Thunder & Lightning

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Miss Hussein,” he said, as he took the seat she indicated. She looked as if she needed a long sleep; he hoped that Bova’s people were taking care of her. “I’m sorry about your loss…”

  She looked up at him. “What was he, really?”

  President Cardona looked at her for a long moment, and then briefly detailed the Space Commandos and their nature.

  “I see,” she said, finally. Her voice sounded almost broken. “Did he really love me?”

  “I don’t know,” the President said. Unexpectedly, he found himself groping for words. “I would like to think so, but…”

  Samra touched her chest. “It hardly matters,” she said. “They killed him as if he was nothing. Was it all worthwhile, in the end? The doom I brought on them all?”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Cardona said. He felt a trace of almost-paternal feelings for the young woman who blamed herself for the Oghaldzon War. “They would have come anyway…and if you hadn’t found them, someone else would have done so, perhaps too late for any manner of defence to be mounted. It wasn't your fault.”

  “Maybe,” Samra said. Her voice had started to drift. “What do you want?”

  “The United Nations would like to offer you the post of Ambassador to the Oghaldzon,” the President said, silently cursing the decision. He had agreed to it, along with the others, but he knew now that it had been a mistake. “If you choose to refuse the offer, no one will hold it against you.”

  There was a long pause. “I’m wearing a dress,” Samra said. She sounded almost delirious. “That feels strange, you know; we wore nothing for months.” Her eyes cleared, suddenly. “I’ll have to think about it and let you know as soon as I can,” she said. “Can you do me a favour?”

  The President listened, and then nodded once. “It will be done,” he promised. He passed her a white card with a string of sixteen hexadecimal characters on it. “That’s my private Call-Code,” he said. “When you make up your mind, or if you just want to talk, call me.”

  She took the card and smiled once, briefly.

  The President smiled back, and then left the room, walking away from the broken girl.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine: Loose Ends

  Mecca, Pan-Arabic Caliphate

  Samra had once heard a story. In the days when the Holy Cities had been controlled by the Unbelievers, the Unbelievers had attempted to destroy the dome of the Prophet’s Mosque, an experiment that had ended after several workers fell off the works and crashed to their deaths. The story had grown, as such stories did, in the telling, becoming stories of lighting striking down the Unbelieving Scholars who had pumped poison into Islam, to copies of the Qu’ran bursting into flames in their hands. She would have liked to believe that Allah punished those who attacked His religion on such a level, but she had long ago come to believe that Allah let his people fight their own battles, giving them what help they deserved. Certainly, lightning had never struck the Seeker for Truth, although as she’d spent nearly four months on the ship, she supposed she should be grateful.

  Mecca had been damaged, badly, by the tidal waves. Like almost everywhere else that had a major seacoast, the Caliphate had been slammed with tidal waves and appalling weather that had left millions dead. Some of the holy sites had remained intact, others had been damaged, but it was a fundamental tenant of Reform Islam that Islam existed inside the heart, not in buildings, no matter their historical significance, or even their importance to the religion. Muslims still went to Mecca once in their lives – at least those who could – but the real importance of Mecca had lain in the free debate and discussions, ever since the shackles had been destroyed during the establishment of the Caliphate. Many of those scholars had been killed in the waves, others had been lucky enough to survive, only to fall prey to the disease and deprivation that had spread in their wake. There had been some help from the remainder of the Caliphate, but the Oghaldzon War had spread chaos everywhere; fifty-odd years of work rebuilding the greatness of the Middle East had been swept away in moments. The scars would be long in healing.

  She picked up a piece of rock and placed it carefully into one of the trucks. She had come to Mecca, along with hundreds of others who believed that they had heard the call, or had come intending to heal, like herself. No Caliphate official had decreed that they had to work with their bare hands, no Fatwa had been proclaimed on the subject, it had just…happened. She touched her stomach again; she couldn’t stay forever, as much as she would like to remain in the Holy City. It wouldn’t be long before her child was born.

  It was Reynolds’ child, of course; there had been no one else. An unmarried woman carrying a child didn’t hold the stigma it had once held in the Middle East, but it was unusual. There were other pregnant women in the small settlement, who had lost their husbands in the Oghaldzon War, but she was unusual. She hadn’t told them who she was, or what she had done during the war; they assumed that she had been shocked and traumatised, perhaps by being near a warfront, and left her secrets to herself. A simple headscarf and a different air kept more curious eyes from recognising her; a handful of men who were looking for wives saw her eyes and flinched back. Perhaps they were scared of what they saw there, or perhaps they found it unattractive, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was left alone to find her peace…and to raise the child herself.

  She wondered, sometimes, what would have happened if she had accepted the President’s offer of becoming the Ambassador to the Oghaldzon. It hadn’t taken her long to decide that it was a bad idea; she still saw scenes from the Oghaldzon War in her nightmares, remembrances of the time she had spent in their captivity, remembering what they had done to her…they had helped make her pregnant, by destroying her implant. The child was all she had left of her lover, she would be grateful for that, but she never wanted to face another Oghaldzon as long as she lived. The Observatory didn’t need her, the President didn’t need her…all she needed was to find peace.

  It would take years to rebuild Mecca, and she would be back as soon as she could, with her child in tow. If Allah willed it, she would find her peace in the task, and if not, if He had some further purpose for her, perhaps by then she would have found the strength to handle it. She touched her belly again and felt the baby kick slightly; perhaps peace would come, one day, if Allah willed it…

  And until then, she would work in the camp, no longer a part of the affairs of the great and powerful, and all the better for it.

  * * *

  The church had survived, somehow, although even the Reverend hadn’t known how it has escaped the tidal waves, or the alien reconstruction of parts of Virginia Beach as one of their bases. Markus Wilhelm’s outfit still itched – most of the people who had spent time in captivity during the Oghaldzon War had discovered that they didn’t always like returning to clothes – but he forgot all of that when Mr. Eichwurzel escorted his daughter slowly down the aisle, dressed in a white dress that might not have fitted the occasion, but at least it was traditional. If her father suspected that Carola was actually pregnant, he gave no sign of it; the small wedding was everything that he had desired for his daughter.

  “Dearly beloved,” the reverend said. “We are gathered here today…”

  Afterwards, he glanced over towards the most unusual guest, one of the Oghaldzon in person. Wilhelm hadn’t entirely wanted to invite anyone to the wedding, not even their parents, but Carola had insisted on inviting a few people…and her guest list had included Yehaka-Researcher-Earth, their captor and current assistant. The alien had asked to be included in the small list of guests, even though wedding bells and marriage meant little to the Oghaldzon; the very thought made him smile. When one could get pregnant just through walking into a room, it made the idea of an "exclusive mating arrangement" seem almost asinine. The lawsuits and divorces alone…

  “You are determined, then, to go to Mars?” Mr. Eichwurzel asked, after giving the alien a long sidelong glance. Her presence had attracted comment –
and a pair of tough-looking Marines to guard her from human racists, or people looking for a little revenge. The Oghaldzon might have been helping the human race to rebuild, but for some reason that didn’t deter some of the people who had lost everything. “I can’t talk you out of it?”

  “There’s nothing left for us here,” Wilhelm said, seriously. “Both of us lost our jobs in the war, swept away by tidal waves, and it will be a long time before anyone wants people like us again. If we can help humanity to understand the Oghaldzon a little better, and vice versa, it might just prevent a second war.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Mr. Eichwurzel said. He glanced over at his daughter. “And I see you’ve adopted several children.”

  Wilhelm nodded. The children who had been taken from America or Europe had been matched against the recorded DNA templates held on file and in most cases returned to their parents. The Russians had been unwilling to accept any of the refugee children, the Caliphate had never kept a database of its citizens, and far too many of the children had lost their parents to the war. The handful of humans who had decided to go to Mars had adopted most of them; it would be interesting to see just how the joint culture developed.

  “We will take care of all of them,” he assured his father-in-law. “As for the rest, time will tell, I guess.”

  Carola sauntered back over to join them. “You had better not be talking business on this day,” she said, firmly. “Today is a day of celebration. So get your butts over to the table and start stuffing yourself, okay?”

  “Yes, love,” Wilhelm said, putting on a mischievous voice. “I’ll stuff you later.”

  “And you’re going to need energy to do that, aren’t you?” Carola said dryly. She kissed him as hard as she could and pulled him over to the buffet. “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we’re going to Mars.”

  * * *

  Earth-Moon Lagrange Point One

  The message had taken nearly a week – as humans measured time – to compose. Now that the Oghaldzon had surrendered, technically, they were meant to fit into human society as much as they could. Oghaldzon norms didn’t apply to humans; Dataka-Exile Leader-Mars had been surprised when the humans had offered them a settlement on Mars, rather than just absorbing them all into human society, although two billion Oghaldzon might have made that difficult. It had been the secondary plan, he knew; close contact with that many Oghaldzon would have had an effect on humanity, perhaps one that would have brought them to civilisation. Had they understood it, when they had pushed many of his people to Mars, that they would be neglecting their potential effect on the remainder of the human system…or had they planned it that way?

  There was no way to know, and no way to affect the outcome anyway…and, perhaps, the human willingness to accept his surrender spoke well of the race, after all. In the end, they had flinched from committing mass slaughter – or genocide, depending on how one looked at it – and they had even been willing to promise not to try to visit the Oghaldzon homeworld. Perhaps the next meeting between human and Oghaldzon, perhaps around yet another star, would be more peaceful…or perhaps it would be violent. There was no way to know.

  The message had been difficult to compose. The humans had missed one trick; his fleet had dropped a number of orbiting relay stations in the outer Kuiper Belt, past Pluto’s orbit, as they entered the human system and had used them to forward reports back to Dhoz and – just incidentally – obscure the location of the homeworld as much as possible. In a few years, Dhoz would know everything that had happened, from First Contact with the Welcome Fleet to the war itself, the final surrender, and as much as possible of what happened in the years after that. He had to tell them, however, what had happened…and what might happen in the future.

  He clicked in welcome as Oolane-Researcher-Mars entered. Her human friend had apparently refused to come to Mars, either to serve as Ambassador or even just to help, but it didn’t matter. There would be enough humans on Mars for them to be influenced by the Oghaldzon, and vice versa. In the future, perhaps familiarity would breed acceptance and make life easier for those involved in the next contact between human and Oghaldzon.

  “My part of the message is complete,” she said, her clicking voice low and grim. She might have enjoyed the chance to be a Researcher, but it would be harder to carry out pure research now. Her growing friendship with Ambassador Tony Jones had been a small replacement, but in the end, time alone would tell. “Have you completed yours?”

  Dataka nodded. Some Oghaldzon, including the former Warag-Soldier-Infantry and Kodak-Soldier-Infantry, had been invited to assist with the reconstruction projects on Earth rather than head to Mars with most of the other remaining soldiers. He suspected that they were both helping the human race to understand the Oghaldzon better; only the fact that humanity hadn’t destroyed his people when they’d had the chance reassured him that their time with the humans wasn't being used for unpleasant purposes. It was still worrying…

  The two Oghaldzon stood together, in the darkness, for a very long time.

  * * *

  Freeport One

  The outcome of the vote had never been in doubt, although Jake Ellsworth had rather hoped otherwise; he wasn’t sure that he wanted to accept the responsibility.

  “It is the will of eighty-three percent of the registered voters” – defined as every Rockrat current on their dues and interested in voting – “that Jake Ellsworth be appointed the first commander of the Belt Navy,” Kyle Short said, his voice failing to hide a slight undertone of unease at the concept. The Rockrats hadn’t needed armed forces… until the aliens had come along and showed them how dangerous the universe could be. “Congratulations, Admiral Ellsworth.”

  Cindy kissed him on the cheek mischievously. She had accepted his proposal in classic Rockrat fashion, even though she had been appointed the temporary Ambassador to the Belt from the United Nations. Ellsworth’s admission that she had played a major role in his decision not to press the offensive and finish off the aliens had won her a place in the Belt’s heart; simulators had already started to claim that the battle could have gone both ways.

  “It’s not going to be fun,” Short said, as Ian brought them all drinks and the party really got started. “It’s going to be a nightmare if it’s not handled carefully.”

  Ellsworth looked into the future and saw nothing but darkness and shadow.

  * * *

  Washington, DC

  “It is my great pleasure to present Major Christopher Fardell with the Medal of Honour for his service in the war,” President Cardona said, shaking the hand of the wounded veteran. Normally, ever since the military had started to play a much more important role in American life, with the Wreckers trying to bring the war home to the American public, such ceremonies would have included a long speech by the President – or his representative – to explain to the nation just what the winner had done to deserve the medal. The Oghaldzon War had created thousands of medal-winners across America; the President could only make a brief statement, wish Major Fardell the best in life, and turn to the next person on the list. He didn’t like it, but there was little other choice; much of Washington had been destroyed by the war, and only a few buildings were fit for use.

  The White House, he reflected as he returned inside the building, escorted by a close-protection team from the US Marines – who were less pushy than the Secret Service – had been one of the few buildings to survive almost intact. Some parts of the East Wing had been damaged by the aliens, but it had been a fairly simple job to restore the building to secure working order; he had felt it was important for public morale to see the government returning to business as usual. The country was a mess, but they were slowly starting to rebuild; humanity had ended up learning a valuable lesson from the war. Russian soldiers were assisting the European Federation in Eastern Europe, Indian soldiers were assisting the Caliphate, and Japanese and Korean teams were helping China to recover. It was even possible that humanity would s
tart to unite; the old Great Power structures had been shattered beyond easy recovery.

  A cough brought him back to himself. “Mr. President?”

  “William,” President Cardona said. General Denny smiled at him; the aliens had destroyed the Pentagon, which had forced the majority of the military staff to remain at the National Command Centre. “What can I do for you?”

  Denny took a seat and came to the point. “Don’t you think we let them off lightly?”

  The President shrugged. “Two billion of them – to precise, two billion minus however many we killed in the war – would have been a problem to integrate on Earth and I didn’t want them floating around over our heads. It might have given them a few ideas about changing the terms of the surrender.”

  Denny paused. “They screwed us,” he burst out with.

  The President lifted an eyebrow dryly.

  “They’re going to Mars, while we have to work to rebuild Earth and the USSF and let the moon go and…”

  The President grinned. “We screwed them,” he said. “We just needed the moon’s support for one year; I won’t care too much if Bova decides to tell us to get lost in a year, because by then, we will have the mines orbiting Jupiter online, and several more asteroids in orbit, providing the material we need. Fighting to recover the moon would have taken years with no guarantee of success…and, as Bova pointed out, we would destroy the infrastructure during the war.”