The Eden Paradox (The Eden Trilogy)

by Barry Kirwan

  Blake regarded the volume of the nuclear mushroom since detonation, and judged it to have been either a large nuclear warhead or perhaps a cluster of devices. It would leave a scar on this part of the planet, not to mention significant fallout. He couldn’t help feel sick at heart at the thought of how quickly humanity had left its ugly trademark signature on Eden – no matter that it was in self-defense.

  He heard the young man awaken, and helped him to his feet. Pierre lay unconscious in the corner, and Blake decided to let him wake up in his own good time. The young man looked bedraggled, but he held out his quaking hand towards him. Blake took it firmly.

  "Captain Alexander!" the young man said. "My name’s Micah Sanderson. Sir, it’s an honor. You’ve no idea. You’ve always been one of my heroes, Sir, but now – well, you can imagine, no one comes close anymore. Thanks for saving me back there."

  Blake smiled, putting his other hand around their handshake, the way he’d learned in Africa a long time ago. "You’re welcome, Son, most welcome." As he stared at Micah, Blake had the feeling he looked familiar, as if they had met before. He brushed it aside, it was so unlikely.

  Pierre woke up, and massaged the bruise on the back of his head. "I dreamt there was a nuclear detonation." He glanced at the others, and frowned. "Not a dream then."

  Blake and Micah squatted down to help Pierre into a seated position. The mirror interrupted them – it flashed a few times, settled, faced Blake, then revealed a bald-headed man, intense eyes, staring at all of them.

  "That’s Vince, Sir,’ Micah whispered quickly, "He’s leading the… er… rescue mission."

  Blake stood up and turned directly to face the figure in the mirror. "You must be Vince."

  Vince stared back. "You have the advantage, Sir. No – wait – I take it back. You’re Captain Blake Alexander. I’m very pleased, not to say relieved, to see you alive, Captain. And… I see we have a mutual acquaintance."

  At that point another face, tear-stained and female, pushed its way into the frame. "Micah? Micah! Oh, thank God! I said I’d cut his balls off if you were killed, and he just ignored me!"

  Blake’s head pivoted for an instant to raise an eyebrow at Micah. "Ma’am, he’s fine, but I need to talk to the one in charge, please."

  Blushing, she scuttled out of the picture again, muttering something none of them could hear.

  "Vince, are you in contact with Earth?"

  "That’s a little complicated, but essentially, yes. Your crew on the Ulysses were to send a message, but of course it would take days to reach Earth. However, it appears one of these mirror contraptions travelled back on a ship to Ireland, led by a girl and a professor, and we’ve been in contact for the past few hours, connecting via them. It’s not pretty back there, Captain, and it’s been a hell of a day. A total of thirty ships have left Earth for Eden, most people boarding them to escape the Q’Roth already on the loose since yesterday– the Alician propaganda machine has been running flawlessly. We’ve had jets scan a three-thousand mile radius over the past few hours, and seen the carnage left from twelve of the ships – hundreds of thousands of human corpses, limited firefights, and nineteen ships already headed back to Earth. It’s chaos back home, nearly a million Q’Roth are on the rampage, and that’s the ones we know about. As you can imagine, communications are a mess. At least five governments in desperation launched a nuke each, but they killed more humans than Q’Roth. The Chorazin and IVS are trying to make firebreaks around Q’Roth zones using small-yield fusion bombs, but more ships keep landing, avoiding the irradiated areas. As for us, we’re pretty much out of hardware and ordnance here."

  Blake interjected. "Nannites – they’re susceptible to nannite attack."

  Vince shook his head. "Alicians took out the few remaining nannite med and mil research centers in the first wave of coordinated attacks early this morning."

  Blake squeezed his fists hard enough that the fingernails dug into his flesh. So much had happened, so fast. But he was thankful for the way this man was delivering the news – not letting his emotions get in the way. It helped – he shut down his own feelings and reactions, knowing he had to remain in control.

  "Thank you, Vince. I’d like to talk to my First Officer. Can you connect us?"

  Vince turned to someone off-screen, and a voice came on against a background of crackling static.

  "Blake! Is that really you? My God, Kat, Rashid and I thought you were buried up to your eye-balls in Q’Roth soup!"

  Blake knew he needed to stay cold at this point – Zack was the only person there who could make him emotional, if he let him. He hoped Zack would understand.

  "Major, did you expedite Omega Kappa?"

  There was a pause. "Affirmative, Sir, via a coded transmission through Vince’s mirror – Kat worked out how to do it. We just need co-ordinates."

  Blake looked down to Pierre.

  "New York," Pierre answered, softly.

  Blake stared at his science officer for a moment, considering the larger picture. He reflected that military ops always relied crucially on intelligence, and right now he had the best intelligence the world had to offer sitting before him. He turned back to the mirror scene.

  "Zack – New York."

  He heard a low whistle. "Okay, Skipper, if you say so. I’ll get on it straight away and await further instructions. It’s sure good to hear your voice again. Zack out."

  Vince had only been half-listening during this brief exchange, talking quietly with someone off-screen. Blake assumed he was getting reports from the jets carrying out recon or battle ops. Vince, hearing Zack sign off, turned to give Blake his full attention again.

  "May I ask – Omega Kappa?"

  "We take care of our own," Blake said. "It’ll be a rendezvous point for the evacuation in North America – New York is still irradiated so the Q’Roth will avoid it."

  Vince nodded. "Family." He looked sideways again.

  Blake noticed that Vince wasn’t calling him "Sir" anymore – the question of who was actually in charge here was still undetermined.

  "What’s the status of your operations?" Blake asked.

  "All Q’Roth ships are now outbound. We don’t think any more ships are incoming – the ruse is undone, though it may be too late. Here, we’ve launched all of our nukes and managed to disable six ships and four nests, but that seems to have precipitated a mass excursion to Earth. Some other ships might be arriving on the other side of the planet, out of our recon range."

  "Has an international war council been convened?"

  Vince shook his head. Blake knew what that meant. The Alician strategy was not merely technological but political – lack of trust after the last war left Earth divided and conquerable.

  Blake made his mind up. "How many mirrors do you have?"

  Vince frowned. "There are three here, they arrived a few hours ago. Why?"

  "Take them back to Earth – to New York. Can you navigate these ships?"

  Vince nodded. "The ship in Ireland learned enough, so they can instruct us via the mirrors."

  Blake nodded. "We have the ignition key, we’ll bring it to you. Send word ahead to anyone trustworthy for immediate evacuation and command personnel extraction. When you’re there try to raise any other ships not under Q’Roth or Alician control. If you find any, the mirrors go to them – it will be the only way we can communicate." He glanced at Pierre. "Then, if it looks like we’re losing, we all come back here and go – elsewhere. This planet is unstable – it will revert to desert in a few years according to my science officer, and could well be the next stop of the Q’Roth once they finish up on Earth and realize some of us have escaped."

  Blake could hear mutterings behind Vince. Pierre was right; fighting might only delay the inevitable. They needed a back-up survival plan – leave, in order to avoid letting all humanity perish.

  Vince nodded once. "Yes, Sir. We’ll have our last two fighters back here in twenty minutes – I’ll re-route one to fly near your location
so you can follow it. I presume you’re coming back with us?"

  "My crew and I are staying here. That way my science officer can work on our destination, and I can co-ordinate operations from Eden orbit. Micah will rejoin you."

  Vince looked satisfied in more ways than one. "Understood, though you might wish to discuss the destination with Micah – he has an idea." He broke the transmission link.

  Blake turned to Micah. "Where should we go?"

  Micah walked up to the Hohash and ran his fingers over its smooth outer edge. Blake was surprised: it had never occurred to him to touch this alien artifact.

  Micah looked mesmerized. "Can this communicate?"

  Blake was intrigued. "Yes, in a manner of speaking, with one of my officers."

  "Katrina," Micah said.

  It sounded more like a statement rather than a question. "How did you know?"

  Micah shrugged, and turned to face Blake. "Lucky guess. I need to talk with her before I go back."

  Chapter 48

  Omega Kappa

  General William Kilaney coughed and spat blood for the third time. The lieutenant who never left his side offered him her kerchief. He accepted it, nodding a thank you. She opened her other hand, three trimorph capsules in her palm. He shook his head, and leaned forward in his bridge command chair, staring into Zeus I’s viewscreen.

  "Is the next batch ready?" he bellowed to his Tactical Officer.

  "Thirty seconds, Sir."

  Kilaney grimaced, counting eight mushroom clouds churning over former North American cities. He’d advised the President against the Tac-Nuke general order, but it was done now, and she wasn’t around anymore to worry about it – High Command had been taken out as soon as a Q’Roth ship had landed at Napa. It was his game now, and he preferred a rifle to a shotgun.

  "New targets?" He suspected the answer, but wanted to fire the orbital missiles on fresh ships, rather than areas where the Q’Roth had already begun their cull.

  "Negative, Sir. Still holding at fifty-five Q’Roth ships, based on our joint intel with IVS."

  "Fire when ready. Usual protocol – target the most recently landed ship not issuing Micah’s code."

  He wondered how long it would be before the enemy attacked his operation on Zeus I. He’d already destroyed five Q’Roth ships, though the human toll had been extensive – the Q’Roth always landed in densely populated areas. He reminded himself of his mission – to firefight the enemy, giving the four refugee-laden ships enough time for their escape. He turned to his lieutenant. "Get me the IVS CIC – what’s his name again?" He disliked having to deal with that infamous magnate, but War had taught him long ago that the enemy of your enemy was an ally, at least during battle.

  "Shakirvasta, Sir. Coming through on Line 1."

  Kilaney spun his chair to face a vid-screen. It crackled, then out of the scribbled fuzz a man appeared, seated behind a plush desk, somehow looking disheveled yet composed, a lighted cigarette poised in each hand.

  "General, so good to see you’re still in the game."

  Kilaney heard a shrill klaxon, indicating six missiles had just fired from Zeus I towards their next target – that’s how many it took, and they had to strike at exactly the same moment to penetrate the Q’Roth ships’ hulls. "What’s your status?" he barked.

  Shakirvasta took a considered drag, exhaling before he spoke. "Not particularly good. We’ve lost a million infantry in the last hour. Frankly, all they do is slow the enemy down, and not by much."

  Kilaney winced – how could Shakirvasta state it so coldly? At least the man had a cool head.

  "General, we’re witnessing a change in Q’Roth tactics. The ones who have tapped sufficient human sentience are becoming more strategic, liquidating the few military bases not already sabotaged by the Alicians."

  Kilaney thumped a fist on the arm of his chair. "What about the Brazilians, and the Indonesian Navy? We lost contact with them half an hour ago."

  Kilaney saw the screen image jump, knocking ash off Shakirvasta’s nearly-depleted cigarette. Shakirvasta glanced at something off-screen, then his eyes flicked back to Kilaney.

  "There’s another type of Q’Roth ship, as we suspected, a medium-sized destroyer, skimming our oceans, dropping hunter depth charges. They’re working from the bottom up. Efficient, I must say." He discarded his used cigarette, and without looking, supplanted it with a fresh one. "That disposed of the Indonesian Navy, and I’m sorry to say the Brazilian air force has been neutralized."

  Kilaney sank back in his chair. "What – all of it?"

  The image jumped again, and Kilaney thought he heard someone shouting the words “Now, Sir, please!” Shakirvasta nodded, whether to Kilaney or the man shouting, took a final drag and stubbed out his cigarette, replacing the unlit one in a gold case. He looked naked without his cigarettes.

  "There are some smaller craft as well, using some kind of beamed weapon. Very maneuverable, unfortunately; they sliced through the Brazilian fighters easily as a hand through a holo."

  "Sir," the Tactical Officer called out, "Sir, we’re detecting an unidentified vessel approaching fast from low orbit."

  Shakirvasta cut in, rising from his chair, hands planted on his desk. "General, sounds like you have company. I’m afraid we’re dealing with adult Q’Roth now. I have to go. I’m in the Tower, and, well as you’re about to see, it’s time to leave. The game’s over, General. I’m instructing our ship to depart for Eden to join Blake and the others while it still can. I suggest you do the same. Good luck." Someone grabbed Shakirvasta’s arm and he disappeared from the screen.

  Kilaney watched, and then understood. Behind where Shakirvasta had been sitting, the sky shifted violently. Mountain tops slid into view, followed by the tops of more mortal skyscrapers, then the bustling city beneath: the Mumbai Tower was falling.

  He’d realized a day ago they could not win this battle, but now the full impact of the loss of his world seeped through him like bitter poison. He gathered himself. "Hostile on viewer."

  The vessel resembled a giant mechanical crab, vectoring towards them at terrific closing speed, grappling arms extended. "Fire at the damned thing as soon as it’s in range. Everything we’ve got!" He turned to his aide. "Get me Micah."

  The lieutenant blurred into motion. "Just audio, Sir."

  He coughed again, this time using his uniform sleeve. The attack ship erupted in a billowing white-hot cloud of flame, quickly snuffed out of existence, revealing the target completely unscathed, tearing towards them.

  "Micah, things are going bad. Looks like I won’t be making it. Tell Blake… tell him it’s lost here. The four ships must leave now, that’s an order. We’ll fight here to the end, but –"

  A spider-web of lightning crackled across the Ops room, as the space station shook, throwing him out of his chair. The room darkened except for the strobe of electrical discharges sizzling plastic, ozone and charred human flesh into a pungent acrid cocktail. It stung his eyes, and left a taste like rust in his mouth. He coughed heavily, but stayed down till the emergency relays kicked in. As the fizzing sputtered to a stop and a pale light flickered on, he got halfway up to find his lieutenant’s half-burnt face next to him. A single trimorph capsule nestled in her lifeless palm. He swallowed it, closing her eyes.

  Breathing through the folded kerchief, he squinted through layers of smoke and flame-licked shadows. He was the only one left alive. With a metallic snap, fire-suppressant gas jetted from the ceiling, cooling the air and dousing the flames, evacuating the smoke through vents. He staggered back into his chair.

  He heard thumping, hammering noises getting closer. We’ve been boarded. He reached for his pistol but it had been knocked onto the floor somewhere, buried in the debris. Four Q’Roth warriors thundered into the room, circling him. He stood, as upright as he could manage. They didn’t approach.

  "What in hell’s name are you waiting for?" He shook his head, and spat blood on the floor. He wiped his lips on the kerchief, then dro
pped it next to his lieutenant’s twisted body. His left ring finger slipped inside the pin of the high-yield grenade strapped to his waist for this eventuality, and with his other hand he slammed the Zeus I auto-destruct control. It had a thirty second timer, but he had no intention of staying around that long.

  He realized he’d spent too many years as a General, sitting in a chair, sending soldiers to their deaths, the last four years steadily rotting from cancer. Life had been crap in recent memory, but death would give something back to him – he’d die as a soldier, on his feet. "You’re coming with me, boys." He pulled out the pin and charged at the nearest warrior.

  ***

  Micah sat facing one of the Hohash mirrors. He felt he’d aged ten years over the past three days. The bad news on the nets had just kept getting worse, and now there was no news, the airwaves transmitting a static far worse than silence or screaming. He’d waited an hour since the General had been cut off. Zeus Orbital had fallen from the sky like a blazing meteorite.

  The massive ship doors closed as they readied for the trip back to Eden. Four ships – that was all – his in New York, captained by Vince, one in Dublin run by a young girl and a professor, one near Mumbai run by IVS, and one in the Andes, led by Senator Josefsson. Twelve thousand people, out of four billion.

  Initially, Blake and Vince had been worried that they would have people banging and clinging onto the hulls as they left, but few made it to the irradiated evacuation sites. The Q’Roth easily shot down most transports trying to get there. After initial nuclear attacks, the Alician High Guard had seen to it that Earth’s diminished nuclear arsenals were incapacitated, and eradicated nano-tech facilities. An estimated five million Q’Roth were scattered over the globe, each one killing several hundred people a day. Locusts, Micah thought. They’ll leave nothing, and then set the world alight, ready for future terraforming – re-cycling the planet.