The Cresperian Alliance

by Stephanie Osborn

  "Ooo. Capital. What are they calling it? Do they have a name yet?"

  "Working name is the USSS Clippership,” Bang said, “which will probably be the name of the line, but I don't know what they'll actually christen it."

  "What about your allies? Um, our allies?"

  Bang nodded, pleased. “I'm not high up enough in rank to have definite numbers, but figure to double, maybe triple, the number of starships. I'm guessing close to forty, and still building. Earth has a pretty good fleet now, and we're getting there with the shields and armament, too. Scuttlebutt has it a demonstration is being prepared."

  "Uhm... ‘scuttlebutt?’”

  "Oh. Sorry. Gossip."

  "Ah.” A pause. “For... what?"

  "To prove to certain countries who neglect and beat our friends that they shouldn't bother trying to retaliate."

  "Oooohh."

  Bang grinned. She's this adorable mix of naive and sharp. This mentoring gig is FUN.

  "I am glad Dalunith is finally well,” Piki commented. “I felt so badly for him when his head was damaged. He was so upset; we could all feel it."

  "I'm glad, too, Piki. How are YOU doing?"

  "I'm fine. What do you mean?"

  "After... everything that happened to you."

  "Oh.” Her voice sounded a little flat. “Well, it was a very bad way of being introduced to sex."

  "Yes, it was. I'm sorry."

  "Are you enjoying our relationship?” Dark copper eyes gazed at him from a bronzed face framed by platinum hair.

  "Yeah, I am,” Bang admitted. “I was just thinking about that. You're fun to be around, pretty to look at, and you don't... you don't pressure me for... things."

  Piki sighed. “I don't think either of us wants to rush... it."

  "Do you enjoy it?"

  "Yes, very much.” Bang got a brilliant smile as a reward. “You, too, are fun, Bang-bang. It is good to finally know what the real meaning of ‘fun’ is. And you are...” she dug in her memory, “handsome. Intelligent. And you help me considerably. I know you did not wish to do this at first, but I am glad you are beside me so much. You are good for me. And... I care about you."

  Bang flushed. “Well... I'm glad. And the only reason I was reluctant at first was because I didn't want to feel pushed. But..."

  "Because of what happened to me, I do not wish to push,” Piki finished for him. “I remember telling you on the submarine that I wished you to introduce me to nice sex, but I said that in ignorance. Now that I understand the ramifications better, I want to make certain that whatever happens between us is what we both want."

  The last reservation melted away between them, and Bang felt himself totally relax in her company. “Then that's the way it'll go,” he declared.

  "Okay, we're ready if the Western Test Range is ready,” Admiral Terhune informed General Salter in a SPAMCOM Chiefs meeting. “Got a tiny little atoll in the South Pac, completely uninhabited, just enough life on it to tell if anything gets through. Shield's ready, and so is the cannon."

  "We scrambled like hell to do it, though,” Washington grumbled. “Of course the demo needs to occur once we're ready for the Other Guys to test us, which means the bulk of the cities have to be protected first..."

  "'Only a couple of weeks’ is damn good, gentlemen,” Salter praised. “Very damn good. All right, we've got two Minuteman missiles, and two backups, armed and ready to go. And I do mean armed. They're packing fifteen megaton warheads. Each."

  Terhune and Washington both drew deep breaths, but otherwise said nothing. Salter fixed his stern gaze on them.

  "Well?"

  "It should be fine, General,” Terhune verified. “Just a little stage jitters."

  "We've tried several smaller scale tests, and everything worked gangbusters,” Washington agreed.

  "Or maybe that should be blockbusters,” Terhune tried not to smirk. “Or city busters."

  "Something like that,” Caleb agreed, stress releasing as a soft chuckle.

  "Are we ready for the announcement, gentlemen?” the Secretary of Defense, Martin Singleton, interrupted, impatient.

  Salter stared at Washington. The lieutenant general nodded.

  Terhune came under that stern gaze next. He, too, nodded.

  "Ready, Mr. Secretary,” Salter said.

  "Very good,” Singletary noted. “I'll go forward to the President."

  Sira and John, Piki and Bang, gathered in Jeri and Kyle's apartment to watch the broadcast on Kyle's big screen television. How he'd managed to get it into the Enclave none but Jeri and Kyle knew, but Bang was glad of it at the moment. He wanted to see how well this worked, and do so in relative privacy. The big screen in the auditorium was up and running, and most of the rest of the Group was in there. But the Leversons had invited the two couples to join them. Bang suspected they were all as nervous as he was. We all want company while we watch this, he thought, but the auditorium would be just too much. We'd be wound tighter than a Snapper's shorts. Assuming Snappers wear shorts. Gotta be something down there in a wad, though, they're so damn mean.

  The last commercial played, and the screen flickered black for a nanosecond, regaining Bang's attention. Then the strains of “Hail To The Chief” were heard, and an image of President Waterman, seated behind his desk at the Oval Office, appeared.

  "Hello, my fellow humans and my Cresperian friends,” Waterman spoke to the camera broadcasting internationally. “Today is an important day. Today we test to ascertain if our hard work in preparation to repel potential interstellar invaders has borne fruit."

  The screen split into four separate quadrants. One still bore Waterman's image. One depicted a rocket somewhere on the West Coast, ready to launch; a countdown clock was frozen at one minute in the bottom of the image. One depicted a small island from some overhead view, likely a spy satellite, Bang decided; and the last was from a camera apparently on the island itself.

  "Western Test Range, this is Commander in Chief. You are go for test,” Waterman commanded.

  "C in C, this is Western Test Range. Copy that, sir. We are go for test,” a tinny, disembodied voice replied.

  The countdown clock started.

  Plumes of vapor drifted around the base of the missile, but that was the only appearance of life on any of the screens, save for the president turning to watch his own television, and the soft sway of palm trees in an ocean breeze on the island.

  And the countdown clock ticked down the seconds.

  Suddenly the disembodied voice returned. “Launch in seven... six... five..."

  A gush of water from the fire suppression system filled the flame bucket and continued flowing.

  "Three... two... one... ignition!"

  The missile shot upward. The camera swiftly panned to track the missile as it moved out over the Pacific Ocean. As soon as the camera lost the track, the visual for that quadrant of the television screen switched to what was, apparently, a camera on a ship quite some distance out from the island.

  Simultaneously the satellite depiction zoomed out, showing the bright orange spot of the rocket's exhaust moving somewhere off the West Coast. Bangler thought he recognized the general coastline as near Edwards Air Force Base, but he wasn't sure. He did notice that Waterman had leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared intently at his own screen.

  The shipboard view didn't change.

  Neither did the island view.

  "We are at launch plus five minutes and counting,” the voice noted over the airwaves.

  All six of them sat, dead silent, barely breathing, staring at the television, waiting. The tension in the room was practically palpable; Bang was sure that the Crispies’ perceptive senses must be going nuts. About that time, Bang suddenly realized Piki was clutching his arm. He covered her hand with his own and squeezed, comforting, then returned his attention to the television.

  The satellite view now showed a dim object, evidently the re-entry vehicle containing the warhead, rapidly a
pproaching the island. Its view zoomed in, tightening the image and depicting exactly how close the warhead was to its target.

  "LOOK! There it is!” Kyle cried, pointing at the screen.

  A bright streak in the sky entered the distant ship's view from the top right. It plummeted toward the tiny island atoll.

  Abruptly it... disappeared.

  The island camera merely continued to depict an idyllically peaceful scene of bright tropical birds singing and deep green palm fronds waving, as the foamy white surf splashed on the dark sand.

  "Wha the...?” Bang breathed, shocked. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but that wasn't it.

  "Just like the Snapper shield,” Kyle observed softly. “You must have similar designs."

  "Could be,” Jeri agreed. “I hope not, though. That might mean they know how to circumvent it."

  "There weren't any indications of that at Cresperia, honey,” Kyle argued. “I'd think they'd have done something then, rather than let their little scout ship get destroyed."

  "Good point."

  By that time a second missile had been launched. Again the tension mounted; the satellite tracked its progress across the ocean as soft voices murmured in the background. Once more the shipboard camera picked up a streak—but this time it stopped well short of the island, at the terminus of a flash upward FROM the island.

  "YES!” Jeri shouted, punching her fist into the air. “One hundred percent success on both devices!"

  The six beings in the room whooped and laughed, as Kyle Leverson broke out a bottle of wine to celebrate.

  A smiling Waterman turned back to the camera as the quad screen disappeared. “Complete and total success,” he declared. “The first missile was stopped by the Cresperian shielding around the atoll, and the second by a Cresperian disintegrator cannon. Both, I might add, were completely automated. They detected the incoming threat, analyzed it, and responded. This is not the first test we have made, nor is it the first system in operation. In fact, it is essentially the last. The United States of America—and her allies, I might note—are now fully protected in the event of a Snapper attack. All systems installed can be automated or manually controlled as need arises. In addition, we now have a full fleet of starships—also offensively and defensively armed—ready to go at a moment's notice. We can take the fight to them, into space, should it become necessary.

  "I sincerely hope we never have to use ANY of this,” Waterman continued, somber. “But it is, perhaps, better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. I wish to reiterate that our intent will not be merely to save ourselves if it comes to that. It is of little use to us to save one or two continents while the rest of the planet is decimated. Nor does it support the principal tenet of this nation since its founding—that all sentient beings have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” He nodded. “Thank you, and good day."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 10

  In the middle of the night the call to battle stations sounded. Bang was up and in his active camo suit before he was even fully awake. Without further thought for his appearance, he was out the door of his quarters at a dead run, joining hundreds of others on their way to their active duty stations. He burst into White Horse Platoon's headquarters, where First Sergeant Michael Wang was already waiting. Within seconds, Units Faith, Hope, and Celebration had all assembled.

  "Sit down and wait,” Wang ordered, to their surprise. They all sat, looking at him expectantly. He sighed. “The Chinese nuked New York City,” he finally admitted.

  A collective gasp went up. “How... how bad?” Bang eventually dared to ask.

  A slight smile curved Wang's mouth. “Not bad at all,” he said. “The Crispy shield—we really need a proper name for that thing—functioned as advertised. So, for that matter, did the disintegrator cannon. Three simo incomings, two shot down, the third annihilated on the shield. No casualties, even in the surrounding suburbs and rural areas. They're under blackout, however, with power diverted to the shields until we're certain the crisis is over. They'll stay safe."

  This time the collective sound was a sigh of relief.

  "Sira told me the shield and the disintegrator work using quantum foam,” Tomlinson put in. “Maybe ‘quantum shield?’”

  "Good idea,” Wang nodded. “I like it. I'll shoot it up the chain. So now we're waiting to see what comes of it."

  Wersky raised his hand. “Will we retaliate?"

  "I don't know yet, Jan. Nobody does, except maybe the President,” Wang admitted. “But that's why we're all here. If retaliation is ordered, it'll probably come by starship. Although,” he mused, “there's scuttlebutt that they've got a couple of disintegrator cannons in orbit..."

  "ATTENTION. ATTENTION. ALL PERSONNEL REPORT TO THE AUDITORIUM IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS NOT A DRILL,” the speakers annunciated.

  "I think we're about to find out,” McAllister decided.

  Caleb Washington was on the podium. Once everyone was seated and the chatter and scuffling had settled down, he stepped forward.

  "By now your section leads have told you what's happened,” he noted. “I'm here to tell you the follow-up. On President Waterman's orders, an orbital disintegrator cannon—yes, the rumors were true—was used on Chinese territory."

  The large room became deathly silent.

  A smirk lit Washington's dark skin. “Don't worry; spy satellites indicate there were no people in the targeted area at the time. This was deliberate, essentially another demonstration, rather than retaliation. However, let's just say they won't have to worry about the Yellow River flooding for quite awhile; there's a very large, very deep lake in the middle of the delta now. It's still filling up, and will be for several hours, possibly days, the geologists say."

  Snickers went around the room.

  "A communique received moments ago from the Secretary of Defense indicates that China has capitulated and will cooperate. This capitulation was followed within minutes by a similar message from the Ayatollah Moammar Rahman ibn Tariq al-Balkhi. So China and the Islamic Confederation have backed down pretty damn quick."

  Someone on the far side of the room raised a hand, and Bang strained to hear. “Sir, what about India?"

  "Right now, India is in considerable chaos,” Washington informed them. “They are, in fact, on the verge of a civil war. Some are absolutely convinced—fanatically so—that this Vishnu is a real god. Others are equally convinced he's a Crispy gone mad. As a result of the information the crew of the Galactic brought us, we now know for a certainty that he's an insane Crispy, and we're gradually releasing the evidence. Going around the State Department to do so, I might add,” he said dryly.

  Jeri Leverson raised her hand. “Speaking of which, General, has anything ever been heard out of the Indian starship?"

  "Not yet, Jeri,” Washington answered. “We're not sure if they fought each other to death and are derelict somewhere in space, if something went wrong with their ship, or if they simply got lost. For that matter, the Snappers could have got ‘em."

  "To quote that guy in the movie, I've got a baaaad feeling about this,” Bang muttered.

  "Amen, brother,” Tomlinson murmured.

  Two days later they got the answer to their question. The Hindi ship limped back into the solar system; once more Dr. Anna Osbourne spotted and publicly reported the event. Jeri snorted. “That's not surprising,” she declared. “The thing was so damn big I don't see how they ever got it OUT of the solar system without being spotted."

  But by all reports from intel, not only had Kalki and a goodly number of his followers, including his collection of Lakshmi, been left dead on Cresperia, most of the rest of the humans Kalki had modified had been killed and ejected into space. Only a few modified humans, who came to their senses after Kalki's death, were left alive. The crew of the Chariot of the Gods, as the Americans discovered the ship had been named, added fuel to the near civil war in India when they debarked and promptly de
nounced “Vishnu."

  Five days later, and much to President Waterman's private satisfaction, “Vishnu” was assassinated.

  India settled down rapidly after that. It was generally conceded that if the being in question had really been Vishnu, and the being aboard the ship had been Kalki, they could not have been killed, let alone so readily.

  A subsequent autopsy revealed that “Vishnu” hadn't even bothered to modify his internal organs very much, excepting for the addition of human male organs; most of the modifications were purely external, for the sake of appearance only. Jeri and Sira sent over anatomical data to help the coroner.

  "Evidently he found the images of Vishnu and decided to take advantage of his natural body's structural similarity,” Jeri observed. “Four arms and all that. Maybe he figured, by only modifying the outside, he could retain more of his innate abilities and, in effect, BE a god.” She shook her head. “Not that it works that way—even as completely human, I still have my full innate perceptive sense. He must not have realized that."

  "How sad,” Sira remarked softly. “If he had only chosen to modify his external appearance to impersonate their god, and not added the human sexual organs with all their hormones he didn't know how to control, he'd never have gone mad at all."

  "Well, who knows,” Jeri sighed. “Maybe Kalki was the first, got into the sex, and he convinced Vishnu. He WAS human, except for his size."

  "I don't guess we'll ever know, now,” Sira agreed.

  Two days after the assassination, the sensor constellation in the Oort Cloud went off, the instrumentation indicating known ship configuration—Snapper. The Brider Enclave went on high alert, and the world leaders were notified even as the hastily recomposed crew of the Galactic was mobilized and teams of Space Marines activated. Platoon White Horse was one of those activated.