by David Bruns
“Nothing,” Lenny said.
“I have a visual, Doctor,” Stacy said. Strauss nodded at her.
The alien ships were arranged in a diamond formation. The one in front had large openings on either side, like air scoops on a jet.
“Hot damn,” someone said. Another person laughed and said, “They’re beautiful.” Stacy felt a thrill race up her spine. They were famous. After twenty-four centuries of wondering if mankind was alone in the universe, the people in this room were the first to make contact with an alien life form. Around her, Stacy saw a few of the scientists finger-comb their hair, suddenly aware their images would be part of history forever.
“Standby to transmit the First Contact report,” Dr. Strauss said. The report was a preformatted message to notify UEF CENTCOM that someone, after centuries of space travel, had finally found life in the universe. “Append a recording of this transmission. Anyone have anything to add?”
“Sounds like bees,” Stacy volunteered, then immediately regretted saying it. To her surprise, Dr. Strauss looked her way, nodding.
“You’re right, Stacy, that’s exactly what it sounds like. Like a swarm of bees. Put that in the message.”
“Standing by to transmit, Dr. Strauss,” called the scientist manning the comms panel.
“Transmit,” said Dr. Strauss.
“Nothing happened,” the man on comms said. “I think we’re being jammed.”
“Try again,” said Strauss, his voice hitching up a notch with tension.
“Still nothing.”
“Load the message onto a probe and send it,” Strauss said. “Do it now.”
Seconds ticked by as the ships on the screen got larger and the buzzing sound intensified.
“Probe away, Doctor.”
“Good.” Strauss had moved so he was behind Lenny and he placed his hands on his husband’s shoulders. They were both staring at the screen; they all were. Lenny’s hand crept up to link fingers with his lover.
Stacy thought about babies. Little pink babies with soft skin and happy giggles. To her surprise, she found that her cheeks were wet. Strauss caught her eye and smiled at her.
“Look,” someone said.
The lead vessel filled most of the viewscreen now and they could see clearly the openings on either side of the ship. The open space seemed to shimmer, then hundreds of tiny flying figures poured into space.
The droning noise became a physical vibration that Stacy could feel in the soles of her feet. The air in the room felt thick, and she could hear someone praying out loud. The first shots from the alien fighters rumbled in the distance, more felt than heard.
Stacy Vallens closed her eyes and pictured the babies she would never have.
Chapter 11
ISS Invincible – Flight Deck
Addison Halsey planted herself in front of her commanding officer. “Captain, we need to discuss what just happened out there. You just blew up a Russian warship.”
Captain Baltasar looked past her toward the hangar. “Not now, XO.”
“Captain, that was an act of war. We just violated a couple centuries of peace treaties without even so much as a conversation with CENTCOM.”
Baltasar pinned her with his trademark icy glare, but Addison had no intention of backing down. Not this time. “XO, let me tell you what I saw. The Russians were firing on a Chinese warship. I was lending aid to an ally. The loss of the Leningrad was collateral damage to our actions.”
Addison gaped at him. The breadth of the lie was beyond comprehension. The Invincible had come in guns blazing. “Sir, we do not have permission to use offensive weapons in—”
“XO, this conversation is over. I will file my report with CENTCOM as soon as we see what all the fuss was about with this merchant ship.” He turned his attention to the crewman operating the tractor beam. “Drop it in the center of the hangar. Have the marines standing by in case we need to do a forced entry.”
Addison looked over the ship specs on the screen. SS Renegade, Caliphate-registered. Merchant, my ass, she thought. These guys were nothing but outlaws, modern-day space pirates. What the hell were they doing in the DMZ caught in the crossfire between the Russians and the Chinese?
“How many crew?” she asked the operator.
“Five, ma’am. They’re armed, too.”
The captain pressed the transmit button. “Renegade, this is Captain Baltasar of the ISS Invincible. You have thirty seconds to surrender or I’m sending in my marines.”
“No need to get violent, Captain,” said a male voice. “We’re coming out with our hands up.”
Addison started. That voice . . . it couldn’t be. No way.
“Problem, XO?” The captain was looking at her through narrowed eyes.
“No, sir. Just thinking about the Russians, sir.”
Baltasar grunted. “Let’s go meet our guests.”
The ramp of the Renegade was just touching the hangar deck by the time they reached the ship. Five figures made their way slowly down the incline, hands half raised. The captain waved off the marines.
Addison swept her eyes over the group of prisoners. A muscle-bound black man with blond hair, a bald giant with a vacant stare, a slight bespectacled older guy in dirty overalls, and a slim, raven-haired woman. And him.
Lazarus Scollard. She hadn’t seen him for the better part of two decades, but time had been kind to him. He still had the same square jaw and ever-present half-smile as if he were hearing a dirty joke in the background.
He stopped cold when he saw her. The smile slipped away. “Addie,” he said.
Baltasar’s head snapped toward her. “Addie? You two know each other?”
Addison flushed. No one called her Addie. Not since him, at least.
“Captain Baltasar, allow me to introduce Lazarus Scollard. Fleet Academy washout. Honor violation.”
“Laz.” Scollard stepped forward with his hand outstretched. Baltasar stared until he dropped his hand.
“Honor violation, huh?” Baltasar said. “And now you’re a pirate. Congratulations, you’ve managed to lower your standards.”
To Addison’s surprise, Laz shrugged. “I’ve made my peace with my mistakes.” He looked at her. “Maybe the rest of you should, too.”
Addison felt herself redden.
“Why were you in the DMZ, Scollard?” Baltasar asked.
Laz shrugged again. “Pirate business.”
Baltasar’s fist lashed out, connecting with Laz’s jaw. The man sank to one knee.
Addison stepped forward. “Captain, we—”
“I’ll ask again, Scollard,” Baltasar said. “Why were you in the DMZ?”
Laz got to his feet, rubbing his jaw.
“Like I said, we had business there.”
“What kind of business?”
The crew of the Renegade stirred, but Laz waved them back. “We were delivering a package, if you must know. Nothing illegal, just a simple courier service.”
“What was in the package?”
When Laz smiled, his teeth were bloody. “Guess we’ll never know, Captain. We gave the package to the Chinese, who got blown up by the Russians, who got blown up by you. Whatever was in the package is long gone.”
“You’re lying,” Baltasar said.
“Nope,” Laz smiled at the captain again as if baiting the man to punch him again.
But he was lying. Laz might be able to pull off deceit like a pro, but the rest of his crew were amateurs. Addison saw the woman exchange an uneasy glance with the black guy. Baltasar saw it, too.
“You.” He pointed at the woman. “What’s your name, miss?”
“Mimi. Mimi Ferreira.”
Baltasar beckoned her closer. “Okay, Mimi, your captain is headed to the brig for trafficking in stolen property. You want to join him?”
“Mimi . . .” Laz said.
The woman set her chin. “It was some kind of biological material. A case with twelve test tubes. That’s all I know.”
“
And you gave it to the Chinese?”
“Yeah . . . except Laz kept one sample.”
“Dammit, Mimi,” Laz muttered.
“Thank you, Miss Ferreira.” Baltasar signaled to the marine standing by. “Take the ship apart, gentlemen, until you find that sample.”
“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” Laz said. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a glass vial.
Baltasar took the tube and held it carefully in his cupped hands. “That’s the first smart thing you’ve done so far, Scollard. Let’s hope it’s not the last.” He nodded to the marines. “Put them in the brig, Sergeant.” The captain seemed preoccupied with the vial in his hand.
“Hey!” Mimi said when one of the marines tried to grab her arm. “What about me?”
Baltasar made a motion like he was swatting a fly, his attention still on the tube.
“Put her in the brig, too.”
Chapter 12
ISS Eagle – Captain’s Ready Room
Orbiting Ganymede Station
Captain Luke Mannix surveyed the rest of the “Welcoming Committee,” as they’d dubbed themselves. The meeting was for commanding officers only, but the COs were permitted to have their senior staff listen in if they wanted. Most of them did, he was sure.
“You’ve read the incredibly thin intelligence report from the research crew on the AC. Not much to go on.” He paused, watching their faces. They were a good group—on paper. But like every other person in the room, he knew that the UEF hadn’t fired a shot in anger since the First Interstellar War in the twenty-third century. How would these men and women react under real battle stress? Hell, how would he react in a real battle situation?
Mannix cracked a smile. “This is not how I expected First Contact to feel.” Nervous smiles went around the room like a virus. From the very first year in Fleet Academy, they were drilled on First Contact protocol, a doctrine written by a bunch of well-meaning eggheads who most definitely did not want mankind’s first alien encounter to go down in history as a bloodbath.
Mannix stood, pacing at the head of the room. “We don’t know what happened at the AC. Maybe they’re all fine and their comms gear has been disabled somehow. I’d like to believe that, but in our profession hope is not a strategy, it’s a fast way to a pine box. In my opinion, the research station at Alpha Centauri was overrun by these—what are we calling them again?”
“The Swarm,” said Gretchen Kang, captain of the Defiant. She was commanding a light destroyer, but Mannix was confident that with Gretchen in command the Defiant would punch well above its weight class. She was a short woman with the stature of a wrestler but always with a ready smile.
“The Swarm,” Mannix mused. The droning noise they projected was unnerving. The analysts even speculated it could be a weapon of some kind. He blew out a long breath. It was time to level with this crew.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to talk turkey, as we used to say back in the day. We are the welcoming committee for the incoming Swarm ships. Our optimistic scenario is that we will be able to communicate with these beings.” What would an alien look like? he wondered. His mind had been so polluted by thousands of sci-fi vids that he feared he’d miss some vital clue and start an intergalactic massacre.
“That’s the optimistic scenario.” He paused for effect. “But I’m a pessimist by nature. The downside possibility is that we’re looking at an invasion force. If that’s the case, then we have a job to do. A big job.”
Six ships, that’s all they’d been able to muster to Ganymede Station on short notice. It had not gone unnoticed that the Swarm had managed—either by sheer dumb luck or by design—to stay inside the limits of UEF space. Another question that the intel teams back at CENTCOM had not been able to answer.
“We are the welcoming committee for new neighbors. The Russians and the Chinese have opted to let us handle First Contact.” He offered the crowd a bleak smile. “That might give you some insight into how they think this is going to go down.”
“Bastards,” Gretchen muttered.
Mannix nodded. “Here’s our battle plan,” he said. When he touched his tablet, a 3-D hologram jumped out of the center of the table. Ganymede looked like a golf ball next to the massive bulk of Jupiter. “We will sortie from G-town in one hour to meet our guests. Eagle will be running point. The Midwest squadron will follow in standard diamond formation on the Defiant.”
The Midwest squadron consisted of the Minnesota, Iowa, Illinois, and Kansas: all lightly armored frigates built for chasing pirates and running border patrols, completely unsuitable for meeting a potential alien strike force. He cursed the Russians again. Those bastards had at least two heavy cruisers within a day’s travel of Ganymede. He’d give anything for a Constitution-class starship right now. That would make these Swarm bastards sit up and take notice.
“The Eagle will meet the incoming force and attempt to make contact. If we’re successful, we can all crack a beer and sing campfire songs with our new friends. If—and I stress this again—if we engage militarily, your signal to attack will be when I launch my fighters.”
Mannix cracked his knuckles one at a time, letting the popping sound echo in the silent room. “I don’t want to leave you with any false feelings of hope. If this situation goes sideways, our job is to stop the Swarm. At any cost. If we can’t stop them, then we need to slow them down long enough for UEF to get ready for a full-scale attack.” He drew in a deep breath.
“Questions?”
There were none.
***
ISS Eagle – Bridge
UEF space near Ganymede Station
“Sir, I’ve got a visual on the five alien ships.”
Mannix sat up in his command chair. “Very well, Sensors. On screen, high mag.”
Even at full magnification, they were still pretty small in the vast emptiness of space, but he could make out five distinct vessels in an arrowhead formation.
“Let’s hear what they sound like, Ensign,” he said to the sensors officer.
A droning sound filled the room. The analysts had been over and over the data package from Alpha Centauri and they were split on whether this was a language or a jamming signal. Whatever it was, it sounded damn annoying to Mannix. “All right, I get the idea. You can turn it off now.” The sound ceased. “Continue sending the live stream back to Earth to see if the eggheads can make heads or tails out of it.”
They’d been blasting their First Contact greeting for the past hour with no reply. His minimal optimism in a nonviolent outcome had ebbed even further. It was time to get this party started.
“Open a channel to the Defiant.”
Captain Gretchen Kang’s square face appeared on the screen.
“Captain Kang, I’m about to go meet our guests,” he said. “You’re in command of the remaining force until I return. First strike rules of engagement apply. Understood?”
“Understood, Captain.” She hesitated. “Good luck, sir.”
“I don’t need luck, Captain Kang,” he said. “I have a fighter squadron. Eagle, out.”
He heard the nervous titter of laughter circulate through the bridge crew. Good; they needed something to break the tension. Mannix punched the intercom.
“Bridge to Commander Johns.”
“CAG here, sir.” Tad “Whippet” Johns was his Commander Air Group, or CAG, in Fleet parlance.
“How’re your men, Tad?”
“Young, dumb, and full of cum,” Whippet replied. Another round of chuckles ran through the bridge crew. “Sorry, sir. We’re in a ready flight status.”
Mannix fought the grin that wanted to break out. “Thank you, Commander. Let’s hope we don’t need you. Bridge, out.” He killed the connection.
Mannix’s tongue was suddenly dry as toast. Everything he said, every movement he made in the next few moments, would be recorded and dissected by historians forever. Good or bad, he was making history.
“Helm, intercept course to the Swarm ve
ssels. Flank speed.”
The Swarm ships were huge, easily ten times the size of the Eagle, with huge openings on either side of the bow.
“Sensors, what’s your take on construction?”
“I’m not seeing point-defense systems, sir, but what worries me is those open areas. Could be fighter bays, or some other kind of weapon.”
The drone sound was audible now. Mannix could even feel a slight vibration in the hull, and it unnerved him.
“Open a channel, all frequencies.” He cleared his throat. “Alien vessel, this is Captain Lucas Mannix of the ISS Eagle. Please respond.”
The drone continued uninterrupted.
“Any change at all in that sound?” he asked the sensors station.
“No, sir.” The ensign’s face was pale beneath her dark bob of hair.
Mannix drew in a deep breath. His stomach was a churning cauldron of acid. “One more time, Comms.”
“Channel open, sir.”
“Alien vessel, this is Captain Lucas Mannix of the ISS Eagle. We mean you no harm. We are a peaceful people, and we welcome those who come in peace. Please respond.”
The Eagle was no more than a hundred thousand kilometers away now, and they’d had to reduce the screen magnification to keep the alien vessels in full view.
“Sir, I’m getting a response!” the sensors station called out.
Mannix thought maybe he could sense it as well, a slightly higher pitch to the incessant drone and a deeper thrumming bass to the signal.
“Oh my God,” whispered the XO.
Mannix looked up at the screen. Hundreds of smaller vessels—fighters, he was sure of it—were pouring out of the openings of the lead ship. His stomach went still and he found his voice. He touched the intercom button on his armrest.
“CAG, this the captain. Launch fighters. You are weapons free, Commander.”
Chapter 13
ISS Eagle – Red Squad Fighters
Lieutenant “Ramrod” Sturgiss shot out the Eagle’s fighter bay at full throttle. “Easy and Choo-choo, stay tight on me. Let’s go bag some bad guys, Red Squad.”
