

  Making out with Tom Lopez.

  After that, he needed a walk. He slipped out of the courtyard and into the poorly lit parking lot, trying to push down his disappointment. He was so distracted, he nearly tripped over Charlie.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked. Then he saw the boy had his backpack on. “What’s this?” he demanded.

  “I don’t belong here,” Charlie said. “I’m not even supposed to be here.”

  “Where do you think you’re gonna go? You think there’s someplace out there better?”

  “Yes.”

  Part of him thought he should just let the kid go. He might land somewhere better. Probably not, but he might, and he would no longer be Jake’s problem. Which he wasn’t anyway, but…

  It was no use.

  “Charlie,” he said. “Come with me.”

  He led the boy across the lot, through the abandoned plot that edged the park. The weeds were waist-high, and at the far end were a thicket and a half-finished strip mall. During the economic crash following the Fourth, a lot of things had been left half-built.

  Charlie didn’t say anything, just followed him through the maze, then to a ladder that led up to the roof. There, hidden in piles of sheet metal, roofing, and other unused building material he showed Charlie his greatest secret.

  “What the heck is that?” the boy asked.

  “It’s my fighter jet,” he said. “Get in. There’s two seats.” In the back of his mind, one of the seats had always been for Marisol, but he’d never worked up the guts to bring her here.

  Charlie stuck his head in.

  “It’s not real is it?” he said. “It didn’t fall out of the sky?”

  “I built it,” Jake said. “Get in.”

  Charlie climbed in, and Jake followed him.

  “So this is the stick,” Jake said. “That’s how you control the plane. And this is the altimeter…”

  The stick was the joystick from a video game, and the altimeter was a pressure gauge from an old fuel tank. The rest of the control panel was built of similar bits of electronic rubbish he’d been collecting over the years.

  “Go ahead,” Jake said. “Fly her. Pull back the stick and get us off the ground.”

  Tentatively, Charlie reached for the stick, then pulled back.

  “Vrroom,” Jake said. “And we’re climbing to cruising altitude. Oh, man, look, Charlie—the bad guys are coming at one o’clock. Switch the radar to targeting. Right here.”

  Charlie flipped the switch.

  “They’re almost here. Listen, hear that? You’ve got a tone. That means you have a radar lock. Fire that missile.”

  “Okay,” Charlie said. He was starting to smile.
r />   “Bamm,” Jake said. “You got it, man. Now let’s take out some more.”

  “This is pretty cool,” Charlie admitted.

  “You wanna see something cool?” Jake said. “Watch this.”

  He flipped another switch, and this time a little screen flickered to life. He reached down and pushed in the hidden VHS tape, hoping the player still had some battery power.

  The alien destroyer appeared, seen from a distance. Fighter jets were converging on it from all directions. They fired missiles, but unlike the time he had watched from the ridge when he was six, this time it was clear that the weapons were having at least some impact. There had once been a voice-over, explaining what happened, but his speakers were shot.

  “Have you ever seen this?” he asked Charlie.

  “No,” the boy said. “Aunt Betty didn’t want me to.”

  “So they’re shooting their missiles,” Jake said, “and they’re working, but the ship is just too big. It’s not enough, and they don’t have that much time, because they don’t know how long the shields will be down. And then the president himself, President Whitmore, gives it a try—and misses. Hits this thing here.”

  He pointed to one of the petals unfolding at the bottom of the ship.

  “The aliens are about to use their primary weapon, kill everybody, and no one has missiles left. Except this guy.”

  He pointed to one of the planes flying toward the belly of the ship.

  “But his missile won’t fire. So what does he do? He flies his jet into their weapon. And—well, watch.”

  Jake was silent as the tiny plane charged up into the starship’s primary weapon, as the cyclopean ship glowed, burned, and crashed.

  He realized tears were running down his face.

  “That guy,” he said, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. “Russell Casse. He took them down. He was an alcoholic and kind of a loser, but when it mattered, he was a hero.”

  “I’ve heard his name,” Charlie said.

  “Of course. Levinson, Hiller, and Casse. Who hasn’t heard of those guys? And that’s what I’m going to do,” Jake said. “I’m going to be a pilot. Like Hiller. Like Russell Casse. Casse was a nobody, and now everyone knows who he was. So I figure even orphans like us have a chance.”