“With all due respect,” said National Security Advisor Casper Henderson, “is there any actual proof the aliens are necessarily hostile?”
“None,” said Chairwoman Jessie Bark of the Joint Chiefs. “But in military terms, we look at capabilities, not intentions. Intentions change, and we could perceive them wrong. Even if we made contact tomorrow and became convinced they were friendly, we’d still have to continue analysing them as a potential threat.”
“The fact remains,” Oshiro continued, “that we know almost nothing about their capabilities. Their ships may all be warships, or they may genuinely be expecting to find nobody in our system. If we were the ones arming those ships, we’d have turned them into carriers rather than direct warships. At that size they’d be easy targets for our missiles.”
“Unless they have force fields or something else we don’t know about,” said General Denny.
“Unless,” agreed Oshiro. “Mr. President, if it does come down to war – will we be on our own, or working alongside the other Powers?”
Cardona felt oddly uncomfortable.
“It’s impossible to say,” he said. “If the aliens decide to greet our welcome fleet with a hail of missiles, we’ll have no choice but to conclude they’re hostile and join forces with the other Powers – and we do already have some working agreements to that effect. But shared command may not materialize. Assume we won’t have direct control over anything without the Stars and Stripes on it. We may work out some kind of an agreement, but don’t hold your breath.”
“Yes sir,” said Oshiro. “In that case, expect the aliens to attempt to seize control of lower-earth orbit before they land, assuming they plan to invade. That’s the worst-case scenario, unless they’re going instead for Mars or Venus. We’ve simulated possible conflicts in LEO for decades and every outcome the models predict would be disastrous. If they destroy or capture most of our space-based infrastructure, we’ll be cut off from the rest of the Solar System and strangled.
“Unfortunately,” the Admiral went on, “we may not be able to fight them off. The vast majority of our space-based weapons are on fairly immobile orbiting platforms, easy targets. The manoeuvrable systems might get blows in, but if it does come down to fighting… whatever happens, the civilian infrastructure will be devastated. Completely. We need more warships, but building them might be tricky in the time we have.”
The President nodded slowly. Humanity had once hoped space would be a place of peace, but that illusion had only lasted until the Seven Powers had gotten to where they could use it for military advantage. There weren’t many purpose-built warships yet – the USSF had all of twenty-one tiny spacecraft designed specifically for fighting – but it would be possible to arm a lot of others in a pinch. Expanding rapidly would be difficult, in part because of various treaties but also due to infrastructure limitations. And if the industrial modules remained in orbit producing components, they’d be destroyed in hours if the aliens opened fire.
Oshiro, after a pause, said, “Area 51.”
“You propose,” Cardona said slowly, “starting the expansion program. Can that be done without tipping off the other Powers?”
“It depends on how much they may already know,” Oshiro said. “Under current circumstances, they might not object too much to a rapid expansion.”
The IAU might have been encouraged not to track national spacecraft too closely, but the other Powers didn’t have that restriction. America tracked their craft, after all. And the CIA was almost certain that America’s rivals had their own versions of Area 51.
“Perhaps,” said the President. “I assume we have plans for advanced warships already written up.” It wasn’t a question.
“Insofar as anyone can build warships,” Oshiro said with a shrug. “Bottom-line, we can expand our orbital defences as much as possible, but a real shooting fight is going to be devastating whatever the outcome. If the alien ships really are carriers, they will probably be able to knock us completely out of LEO without much trouble.”
“Brief me in detail on the plans later,” the President said. He glanced around the room, finally settling his gaze upon General Denny.
“William,” he asked his old friend, “the aliens are landing. What now?”
Denny tapped a map on the table
“Two years ago,” he said, “we conducted a set of worst-case wargames that assumed we completely lost control over space, while our theoretical opponent, an alliance between Russia and China, maintained full control.”
Cardona frowned. He remembered reading those reports; the simulations had shown complete devastation.
“We assumed,” the general went on, “that neither of our opponents, even with command of space, would seek to invade our heartland. That invasion would be bloody and very difficult logistically. Our conclusion was that they’d settle for grabbing a few vital locations like the Panama Canal, and declare it a victory.
“Unfortunately, we can’t rely on the aliens being that rational. We’re seriously hampered by having no clue as to what their ground forces might even be like. They could be tanks and battlesuits; they could be robotic fighting machines; they could be something completely, well… alien. It’s difficult,” he paused, “to prepare for an opponent one knows nothing about.
“We’ve planned on the assumption they intend nothing less than complete conquest,” Denny continued. “Logically, and assuming they’re human-sized and have human-like requirements, there could be around a billion in their fleet. That’s a formidable force by any means, and they will have complete control of space. Our exercises make it clear: if they’re over our heads able to drop rocks and tank-killers, manoeuvring large forces will be impossible. The fighting might be reduced to National Guard forces and pre-placed Army units, including battlesuits and stealth tanks, as opposed to a continental-scale land war.
“I must admit,” he concluded, “it’s not an optimistic prediction. We would be distributing units around continental North America with instructions to engage only when or if the aliens land. In the long run our losses will probably be appalling, but frankly – if we lose control of space, we might as well accept that we’re going to suffer badly in a ground war. Our limited knowledge only makes handling them that much harder; they might not care about the land at all. They might be water-breathers. We can only make a few suggestions and prepare, if we must, to pivot completely at very short notice.”
The President nodded, then turned to Joint Chiefs Chairwoman Jessie Bark.
“Mr. President,” she said formally with a slight bow of her head, “it is the recommendation of my office that you declare a full state of emergency and activate the Reserves. Once they’re up and running, we can recall the forces we’ve placed across the world, including the anti-Wrecker units in Africa. I’ve taken the liberty of putting those commanders on notice that they may be recalled fairly soon, although that’s going to have diplomatic fallout.”
The President scowled. The US forces operating inside the Exclusion Zone were doing so only with reluctant permission from the British Commonwealth’s member state South Africa, and the Europeans, who ruled North Africa. The Caliphate had never been openly asked – politically, it had been difficult to have that discussion with Mecca – but through covert discussions they’d quietly agreed to officially look the other way at the American incursions. This quid pro quo had involved US support against those countries’ enemies… which would be reduced if the American task forces left Africa.
“I’ll worry about that with State,” he said. “What about putting more troops on the moon?”
“We’d like to at least station more space-rated forces there,” said Oshiro. “Politically, we’d be within our rights to, so long as we kept the other Great Powers informed…”
Casper Henderson leaned forward, one hand playing with the spectacles on his nose. It was an affectation that sometimes annoyed the President; Henderson’s eyes had been fully repaired a long time ago.
“Treason,” said Oshiro flatly. “We built that damned rock into one of the most important assets in the Solar System. It’s ours.”
“If it be treason,” said Henderson, “so was George Washington’s. Revolts happen, Admiral, when people feel like they have nothing to lose and everything to gain by revolting. As happened when Hastings was in charge, and Bova’s a lot smarter. You may consider it treason and I may agree with you, but what have we done to engender loyalty from them?”
Cardona eyed the man. “Do you have an alternative suggestion?”
“We ship them weapons,” Henderson said, “that can be used to defend themselves against alien attack. But not ones that can be used in a revolt.”
“They’ll be turned on us anyway,” Oshiro snapped. “You know that space warfare isn’t easy; a single breach in a spaceship’s hull can mean disaster. What will stop them using these weapons against us?”
Henderson met the admiral’s eyes. “The moon, too, is dependent on components produced in LEO. If they cause us trouble, we can blockade them. Hell, with the cloud-mining projects coming online around Jupiter and Saturn, we’re not even going to need the moon so much going forwards.”
President Cardona decided to intervene before it could get too heated: “We’re getting off-subject,” he said with a firm look at both men. “Admiral, please see that some additional anti-space weapons are shipped to our moon colonies.”
“Yes sir,” Oshiro said.
The President looked around the room. “Congress will be meeting tomorrow, and I will be asking them to vote on declaring a state of emergency. We may already need to declare one; the alien fleet’s discovery has had an impact on the economy. We also have to get Area 51 started on building some of their designs. Admiral, ensure that Admiral Waikoloa has everything he needs to develop the force.”
Oshiro nodded, but there was a frown on his face. “Mr. President, the more we send him, the higher the chance other Powers will notice us shipping material to the Belt. It’s not going to be easy, security-wise.”
“The only group we really need to hide it from are the aliens,” Cardona said. He didn’t like risking the loss of one of America’s best-guarded secrets, but the situation was no longer the same. “How much do they know about us?”
“We’ve had teams considering that for several days,” said Oshiro. “Assuming they’ve been intercepting our transmissions, they could know a great deal – everything from our appearance to some of our languages, most certainly English. Most secure transmissions are by laser nowadays, but they might well be able to decipher anything we send out with radio, no matter the encryption levels. But on the other hand, the aliens could be so – different – that nothing of ours makes any sense to them at all. We have no way of knowing.”
The USSF’s commander paused, then went on: “They may well have a good picture of what we do have in the Belt. Rockrats don’t normally use fusion burns if they have the option not to, but the bridge ships do; so do the fastships. They should easily be able to track those at that range. We never pointed the way to Area 51 like that, of course, but… things can be inferred.”
“There’s no way to know until the hammer falls,” concluded the President. He stood up, placed his hands on the table and glanced around the room. “We may be overreacting here; the aliens may well be friendly. But there’s no way of knowing, so we have to take the prudent course. I expect that each and every one of you will carry out your duty with the same dedication you have always shown.”
He looked down at the table.
“Six months,” he said. “Six months…”
“Five months,” Oshiro said, “three weeks and one day.”
“Six months,” President Cardona mused again, ignoring the admiral. He glanced at the big map on the table, which had been updated to show the current deployment of major American forces, and the known deployments of the other Great Powers as of this morning. He wondered what it would look like in six months. “A lot can change in half a year…”
Chapter Six: Area 51
Area 51, Asteroid Belt
Aliens! thought Admiral Paul Waikoloa as he stood in his office, for once heedless of the faint tug of his magnetic boots, and stared at the image on his screens. Aliens! The part of Waikoloa’s mind that was endlessly fascinated by the sheer scale of outer space was delighted; it was proof, at last, that humanity was no longer alone in the universe. The trained and dedicated military officer that dominated, most of the time, was concerned; like it or not, the aliens had introduced a new factor into the increasingly tense political situation. It could get explosive.
He knew, without false modesty, that he was good at his job. He had joined the USSF as a young man and had been streamlined into service as part of the highly-classified Esoteric Threats Assessment Unit, a department that had studied the potentials of space warfare against the other human powers, or even an alien force. That post might have earned him his classified commission as Admiral and his even more classified post on Area 51, a hidden base among the asteroids. The planners had worried about the potential damage caused by even a brief exchange among the Great Powers; Area 51 was not just a test bed, but also a secret production facility, unknown to anyone outside the Pentagon.
He took another sip of his tea, held neatly in a beaker; one of the disadvantages of the secret nature of the base was that it couldn’t be spun to provide a gravity field. That would have tipped off any Rockrat who stumbled too close to what looked, on first glance, to be a nearly worthless asteroid – although there was really no such thing – to the real nature of the base, and the Rockrat Association would be…alarmed to discover the base. Rockrats talked endlessly to each other, trading the pleasure of personal company for long-distance radio communications; the news about the base would be flashed across the solar system before anyone could stop it. Rockrats owed no loyalty to the United States of America; many of them would be quite happy if Earth vanished tomorrow. They would see the base as a dagger aimed at them…
Which, Waikoloa was prepared to admit, was more accurate than he would have liked it to be. Everyone knew – well, everyone who didn’t have their head stuck up their ass – that control of space and the resources in space would determine which of the Great Powers would become the greatest. So far, there were only a tiny handful of warships, counting all of the ships in the system, but Area 51 had been designed to start producing warships at a great rate…should they become needed. Waikoloa was convinced that, sooner or later, there would be war; separatists on the moon, the Rockrats, the Jewish colony on Titan…all of them would provide a potential flashpoint for an armed struggle right out of a science-fiction nightmare. Instead, aliens…
His hatch chimed. “Come in,” he called, already knowing who would be there. The hatch hissed open, revealing his exec, Captain Callie Brown. A tall blonde woman who looked perkier under zero-gravity than she would have in a proper gravity field, she had qualifications in half a dozen different subjects and experience in space warfare, something that was surprisingly rare among the USSF. Space combat just didn’t happen very often. “Captain.”
“Admiral,” Brown said, as she stamped across to stand beside him. Waikoloa winced; that battle had been fought and lost a long time ago. The base would never be spun up to produce a gravity field…even if it did leave everyone stamping around if they had a chip on their collective shoulder. Area 51 had too many disadvantages for it to be a very popular posting, even if some of the equipment was luxurious; the fraternisation rules had been relaxed more than any traditionalist would have considered proper. “I have completed the inspection routine.”
Waikoloa had to smile. “Aliens coming to the solar system and we’re still r
unning inspections,” he said. It wasn’t that surprising; the news had caused a minor panic across the solar system, with prices for Helium-3 soaring before the United Nations Security Council capped it, much to the anger of the miners on the moon. The offer of additional financial inducements for the miners hadn’t defused all the anger; like all good Americans, the miners considered their right to earn as much as they could paramount. “At least we’re not panicking…”
Brown shook her head. There had been panic across the globe once it sank in that there really were aliens coming to Earth, from America to Japan and the Caliphate. All sorts of crazies were coming out of the woodwork, from neo-communists in South America to more unreformed Muslim groups in Africa and even some parts of Arabia. Nearly fifty years since the overthrow of the House of Saud and the last unreformed Islamic government; it astonished Waikoloa that any of them could still believe that they had a chance to overthrow the Caliphate and restore their barbaric states. The protesters in America and Europe were equally astonishing; they believed that the aliens were definitely friendly, super-advanced beings who would take the human race to new heights of civilisation. Waikoloa would have settled for an advanced launch system, ending the endless bottleneck of reaching LEO…
“True,” Brown agreed. She grinned faintly. “I was discussing the matter with the research teams studying fusion drives for the future; they’re pretty certain that we can duplicate the alien drives within a year, maybe even less. There’s nothing really new in them; it looks as if they merely achieve much greater levels of efficiency than we do. It’s unlikely that we will achieve a monopoly on the drive tech, but we can at least put a few units into production.”
Waikoloa nodded; the only clear proof that the aliens had anything that was more advanced than what humanity possessed…and it was something fairly simple. The dreamers who talked of faster-than-light drives, or antigravity, would be disappointed; Area 51 had been exploring countless possibilities that had somehow never been translated into reality. Maybe one day, humanity would break the light barrier, but until them, the iron laws of Einstein still held good.
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