Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection

by G. S. Jennsen

  The atmosphere contained oxygen, nitrogen and other gases in the exact proportions Earth exhibited prior to nearly a thousand years ago when the subtle changes brought about by industrialization began to manifest. Gravity was identical to a hundredth of a percent. Alex believed she had identified the coastline of the North American Gulf in the east and Baja in the west, as well as the Arabian Peninsula on the other side of the world. They nearly lapped the planet, enough to determine the circumference measured roughly a third that of Earth.

  It wasn’t a copy of Earth though. Aside from the reduced size, there were the luminescent oceans to consider. Yet more disconcerting was the fact the planet didn’t rotate. While they knew it wasn’t orbiting any visible object, rotation was such a fundamental characteristic of planetary objects that it seemed impossible it didn’t. It also raised the question (the latest on a lengthy and growing list) of how the gravity matched Earth’s without centrifugal force.

  The planet appeared devoid of any sign of technology as far as they were able to see, or any civilization or intelligent life at all. They didn’t even pick up readings which might indicate wildlife. Admittedly, they still had a lot of land to cover.

  And now it was getting dark. Which was…interesting, seeing as there existed no sun to set.

  “Where is the light being generated from? Earth does not have its own invisible self-generating light source. There is technology here, somewhere.”

  “Which we’re unlikely to be able to find in the dark.” He swung her chair around and leaned in, bracing himself on the armrests.

  She had done an exceptional job of compartmentalizing, of pushing aside the panic and the fervent, burning need to run—run fast enough to outpace the too-fast ticking of time. He understood this because it clawed at him no less than it did her. But the hours had taken their toll.

  “We should land for the night. We still don’t really know anything about this planet. It’s dangerous to fly in the dark, and you’re exhausted.”

  “But we’re losing time and—”

  “Alex, land. We passed a small sheltered valley a few minutes ago. Go back and set down there. I’m going to throw together a little dinner, and then we are going to get some sleep.”

  She stared at him, fatigue weighing on her features as she worked to formulate a protest…then at last gave a weary smile with a more weary laugh. “Can we have pasta? I’d really like pasta right now.”

  “Of course we can have pasta.” He placed a tender kiss on her forehead and headed toward the kitchen area.

  “And cheese?”

  He chuckled to himself as he opened the refrigeration cabinet. “And cheese.”

  He had felt rather helpless since they’d gone through the portal, and helpless was not a role he did well…even if the last several weeks had given him a decent amount of practice. But he did do concealment well, so other than the brief slip-up while fleeing the pursuing ships he hid his frustration from her.

  The slip-up had occurred because he knew he could help her. All he needed to do was reach out his hand and take command—of propulsion, power distribution, scanners, weapons, something. She was a better pilot than him no question, but he was plenty capable at flying and even more so at engineering systems. And she surely realized it, yet remained too damn stubborn to give up a sliver of control.

  It had worked out, this time. So he remained in limbo, caught between the powerful need to act to influence their fortune and the for now more powerful need to retain her trust.

  But he wasn’t completely helpless. He could cook for her, which made her happy. He could keep her nourished and help her not give in to despair and make sure she remembered to sleep. And asleep in his arms, he could keep her safe.

  Alex wiggled in his arms until she had turned around to face him. He frowned and kissed her mouth. “You’re not asleep.”

  “No. I was thinking about this place. Caleb, I have no idea what’s going on. I have no explanation for the khrenovuyu time. I have no explanation for this planet, its characteristics or even its existence. Obviously it’s not what we expected to find, but it has to be important. For one, it’s impossible the whole ‘mini-Earth’ aspect is a coincidence. It’s as if it was custom made for us…or for humans, anyway.”

  “Or was designed to replicate the conditions we ‘grew up’ in.”

  Her nose crinkled up at him as though he wouldn’t have sounded any more insane had he proclaimed cats sported three heads and lettuce glowed fluorescent orange, but she didn’t press the matter. It was just as well. So early in the game he rarely was able to explain the conclusions his instincts suggested.

  “And why is it hidden? Not from us—well from ‘us,’ if not from me—but from the alien ships?”

  “It means there’s more than one player on the field.”

  Her eyes rose to meet his, irises watery with the effort of staying open. “What do you mean?”

  This notion must not sound so insane as to be dismissed out of hand. “Whoever or whatever controls this planet, I think we can assume they’ve chosen to conceal it from the military ships. I don’t know what that implies. We may be dealing with several different species, feuding factions or something else entirely. But it means our enemy is not a monolithic entity.”

  Her grin was sleepy and lopsided. “They teach you that in spy school?”

  His lips brushed feather-light across hers. “Yeah, they did. Now go to sleep.”

  She nuzzled her nose against his neck and snuggled closer. “You first….” But in seconds her muscles had relaxed and her breath evened out.

  His fingertips ghosted down her hair, gently so as not to disturb her. Eventually sheer exhaustion won out for him as well, his brain too fatigued to make heads or tails out of everything that had happened, and he drifted off to sleep. He did so pondering how in seven hells this impossible planet might lead them to a way to defeat an invading army, and who the forces back home were colluding with and whether they were against or at odds to or irrespective of the aliens.

  But mostly he did so pondering how he could possibly find a way to not lose the singular creature sleeping against him, or the peace—the wholly unexpected and unasked for contentment—which came with her. Because any and all gods help him but he needed it. Needed her.

  5

  EARTH

  VANCOUVER, EASC HEADQUARTERS

  * * *

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, they’ve occupied Desna?”

  “I mean they’ve occupied Desna. They destroyed the orbital array weapons and, in the absence of a ground-based military presence to challenge them, landed, took the governor into custody and proclaimed it a province of the Senecan Federation. They’re expanding their borders.”

  Earth Alliance Strategic Command Acting Chairman General Liam O’Connell slammed his palm down on his desk. The force generated by his burly frame sent a tremor through the synthetic ironwood. He leveled a glower across the quivering desk. “They simply marched in and took it? Desna occupies a key strategic position—where were the defenses?”

  I don’t know, Liam, where were the defenses? EASC Director of Operations Admiral Miriam Solovy inwardly marveled at the bureaucratic machine which had resulted in such a man occupying the utmost position of military power in the galaxy. Outwardly she wore a mask of cool composure.

  “After Arcadia and now Desna, I think it’s clear Seneca has minimal difficulty taking out our standard defense arrays. The small military presence formerly stationed at Desna had been temporarily reassigned to Arcadia in the wake of the destruction of the military base there.”

  “You’re telling me it was completely unprotected?”

  “A single frigate was tasked with patrolling Desnan space. It managed to escape the offensive after suffering catastrophic damage but minimal loss of life, all things considered.” She didn’t mention she knew the captain of the frigate; no reason to offer Liam any opening to exploit an imagined weakness.

  “I’ll have Foster’s head f
or this!”

  “General Foster didn’t order the forces reassigned. Alamatto did—and his head is, regrettably, no longer available for ‘having.’”

  His gaze snapped back to her. “Thanks to your traitorous daughter. I’m amazed they still allow you in the building.”

  Her jaw locked so tightly she might require a pneumatic lever to pry it open later, but she did not flinch or look away. Under no circumstances would she grant him the satisfaction of provoking her. “The bombing investigation is still ongoing, but I’m confident she will be cleared of any involvement. Now regarding the war. The Northwestern Regional forces on the front lines are increasingly weakened and after Desna they’re down yet another frigate. Do you perhaps want to get your replacement in Southwest on holo and reassign a minimum of two regiments to Foster?”

  “I’ll make the military decisions in this war, not you.”

  “Of course you will. Do inform me when you decide to send the regiments to Foster, so I can ensure they successfully arrive there and are properly provisioned once they do.” She pivoted to leave, then with malice aforethought paused short of the door and glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, was there anything else?”

  She received the desired response in his furious glare and exited the office suppressing a smile. But it was short-lived, as she departed the frying pan for the proverbial fire.

  After two ‘interviews’ from the lead investigator on the Headquarters bombing, she expected Major Lange from the Security Bureau in her office in seven minutes. He was coming to her office rather than she to his less as a concession to her rank and more as a courtesy to a colleague. For though she did outrank him by numerous grades, military police enjoyed power and liberties few others possessed. Should he desire to order her to his office or even an interrogation room, under the circumstances he could arguably do so.

  Unless the authorities had a trump card they had not yet revealed, the evidence against Caleb Marano and Alexis by association was purely circumstantial. It was not enough to convict in a court of law, but it didn’t need to be. In the midst of a war, when the flames of patriotism and outrage ran strongest, merely stating that a Senecan spy had been on the grounds in the week preceding the bombing was enough to convict in the court of public opinion.

  The lack of actual hard evidence was the only thing keeping her in her job for now, so she welcomed the small favor.

  Walking brusquely into the temporary EASC Operations offices, she was pleased to note Lange had done her the additional courtesy of not arriving early. She acknowledged her secretary then slipped into her office and allowed the door to shut behind her for the briefest moment of solitude.

  Such moments had been near to nonexistent of late. Between managing the messy details of the Senecan conflict, struggling to draw the attention of the right people to the potential alien conflict, handling the sheer logistics of relocating the entirety of what remained of EASC Operations into a far smaller building while filling the significant vacancies, and dealing with the bombing investigation, she had hardly slept. Which was for the best; she had learned twenty-three years ago working instead of sleeping was a passable way to avoid dwelling on more personal concerns. Concerns which threatened to crush her spirit if dwelled upon.

  Like where in the name of all that was holy—and many things that were not—her daughter might be.

  She stood at her desk studying an update on the repairs to the Forward Naval Base on Arcadia when Major Lange entered three minutes later, so she had no need to stand to greet him as he saluted her. A subtle denial of added power to him, power he’d never realize he had lost. “Major, thank you for coming by.”

  “Of course, Admiral. I understand you’re extremely busy with this unfortunate war.”

  She kept the surprise off her face. She wouldn’t have expected him to view the war as ‘unfortunate,’ but there was no pretense in his ice-blue eyes. “It is unfortunate, and I regrettably am busy with it. So let’s dispense with the pleasantries. You have lingering questions regarding the bombing and my daughter’s alleged involvement in it.”

  His nod was a curt motion. Given what she knew of him, he likely appreciated her directness. “I do, ma’am.”

  She gestured for him to sit. “Very well. Ask your questions.”

  ROMANE

  INDEPENDENT COLONY

  The government transport banked up and away from the soaring towers and cool lavender horizon decorated by the long evening light of Romane’s second sun.

  As they entered the atmosphere corridor Marcus Aguirre initiated a livecomm with Prime Minister Barrera. The man took several seconds to look up from a small screen in his hand, and wore a preoccupied visage when he did. “Marcus. How did things go?”

  He gave Barrera a troubled grimace. “Not as well as I’d hoped, I’m afraid. Governor Ledesme staked out the moral high ground of peace-loving independence and refused to declare Romane support for the Alliance in the war. She appears to presume the benefits of retaining Federation trade will outweigh the cost of losing Alliance support.”

  “Hmm. Unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected. You judge her position to be inflexible?”

  “Quite. To be frank, she exhibited overconfidence bordering on arrogance. She overestimates her power.”

  “How do you suggest we move forward?”

  He made a show of considering the question. “I think perhaps we allow her to discover what it costs to lose them both. We can justify a blockade of the major trade routes along the southern Federation border. It’s a smart strategic move in any event, and will conveniently cut off most Senecan trade to Romane. Publicly we express regret for any disruption it causes Romane and other colonies. Privately we exert pressure on large Alliance corporations to cease doing business with Romane-based interests.”

  “You think she’ll fold?”

  “No question. Within weeks I expect, if not sooner. Trade fuels Romane, and in its absence her high-minded ‘independence’ principles will quickly succumb to more practical necessities.”

  Barrera exhaled; it was a heavy, ponderous act. Prime Minister for only days, the weight of a galactic war was already showing in the deepening lines around his eyes and the drooping set of his shoulders. “I’ll discuss a blockade with General O’Connell and Admiral Rychen later this evening. You’re on the way to Sagan now?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s a long trip, but I have several holo conferences scheduled on the way.”

  “I expect the Sagan government will be far more amenable to our proposal.”

  “They have far less to lose and a reasonable amount to gain. Their support will unfortunately be worth less than Romane’s but will solidify all major colonies in the southeastern region under Alliance control.”

  “Indeed, and that can’t be a bad thing. Best of luck, Marcus. Keep me posted.”

  “And to you, sir.” Marcus ended the link with a touch of sadness, cognizant it would probably be the last time he saw Luis Barrera. He was a decent man as politicians went, and had been a friend and true ally. But he would be far from the first decent person to be sacrificed for the greater good, and likely not the last.

  Marcus was currently flying halfway around the settled galaxy for two reasons. As Foreign Minister for the Earth Alliance, strengthening diplomatic relations with non-Alliance worlds was above all else his job, and one never more important than during a war. This dovetailed with the second reason: the aliens were moving fast—far too fast—and his options were dwindling rapidly.

  From where he sat today, the best of those dwindling options was to hypercharge the war, win the war and pull the galaxy inward under Alliance domination. Yet thus far the war was a stalemate at best…which would have been fine if he had more time. A protracted stalemate had even been a key part of the original plan.

  But he didn’t have more time. So he needed to find the Alliance more allies and soon. There were twenty-one independent colonies; most were fringe movements or the fantasy fulfillment of
wealthy narcissists, but nine or ten held resources, power or a location advantage which would benefit the Alliance. Also not to be discounted was the psychological boon from independent colonies publicly declaring support for the Alliance in the war.

  Together it might be enough to shift the tide.

  When the alien had first contacted him some thirty-seven years ago, he had not imagined this chaos—this high-stakes game of empyrean brinkmanship—was where it would lead.

  Fresh off winning the Miami District Attorney race, he was kicked back at his desk enjoying a Glenlivet 21.

  Greetings.

  Marcus jerked, startled, then checked his eVi for the source of the communication. There was no name or address attached to it. He hadn’t received nor accepted a livecomm request. Was he being hacked? He instructed his eVi to raise defensive barriers.

  Those are not necessary.

  He straightened up in the chair. Hearing voices in one’s head was no longer a marker of insanity; in modern communications people heard voices in their heads all the time. But this voice wasn’t attached to any person with an identity registered in the exanet infrastructure. He took a deep breath.

  “To whom am I speaking?”

  We can discuss the matter in a moment. Congratulations on your election victory. It is a notable achievement for one so young. Not your first, though.

  “If you’re trying to imply you somehow know a lot about me, you’re doing a poor job of it. A brief exanet query will reveal I’ve achieved much and am expected to achieve much more.”

  Yes. Does an exanet query reveal your success as leader of the Catumbi Turma in Rio de Janeiro, or your domination of the Zelones cartel there?

  He carefully stood, his voice dropping dangerously in tenor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I grew up on the Louisiana gulf, where I lived until I went to university in Florida.”