by Kris Powers
“Yes. What do you need to discuss, General?”
“The Coalition has concerns about your ability to protect yourselves against alien attacks.”
“Alien attacks? General, in spite of the recent crisis, there is no reason to believe we are under imminent threat of attack from an extraterrestrial source. We have no ultimatums for surrender or even a call to say who they are,” Mary said.
“Exactly. We don’t know what to expect and we need to be prepared.”
“If an alien force were to invade, this would be a poor way of doing it. That amount of power used intentionally would mean this was only the first in a series of assaults to exterminate our race. They would be a force that we wouldn’t be able to stop,” Mary said.
“Again Mary, I am only the messenger. My superiors would want to see some evidence that we have nothing to be concerned about.”
“Nothing that can be guaranteed under these circumstances,” Mary said.
“Exactly.”
“But there is such a thing as an overreaction.”
“Someone destroyed an entire celestial body. How could we possibly overreact to that?” Nadine asked.
“Overreaction can be defined as preparing for an enemy that you have no information on.”
“And sitting by and doing nothing is inviting further disaster,” Nadine said.
“I’m not advocating that we do nothing. The Prime Ministers are sitting in conjunction with the Senate to determine what should be done regarding these events.”
“Good. In the meantime I do have my original orders.”
“What do you need from the Alliance?” Mary asked.
“My superiors have requested the acquisition of Outpost Fourteen,” Nadine replied.
“Outpost Fourteen,” Mary repeated with incredulity. “You want control of the key to the Alliance’s outer solar defense grid? You have got to be kidding.”
“I am only the messenger.”
“Yes, I understand. Please, tell your superiors that they will have a response within a few hours.”
“Thank—you, Mary.”
“You’re welcome, General.”
Mary Bourgeois realized now why the nickname of piranha had been quickly dispensed upon the surprising Nadine Hanover.
The military grey hull of the Endeavour shone in the sunrise of a new day within the United States of America. The small island prevented the landing of a cruiser. Instead, the vessel floated in the water a ways out from the barren beach that had begun to show some life in the form of a seagull or two floating in its shallow waters. As Elliot had expected, the new name for the body of water had been the most popular on the INN: The America Sea.
The Endeavour’s wings jutted out from the aft half of the ship and were only partially submerged along with the rest of the hull. One could almost perceive it as a massive metal bird cooling itself after a long flight. The nearby gulls seemed to think that it was a large mother and had gathered around it.
Madison, Joshua, and Elliot were standing inland on the flattened island top examining the skeleton of a new base surrounded by all makes and models of construction machines.
“The primary one housing the warhead is where?” Madison asked in the cool, frost—covered morning. She noticed a wisp of visible breath from her mouth leak out into the air.
“The closest of the three domes,” Joshua replied.
“Why do we need three boobs for this thing?” Madison asked using the nickname she preferred for the generic bases that dotted the Colonized Sphere.
“More to appreciate,” Joshua said with a smile.
“You and your cleavage fixation.”
“The Senate felt we need three base structures. One for the warhead, one for tactical operations, and one for crew quarters,” Elliot said.
“Looks good,” Joshua said.
“Shut up!” Madison replied with elongated vowels. “When do we take off?” she directed at Elliot.
“We’re nearly finished off—loading from Endeavour,” Elliot replied. “We’ll be back up in orbit in about two hours.”
“Good. I need a cup of coffee,” Madison said with repulsion for the vista and turned to their waiting shuttle.
Joshua stood with his arms crossed in the cool morning air. “When will it be ready?”
“Less than a month,” Elliot said with a coil of visible breath, “then we’re really in deep.”
“Come on, I’m cold. The coffee’s on me,” Joshua said and headed back for the shuttle to join Madison in its heated compartment.
“When I told you we would have a response for you in a matter of hours General, I didn’t mean two.” Mary’s skin showed the glistening of sweat even through the old monitor’s limited resolution.
“I am aware of that, Mary.”
“Call me Ambassador,” Mary said, retracting her friendly nature.
“Ambassador, my superiors have modified their demands in answer to your slow response. With the threat of a possible impending attack, they have demanded an immediate reply.”
“The matter is up for debate in the Senate within a few minutes. You may have a further three hour wait at most.”
“That’s not good enough. You may need this to be brought to the attention of your Prime Ministers instead,” Nadine said.
“We only circumvent the Senate in times of emergency.”
“Then I’ll give you a reason: My superiors have advocated that, in the absence of an immediate response, they will transmit orders to take Outpost Fourteen by force.”
Mary pursed her lips before responding. “You realize General, that such an act would be a declaration of war.”
Nadine saw and felt the honest concern of Mary Bourgeois. With a thoughtful glance to the floor, she responded. “I know. Believe me, this wasn’t my idea. I’m only voicing the orders of the Council.”
“I should have known it came directly from them. I will tell the Senate of the state of affairs and reply as soon as I can.”
“Thank—you, Missus Bourgeois.”
“I think that maybe you should call me Mary after all.”
“Maybe you should call me Nadine under the circumstances. I’d rather this be done in a more friendly manner than for any personal problems impede our ability to resolve this peacefully,” Nadine said.
“Do you think that the Council wants this to be resolved peacefully?”
“If you know anything about the Council, then you know that I can’t answer that,” Nadine replied, “but I will tell you this: You really do have to act quickly here. The Council is dead serious about this.”
“I’ll take care of it immediately, Nadine. Thank—you for being honest with me.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Nadine said before Mary deactivated the communications link and hurried to her difficult task.
Maria sat in a black chair at the center of the Excalibur’s bridge.
“Admiral Peterson, I’ve got new orders from the Brass,” a Lieutenant—Commander at the communications station said. Maria straightened herself in her chair and nodded.
The main screen occupying the front wall changed from the view of Earth and its materializing silver ring to a view of Admiral Nelson’s furrowed brow. The Fleet Admiral’s coffee colored skin showed even greater wear than usual.
“Admiral,” Ronald Nelson said.
“What do you have for me Ronnie?”
“How are your space legs?”
“I found them a few hours ago. Where do you need me?”
“I need you to relocate the battle group to the outer defense grid.”
“Are we expecting an attack out there?” Maria asked.
“The Coalition is demanding the possession of Outpost Fourteen.”
“Really?” she asked. “I’m sure you told them to go to hell in your own charming way.”
“Not yet. The official word is that the Senate and the Prime Ministers are still debating the request.”
“What if the Coalition decid
es to start pushing?” Maria asked.
“Then you push back.”
“How hard?” Maria inquired.
“Only to the limits of peacetime policy. Understood?”
“That leaves me in a bad position, Ronnie. You’re asking me to do nothing more than yell really loud at the enemy.”
“You yell pretty well, Maria. I’m sure you’ll think of something. Just make sure our task force looks intimidating out there.”
“Thanks. I’ll do my best to scowl.”
“I’ll follow up with more information as soon as I can,” Nelson said.
“I’ll talk to you then.”
Nelson nodded and deactivated the communications link. Maria let out a long breath and stared at the back of the helmsman’s head.
“Sub—lieutenant, can you spare the time to set a course?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I think I can manage it,” he said.
“Good, Lieutenant. Take us to Outpost Fourteen and ensure the rest of the battle group follows us.”
Forty warships exited the orbit of Earth. They resembled a large flock of grey birds ranging in sizes from eight hundred to over three thousand feet in length. Their sub—light engines glowed a bright blue as they accelerated towards the edges of the solar system.
Chaos erupted on the floor of the Senate building in London as Mary Bourgeois announced the Council’s demands. The gibbering of a thousand senators housed within the two century old building increased as Mary concluded the official announcement from the Council. The lower portion of the palatial room was adorned with mahogany fittings and benches. All of the senators wore robes of black and grey with the occasional splotch of deep red or blue at the collars where personal dress showed through. The speaker had the one unique costume out of the thousand. His black robe with dark grey hem had a flare of gold leaf piping from the collar, down the shoulders and to the end of the cuffs. A unique platinum broach hung at his left breast bearing the Alliance coat of arms depicting two lions guarding a shield.
The Senators stared up at Mary’s bright image on one of the great screens embedded in the curved ceiling over the Senate Chambers.
“And!” she exclaimed and raised her voice over the discourse. “And as such, we the governing Council of Twelve have no choice but to resort to extraordinary measures.”
“Are you saying that this is an immediate threat, Ambassador?”
“Yes.”
The Senate began to murmur and soon became a roar before the Speaker quieted them with an electronic buzzer he used far too often.
“Ambassador Bourgeois, does the Senate have the time to address this issue?”
“My counterpart indicated that this was an issue to be addressed immediately. She specifically told me the Prime Ministers should be involved and I don’t doubt her urgency on this issue.”
The Senate fell silent and all of their eyes fell on the Speaker.
“Do you believe such a measure is warranted?” his thin face seemed to retract even further into his skull at the idea of circumventing the Senate.
“The message I got was one that required haste. I believe that the Council wants direct communication with the Prime Ministers or they will settle things on their own. As you know, their way of resolving issues with us has not been pleasant in the past.”
“Thank—you for your report, Ambassador,” the Speaker of the House said. Mary nodded as her image faded from the screen.
“Senators, I propose a vote to raise this issue for a Prime Minister’s Bill to be received and voted on by our elected leaders.”
The majority of the Senate applauded in agreement, and all sat down in silence for the Speaker to continue.
“I designate this Prime Minister’s Bill Zero One for the ninety—ninth year of the twenty—third century. The bill in question is for the Prime Ministers’ to hold an immediate emergency session with the Coalition governing body, the Council of Twelve. All in favor?”
The senators in favor stood one at a time to indicate their support around the chamber. The process took several minutes to complete.
“All opposed?” the individuals each stood in opposition, taking slightly less time than the first round. The speaker gave the official numbers once the vote had finished.
“At a vote of five hundred and thirty—two to four hundred and fifty—nine, the motion is passed.”
A number of Senators emitted a few low murmurs of discontent before moving on to the next issue.
All five Prime Ministers sat in the same room for their daily meetings. They were discussing an adjustment to military funding when word of the vote reached them by way of an out of breath courier from the Senate. He wordlessly gave the link to one of the Prime Ministers and left the small room which smelled of well kept antique wood. In the warm light of ornate lamps, Mathis Laurier accessed the link. His dark eyes took a quick look at the title and then he read the bill for his four equals. They listened intently, the military budget forgotten, as the depth of what was read sank into their aristocratic bodies.
Mathis finished his recital to the engrossed gazes of his counterparts. As Prime Ministers, the two women and three men had all dressed in professional, yet simple, attire as befitted their positions.
“When was the last time a Prime Minister actually spoke to a Council member?” Prime Minister Linda Simon asked. Her pearl earrings complimented her necklace of the same make and reflected some of the soft yellow light. They stood out on a black blouse and the jaw length hair she had kept in the same style since the last election as confirmation of her true and steady election slogan.
“About ten years ago,” another Prime Minister, Desmond Green said in a British accent. His rough textured clothes always seemed ill fitting on the friendly old man. As always, he fiddled with a small wood pipe for Tobaccette. “And only then because of what happened with the Norfolk.”
“Mathis, you have a Doctorate in history. Do they want our attention because of the lunar crisis?” Linda asked.
“I don’t think so,” Mathis replied in his Parisian accent. “They would have called on us earlier.”
“Do we talk to them? I say yes,” Ahmed said.
“Me as well,” Mathis said.
“I agree,” Desmond said.
“I as well,” Kim stated.
Linda sat for a moment in thought. A unanimous vote was never required, only a majority, but it did help.
“I agree,” she said.
“Are you sure?” Catherine asked.
“I’ve been doing this for ten years,” Alexander replied.
“I still say you need to refine your interpretations,” Catherine said. “Perhaps all of us should begin attempts at foresight.”
“That requires experience.” Alexander straightened in his chair at the perceived assault on his territory. Only one councilmember saw and interpreted the symbols from the future. There were generations of precedent to protect him.
“Nonetheless, you are unclear in the meaning of these crises at a crucial time. All of us will assist you from now on.” Alexander shrank back in his seat once he saw the agreeing nods from the rest of the council.
“There will be that many deaths?” Catherine asked. Alexander looked around abashedly before he answered.
“I will tell you what I saw but remember that these symbols often figurative rather than literal. I must caution all of you that we need more information,” he said in a small act of contrition. “The first symbol I saw was the Earth on fire, then the Coalition’s flag in tatters, limp on its pole. The final symbol I saw was the Alliance flag glowing in gold.”
“Tell us your interpretation of this.”
“The Earth was ravaged by fire. My interpretation is that this is what the particle warhead can do. I believe that they will use it. The Coalition’s flag on fire is our own assured destruction if this occurs. If these events occur then this will lead to a golden age for the Alliance,” Alexander said.
“We won’t let that happen,” Vict
oria said from her chair. She had chosen the name to reflect her own characteristics of the long dead queen.
“Yes Victoria, a world under the Alliance must be aborted. I understand your interpretation, Alexander, but again, is it accurate?”
“Do you have another interpretation?”
“No.”
“Then do you propose that we ignore this because of my supposed incompetence in these matters?”
“Of course not, Alexander. I just recommend caution. Starting wars brings uncertain outcomes.”
“Should we attack?” Napoleon asked from Catherine’s immediate right.
“No. Alexander had said he needs to see more, so we will talk to the head of the snake as dictated by our Prophet,” she directed towards Alexander, who smiled with the recognition of his status. “Council, shall we talk to the Prime Ministers?”
They bowed their heads in acknowledgement, followed by Catherine depressing a key on the arm of her richly carved, high backed mahogany chair. A round, black piece of instrumentation descended from the ceiling until it was eye level with its viewers. The monitor was last used ten years before as a direct line to the Ministers. The viewer immediately brightened to the pedestrian look of five heads of state.
“Prime Ministers, what do you have for us in response to our proposal?” Catherine asked in interest.
“We have reservations, Prime Counsel,” Desmond said. Thin wisps of grey hair fell across his brow.
“Then you are forcing us into war,” Catherine said.
“Is that your opinion? What does the rest of the Council have to say?” Desmond asked. The faces of the five ministers slowly revolved across the circular monitor. Her eyes locked onto his moving image as she replied.
“I speak for the Council. Prime Minister, why do you avoid a rapid response for our benefit?”
“Let me be candid,” Linda responded. “We are speaking with you to gauge just how serious you are about a war.”
“Thank—you, Minister. In answer to your question, we believe that Earth is best left to those most able to defend her. We have knowledge of your future shortcomings and are understandably concerned.”
