If only she had heard this announcement earlier. If only they hadn’t been so eager to return home.
If only.
She would have to tell her parents and warn the Hendricksons. And then they should try to reach her cousins and grandparents on their personal links, see if they could find a way back to the house. She wondered if anyone knew how to reach the Nelsons. She doubted it.
A buzzing above her made her look up, her heart in her throat. For a moment, she had been afraid the aliens were above her, but it wasn’t them.
It was a small plane flying overhead, gray dust pouring out of it, the gray dust drifting and disappearing into the air.
November 12, 2018
4:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Second Harvest: Third Day
Leo Cross had never dialed so many numbers and talked with so many people simultaneously. His office felt hot and crowded, even though he was the only person in it. All the screens were on, most of them blank now, and his desk unit hummed.
Adrenaline had kept him moving for the last two hours. Adrenaline and concern that the aliens had one more trick up their many tentacled sleeves.
If they even wore sleeves.
He had spoken to every nanotechnology expert he could find. The only one who had been able to help him was, of course, Portia Groopman. She’d immediately seen the problem and searched for the solution. The others wanted to check and cross-check.
All Portia wanted was a chance to spend the night at Britt’s apartment with her cats. Portia had been doing that a lot lately. Cross had a sense the girl was very lonely.
He hoped he would have a chance to help her meet some people her age, and find an apartment, and do all the things she had never had an opportunity to do.
But he wouldn’t get that chance unless he succeeded now.
And he thought he could. He had the general’s answer. He just had to let her know.
He pressed the screen in front of him, and turned away from the pop-up vid unit, not wanting to see the process as the phone described its every act. A holdover from the first computerized phones that Cross hadn’t realized was so annoying, not until he saw it on the large screen.
The same man answered, and before Cross could say a word, the man put him on hold.
This time Cross glanced at the screen. It read “transferring ...” He grinned. Apparently he had even more credibility with Maddox’s staff now.
In less than a minute, Maddox appeared on the vid screen. This time she wasn’t flattened or distorted. She was talking to him from an office. The walls behind her were black and he recognized the material. It was the same material that had been in the conference room where the final Tenth Planet Project meeting had been held.
“I have an answer for you,” he said.
“Excellent.” She leaned forward, waiting.
“Before I give it, I want to make sure—”
“Cross, we need it quickly.”
“General,” he said, “If we weren’t communicating before, I’ll be giving you the wrong information. Let me tell you what I thought you suggested so that we have no confusion.”
“You should have checked that before,” she said. “I’ve been playing telephone with the most esoteric minds in the world. I want to make sure this stuff didn’t get scrambled along the way.”
“All right,” she said. “Fire.”
He nodded and said, “After the aliens drop their next harvesters, you want to roll projectile cannons into the areas. When the alien ships return for the harvesters and have their underbellies open, you want to fire into the ships.”
“That’s right,” the general said. “Similar to how we attacked them with our planes in April, only these are a type of rail gun.”
“Catapults,” Cross said, holding his breath. That had been the term he had used with the nanotechnologists. “In a word,” the general said.
Cross had understood the problem completely. They couldn’t fly planes near the ships, but if they could get under them, they could fire the same altitude-detonating bombs that the planes had dropped. It would be one last parting shot.
When the general had first called him, she had asked for ways of protecting weapons among the harvesters. Cross had had to pry all of this other information out of her.
Now he was glad he had.
He had asked his advisers how to protect the catapults—the rail guns. And they had answered him. Portia in more detail than the others.
“Okay,” he said, “here’s your answer. The nanorescuers would protect the rail guns if a number of things were done. First, the guns need metal wheels. Second, spray the rescuers onto every nook and cranny of the rail guns, and continue spraying as the machines are moved through the alien harvesters.”
“Got it,” Maddox said. Then she grinned. “You want me to repeat your instructions?”
“Only if you didn’t understand them.”
“Oh, I understand them,” she said. “And they’re actually something we can do. Thanks.”
She cut the connection. He had no doubt she would spend the next fourteen hours staging rail guns and tanks of nanorescuers around the world, ready to move instantly if alien ships picked an area close. After the aliens picked their locations, she would have less than eighteen hours to move the guns into positions inside the attack areas.
A tough task. But if anyone could do it, it would be Maddox.
She clearly wasn’t going to let those aliens get the best of her. Again.
November 13, 2018
2:30 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Second Harvest: Fourth Day
Every time Clarissa Maddox came to the Oval Office she felt like a kid who was being sent to the principal. The very room itself commanded respect. And even though Franklin was as human as anyone— maybe more so, given his office—he seemed all the more powerful in this room.
Maybe that was why he had moved back here, even though there was going to be one more fight with the aliens.
Although his chief of staff, Grace Lopez, said the president had hightailed it out of the war room just before he had received the news of the return attack.
If he weren’t her superior, and if he weren’t so focused on the problems at hand, Maddox would have dressed him down. He was the symbol of leadership for the entire world. The last thing they needed was some fluke in which the alien attack took out Franklin, too.
When Maddox had arrived, the Oval Office had been filled with some of the president’s closest advisers. Doug Mickelson, Shamus O’Grady, Grace Lopez, and others were on the couches, having a heated discussion about something. They all looked exhausted. The press secretary, Patrick Aldrich, was just leaving.
But when Franklin saw Maddox, he made a slight movement with his hand and apparently everyone knew that he had dismissed them. They had all left.
Maddox had been irritated by that because she was worried that she’d have to brief the president and then brief them. She didn’t have a lot of time here. Coming up to the Oval Office had taken more time than she wanted to spend.
Of course, she couldn’t say that to Franklin, but she was tempted. She was very tempted.
It took her less than three minutes to explain the catapult plan to Franklin. She gave him all the reasons why an attack from the ground just might work.
He had listened intently, his head bowed. Technically, he was supposed to consult with the other foreign leaders before he made any decisions, but she knew that whatever he said was going to happen. There wasn’t time left for debate.
Which was why she was going to make one other suggestion, one she hadn’t discussed with anyone, not her staff, not Cross, not anyone.
But it was one she thought would work.
“Mr. President,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back, “the alien warships guarding the harvest ships are vulnerable in one other way.”
Franklin’s dark eyes narrowed. He’d worked with her enough that he knew when she used this tone s
he was extremely serious. “This is something I’m not going to like, isn’t it?”
“Sir,” she said, “let me respectfully submit we’re past the point of having to like any plan that we choose to follow”
He turned away, lips pursed. “It is something I’m not going to like. Proceed, General.”
She hated it when he did that. The feeling of having gone to the principal’s office grew. “Our planes and rockets are always destroyed just half a kilometer away from the harvest ships and defense ships.”
“You found some significance in that, didn’t you?” She nodded curtly. She wasn’t going to let his skepticism or his exhaustion influence her. She was going to present this and then, if she could, browbeat him into accepting it.
“Mr. President,” Maddox said, swallowing hard. “Shaped, directional nuclear charges, set off three quarters of a kilometer from an alien ship, would destroy the ship, or render it effectively useless.”
“You and your nukes,” he said.
She bit back a response. If he had let her use nukes the very first time, they might not be in this predicament.
Of course, the flip side of that scenario was that they were unfamiliar with the energy-stealing shield the aliens had, and the aliens might have neutralized the electronics in the nuclear weapons, but not the weapons themselves. It could have backfired badly.
This time it wouldn’t. This time they knew what they were facing.
“What would your plan do to our atmosphere?”
It took her a moment to realize that Franklin’s question meant he was considering the plan. She worked hard at not looking startled.
“The explosions would be as ‘clean’ as we can make them, sir,” she said. “The damage would be far less than the aliens will do to the ground under that ship by harvesting it.”
Which meant, of course, that there would be damage. They both knew that. Franklin’s dark gaze met hers. She could feel his intensity, the way he considered every point.
She was giving him a way to win this. She knew it. And so did he.
Finally, his gaze broke away from hers. “Are you suggesting, General, that we attack the alien ships as they come down, not allow them to drop their harvesters?”
“That’s exactly what I am saying, sir,” she said. Franklin moved his head back as if he were arguing with himself. “We’ve already lost a lot of land and people to these creatures.”
“Yes, sir.” She let her resentment come out in both words. She hated losing anything to anyone. The aliens had gotten the better of her twice. It didn’t matter that she had had victories of her own. She wouldn’t be happy until those creatures were gone.
“If I authorize this,” he said, “do we have time to notify every foreign government?”
“Yes, sir,” Maddox said. “As long as you put someone like Mickelson on it.”
To her surprise, Franklin grinned. “This is a task that’s too big for Mickelson. I have a hunch I’ll be placing those calls. We have to let our allies know we haven’t lost our minds.”
“Of course, sir.”
Franklin’s smile faded. “How many nukes are you planning to set off?”
This was the question she had hoped he wasn’t going to ask. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “They have over seventy ships left, sir. We’ll fire one per ship, if we can get to them in time.” “Seventy,” he said softly. And then he actually shuddered.
11
November 13, 2018
10:16 Universal Time
Second Harvest: Fourth Day
Technically, Commander Cicoi was supposed to listen to the Elder. He knew the Commanders of the North and Center were listening to theirs. But they had not promoted him to commander of the entire fleet, nor were they the ones who, by default, found the fate of their entire peoples in their hands.
If he spoke using the wasteful broadcast light, so that the others could see how his eyestalks swayed, the position of his tentacles, the way that he stood, then perhaps he might convince them to forsake the Elders.
But what if their Elders were giving them good advice?
What if his was?
His two damaged eyestalks throbbed so badly that he wanted to yank them out. He had already lost ships.
By his people’s standards, he had failed again. He had nothing to lose by arguing with the Elder.
Besides, his plan, not the Elder’s, had saved Malmur.
Cicoi’s lower tentacles let go of the command center and he pulled himself out of the room with his upper tentacles. His staff turned their eyestalks away from him so they would not see him leave. He hadn’t given them permission to look directly at him.
He did not put his Second in charge. They would have to contact him if they needed him. The time remaining until they had to go back to Malmur was crucial; he did not need an underling making the wrong decision.
Perhaps that was how the Elder felt. Not that it mattered. Cicoi would remind him that the Elder had been willing to let Malmur handle the incoming explosives by themselves. If they had followed the Elder’s plan, instead of Cicoi’s, half of Malmur would be damaged by now. The three ships that Cicoi had sent back had destroyed most of the explosives. The ships from the surface, with their inexperienced crews, had only taken out about a third.
Cicoi let himself into the privacy chamber. It was a small chamber, available only to officers, and it had not been used at all on this trip. But he felt that he had to be alone for a moment. He knew that the Elder wanted to speak to him, and Cicoi did not want a repeat of the scene from the last time. Cicoi’s crew was too well trained to question him over his strange pantomimes and reactions, but there was no sense in letting them see that again—even if they did know that he was talking to the Elder.
He placed his lower tentacles on the relaxation circle, feeling the vibration ease his tensions. Then, just as quickly, he removed the tentacles. He did not need to relax. He needed to remain sharp. He still had work to do.
At least he had managed to harvest almost all the food they needed for the trip into the darkness. The food was stored in the bays of the harvest ships. It was time to return to Malmur and try to repair all the damage before they had to go into the long sleep.
That was what he would argue with the Elder. He knew the Elder would oppose that plan.
Because it is foolish and does not take into account our enemies.
The Elder had been inside his head. Cicoi would be glad when this trip was over, when the Elder returned to the Elders Circle or into the nether regions where time, it seemed, did not exist.
You should not be hostile to me, the Elder said.
Cicoi did not answer. There was no way to answer. He wasn’t hostile to the Elder, not in the way the Elder thought. But he wasn’t going to harm his own people for a gain that seemed false.
We shall attack the enemies below, the Elder said.
Their life spans are short, Cicoi thought. The creatures we fight now will be long dead.
They have a culture now, with space travel and marvelous weapons. They will have ways of keeping records. They will remember.
Cicoi felt the force of the Elder’s belief.
Imagine, the Elder said, if they expand as they have during the last sleep, how strong they will be. Perhaps they will have colonies on nearby planets. Perhaps they will have weapons to intercept us while we are still in cold sleep. Perhaps they will try to annihilate us before we enter their solar system.
We can't prevent that now, Cicoi thought. We must return to Malmur. We have enough food, and we have our ships. If we lose any more for your vengeance, we will harm ourselves even more.
If we damage them heavily, the Elder said, with their shortened life spans, we might be able to take away their technological achievements. They might spend many decaunits repairing what they have lost, and they might not be able to attack us again.
Cicoi’s eyestalks quivered. You are basing a lot on supposition.
The Elder f
ormed in front of him. Solid darkness, so close that Cicoi could touch him if he wanted. The Elder’s upper tentacles were wrapped around his torso. He was as uncertain about this as Cicoi.
Here is what I know, the Elder said. If we do not attack them, they will have a plan for defeating us when we return. If we do attack them, we have a chance of damaging them. Perhaps they will not think it possible to harm us.
If they were going to feel that way, Cicoi thought, it would have happened during the first harvest. Instead they attacked us. Harming them now might provoke a more serious attack in the future.
His own upper tentacles were wrapped around his torso. He was as uncertain as the Elder.
We must make some type of mark, the Elder said, or they will believe that they may attack us and we will not retaliate.
This last silenced Cicoi. On this most recent pass, the Malmuria had harvested and they had defended themselves, but they had not attacked. Were the creatures sophisticated enough to know the difference between a harvest and an attack?
Perhaps.
That was the gamble that the Elder was making. If the creatures were that sophisticated, they would prepare for Malmur’s return, and perhaps try to destroy it completely.
The creatures had the benefit of light and darkness, growing plants, and a lush water-filled world. Malmur had that once and did no longer. It was stunting their growth.
They had to find a way to stunt the creatures’, as well.
“The only way to harm them would be to decimate their population centers,” Cicoi said.
That is what I was thinking, the Elder said. But there are thousands of them.
Cicoi had studied the globes that represented the third planet throughout his entire trip. He had learned something from them.
“There are large population centers,” he said, “and there are smaller ones. We have already destroyed some of the smaller ones since they were near our harvest areas. I think we should choose the largest population centers. I suspect the repositories for their technologies will be in those places, as well.”
Excellent, the Elder said. Send the ships down. We shall—
Final Assault Page 16
