“I don’t get it. It feels like it’s illegal or something.”
“Greg! Wake up! You saved our world. What value can you put on that?”
“Then I’ll need some help, a housekeeper or something. How do I pay her? I don’t even know what to tell her to do.”
“Greg, I told you it’s taken care of. I’ve already met with an interior decorator. The transportation network is still a mess, but I got special treatment. Your furnishings will arrive next week. I’ve interviewed and hired a full-time housekeeper. She will live in a wing of the house, and she has the authority to bring in outside help when needed. I will pay her from your own personal funds. A chef is on call for entertaining, but your housekeeper will prepare your regular meals. Or me on occasion, if you want.”
“If you’re fixing dinner, I want to help.”
She smiled. “Your challenge will be to find the time.”
“So, you’re already spending my money?”
“Yes, lots of it.”
“Do I get to monitor the books?”
“No, you don’t have time. Don’t worry, there’s plenty.”
“Well, in that case, feel free to spend some on yourself, too. I haven’t exactly had time to buy presents. In fact,” he noted with a frown, “I’ve never gotten you anything that’s just from me to you.”
“I don’t need your money, Greg. I’m an independently wealthy woman. As for the rest, my barbaric Earthman is all I want.”
He smiled, knowing when to give in. He took her in his arms, and she knew she had his undivided attention. “I like ending discussions this way,” he said.
“So do I,” she responded, nestling her head into his shoulder.
“What’s next?” she asked innocently.
“This boring, high society dinner is what’s next, I’m afraid.”
“Darn! I’d forgotten. We’re already late. I have to stop by my place and change.”
He chose his next words carefully. “You’re welcome to leave a few things at my new home if it will make life easier for you.”
She leaned back from him, still in his arms. “Greg Hamilton, I will not ‘leave a few things’ with you, ever. It’s all or nothing.”
He looked into her eyes for a long time, then said softly, “Nothing doesn’t work for me. Are you ready for the all?”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?” she asked with a hesitant look in her eyes.
He brushed a stray hair from her forehead and said softly, “Our time together has been one crisis after another. Have I taken the time to tell you how much I love you?”
Her eyes widened, then tears instantly filled them to overflowing. “Not lately,” she answered.
He brought both thumbs to her cheeks and wiped at the tears. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to wonder. I love you, Arlynn.”
She pressed her head to his chest and tightened her embrace. Into his shoulder, she said, “I know, but it’s nice to know.” She leaned back from him and, looking into his eyes, said, “I love you, Greg Hamilton. I know you already know, but now you know.”
“I’ve loved you since you woke up on Earth and I looked into your beautiful, blue eyes. You asked me a few months ago if we could be an island in the midst of all this chaos. We’ve been drifting away from our island lately.”
She snuggled closer, concern for the dinner engagement forgotten, or at least set aside. “You’re my island. I offered to make dinner for you. I’m looking forward to making breakfast for you as well, but not quite yet. I’m ready for the all, but I’m not sure Ariall is. Can you be patient?”
“Darn,” he said, meaning it.
* * * * *
That memory, and others like it, made all the hard work worthwhile. He felt like he needed another memory right now. If only things could be so grand for a few minutes, he thought. He had sent Arlynn, Kannick, and the rest of his Executive Committee home around midnight. He went to bed, but sleep eluded him. He and the committee had just completed an exhaustive progress review, and the rest of the committee was satisfied with what they had achieved during the three years since the founding of the Alliance.
Greg was not. In fact, he felt like he was swimming against the current but being swept backward. The Alliance had made progress in its quest to help the Harbok fight the Fourth Race, he did not deny that. The concepts he and Kannick had outlined to the Atee three years earlier had become real, functioning projects. A primitive cloaking device worked, and Greg himself had established a comprehensive intelligence gathering operation. Production facilities were operating around the clock to produce fighting ships, and he had helped with the design of some of the modifications going into those ships. The laser Kannick had hoped would illuminate cloaked ships, the laser tagger, worked, though it needed improvement.
The stumbling block was his An’Atee crews. They were excellent fighters, but only under simulated conditions. In a real battle, he could not count on them to pull the trigger. Though a wonderful aspect of their natures, and he loved them for it, he could not mount a fighting force with crews who were not willing to use their weapons. If he showed up in the middle of a battle with them, he would just make the Harbok’s job harder.
In his mind, the Alliance had reached a crux. Its existence would never be meaningful without a resolution to this problem.
His mind had begun wandering during the wee hours of the morning, his thoughts returning to home, to Earth. He never failed to marvel at the set of circumstances that had placed him, an Earthman who essentially knew nothing about space travel, in the position of Chairman of the Alliance, charged by the An’Atee with making the Alliance a reality.
His thoughts ended up at his biggest failure—his home, Earth, was completely unaware of the menace lurking mere light-years away. Earth would not survive if the Fourth Race knew about them and attacked.
He needed to give Earth a chance to defend itself. Somehow. He was filling a glass with water when the answer came to him. The glass slipped from his hand unnoticed as his thoughts focused, then coalesced around an idea.
Earth. His problems had begun there. Could Earth provide a solution to his Alliance problem?
On the one hand, Earth was not ready for An’Atee technology. On the other hand, though, Earth held a reservoir of soldiers, sailors, and airmen who could fend off any threat if they were given half a chance. Could he abscond with a small cadre of leaders from Earth and train them to command his ships? They would not hesitate to pull the trigger. If he could do it, his Alliance forces might actually help the Harbok and, ultimately, defend Earth without Earth even knowing.
Excitement pervaded his whole being. If he could do it, if he could get the right people from Earth, his Alliance might become everything he hoped it would.
He had a hard sell ahead of him. First, he had to convince the An’Atee, then he had to find someone on Earth to select and lead these warriors.
* * * * *
His presentation to his executive council went better than he expected. They, too, knew and appreciated his concerns. The World Council, on the other hand, had needed a hard sell. Most heads were shaking when he finished his presentation, including Jemara’s, the Atee. Involving an emerging world was not only bad for the emerging world, it would be bad for Ariall if the Harbok found out.
“I see where this is going,” he had said to the Council. “We have an expression on Earth: this is where the rubber meets the road. Most vehicles on Earth are ground vehicles, and the rubber we make our tires out of has to be stronger than strong or else the vehicle cannot hold its desired course. It loses control and crashes.”
He gave them a brief respite to consider his words, hoping they understood the metaphor. During the respite, he looked over the assembly, making eye contact with as many as he could.
He took a deep breath and said, “You asked me to form an Alliance that would help the Harbok. I told you then, and I remind you now, that the task will be hard.
Without Earth’s help, all the time and effort and resources we’ve put into forming the Alliance will be for naught. Without Earth’s help, we will fail the Harbok. Your consciences are telling you that involving Earth feels wrong. I remind you that many of your early decisions concerning the Harbok were wrong too. That’s why you put me in charge of the Alliance. I ask that you trust me on this one. I ask you to be stronger than strong.”
His words had carried the day, but not a day had gone by since then that he did not feel their disquiet.
* * * * *
Captain Tolland and her small fleet returned to Ariall as Greg was preparing to depart for Earth. One scout had returned three months earlier with a preliminary analysis of her discoveries, and Greg decided to delay his departure for a full briefing from her.
Tolland led the Executive Committee through a description of her findings and suppositions concerning the Harbok world taken over by the Fourth Race. Jemara, the Atee, wilted as the presentation focused on the creature attached to the shoulders of a worker. Greg knew what was going through her mind, and he completely empathized with her—what had she gotten her people into? Would the An’Atee continue supporting the Alliance after learning the true nature of the horror that support invited upon themselves?
Greg finally understood the reason for the ultimatum issued by the Harbok. Deep in his mind, he had been thinking of the Fourth Race as bloodthirsty, brutal monsters with fangs and claws. But this! Dying in battle was one thing. Having your mind and body enslaved by a disgusting parasite was far, far worse. Tolland’s presentation further cemented in his mind the belief that the Harbok were attempting to protect the An’Atee.
When Tolland ended her presentation, Greg looked not at her but at the Atee. Could she allow her people to expose themselves to such horror? On the other hand, could she not? There was nothing preventing this Fourth Race from bypassing the Harbok and coming to Ariall. She would have to present it to the World Council, but he was not going to sit around awaiting their decision.
Tolland approached him after her briefing. “Mr. Chairman, I’m requesting a transfer,” she stated.
Her request caught Greg completely off guard. “I hate to lose you—you’re one of my best. Won’t you reconsider?” he asked, putting his arm around her shoulder and steering her into his office.
“No, sir.”
“You said you wanted a transfer. To what?”
“To a fighting unit.”
“What?”
“You’ve seen the pictures, sir. I can’t not help those poor people.”
“But you’ve made it abundantly clear to me on multiple occasions that you will not ‘pull the trigger’ as I tend to put it.”
“That was before. Maybe the pictures don’t do it justice. I was there. I saw. It changed me. I will pull the trigger on these horrible creatures.”
Greg turned away from her to hide his shock. She was the first among the An’Atee to voice a willingness to kill. Would others come forward? Was his mission to Earth necessary?
He settled himself onto a couch and invited her to join him. “Captain, your words startle me. Does anyone else feel the way you feel? Will knowledge of this Fourth Race change the An’Atee?”
She hesitated. “I can’t say, sir. Two other officers on my ship who felt the same approached me during our return. I did not pursue the matter further.”
“Surmise for me then.”
She considered for a time, then she answered carefully, “There will be others, but not many. The fundamental issue to the An’Atee, as you know, is that even this Fourth Race, as disgusting as they may be, has a right to live. They are almost certainly intelligent beings since they travel the stars. Most of us will focus on that.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I am. But I now sense more than before the power of this Alliance we’re building. What the Fourth Race does among its own kind is up to it, but expanding outside their realm in this fashion is wrong. We cannot permit them to continue enslaving other intelligent beings. They have effectively achieved genocide on the planet in question. Prevention of just such horrors is the founding principal of the Alliance, is it not?”
“It is precisely that. Our purpose in the long run is quite simple—do onto yourself as you will, but when your activities impact outsiders, beware. I can’t imagine a more extreme example of what we hope to prevent.”
He looked up at the ceiling in thought, then he turned back to her. “Things are never simple, Captain, but this is important. Immensely important. The An’Atee are eminently capable of helping the Harbok fight this Fourth Race in all areas but one: they will not ‘pull the trigger.’ I’m going to Earth on a recruiting mission. I hope to bring a thousand warriors back with me, warriors who will be willing to use whatever weapons the An’Atee develop. Are you telling me my mission is not necessary? Can I find enough others among the An’Atee who believe as you do?”
“I doubt it, sir. There will be a few, but not many.”
“Will you help me find them?”
“I will, sir, but I’d like to do it in conjunction with a fighting position.”
“Done. Consider yourself transferred.”
She gulped. “Do I have to give up my ship?”
“Yes, for the moment. I need that ship back out there doing what it was doing. You did a great job, and you made the right choice when you decided to stay to learn all you could. Would a larger ship satisfy you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not in line for a baseship yet, sir.”
“Captain, do you have any idea how many baseship captains I have right now who are willing to fight?” She stared at him through narrowed eyes without answering. “Not a one,” he said, answering his own question. “But before you get a ship, I have something else in mind for you. Someone needs to prepare Ariall for the arrival of the men and women I bring from Earth. After they’re settled and trained, these people will need help developing strategies and tactics that work for battles in space. I will play a part in that process, but as you know, I’m a neophyte at space travel. I need someone who is experienced in everything that has to do with ships and space to teach them. I have access to such people, but I don’t have access to anyone with your credentials whose heart is in the right place. Are you that person?”
“I’d rather have a ship, sir.”
“Will baseships be used in the coming battles?”
“I don’t know. I would hope not. They’re research vessels.”
“How about prime ships?”
“They, too, are exploration vessels.”
“They’re exploration vessels right now, but we’re converting as many as we can into fighting ships. These warriors from Earth will play a big part in deciding what conversions we need, but they’ll need expert guidance.”
“Will it ever include a ship for me?”
“Perhaps . . . in time. At the very least, you will spend lots of time in space testing modifications on every kind of ship. More important, you will play a material part in our efforts to free the Harbok of this horrible menace. Isn’t that what you really want to do?”
A grim smile found its way to her eyes. “It is. I can wait for a ship. I accept!”
“The Atee will have to get agreement on further An’Atee involvement from the World Council. The information you brought back is chilling, and they may balk, but I don’t think she’ll let them. This Fourth Race isn’t going away.”
“We An’Atee will not turn our backs on this Fourth Race, sir. If anything, we have even more reason to stay involved. We cannot allow this horror to continue. Would you like me to go to Earth with you?”
“Hmm.” He got up and paced briefly, then he turned back to her. “An excellent idea. The individual I have in mind to command these warriors from Earth will be overwhelmed for a while. Kannick and Arlynn have mentored me from the very beginning, and Kannick is prepared to do the same for this man, but I’m not ready to give him up. Are you the mentoring type?”
> “I am, sir. And I will do a better job of it if I’m involved from the very beginning.”
“You’re due some time off. How much time do you want?”
“I’m ready to go right now. I’ll get time off after we defeat this Fourth Race.”
“We have a few days. Clear up loose ends, and if you can find the time, take a look at the preparations we’ve started here for the arrival of these men and women. You might spot holes that we missed. You’ve graduated to the executive level, Captain. It’s time you started calling me Greg.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter Three
Greg strolled down the sidewalk looking for number 1306. The street was not crowded in the historic center of old Annapolis, and cars passed by only sporadically. Ancient brownstones with tiny front yards lined the street, all of them well-maintained despite their years, though even the best landscaping seemed to be suffering from the sweltering heat. Many homes proudly displayed historical markers denoting the year of construction, some dating back to the Revolutionary War era. 1306 proved to be no different than the others. An older man with black skin and tight-cropped, curly gray hair was tending an elevated brick flowerbed surrounding a giant oak tree in the manicured front yard.
Greg pushed open the gate of a low, black, wrought-iron fence and approached the door. Before he knocked, the old man spoke.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Admiral Grayson.”
“You’ve found him. What can I do for you?” the man asked, wiping his hands on a rag pulled from a back pocket as he rose to his feet. With the man standing ramrod straight, Greg instantly recognized him. He appeared much older than Greg expected.
Some 72 years old, Admiral Harold Grayson had retired from the Navy ten years previously as the Deputy Chief of Naval Operations. He had been teaching part-time at the Naval Academy ever since. Greg had never personally spoken to the man, but he knew him from his reputation, having read several of his books and papers, and he had attended a seminar years earlier at which Grayson had spoken.
Genesis Page 2
