Stars & Empire: 10 Galactic Tales

by Jay Allan

  “What’s our latest census count here?” Lawrence asked as he turned and walked over to another set of windows where he could look out over the temporary housing settlement.

  The military had worked miracles in construction. Over two hundred barracks made out of wood and sheet metal stretched out for nearly as far as the eye could see. Several underground tunnels linked all the barracks so people didn’t have to go out in the now cold temperatures and steadily falling ash. Behind the barracks were long rows of massive tents that housed even more survivors.

  “We have nearly one hundred and twenty thousand in the barracks and tents,” General Wainright reported with a heavy breath. “As we empty a barrack of survivors, we move people in from one of the tents. From there we bring in qualified survivors from those waiting outside.”

  “How many are outside?” asked Lawrence, knowing that more people were still arriving. However, as of late the influx of people had slowed as fuel became harder to come by and travel due to the falling ash and earthquakes was becoming virtually impossible.

  “Almost seven hundred thousand at the last count,” replied Wainright, recalling the latest numbers. “We’re starting to lose a few in the outside camp due to disease and freezing temperatures. There are just too many people crowded into a small area, and our medical facilities are maxed out.”

  “What about food and water?” Lawrence asked. The people at the spaceport had been eating MREs for over two weeks as the regular food had finally given out.

  “We are sending out helicopters scouring military bases and other facilities that might have food in storage,” Wainright answered. “I would guess we have food and water supplies for another six months and then I don’t know what we will do.”

  Lawrence nodded his head in understanding. He needed to speak to Mason about the food situation. There were still many survivors scattered around the country, and if they wanted to save them, they would have to come up with a viable source of food. He also knew that the number of refugees at the survival facility south of Amarillo was rapidly growing. There was another smaller facility in Georgia, but communication with it had been intermittent.

  -o0o—

  Captain Stevens and Lieutenant Griffith were walking through the tent city outside of the heavily guarded fence that protected the spaceport. Six other marines were with them as support. Close to three thousand troops from the marines and the army had been assigned to patrol tent city to help keep the peace, and another two thousand were on duty inside the fence. Each wore a white breathing mask over their mouth and nose as well as protective goggles over their eyes to protect themselves from the ash.

  “This damn ash is everywhere,” complained Lieutenant Griffith as he kicked it with his boot, sending it flying ahead of him. “It must be several inches deep now.”

  “I’ve heard it’s even deeper than that farther north,” Mark replied as he glanced around the tents to see if anyone was out and about. “I heard one of the helicopter pilots mention that, in Montana and Wyoming, the ash is already over a foot deep from the Yellowstone eruptions and getting deeper.”

  “Sheesh,” muttered Griffith. “A foot of this crap; that’s hard to imagine.”

  They were nearing one of the large tents that served as a mess hall for this side of the camp when they heard what sounded like a fight. They could hear yelling and angry people. Rushing forward with their weapons at the ready they burst upon the scene. Just inside the mess hall, several soldiers were scuffling with a group of rough looking men armed with baseball bats and two by fours. Other people stood nearby, unsure what to do.

  “We want some decent food!” one of the men demanded, brandishing a bat in his hand in a threatening manner. “These MREs are a bunch of bullshit!”

  “It’s what everyone is eating,” one of the soldiers shot back as he was shoved by one of the other men. The soldier didn’t know how to respond to this verbal and physical attack.

  “What’s going on here?” demanded Stevens, striding up to the men. The marines behind him stopped and carefully held their weapons at the ready.

  The man clearly had not expected to be challenged in such a manner and he backed off, eyeing this new arrival. “It’s the food; it’s a bunch of crap.”

  Mark stepped over to a serving table and picked up an MRE out of the stack that was setting there. “Look around you,” Mark spoke in a loud and commanding voice. “Hundreds of millions if not billions of people are dead because of this alien attack. Millions more are in the process of starving because this ash has destroyed our ability to grow crops, and you have the gall to complain because you can’t eat a steak. I want you to know my men and I have been eating the same MREs you have for weeks. There is no other food, so you can either eat it or go without!”

  The man hesitated and looked back at his supporters. Most of them had their heads hung low or were looking at the ground. “I just want better food,” he grumbled as he turned and walked off.

  “What about you other men?” Mark demanded.

  “I guess we were mistaken,” one of them replied in a quiet and cowed voice. “It won’t happen again.”

  Mark turned around to Lieutenant Griffith. “I want the guards at the mess halls doubled for the next few days. We can’t have more problems like this one.”

  “I will pass on the order,” Griffith replied.

  They continued on their tour of the camp. There were a large number of RVs mixed in with the tents, and electrical lines had been run by the army engineers to furnish power. Those staying in tents spent a lot of their time in the large mess tents trying to stay warm, though the army had gone from tent to tent passing out blankets and sleeping bags to those in need. Even so, sleeping out on the ground in these temperatures was brutal. Every day more people showed up sick at the medical tents.

  Mark and his team finished their tour in a little over two hours and then returned to their command bunker. It had been greatly expanded and now contained a dozen bunks as well as a few other comfort features, including heat and a working restroom with a hot shower. At night, the temperature outside was dropping to nearly twenty degrees, and Mark knew as the weeks went by the temperature would continue to get colder. Several of the climatologists were predicting that snow would eventually start falling and perhaps bury the area to a depth of six to ten feet. Mark hoped they were wrong.

  “Rough night,” Lieutenant Griffith commented as he prepared to take a jeep into the spaceport to the small complex of buildings where his family was staying.

  “They’re only going to get worse,” replied Mark, sitting down on his bunk and looking over at the lieutenant. “As it gets colder and the food becomes scarcer, the people are only going to become further frightened.”

  “I heard a rumor that they’re thinking about rationing,” commented Griffith, arching his eyebrows. “If they do that it will really panic the civilians.”

  “It’s probably going to happen,” Mark admitted with a heavy sigh. “I just hope we can get most of these people up to Luna City and Vesta or they’re going to die down here.”

  “I hope so too,” Griffith replied as he turned to leave. “See you in the morning.”

  Mark watched Lieutenant Griffith leave. In a way, he felt jealous that Griffith had a family to go home to, whereas he had no one.

  -o0o-

  Mason watched as the latest load of refugees were unloaded from one of the converted cargo ships. Four hundred more people to add to Vesta’s rapidly growing population.

  “How soon before the remaining cargo ships are converted?” asked Mason, knowing they needed to speed up the evacuation of survivors from Earth or they were going to lose them due to the steadily worsening conditions on the planet. The original plan had been to convert ten of the cargo ships to haul people between Holbrook Station and Vesta.

  “Two more weeks and we will be done,” Ethan Hall replied. “We’re working on the last four now.”

  “We’re not going to be able to move
people fast enough,” Mason said at last. “Even with all ten ships we can move less than three hundred thousand people in a year.”

  “It’s going to take us a while to finish the new habitat,” Keith Davis reminded Mason. “Three hundred thousand a year is all we’re probably going to be able to handle, and even that is going to stress our environmental systems.”

  “What about the tunnels?” Mason asked. He knew they were putting a lot of work and resources into building the small apartment buildings in the new tunnel complex to house survivors until the larger habitat was ready.

  “They’re coming along,” Keith replied. “The first ones will be ready in another two weeks.”

  Mason’s eyes wandered over to the Phoenix. Even from here, he could see workers, including some military personnel, working on the ship installing the new railguns and missile tubes.

  “Two more months before the Phoenix is done,” reported Ethan, seeing where Mason’s eyes had wandered. “We have to modify the inside as well as change the power setup. We’re installing a small nuclear power plant the military sent up to help provide the power we’re going to need for the railguns. Do you have any idea as to who is going to command her?”

  Mason was silent. Originally, he had planned to command the ship on its maiden journey of exploration, but he wasn’t a military man. “Captain Sanders has some military experience in his background,” Mason finally replied. “I think he would do a good job. I have requested several naval and air force officers from the military to fill in some of the other spots.”

  Ethan nodded and then noticed Mason’s eyes return to the cargo ship from which the refugees were still disembarking. He had a feeling Mason wasn’t finished with him yet.

  “We need a fleet,” Mason finally said as he mulled over what he had been thinking about for the last few days. “If the aliens return, I don’t want all of our eggs in one basket. When the Phoenix is done, I want to convert four of our cargo ships into support vessels. I will get with General Wainright and see what other weapons he can dig up. Once the support vessels are finished, I want to take ten of our prospector ships and arm them also.”

  Ethan let out a long whistle and gazed at Mason as if he were insane. “That’s going to take a lot of resources,” he said at last. “I don’t know if we can do it.”

  “If we need anything, we will take it from Earth,” replied Mason, evenly. “Put together a list of items we may not have available or can’t produce. We will make them a top priority in our salvage efforts.”

  Mason didn’t go on to tell Ethan that once all the ships were converted they would start construction on a new ship. It would be the first ship ever built in the solar system designed and built only for war!

  Later, Mason was back in the Control Center checking the latest reports from Holbrook Station and Luna City. Already Mayor Silas had added four more small domes to put people in. He had also started a massive project to grow more food. Silas had already taken in eight thousand refugees and was working feverishly on more domes.

  “The weather is getting worse,” Pamela reported as she saw Mason step inside the Control Center. “Several of the climatologists on the International Space Station feel another ice age will begin shortly if it hasn’t already.”

  “We need a plan,” Mason said as he sat down and gazed at the main viewscreen showing a cloud-shrouded Earth. The clouds were a dark, sickly color. “At this rate we’re never going to get everyone evacuated in time.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Pamela spoke as she came over and sat down at the command console next to Mason. “Paul and I were talking last night and he made a suggestion which I think we need to consider.”

  “What’s that?” Mason asked. He knew that Paul was Pamela’s husband and worked as an engineer.

  “Why rush to move all of these people off the Earth?” Pamela asked, her eyes meeting Masons. “Why can’t we build more permanent shelters that would allow people to survive on the surface until we’re ready for them at Luna City or here at Vesta?”

  “We don’t know what type of conditions they may be facing in the long term,” Mason responded with a frown. “Particularly if we’re talking about a new ice age. Whatever we build might not be protection enough.”

  “It will take years for a new ice age to establish itself,” Pamela replied, growing more confident in what she was suggesting. “There are four large wind generating plants around White Sands and Jornada. There is plenty of power for years as long as the wind generators are kept in good repair. They are also sealed units and should be good for forty years at a minimum.”

  Mason leaned back as he thought about Pamela’s suggestion. “That still doesn’t solve the food problem.”

  “We can grow the food,” Pamela responded. “Paul says we will have enough space in the new habitat as well as in Smithfield to grow enough fruits and vegetables to feed several million extra people. There won’t be any meat for them, but people can survive on a vegetarian diet.”

  “Mars Central and Luna City can grow food too, if necessary,” Mason said as he thought over Pamela’s suggestion. “You may have a good idea; I’ll talk it over with Lawrence and General Wainright tomorrow. We may not have any other choice but to do as you have suggested.”

  Pamela nodded; she would still like to know if her sister was alive. Carmen lived in Denver, and the last she had heard the city was suffering a major ash fall and the electricity was out. No word had come out of there for several weeks. Daily Pamela listened to the calls for help from Earth, hoping one would come from Denver. Every day those calls became fewer and fewer and Denver remained silent.

  Her eyes returned to the viewscreen and the cloud-shrouded Earth. Her ten-year-old son had asked the previous night when his aunt Carmen could come for a visit. Pamela had replied that she didn’t know. After Mike had gone to bed, she had cried herself to sleep in her husband’s arms. Carmen and she had always been extremely close, and she missed her younger sister. She just hoped that someday she would know Carmen’s fate.

  CHAPTER 8

  It was their fourth week of intense training and Lieutenant Nelson was leading two of his twenty-five member marine platoons up the side of the mountain. Corporal Stern and Corporal Perry were acting as defacto platoon leaders, responding to and implementing Wade’s commands. If they continued to perform as they had the last few weeks, Wade fully intended to promote them to sergeants.

  “Sweep the slope above and to the right of the trees with rifle fire,” Wade ordered as he gazed up ahead. The mountain slope concealed numerous hidden automatic weapons that would fire upon detecting movement.

  Wade was standing behind a small boulder, and stepping around it, he laid down a withering fire from his rifle at the indicated area. The rifle was a smaller version of a railgun and fired both regular and explosive rounds at tremendous speeds. Due to the velocity, the railgun rounds were smaller but still carried a deadly punch upon reaching their target. The explosive rounds were like grenades going off, and the rifle could be switched to fire either of the two. Wade knew that, without the battle suit, the recoil from the rifle would probably knock him down. With the battle suit, he barely noticed it.

  The entire area Wade had indicated came under heavy fire, and he saw with satisfaction four embedded weapons emplacements explode as the rifle fire swept them away. “Hold fire,” Wade ordered as he used the optics in his suit to scan the slope ahead in more detail. After a moment, he nodded to himself satisfied that they had eliminated the weapons in their immediate vicinity. “Advance in staggered formation to the tree line and take up covering positions there.”

  Wade stepped out and quickly sprinted ahead, reaching his planned position in only a matter of seconds. The ten-foot tall battle suits allowed him to run twice a fast as he normally could have. He heard a man scream over the suit’s com and saw one of the green icons on his HUD suddenly turn amber.

  “Report!” he ordered as he bent down to take cover behind a large stump
that would serve to partially conceal him. He knew they must have missed a hidden weapon emplacement.

  “Private Richards took a hit to his left arm from an energy beam,” Corporal Perry replied. “His suit has injected him with pain killers, but his arm is badly burned and his suit has a hole in it the size of a quarter.”

  “Damn,” Wade muttered as he scanned the upper slope of the mountain. They were facing live weapons in this war game and any mistake could result in an injury.

  They were only a fourth of the way to the top. He knew the hidden weapon emplacements were programmed to only wound, but training accidents did happen and Lieutenant Williams had lost two marines in one of her platoons several days back when they had crossed into the path of an energy weapon just as it fired at another marine. Both had been struck in the chest and died instantly.

  “Did anyone spot where that energy weapon fired from?” he asked as he continued to use his optics at high power to scrutinize the slope above them.

  “Yes, Sir,” a female marine responded. “Just to the right of that large burned out tree and up the slope about twenty meters.”

  “Corporal Stern, hit that area with explosive rounds.”

  Almost instantly, grenade like explosions began rolling across the indicated area of the slope, churning up the soil and ending with a violent explosion as the hidden energy weapon emplacement was destroyed.

  “Got it!” reported Corporal Stern, jubilantly.

  “Private Russell and Private Dawson, scout ahead but be cautious,” Wade ordered.

  He watched as the two ran, using the trees for cover until they arrived at a position forty meters further up the slope. “Report.”

  “We’re scanning, Sir,” Dawson replied. “No sign of hidden emplacements, but they may be inactive until they detect movement. That last one didn’t show up on the scans.”