by Weston Ochse
Back before I blew up the Hollywood Hive, Ohirra had explained it perfectly.
“As it turns out, there are no invading aliens,” she’d said. “Remember what we postulated back in Africa? It’s true. The species we’ve encountered so far have specific tasks. The Cray, the Sirens, the needlers, the alien vine, even the spore; purpose-made, purpose-sent. But the master alien race, the one controlling them, whatever the hell they are, have no intention of coming here. They want to mine us. They want our iron. They want our sodium. They want our silicon. They want our water. They’re in the middle of a war and we’re just a convenient planet to harvest. We’re a supply depot for someone else’s conflict.”
What that also meant was that we had no target, no way to stop them. No way to convince them to stop. As soon as we figured out how to defeat one alien, they’d just send something else. But by the way it acted, the alien space craft was a major game changer. It hadn’t killed us. And it had taken out the Cray for us. Sure, it took Nance and the bot, but my guess was that they wanted them to study—the same way we took samples of their dead and tech.
What was it Sun Tzu said? The enemy of my enemy is my friend. We might have just caught the first glance at our brand new friends… ones who were going to let us finally get our pound of flesh from the damned intergalactic bullies who had jacked our planet.
But for now, I had to get my squad and the flight crew to safety.
I approached the pilot and asked, “How soon can we get out of here?”
He and the co-pilot were standing on the wing talking to each other. The cowl of the engine was still open. He took a moment and wiped sweat from his brow. Wrinkles had gathered around his eyes. He was my age, but right now he looked far older.
“We’ve done all we can. I can get her airborne, but I don’t know how far I can fly until I know our weight.” He nodded towards the spidertank, which was in perfect working order except for the missing blister. “You intend on bringing that with us?”
“I was hoping we could.”
“It still doesn’t solve the problem of fuel,” he said.
“I’m working on that. Merlin, can you find us some fuel?”
“What kind?” he asked from where he sat with his headset on.
I looked to the pilot for the answer.
“Jet-A or JP-8,” he said. “Our other problem is that we lost two of the integral wing fuel cells on this wing. One was ruptured, and I had to shut the other one down. That’s an initial loss of two fuel cells. So on this wing I have one fuel cell with a capacity of 1,483 gallons JP-8. At 6.74 lbs per gallon that equals 9,997 pounds… so let’s call it 10,000 pounds. The other wing cells are fine, but for balance and structural reasons, especially if I’m carrying max payload, I need them to be the same, so I can only have one of the cells full, which is no problem, because each is a third full.” He pointed to each wing. “So with a total of 2,966 gallons, and with a full load, I average 3.7 gallons per mile. According to my calculations, we’re 842 miles from Savoonga and 950 miles from Nome. Both locations have fuel, although Nome would be better for repairs. To get to Savoonga I’d need 3,159 gallons. To get to Nome I’d need 3,555.”
“So you can’t even get us there if we were refueled.”
He pointed at the wing he was standing on. “And that’s if we have 2,966 gallons, or the equivalent of two fuel cells. Remember that the other wing’s cells were one third full. So were these. Because we lost two fuel cells, this wing currently only holds 493 gallons, one third of the other, which means we really have 1,976 gallons of fuel.”
My face fell.
“And, we’re only operating on three engines.”
“Wouldn’t that use less fuel?” I asked.
He nodded. “But those three are going to have to work harder. Bottom line is, the lighter we can get, then the further we can fly. If we were empty, we could make it with a couple hundred gallons to spare. But I’m going to confer with the crew chief before I say anything more.” He stared at me for a moment, then returned to conversation with the co-pilot.
I met the others at the rear of the plane.
To Merlin I said, “Any luck?”
He shook his head and continued conversing to someone in Yupik. He seemed to be arguing. Then he signed off and shook his head. “Redneck Yupik up here want to help, but before they’ll even start they want to trade in seal skins.” Merlin shook his head. “The fate of the world is at hand and they’re worried about seal skins.”
I nodded, because I knew exactly how he felt.
I noted that Earl and Pearl were speaking on a private channel. For a brief second, I thought of eavesdropping, but then I decided against it. They’d given me no reason to doubt their loyalty to me, so it was only fair to give them trust in return.
“Any movement?” I asked Charlemagne.
“They’ve established an OP at the tank. The rest of them have pulled back. A smaller group comprised of one bot and eight soldiers headed to the debris field.”
“Well, there’s sure enough for everyone. Since I have no orders to keep anyone else from getting their hands on the remains and tech, there’s no mandate to stop them.”
Pearl requested a private channel.
I accepted. “Why didn’t we just attack?” she asked. “I mean, we had the Russians outnumbered.”
“Because our war isn’t with them. Our war is with the Hypocrealiacs.”
“But the Russians attacked us first.”
“They did,” I acknowledged.
“So that means we can kill them,” she said defiantly.
I shook my head. “No it doesn’t mean we have permission to kill them. There is no requirement to shoot back. That’s a choice I make as your commander.”
I could see in her eyes that she was trying to work through my response. “But they killed Nance.”
Again I shook my head. “Nance was a soldier fighting in combat. He died in combat. He chose to fight. Circumstances killed Nance. He was merely a participant, just as the bot driver was.”
She stared at me for a long moment. I expected her to continue arguing, but she surprised me by nodding finally. “I hear you. Let me process that.” Then she shut down the private channel.
I decided it was time to get out of the EXO. I parked the suit, then climbed out. I stood in the slightly chill hold in Kevlar shorts and toe shoes. I grabbed a bottle of water and downed it. Then I found an MRE and started picking through it, eating the cheese and crackers first, then the entrée—chicken pesto pasta—which tasted like chicken pesto ass. Even so, I’d expended enough energy that I needed to replenish. Earl and Pearl saw me and decided to park their EXOs as well. Once Earl finished, he relieved Charlemagne. Never once did we speak. We didn’t have to. We all knew what everyone was thinking. We all had questions. We just didn’t have answers, so it wasn’t worth talking about.
Finally Charlemagne broke the silence. “Was that really a fucking spaceship?”
I nodded. “Did you notice it took out the Cray?” I asked.
“Like a mower. Buzzed right through them,” he said. “Think they’re on our side.”
I hated to say it out loud, but if it was true, then it was a major game changer. “I think so,” I said. “Or at least, not against us.”
I stood, grabbed my trash, and stuffed it in the bag.
“You and Pearl run full checks on the EXOs. Let’s get them charging and ammo’d up.”
Then I went to clean up, taking a whore’s bath at the end of the ramp by using a bottle of water and a small piece of soap. Wearing nothing but my shorts and the toe shoes, I was chilled by the time I’d finished. When I was done, I sent Merlin to get food and water. He grumbled about redneck Yupik, which told me that we probably weren’t going to get help from them.
Ten minutes later the crew chief and the pilot approached me. Dressed in fatigues and covered in sweat, they each gave me exhausted looks before addressing me.
“We have two options,” the pilot
said. “We can fly due east to Lorino. There’s a major airfield there. Or we can fly to Savoonga.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a major but you’re leaving out.”
The pilot nodded. “My loadmaster thinks we can make it. We’d be flying on fumes and a prayer, but the winds are favorable to us and the lack of fuel by weight has opened the window of possibility.”
“What’s at Lorino?” I asked.
“We had a report of a buildup of Russian military units there as part of our pre-flight intelligence report. We might be able to get in and out of the airfield before anything happens or—”
“Or we could get shot at by another SA-7.” I shook my head. “I’d rather take my chances with a wing and a prayer than going to a place where you know we’ll be in danger. What’s your opinion?”
The pilot frowned. “I don’t like either option but they’re what we have. Given the dangers posed by an attempted landing and takeoff in Lorino, I think trying for Savoonga is our best bet.”
I turned to the crew chief, “Then let’s get everything strapped down and ready for flight. Whatever help you need from me and my squad, just ask. We work for you now.”
The next two hours were filled with getting the EXOs in place and strapping the spidertank down. I’d fought with myself about keeping it. Getting rid of it would definitely get us a few more miles. But I wanted to make sure we could investigate the technology used to make it, especially the acoustic weapon. I’d also noted that Merlin had been getting acquainted with the controls. If he was going to be a part of our team, perhaps this could be the way.
The very last thing we did before the pilot swung the ungainly beast around was to let our Russian bot-driver go. He wasn’t too happy we were taking his bot with us, but he’d have to get over it. We waited until he was well clear, then strapped in, raised the ramp, and began to pray to the fickle universe that we deserved to make it back to Savoonga in one piece.
The tragedy of life is in what dies inside a man while he lives—the death of genuine feeling, the death of inspired response, the awareness that makes it possible to feel the pain or the glory of other men in yourself.
Norman Cousins
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WE HAD TO shut down two engines but we made it back to St. Lawrence Island with just enough fuel left to run to the store for a case of good beer. The cheer that went up was unmatched. Joyous embraces and high fives brought us a bonding moment even I couldn’t choreograph. But the feeling was short-lived.
Before the pilot lowered the ramp, he called me forward and gave me a headset. It was then I learned two things. The first was that another C-130 was on site. This one was an AC-130 Spectre Gunship—basically the weaponized version of the one we were on with two Vulcan 20mm cannons, one 40mm Bofors cannon, and a 105 Howitzer. It had been in battle recently against a battalion-strength group of Cray and had managed to stay far enough away from their EMPs to butcher them all. The other thing I learned was that the battle had taken place in Savoonga. The city was all but destroyed. There were few survivors.
I knew that once I told Merlin he’d blame himself. But the truth was that OMBRA had intercepted communications and had known the Cray were on their way to destroy the debris from the spacecraft, thus the reason OMBRA sent the C-130 in the first place and convinced me to lead the mission. What they hadn’t told me was they’d known the Cray were coming. Had I known that there were going to be significantly more than the first three, I would have marshaled the EXOs to protect the city. That was probably why OMBRA had left out that bit. And why I’d leave it out as well when I broke the news to Merlin.
I’d always been one to pull the scab off quickly, so when I went back into the hold, I let everyone know. Merlin stared at me for a long moment, then began to wail, singing a Yupik funeral dirge I’d heard twice before. But those had been for two people. This was for an entire tribe and held enough emotion and pain to bring tears to my eyes.
I had the pilot lower the ramp. Merlin took off at a run. I sent Charlemagne after him with the command, “Don’t let him do anything stupid.”
After both of them departed, I told the twins to move the EXOs and the spidertank to the AC-130, then went around the corner and found a spot to be alone.
Thompson had been pinging me ever since I came within fifty miles of Savoonga, probably leapfrogging off the Spectre’s coms. But I’d held him off. First because I was more concerned about us landing, and second because I had to relay the sad news to Merlin. Now that we were both landed and Merlin was informed, it was time to see what the HMID version of the kid I liked wanted.
After I gave him an EXSUM mission brief, he let me know that the strange donut-shaped alien spacecraft had been seen everywhere. He also pointed out that the communication transmissions intercepted from the aircraft weren’t Hypocrealiac in origin, which made OMBRA enthusiastic in believing that these might actually be representatives of who the invading aliens were fighting.
Have they seen them engage yet? I asked.
There have been no reports of engagement, but the space frames have been removing pieces of our technology to study.
Like Nance’s EXO and the Russian spidertank.
The actions inform the hypothesis that they are newly arrived and trying to ascertain our level of technological advancement.
But they haven’t been in contact yet?
Negative.
I thought about the last time he’d intruded into my dreams,then asked, What were you trying to tell me last time? Something about Texas and ‘this is where the magic happens.’
I can’t speak to that right now but soon.
Come on, Thompson. Enough with the mysteriousness. Just tell me.
Really, Mason. I am not allowed.
Mr. Pink?
He can release the information. If you want to know, you need to speak with him.
Oh, I’ll speak with him all right. He’s going to get an earful.
That’s been anticipated.
I bet it has. Then I thought of another question. Were you trying to get in touch with me when I was on mission? I felt a tingling much like when you contact me.
Did you lose any time? he asked.
Not that I know of. I thought about it for a moment, then answered, No. Definitely not.
If you lose time following that tingling sensation you must report it at once.
Why? What is it, Thompson? What will it be?
Do you remember the alien you came face-to-face with beneath the Hollywood Hive?
It had beena large rectangular structure made from some sort of black substrate. The surface had undulated and I had got a glimpse of something impossibly large; somewhere deep inside lights had made storm clouds.
What we called the Master? The one who made me attack my team and sever Stranz’s arm with my blade? That alien?
The Master had even blocked my emotions during the tragic event, which is why the sheer shame of it now seemed so fresh. I moaned as the scene replayed in my mind—the shocked look on my sergeant’s face as I drove my blade first through his minigun, then the upward swing that severed his arm.
I see you remember, Thompson said. I’ve attempted to shore up your defenses so that doesn’t happen again, but it’s not a foolproof solution.
I absolutely, positively never want that to happen again. I imaged Charlemagne’s ever-present smile wiped off his face by my harmonic blade. How can I keep it from happening?
You can’t. The fungus rewired your brain for better or for worse, making it a two lane highway. We originally called these aliens Masters and we weren’t far off. Our Global HMID grid has been battling them constantly. These Masters are spaced throughout the globe and have a footprint similar to ours. They appear to not only be directing activities, but are also communicating with unknown space-based forces.
Which is why you knew the Cray were coming to Savoonga. You hacked their signal.
A momentary pause. We’d hoped they’d bypass the v
illage. The Masters had staged several leviathans offshore and we believed the Cray were bound for them.
You were mistaken. I breathed deeply, then let out the air. These Masters, are they the Hypocrealiacs?
Meaning are they the ones who task organized and purpose sent all the other alien species to our planet? We don’t think so. We believe these Masters are like all the others in that they have been purpose sent, with the exception that they are the only race who communicates to all of the various alien races.
So who really is the Master species?
We just don’t have data for that. Think of these Masters as the J staffs for the commander or ’Crealiacs. They work for a commander and ensure all of the logistics, operations, communications, and intelligence is performed.
Intelligence? I asked.
Don’t forget they can see through every species that has been infected with the fungus spores… even those very few who have been cured of it. They literally have eyes and ears everywhere.
Except north and south of the 45th parallel.
The planet is warming. They’ll soon be able to project even there. What is it you like to call it?
Planet-jacked!
Yes. That’s good. So your orders are to bring back the remains and debris back to OMBRA HQ at Fort Irwin. Then we’re going to have a reconnaissance mission for your team.
So there are still things you don’t know.
In all seriousness, Mason, there are places on the planet that are completely dark to us. It’s as if they’re letting us see what they don’t care about but hiding what’s most important.
Is that where you’re sending us? To a place like that?
Most definitely. Specifically, Odessa, Texas.
And you have no idea what’s there?
None at all, but we think it might be a beachhead for the new aliens. And you know what Sun Tzu said.
