Independence Day: Crucible (The Official Prequel)

by Greg Keyes

  He was wrong.

  Dylan was a good pilot, but he wasn’t as good as everyone thought he was. He was still coasting on his father’s reputation, and Jake had been forced to take that, all of these months, to settle for feeling like second place. Because, of course, the son of Steve Hiller had to be the best. It only made sense.

  Jake could’ve made the shot in the moon run. He knew he could have. Dylan had used his rank to stop him. To keep him in his place.

  But second wasn’t his place. Not this time.

  The canyon took a turn, and a brief window opened up.

  “We’ll see about that,” he told Dylan. “Passing on your left.”

  “Negative, Morrison,” the flight officer cut in. “There’s not enough room.”

  Jake saw how tight it was, but he knew he could make it.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I got this.” He pushed the stick a little further, and began pulling around before Dylan could get in his way.

  “Dammit, Jake,” Dylan snapped. “I’m the ranking officer! What the hell are you—”

  Dylan stopped in mid-sentence.

  The next moment was a long one. The craft were so close to the same speed that it almost seemed as if they were standing still, but the canyon was a blur. Jake wondered why Dylan thought he could give him orders when they were in the middle of a free-for-all.

  A reply formed on his lips—

  —and something hit him.

  Or, rather, he hit something. Dylan’s wing. His friend’s fighter spun, utterly out of control, but then Jake had to put everything he had into not crashing.

  It was instinct more than anything else that kept him from slamming into the canyon wall. Over the radio, he heard Dylan shouting in what sounded like sheer panic, and he fought his own, banking hard.

  “I’m going down!” Dylan yelped. “Eject, eject, eject—”

  As Jake came around, he saw Dylan’s fighter explode against the canyon wall.

  * * *

  Zuberi raised the pistol and took a few steps back. Dikembe locked his gaze on him and prepared himself as best he could.

  Then, suddenly the crowd moved to engulf him, form a wall around him, Eshe and her children among them.

  “Didn’t you hear me, Zuberi?” Umbutu shouted. His Home Guard shouldered their rifles and took aim.

  Zuberi took a step forward.

  “No,” Dikembe said, pushing the hands away from him. “Back up, all of you. This must be as it must be.” He fought his way free and for a moment, faced with all of that firepower, they fell back. He was alone, in the open.

  “Do it now, Zuberi,” he said. “Before they come again.”

  Zuberi nodded. He raised the weapon.

  Then he turned and shot Dikembe’s father, once, twice, three times. Dikembe saw the impacts on his uniform, but the final bullet went in just to the side of Umbutu’s nose.

  There was a thunder of arms, and Zuberi staggered as bullets and plasma rays tore through his body. A few went beyond him, striking people in the crowd. Dikembe, horrified, started forward, and so did everyone else.

  For a moment everything froze, and the only sounds were the whimpering and cries of the wounded.

  Upanga Umbutu toppled from the tank, rolled down the side, and thudded unceremoniously to the ground. Dikembe took a step toward his father, but the Home Guard turned their weapons toward him.

  Again his people surrounded him, and he felt their strength as his own. He saw Zuberi draw his last breath, as his wife and children ran to him.

  He pointed his finger at the Home Guard.

  “Put your weapons down,” he said. He saw the uncertainty in their eyes, and so he walked up to them. “Put them down and walk away,” he said. “Or will you murder what remains of your people in the service of a dead madman?”

  The man he was nearest to dropped his weapon, and then, in a matter of seconds, they all did.

  Dikembe went to his father then, but it was far too late. His father’s final words to him would always be, Again you fail me.

  37

  DECEMBER

  Jake showed up for the hearing in his class-A uniform, feeling very alone. No one seemed to want to look at him, much less talk to him.

  Things were moving fast. Dylan’s crash was only a week in the past. Jake had been under house arrest during that time, not allowed any communication with anyone. He wished he could at least talk to Patricia and Charlie, to try to explain things, but he also wondered if it would do any good. Patricia wanted a low-key relationship, and right now, he was probably news.

  The investigation had taken place immediately and internally, and the brass were working hard to minimize everything in the press. According to his counsel, they were likely to do one of two things—crucify him to make him an example, or try to quietly make him go away. Either way, even though there were several more training scenarios to go, he wasn’t going to be in them, and Legacy Squadron had gone from being within reach to utterly impossible.

  He saw his judge advocate approaching—Second Lieutenant Dalton. He was a sandy-haired fellow with a weak chin, younger than Jake, and—if it was possible—seemed more nervous.

  “Right this way, Lieutenant,” Dalton said.

  Jake had expected a courtroom, but instead he was led into an office occupied by a single man—Lieutenant Colonel Mitchum.

  “Sir,” Jake said.

  Mitchum was in his late sixties, a compact man with piercing black eyes and a quick temper. Jake had made it his business to avoid the lieutenant colonel’s scrutiny until now—not always successfully.

  “I’ll keep this brief,” Mitchum said. “I have persuaded the powers-that-be that an article thirty-two hearing is—how can I put this? A bad idea. It would only drag something out that we want to put behind us as quickly as possible. In part, you can thank Lieutenant Hiller for this—he refuses to sign a complaint against you, and his only testimony is that you made a profound misjudgment. From what I have seen of the data, I would tend to agree, but bad judgment comes in a variety of scents—and in your case, it stinks. I don’t know what sort of ax you were grinding, Morrison, and I don’t care, but it ends now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jake said.

  “You’ll finish flight school, but I’m reassigning you. You’re too dangerous to fly a fighter.”

  He’d known it was probably coming, but it still felt like a kick in the gut.

  “Understood, sir,” he said.

  “No snappy comeback?” Mitchum said. “No sarcastic comment?”

  “Not today, sir,” Jake said.

  “Then you’re dismissed.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  * * *

  It was cold outside, and the light was fading. In the deep indigo to the east, stars were appearing. He watched as an H-8 took flight from behind the distant hangar. He followed it as its running lights quickly dimmed with distance. He sighed.

  “You really screwed up,” a familiar voice said.

  “Patricia?”

  He turned to find her watching him from a few meters away, bundled in an overcoat.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “How—?”

  “I wasn’t able to get in touch with you for a week,” she said. “You didn’t think I would wait any longer, did you?”

  “I thought—”

  “Don’t think, Jake,” Patricia said. “Not your strongest attribute.”

  He studied her for a moment, trying to read her. Was she angry? Disgusted?

  “I did screw up,” he said finally. “I just wanted it so much…” He trailed off.

  “That doesn’t justify anything, does it?” he blinked when he saw her expression. “What?” he asked.

  “They sat on it for three hours, Jake,” she exploded. “For three hours I knew that there had been a crash, that a fighter had been destroyed. For three hours I thought one or both of you could be dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but they
wouldn’t let me.”

  “I know,” she said.

  He reached for her again, but something stopped him, and he dropped his hand by his side.

  “Patricia,” he said. “Look. I’d understand if you didn’t…” He couldn’t quite finish.

  She frowned. “You think I flew all the way out here and waited around in the cold to dump you? Morrison, sometimes I think your head isn’t set on straight. Stop moping already and kiss me.”

  He stared at her for a heartbeat or two and then he did that, and for a while nothing seemed to matter. Then Patricia drew back a little.

  “It’s cold,” she said. “Let’s go get a drink and a bite to eat.”

  “Are you sure?” he said. “I’m not too popular around here these days. It’s a small town. People may see us together. Word might get around.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “About that. Turns out I don’t care nearly as much about that as I thought I did. Not after—well, priorities change. I’m not ashamed of you, Jake. You made a mistake, a bad one. It could just as easily have been Dylan who made it, the way you two go after each other, but it’s not the end of the world, is it?”

  He took that in and nodded.

  “I won’t be flying fighters,” he said. He squeezed her hand. “But I guess, at least—”

  “At least?” Her eyebrows jumped up and she pulled her hand away. “Hang on there. You don’t think I’m some kind of consolation prize, do you? Because if that’s how it is, I guess I did fly out here for nothing.”

  “No!” he said. “Patricia, God no. I’ve wanted to fly since I was a kid. It’s the first thing I remember wanting, the last thing I thought about every night before I closed my eyes. Until I met you. After that I thought—I knew—you were my future. At first I believed that was because you were going to the Academy too, that we had shared goals. But since you left flight school I realized—it’s not about that. It’s about you. About how I want to be with you. If I had to choose between being a pilot or being with you, I’d stay grounded for the rest of my life.”

  “The rest of your life?” she said, after a little pause. “That could be a while.”

  “Yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath, “but I don’t see a rest of my life without you in it. When I try to, I draw a blank.”

  It hung there for a minute, and despite the chill he felt as if he was sweating. Then she smiled a little. To Jake, it felt like the sun rising.

  “I know what you mean,” she said.

  “You do?”

  Yes,” she said, and she kissed him again. “Now let’s get in out of the cold.”

  “Right,” he said. He took her hand and they started walking.

  After a few steps she looked up at him.

  “You know you’re going to have to do that again, right?” she said. “With a ring and flowers. And use the actual words, posed as a question.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, “I get that.”

  * * *

  Jake met Charlie at the airport with his bags.

  “Valedictorian,” Jake said. “I knew you could do it, Charlie. I wish I could have been there to see you walk.”

  “That’s okay,” Charlie said. “To tell the truth, it was pretty boring, all in all.”

  “That’s the way I remember it,” Jake said. “So are you ready for flight school?”

  “Followin’ in your footsteps, bro,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “That’s not a very good idea. Better you follow in your own footsteps—or, whatever, you know what I mean.”

  “Hey,” Charlie said. “At least you didn’t get court-martialed or anything.”

  “Looking on the bright side these days?” Jake said.

  “Why not?” Charlie said. “We made it.”

  Jake snorted. “You made it. I’ve flown the last fighter I’m ever going to fly.”

  “But you are going to fly, right?” Charlie said.

  “Sure,” Jake said. “If you want to call it that. I’m assigned to tugs.”

  “That’s, ah—that’s great,” Charlie said.

  “Don’t even—” Jake said. “But look, it’s my fault. I blame no one.”

  “Really, not even a smidgen?”

  Jake struggled with that. It was his fault, sure, technically, but if Dylan had pulled away, just let him have it…

  That was pointless. He’d nearly killed the Chosen One. Charlie was right—he was lucky not to be in prison, much less still in the service.

  “How is Dylan?” Charlie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jake said. “Physically okay, I guess, but he’s not talking to me.”

  “And Patricia?”

  Jake couldn’t keep from grinning. “That’s still good,” he said. He clapped Charlie on the shoulder. “You know what? You’re right. We did okay for a couple of orphans, and at least one of us is going to fly a fighter.”

  “I don’t know,” Charlie said. “I hear all the cool kids are piloting tugs.”

  EPILOGUE

  2016

  Rain rose early, dressed, and reached for her flight jacket. She held it for a moment, not quite believing it was hers. She ran her fingers along the seams of the Legacy Squadron patch.

  Everyone seemed to think it had been easy for her, that it was inevitable she would represent China in the international unit—but to her, it was still unbelievable. Inside her there still lived that little girl, bitter over the loss of her parents, angry at the universe, the arc of her life bending toward ruin. If it hadn’t been for Uncle Jiang, she knew things would be very different at this moment. Very few people her age even had aunts or uncles, so she had been more than lucky.

  She put on the jacket and went outside. It was still dark, and the moon stood nearly straight overhead. She looked up at it, tracing the familiar face of the satellite with her gaze, focusing at last on the spot where the moon base was. Without a telescope, she couldn’t see it, of course, but she knew it was there, and so was Uncle Jiang. It felt almost as if he was looking down on her.

  Soon she would be there herself, with her new squadron, and she would see him again.

  She made her way across the frozen ground to the hangar, where the guards recognized her and waved her through. She continued on until she found it, her ship.

  “Ms. Lao,” someone said. “You’re up early.”

  She looked down and saw that it was one of the mechanics, an older fellow whose name she did not know. He seemed to be fiddling with one of the engines.

  “Hello, sir,” she said. “Is anything the matter?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m just making certain that she’s ready for her next flight. I’ve been assigned as part of your ground crew.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Would you tell me your name?”

  “It’s Lu, ma’am,” he said.

  “I appreciate your attention, Lu. I’m honored you chose my ship to maintain.”

  “The honor is mine,” he said, sliding out from beneath the H-4 and standing up. “In fact, I asked for the assignment.”

  “Why?” Rain asked.

  “It was my great honor to crew for your father on his last flight,” Lu said. “I believed he would wish me to serve his daughter. He talked about you so much, and your mother, May. He would be very proud of you.”

  At first, Rain didn’t know what to say. She just looked at him.

  “Thank you,” she said finally. “And thank you for telling me.”

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “What are you doing up so early?” he asked.

  “I just wanted to see it,” she said. “I’m trying to think of a name.”

  “Names are important,” Lu said. “They were to your father.”

  “Were they?” she said, surprised, wondering how he could know that.

  Lu nodded. “The last plane he flew was an old Shenyang J-8. It was about sixteen years old, not even close to state-of-the-art. We lost most of our better jets in the failed attacks on the destroyers. I did my best with it,
updated some of the radar equipment—but it all had to be done so fast. I was very young. I sometimes wonder, if I had been a better mechanic…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You don’t want to hear an old man rambling.”

  “No, wait,” she said. “You were saying something about names.”

  “Oh,” Lu said. “Yes. He named her Beautiful Wind.”

  “Beautiful Wind,” she repeated. “Meifeng.”

  Lu nodded. “I remember thinking at the time it was an odd name for a plane.”

  In the flicker of that moment, she saw in the space behind her eyes her father’s face, that face she once believed she had forgotten. Beside him, a woman smiling down at her.

  “It was my mother’s name,” Rain said softly. “He usually just called her ‘May,’ but it was really Meifeng.”

  Lu looked a bit chagrined. “I hope I haven’t brought up unpleasant memories,” he said.

  “You haven’t,” she said. “To have any memory of them at all is a blessing. Thank you.”

  She bowed to him, and then went back out to look at the stars.

  * * *

  Dikembe lay in bed, knowing he was awake, unable to move anything but his eyes. He didn’t know where he was, only that he’d been dreaming strange and horrible dreams, and that they had followed him from the waters of sleep into the night air. The darkness seemed filled with unseen presences lurking just beyond what he could see and hear, hints of strange, liquid eyes and a babble of nearly intelligible voices.

  He couldn’t turn his head, but it came to him, entering his frozen field of vision a little at a time. It was like a moon rising, but then he began to see the score across it, and his heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to close his eyes, to scream, to push the terror inside of him away. He thought he knew fear. He thought he had mastered it. But this was the worst, the brightest terror he had ever known.

  Then his mind finally found his body, and it spasmed as if an electric shock had been run through it. His legs kicked involuntarily as the paralysis broke, and he fell heavily from the bed onto the hardwood floor.