They moved on to the covert troop build-up on Gaia. There were 4,648 human Special Forces troops now in place complementing 105,400 Outcast troops. The Korgax, showing that their mind-control chips worked on humans as well as Outcasts, had turned the missing US Army Ranger squad. This was the first confirmed case. The squad had eventually been neutralised by two fire teams of Navy Seals, but only after losing two to the enemy-controlled Army Rangers. Ever since the Guardian-Impostor attack on Exelon, this is what they’d feared: that the enemy mind-control implants would turn humans into infiltrators for the Korgax military. The implications were scary should they ever start using the technology on Earth. The ruthless enemy would not hesitate to use it to subvert the entire planet. Earth would be destined to become a vassal world full of compliant slaves and cowering wretches. There were still too many things that could go wrong, too many holes in the plan. Out of the 2,000 man-portable nukes needed on the ground for LG-Day, only 560 had been produced. And that was going to be about the extent of it. The lead-time to get them from Earth via the smuggling route to Gaia meant that the last consignment would soon be through an FTL gate to Exelon. The situation was similar on the battledroids – vital heavy weapons in the Battle for Gaia. The only chance of victory was by timing the attacks on Gaia after the enemy had committed to a ground invasion of Earth. Once the Korgax military were tied down, the human-Outcast alliance would have its opportunity on Gaia. The clock was ticking and all the signs said that LG-Day was just two weeks away.
After the meeting, Powell walked back to the human quarters and wondered to himself, would it be human hands or the four-fingered hands of the Korgax that would re-write history?
***
December 30, 2063: Korgax Destroyer 74, Low Earth Orbit
Three days earlier, Sergei Bekov had made his first journey to orbit. The journey from a deserted location in the wintery wastelands of Siberia’s Taiga had been less frightening than he’d thought it would be. The head of the Russian SVR prided himself on his decision-making and the way he could almost see the future unfolding in his mind. His grandiose, vain-glorious opinion of his own ability made him utterly confident that he’d made the right call. When he’d reached out to Earth’s new masters and had actually received a reply, his judgement had been confirmed and his ego inflated further. The Russians – as well as just about every other nation – had tried to talk peace with the orbiting Korgax fleet. But all attempts had, as far as his intelligence service knew, fallen on deaf ears. Advice from his long-time patron, Russian President, Roman Demenok, had said the same – the aliens want war-war not jaw-jaw. Demenok – although a supposed friend – had outlived his usefulness to Bekov and now he was about to become acquainted with his new patrons. Only his promise of the gift of vital strategic information had got him a chance to meet with Fleet Admiral Torax. If all went to plan – as Bekov knew it would – he would soon be the top-ranking human in the new World order. With Korgax help he’d start by purging, not only the Russian government and military, but also those of his enemies, starting with the United States. He had grand plans for the human world – a world that he would recreate in his own image, using the methods and the apparatus he’d shaped. Some said he’d played a major part in Russia becoming the police state it had. What those damned liberal know-nothings didn’t understand was that, without discipline, security and the way-laying of the weak, his country could never attain greatness.
Bekov was led alone through the last of the miles of corridors and through to the equally gloomy bridge of the destroyer. The air was humid and had to be at least thirty-five Celsius. He felt slightly sick having never been in zero-g before and looked forward to this being a quick meeting. He somehow doubted that it would be. The two Korgax that had led him along the circuitous route to the bridge must have been wearing some sort of adhesive footwear, as they didn’t float around as Bekov did. They were enormous creatures, and pretty evil-looking in his opinion. These guys would know how to whip the millions of worthless, slovenly peasants into shape. The vast bridge was suddenly laid out before him, with dozens of the beastly Korgax seated with visors over their eyes, not speaking and barely moving. Bekov wondered what they were actually doing and why they were so still. Presumably, they were not asleep. He could detect some movement, mostly just by the slight change in reflection from the shiny, snake-like scales of their skin. A Korgax approached with his visor pushed up from his eyes, revealing the large black orbs staring at the awaiting Bekov. A small, rigid wire protruded from the pivot of his visor, tracing its way towards his razor-toothed mouth. Fleet Admiral Torax spoke – not in alien, not in Russian, but in synthesized English – a language in which Bekov was fluent.
“Sergei Bekov, you are on-board Destroyer 74. I am the commander of this fleet. My name is Fleet Admiral Torax. You may call me sir,” sneered Fleet Admiral Torax.
To Bekov, establishing the pecking order was an obvious move by the alien. Already knowing Torax was in a position of power allowed Bekov to accept this, albeit reluctantly; he was used to being the one giving orders, but had no choice.
“You have information that is useful to us regarding the human war strategy. Tell us it now, human.” said the cold synthetic translation of Torax’s otherwise inaudible mouthed words.
“Before I tell you anything I want to hear that you will give me what I’d asked for in exchange...in our communications yesterday...sir,” said the unsettled Bekov. This was not turning out how he’d imagined it. For the first time in his career, Bekov could feel his bravado draining away, to be replaced only by fear.
***
Sergei Bekov returned to Earth the next day. But not as master-of-humanity-in-waiting, for he was no longer even master of his own mind.
Chapter Twelve
January 2, 2064: Outcast Underground Base, Exelon
“What is this place like?” asked Sergeant Matthew ‘Chip’ Hart to his Special Space Service Captain, Chris ‘Motor’ Buick. The two had just arrived in their capsule from an underground bunker in Central London where the FTL gate had been set up. The rest of the capsule was filled with supplies and equipment, most of it for their mission. Ironically, they’d soon be most of the way back to Earth again, riding the back of the beast that was the 375 Nemesis asteroid. Chip had found Gaia strange enough – but this? An underground warren of tunnels and caves filled with their amphibious allies was just very, very weird. It was hot and humid like Gaia, but thankfully without the heavy gravity, which he found, had done his knees no good at all after Operation Rapid Denial. Better get used to this place and its people, he thought to himself, considering that he'd be living here for two weeks and would soon be forming a patrol with two of them.
As if reading his mind, Motor replied, "They may look weird to our eyes, but they're the only ones that have given use a fighting chance at stopping this asteroid and beating the enemy."
Chip thought Motor was being overly serious, but knew that he himself often used humour when out of his comfort zone. His squad captain was just focused, that was all. The two armour-clad Outcast guards led them through to a door on the left-hand side of the dim red-rock corridor. It swooshed open to reveal a small, more brightly lit office and two very familiar faces: those of President Powell and Secretary of Defence Romero. The guards quickly departed without a word and the door slid shut, sealing in the dryer, cooler Earth-like air.
A smiling Powell greeted them warmly with a clasped handshake, first Motor then Chip. "Captain Buick, Sergeant Hart, a very warm welcome to you both...great to have you here. How was the trip?"
"Yes, welcome to our humble office," added Romero smiling and shaking their hands.
"The trip was fine, sir," replied the tan-skinned, handsome Motor. He found the two Americans’ attire odd by Earth standards, but realised that, due to the heat and humidity, shorts and a loose-fitting linen tunic were sensible. Being in this place must be a great leveller of rank, he thought as his eyes lingered for a while on the famous faces of Po
well and Romero. Faces that he'd only seen before in the media. They both looked older than he'd imagined, and more bedraggled too. It must be functional rather than good living here, he mulled.
"Yes, all good, sir," confirmed Chip. He didn't mention the raging battle he'd seen off in the distance as the shuttle had retrieved their capsule from Exelon orbit. He presumed the two Americans knew there was active enemy in and around Exelon space.
They chatted for a while about the latest news from both sides of the FTL divide. Powell was nice enough to enquire about Motor's wife and grown-up daughter, and Chip's wife and two young boys. He'd obviously been briefed well, but nice nonetheless, thought Motor. Motor also told of how his wife's extended family in Indonesia were struggling to get out in time. The government there was in disarray even before the Korgax had made their demands about vacating the Tropics. Now, it was sheer chaos, and he had to dig into his modest savings to try to secure a way out for five of them.
On hearing about their plight, Powell shook his head in sympathy. The story had really driven home to him – not that he needed it to be – how the ruthless foe was affecting good, decent folk from around the world. It made him more determined than ever to kick them out of the Solar system and give them a good hiding on their own turf.
"The briefing is due to start in an hour. Diego will show you to your quarters that you'll use for your two-week stay," said Powell
***
Chip was glad he was on a tight schedule – less time to miss his wife and their boys. The novelties of the alien underground base and the Outcasts themselves had provided a nice distraction too. As he sat in the large briefing room next to his long-time friend and patrol leader, Motor, he took a look around him. There were ten rows of uncomfortable metal seats; definitely not shaped for the human form, rather for that of the Outcasts who had designed them. At the front was a slightly raised stage area and a wall display that seemed to be part of the wall itself. The two British Special Forces soldiers sat at the front of the briefing room. It looked like they were early. Romero had guided them there then disappeared, leaving them alone, apart from two Outcasts who were keeping to themselves. Chip turned to look at the aliens. Their skin was predominantly a dark, greyish-blue tone with a dappled pattern of teal-coloured spots. It glistened in the light as if it would be slimy to the touch. Their watery, eyes were pure black. Blinking of the translucent eyes lids kept them moist. There was no nose and their mouths were wide and fish-like with tiny teeth bordering the edges. The lack of clothes was probably part practical and part cultural, thought Chip. There were certainly no recognisable genitals to be embarrassed about – assuming they would have had such a taboo – for which there was no evidence one-way or the other.
"Hi!" shouted Chip to the Outcasts at the back with his winning smile. There was no response apart from a brief look up.
"Not very talkative are they?" he said to Motor. "Hopefully our two techs will have some way of speaking English; I sure as hell don't know how to speak alien. Apparently it's a combination of telepathy, sign-language and speech," he continued.
"They have translators which translate their speech into English, Chip. You haven't seen Romero or Powell speaking Outcast, have you now?" replied Motor.
"You never know with politicians," replied Chip with a devilish grin.
Romero had returned with Powell and a real entourage of Outcasts. He introduced Motor and Chip to the alien allies – First Leader Adai – their most senior surviving representative. It immediately answered the question on how they communicate, with Leader Adai speaking his greeting into a mouthpiece, only for it to be heard in English moments later. The new generation of translators were faster, the output more natural. They also had a wearable speaker on the Outcasts’ belt. It made holding a normal conversation much easier than with the first generation of device. Next came Military Chief, Esai – broadly Romero's opposite number. Next was General Rafai. He was one of the most senior officers in the Outcast military and he would be accountable for the asteroid mission they were soon to talk through. Finally the two techs that were, according to Rafai, experts in the security and control systems the Korgax were using on the asteroid thrusters. They weren’t wearing translators, and any greeting they may have tried to give their future squad mates – Motor and Chip – was lost on the two human soldiers. The room soon filled up, and they established a line to the Groom Lake command bunker. Present was Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Curtis Kline and Vice President, Blake Jefferson along with dozens of other military, intelligence and civilian staff. The voice-only feed had been linked to other WGA allies around the world. This was the high-level briefing on the mission to avert the biggest disaster to befall planet Earth since the dinosaurs were extinct 65 million years before. There would be further planning and training in the next two weeks, but for many of them this was the last opportunity to influence strategy.
After the preamble by the leaders, General Rafai got onto the plan. “Here is an executive overview of the plan,” he said. The display changed to show the photo-realistic graphic of the 375 Nemesis asteroid that was hurtling towards Earth at a terrifying velocity. It dwarfed the escorting destroyer, which was still relative to the massive space rock...
***
January 11, 2064: Near Asteroid 375 Nemesis, 34 days from Impact with Earth
Nine days later the small, cloaked spacecraft approached the real asteroid carrying two humans and two Outcasts. Every second the rock grew many kilometres closer to its preordained position in space – a precise place in space and time, thirty-four days hence. That place passed through the orbit of Earth, on its timeless circumnavigation around Sol. In thirty-four days, Earth would be in the same place as 375 Nemesis and, unless the four beings did something about it, billions would die. Without action, the age of humans had little more than a month until its end. Command was not going to leave it to the Korgax to divert the asteroid. They assumed that if the Korgax invaded Earth that’s what they would do – even they were not in the business of wiping out their own forces. But what if the invasion went badly for them? They may decide to punish Earth for the coming assault on Gaia. If the liberation attempt was only partially successful, they may opt to take Earth out of action and secure Gaia. If all went well, allied forces would secure the asteroid in time, but that was not guaranteed.
The tiny four-man Outcast fighter was fitted with the latest human cloaking field generator, making it all-but invisible to the enemy. Chip and Motor side-by-side, in front of the two Outcast techs – Sarai and Takai – in the arrowhead shaped ship with the human designation Foxbat. They’d made the jump from the underground hangar on the moon of Exelon via the FTL gate there. Since there was some uncertainty in their destination coordinates, they needed to do the burn after arriving in the Solar system. The ship’s computer had quickly locked onto 375 Nemesis and calculated the precise thrust vector and a burn time of thirty-five seconds on the chemical rockets.
“Jesus, that was strong!” exclaimed Sergeant Matt Hart aka Chip, after the acceleration and course change was complete.
They’d jumped to within fifty kilometres of the asteroid and the impulse they’d just received was all they were going to get. It was an unavoidable risk that the escorting destroyer may have picked up the heat signature.
“Did they ping us, Sarai?” asked Captain Chris Buick, aka Motor, to the Outcast manning sensors behind him.
“I have detected no signs of that so far, Captain Buick,” he reported, via his exosuit’s integrated translator.
“Looks like the cooled shroud has done its job and masked the IR signature,” remarked Motor.
The Foxbat’s closing speed on 375 Nemesis was just 5 m/s, meaning it would take just under three hours to touch down on its surface. There was no other way if they were to avoid a retro-rocket burn and still touch down slowly enough. They simply could not risk being detected while landing on the asteroid – the looming enemy destroyer flew just five kilometres from th
e asteroid.
“Takai, can you zoom in and survey the destroyer – I want to check and see if there are any CSPs,” requested Motor to the other Outcast behind him. “Send the feed to our HUDs, please.” He wanted to do a visual scan for Combat Space Patrols – CSPs – and look for any other signs of enemy movement. The video was sent to Motor and Chip’s contact lens HUDs.
Without the Foxbat’s powerful optics, the asteroid looked six times the size of a full moon on Earth, the destroyer in the foreground, about two-thirds moon-sized. The asteroid dwarfed the three-hundred metre long destroyer – it was more than thirty times longer and many thousands of times its mass. Zoomed in, they could see an immense level of detail fifty klicks away. Weapons blisters, launch tubes and the dormant nozzles of the destroyer’s powerful engines. The asteroid and the destroyer glided along on a ballistic course – so no need for the Korgax to burn good fuel in their engines. Most importantly though, no CSP.
“Well that’s one good thing. CSPs are always going to be more observant than the bored crew of an escort; assuming they’re anything like human crews would be after looking at the same grey rock for ten months straight,” said Motor.
The Vassal World (The First Exoplanet Book 2) Page 15
