Jason was barking orders and moving fast. “Get the air circulating in here and we need water—go!”
Some had survived. Most had not. Heat and dehydration had taken its toll. Those that did survive were confused and slow to recover from the effects of the odorless and invisible halogenated ether. The captives’ accounts told the same story. No one had expected an attack from within their own ranks. Well planned and executed, base personnel had been taken completely off guard. Apparently, Crawford’s militia had taken little care with their measurements. Once the best-guess oxygen and nitrous oxide formula had been mixed, and wearing gas masks, the militia introduced the sleeping gas concoction into ventilation systems throughout the outpost’s barracks. The few soldiers on guard duty were easily dealt with. A similar process was repeated for the Allied ships in orbit.
* * *
The shit hit the fan. Washington politicians and military brass alike converged onto the base like bees to honey. Troops from each of the service branches were deployed—the Army especially. They had recently gone above and beyond to filter out any Craing mutants from their ranks. Admiral Cramer’s rebellious grab for power had been quickly squashed. Her Alliance takeover plan was a shaky house of cards at best. To her credit, she’d managed to pull together several hundred devout followers—many of them Montana militia wackos and extremists. Her advantage had been the unhindered control over the remaining Craing fleet of two hundred and thirty-five vessels. She also had access to the Craing captives—prisoners—convincing enough of them to resume their previous posts as pilots and crew on eight of the battle cruisers. If she had been able to crew more of the warships, the outcome most definitely would have been different.
It would be years before government investigations, review boards, and tribunals had run their course. For now, Jason and his father sat in the largest of the outpost’s conference rooms, waiting for the hammer to come down on their heads.
Not officially under arrest, the two knew they were in deep trouble. Jason had fought for how the outpost would be managed and run—exclusion of the U.S. military being the hardest pill for the government to swallow. Now, with hundreds dead, not to mention embarrassment around the world, Jason knew things here would have to change.
No less than ten executive-level officers accompanied the Secretary of Defense. They piled into the conference room, stern-faced and arrogant. Jason and Admiral Reynolds stood and waited for all to be seated before sitting back down themselves.
“Jason, Perry. We have a lot to discuss, shall we get started?”
“Yes, sir,” they both replied.
“The failings of this outpost have been nothing short of stellar. What a clusterfuck.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As of today, all the Craing vessels here are the property of the U.S. government.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The Lilly is the property of the U.S. government.”
“No, sir.”
Ben Walker eyed Jason and his father warily. “I could hold you, throw you both in a hole you’d never crawl out of.”
Jason was about to speak up when his father got there first.
“Ben, you want to blame the actions of a right-wing separatist wacko, one who should not have passed muster in your military in the first place, then fine. I’ll gladly take that on. But let’s not pretend you are carrying the big stick here, okay?” Admiral Reynolds said with a wry smile.
Walker’s face was turning red, “This isn’t a game. The president made it perfectly clear that this is not to be a negotiation. Who the hell do you think you are?”
Again, it was the admiral who spoke up. “Who am I, you ask? I am the only person on this planet who has experience leading military forces in deep space. I am the only person on this planet who has the foggiest idea about the enemy. For fifteen years, I have witnessed their cunning first hand, their brutality. I know how they think. And if that’s not enough, I am the only person on this planet who has strong, personal relationships with the leaders of the other worlds that make up the Alliance. Close to one hundred billion people. Bluster all you want, Ben, but when it comes down to who I think I am, I’m the United Planetary Alliance Commander for those worlds, and as far as they are concerned, I outrank the president, and I certainly outrank you. There is only one way in which you can take charge of any allied vessel, and that is if I allow it.”
Jason was having a hard time staying in his chair. In fact, he wanted to stand up and cheer. But Jason’s expression didn’t deviate, not even a smile crossed his lips. What made Jason really want to high-five someone, anyone, was seeing how his father had recaptured his spirit. The fight was back in his eyes. This was the man warriors across the universe wanted to follow into battle. He was back.
In the end, Admiral Perry Reynolds was appointed the interim Alliance Outpost Commander. The general consensus was his loyalty, experience, and commitment to the Alliance was beyond reproach.
Jason had learned a few lessons the hard way. He needed to better oversee to the care of his family, as well as The Lilly and her crew. He’d lost five crewmembers in those hangars.
* * *
It was close to midnight. Jason, Billy and Ricket approached the outpost’s subjugated Craing City from the south. Countless fires burned throughout the camp. The air smelled of soot and burning meat. Groups huddled close together for warmth against the brisk night air. There was an almost carnival atmosphere to the place; sounds of laughter and spirited conversations could be heard in the distance. Alliance soldiers patrolled the outer perimeters from outside the high metal fences. Only moments before, radios alerted sentries of Jason’s approach. At the gate, two soldiers looked up as the three figures stepped out from the darkness.
“Sergeants,” Jason said, as they came to a stop several paces in front of them.
“Good evening, Captain, Lieutenant … Um, I apologize, I’m not sure how to address you now, sir,” the sergeant said, his eyes darting from Ricket to the others and then back to Ricket.
“You can refer to me as Ricket—same as always.”
“Yes, sir—I mean Ricket.”
“How about opening the gate, Sergeant,” Jason prompted. “We won’t be here long.”
“Yes, sir.” The second sentry used a key to unlock a large padlock and swung the double gates wide enough for the three to pass through.
Once inside the compound, Ricket took up the lead, with the others following close behind. They headed off into the hordes of the three- to four-foot tall populace—all surviving prisoners leftover from the Craing fleet.
Heads turned and eyes narrowed as they moved past. The sight of Ricket within their compound created a commotion. Conversations abruptly stopped—small alien beings squared their shoulders and stood up tall. Open tent flaps revealed secluded card games in progress or individuals eating their dinners in solitude.
A group of excited Craing fell in behind them, a procession of sorts—all heading towards the back of the camp. Ricket slowed and came to a stop. A bonfire blazed. Three Craing sat on five-gallon buckets; the camp had gone quiet and a circle was forming around them. A Craing, seated on the middle bucket, rose to his feet and the two others also stood up. The center alien was surprisingly tall—close to four-and-a-half feet. Typically naked, or nearly naked, these Craing, and others seen around the camp, were wearing green army jumpsuits. Three more buckets were added around the fire. Jason took in the scene. These three Craing, especially the taller one, were obviously the leaders here.
“Pronunciation would be difficult, so you may call me, uh—Glenn—this is Rob and that’s, uh, Carl. You honor us with your presence.” The taller Craing bowed slightly and gestured for them to join them. They sat down in unison. The leader, Glenn, watched as something black and large was pulled from the open fire and placed upon a nearby table. Off to the side, two young Craing worked feverishly in the silence. Long knives moved quickly and with precision.
One by one, wood platters were
delivered; first to the three visitors and then to the three Craing leaders. Smoke drifted into the air from charred meat. Jason’s mind flashed back to the flaming caldrons in the Craing Grand Sacellum—human flesh popping and sizzling upon their metal grills. Jason received a one word NanoText message. Lamb. Jason looked over to Ricket, giving him a subtle nod. They ate in silence.
Billy was licking his fingers and making appreciative sounds of mmm’s and ahhh's. “Amazing. Not sure what the hell I just ate, but wow.”
The taller Craing bowed his head and smiled.
Jason said, “Glenn, thank you again for sharing your meal with us. Ricket, Emperor Reechet, tells me you, as the leader here and overlord, wish to discuss something—”
“Yes, something of great importance, Captain. Although another matter presents itself which must be discussed first,” Glenn responded.
Jason nodded for him to continue.
“Our situation here. We would like to inquire about your plans for us.”
Several hundred Craing had encircled their group. They hadn’t made a sound.
“As you know,” Jason replied, “we’ve already returned many of your citizens to your home worlds. We have every intention of returning the rest. I apologize for these conditions—”
“You misunderstand, Captain. The Craing here do not wish to return to our home worlds. No, they would like you to help them migrate.”
Jason started to reply, but realized he didn’t know how to respond. “We fought against each other in battle. We’re enemies.”
“There is a small Craing settlement no more than three FDL days’ travel. We wish for that settlement to give us asylum. With your help, they can grant us asylum.”
The crowd around them stirred. Soft murmurs, then louder, “Asylum, asylum, asylum …”
“Our people, the crewmembers you have returned to the Craing Empire… They returned in disgrace. Without exception, each will come before a warrior’s claxon sword. Their heads an offering—their flesh to be consumed by their masters.”
“I didn’t know,” Jason said.
“It is our way.”
“Glenn, there is small Craing fleet, although possibly more powerful than the last one, leaving Craing space and headed for Earth in seven days. At least that is what we’ve been told. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Emperor’s Guard?” The three Craing sat still, eyes wide. Murmurs erupted from those encircling them.
“There is a good chance they will use nuclear or fusion missiles or some other advanced technology to destroy life on this planet. This might not be the best time to discuss this asylum thing,” Jason said with a shrug.
“Then this brings up the second thing we must discuss.”
Jason was getting restless; he wanted these people to cut to the chase. “What is this really all about?”
Glenn’s eyes darted to Ricket. He then stood and addressed the crowd. “Leave us now. Please. Let us talk in private.” The onlookers shuffled off. The two workers skilled with carving knives also left.
Glenn returned to his bucket and spoke quietly. “Are you familiar with Craing society?”
“No. Not really,” Jason replied.
“Two hundred years ago, the Craing Empire had few similarities to the one that plagues the universe today. We were a people of honor who kept to ourselves. Yes, we had our enemies. Yes, we went to war. But we had little interest in conquests.”
“What changed?”
“What I’m about to tell you is among the most guarded of all Craing secrets. In fact, I’m sure with this knowledge you could stop the Emperor’s Guard from reaching Earth. Understand, I do not wish for anything but the best for my people, but their hunger for conquest must stop. Things must return to the old ways. Honor must be restored.”
“I’m listening,” Jason said.
“You must agree to my terms, Captain. First, you will transport the three of us to the Craing settlement so we may speak face-to-face with our brethren. Second, if they agree and grant our people asylum, you will transport the remaining Craing here on Earth to the settlement.”
“I still don’t see why this is in our best interest.”
“Because what I’m about to tell you will alter the balance of power with the Craing. It won’t be easy. And you may decide you’re not up to the task. That will be up to you.”
Jason didn’t respond, but looked to Ricket. He’d learned to trust the mechanical being more than he’d thought possible. If what this overlord was saying was true, war could be averted. Earth could be saved. Jason and Ricket exchanged glances. As if reading his thoughts, Ricket nodded.
“We’ll trust you for now, Glenn. Cross us and you’ll be the first to die. Understood?”
“I will not cross you, Captain. You are making a wise decision.”
“Tell us this secret,” Jason said. “Tell us how to level the playing field with the Craing.”
Ricket interjected, “Here is what I’ve learned from Glenn and the overlords. The Craing worlds are a star system unique in the universe. The location of their home worlds are many thousands of light years travel from Earth. Even with FDL, it would take many lifetimes to traverse that distance. This kept the Alliance always on the defensive—never able to attack.
“How is that possible?” Jason asked.
Ricket continued on: “The Craing worlds—eight class M planets revolving around a single red giant sun. What is unique is that each of these planets shares the same orbit, and each of the planets is the same distance from their sun. Over many millennia, hundreds of black holes had formed. The gravitational anomalies that this created made space travel for the Craing precarious at best. Subsequently, many lives were lost attempting to leave their orbits. Needless to say, the Craing Empire was slow venturing into deep space.”
“So what happened?”
“The same anomaly that kept the Craing Empire close to home eventually became that which allowed for unparalleled travels to far-out reaches of the universe. Two hundred years ago a Craing scientist proposed a revolutionary, albeit controversial, idea. His plan was to instigate an artificial black hole—one powerful enough to negate the gravitational properties of the smaller black holes. Limited experiments were approved. Powerful lasers were constructed and positioned, one on the southern-most pole of each of the eight Craing home worlds. Then, corresponding mirror arrays were placed in space. For the experiment to be successful, the lasers needed to be perfectly aligned—toward a specific point thousands of miles out into space, and each needed to be energized at precisely the same instant.”
Glenn explained, “In one regard, the experiment didn’t work. It wasn’t a unifying black hole that was created, but a massive wormhole instead.
Jason saw where this was going. “Let me guess, they now had access to a wormhole that literally allowed them travel across the universe. To star systems hundreds, if not thousands, of light years away?”
“Yes. And by changing the power level, even minutely, of any one of the eight lasers, they found that properties of the wormhole also changed,” Ricket added. “Change the properties of the wormhole, change the outpoint. It’s taken time, hundreds of years, to map these outpoints. That is why the Loop is the Craing Empire’s most-guarded secret. With the destruction of one or maybe two of their home-world lasers, the imbalance would be sufficient enough to collapse the wormhole, the Loop itself, and send the Craing back into spatial isolation, and very far from Earth.”
Jason took in the information. If what Glenn was saying was true, this most certainly could be a game changer.
“We hope this information will be of use to you, Captain. With the exception of the Craing high priests and a select few scientists and overlords, few know the technical aspects of the Loop—and how easily it could be disrupted. Captain, if what you say is true, and this Emperor’s Guard, those three highly advanced alien ships, are in fact making preparations to come to Earth, you have little time to take action. I am not sure how you could reach the Crai
ng worlds in time.”
“Who knows where these lasers are physically located?”
“The lasers are huge, out in the open. As far as the populous is concerned, their prime function is for inter-world communications,” Glenn replied. “Their connection to the Loop, that is a tightly held secret.”
“So what do you need?” Jason asked.
“I’ll need access, right now, tonight, to a Craing ship to initiate an FDL communication to the Craing worlds,” Glenn said.
“Why?”
“Once on Halimar, you’ll need help. Revolution is brewing. There is much dissent among the Craing—especially among the youth. I’ll set up a rendezvous with my people there—with luck they’ll have a ship available. I’ll tell you how to contact them, how to provide them your landing coordinates. It will take me a few days to hear back. We’ll need to talk again, Captain. At that point I can give you more specifics.”
* * *
"Twice! I've been thrown in those disgusting damn cages twice now! And don't get me started on the jeopardy Mollie was placed in. Who the hell lives like this?" Nan stopped yelling when she realized she wasn't getting any argument from Jason. He let her get it all out. Hell, he didn't blame her.
They were back in her suite on The Lilly, Mollie put to bed an hour earlier, as Jason sat next to her on the edge of her bed. She'd showered and had her hair wrapped-up in a towel the way women do.
"I'm sorry. It's my fault. If you knew how terrified I was when I saw you and Mollie sitting there at gunpoint ...”
"Oh, just shut up," Nan replied, rolling her eyes. “I'm venting. So you really don't need to say anything. Actually, it’s probably best if you don't. And yes, I signed up for the outpost's damn Envoy position—what was I thinking? And yes, I remember you tried to talk me out of it."
HAB 12 (Scrapyard Ship) Page 5
