by Nick Webb
“Yes, sir, but he may be here to gather intel. A tour of the ship would not be the wisest course of action, at least from my perspective.”
Good man, he thought. But he had no intention of showing the Vishgane anything of importance. He was just stalling. Granger nodded. “Very well, Colonel. We will steer clear of engineering, weapons platforms, and all areas of the ship which may contain technology unfamiliar to our guest.”
Vishgane Kharsa made his choking noise, indicating he found the remark humorous. “Captain Timothy Granger, there is very little that we do not know about you or your ship. Let us dispense with your … tour, and speak of more important things.”
He needed to get his earpiece in without the alien seeing. “Very well, Vishgane. Please accompany me to a conference room. Just down the hallway. At least there we can sit and talk in a more private setting.”
“I assent to your wishes, Captain.”
Granger indicated the door. “This way, then. Colonel Hanrahan, please lead the way.”
The colonel grunted his acknowledgement, shouldered his assault rifle, and walked out the door. “If you’ll follow me, sirs.”
Vishgane Kharsa stepped away from his shuttle, and the ramp retracted into its receptacle as the small craft sealed up tight. “I will know if it has been entered, Captain. Do not betray my trust.”
Granger smiled inwardly at the remark. An odd request, especially when juxtaposed against the unprovoked aggression displayed by both the Swarm and the Dolmasi, and by the fact that he was about to attempt an intel op far more risky and with a higher reward than simply breaking into the alien’s shuttle. They were about to eavesdrop on the Swarm’s mysterious communications link, one that allowed for apparently near-instantaneous communication with each other, and with, apparently, the Dolmasi.
“Of course not, Vishgane Kharsa. This way.”
Hanrahan led the way, the Vishgane followed, and Granger brought up the rear, discretely pushing the tiny receiver into his ear. Doc Wyatt fell into step with him.
“What do you expect they’ll say? What could we possibly give them or do that will make them pull back?”
“I guess we’ll find out, Doc. Just keep an eye on us. This is the first time we’ve ever encountered a non-human face-to-face before. Your observations will be of utmost value, no doubt.”
The conference room door was flanked by two marines, and as they all stepped through Proctor’s voice came through the earpiece.
“You hear me, sir? If you can, clear your throat.”
Granger cleared his throat, and indicated a chair near the table, which he hoped was big enough for the Vishgane. “Please have a seat.” He turned to Hanrahan, who’d been accompanied by the two marines. “That will be all, gentlemen.”
Hanrahan stood his ground. “Sir, I can’t leave you here alone with the alien.”
Granger glanced at the heavily armed marines, and back at the Vishgane, who’d sat down. “You may stay, Colonel. Your men will stand guard outside the door.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Granger sat. Proctor’s voice came through again. “I hope that throat-clear was for me. Sir, we’re not reading any EM signals originating from the conference room. Scanning for neutrino-based, graviton, and meta-space signals next.”
Vishgane Kharsa broke the silence. “Captain Granger. On behalf of the Valarisi, I offer peace. These are the terms: first, that you withdraw all your ships of war to the Sol System, to your former Lunar Base, where they will await assimilation into the Valarisi defense force.”
Defense force? Is that what they called their invasion fleets? Granger held a steady gaze on the alien.
“Next, you will prepare for the arrival of the Valarisi on all your worlds by first confiscating all weaponry from every citizen, and then ordering them to report for conditioning.”
“Excuse me, conditioning?”
Kharsa nodded. “The process by which an ally of the Valarisi becomes integrated into the alliance. We all become allies of the Valarisi as individuals, Captain, not only as civilizations. We are more secure this way.”
“And what does conditioning entail?”
The Vishgane shrugged. “It is a simple process. Painless, and quick.”
“Painless? That implies some sort of contact.”
“To come into physical contact with the Valarisi is to come into communion with them. All they desire is to commune with their friends. To … bring everyone into the family, as you might say.”
Granger mulled over the implications. Interesting. To touch the Swarm is to be controlled by it. Shit, did I touch anything while I was out of it?
“And? Anything else?”
“You will begin preparations for the evacuation of your homeworld at once.”
Granger raised an eyebrow. That was … brash. “Might I ask why?”
“The Valarisi require it.”
“Might I ask for what?”
“They require the homeworlds of all their allies. In return, the Valarisi will generously give the people of your world a new planet that they may call home.”
“All their allies?”
Kharsa nodded. “All their allies. It is an honorable sacrifice that we make to call ourselves friends of the Valarisi.”
Granger stroked his chin. In his ear came Proctor’s voice. “Sir, we’ve been scanning every conceivable communication band, but nothing. Perhaps they only contact the Swarm when there is information to be passed, or a decision to be made. Maybe try negotiating? He might have to ask for instruction when you respond to his demands, which we might detect in one of these bands.”
“The evacuation of Earth is an extremely unlikely scenario, Vishgane. The logistics involved in something like that would be … considerable.”
“And yet, those are the terms, Captain. How badly do you want peace?”
Not that badly.
“I propose an alternative, then,” said Granger, searching for something to say. Anything to both keep the alien talking, and to prompt him to contact the Swarm for guidance. “We relocate a certain percentage of our population to a world controlled by the Swarm, and give the Swarm a designated location on Earth that they can do with as they please.”
Kharsa paused. “An interesting proposal, Captain.”
“And what does the Swarm think about it?”
Another pause. “They want the planet. The entire planet.”
“Again, why?”
“Because, Captain, that is the only way to ensure friends remain … friends. I believe your word for it might be … collateral.”
Granger snorted. “Where I come from, Vishgane, friends do not require collateral on their relationship.”
His earpiece vibrated. “Tim, they clearly communicated there—at least from what he said, they must have—but on our end we detected nothing. Damn. We’ve tried everything. There must be something else going on. I mean, clearly, he’s not wearing any transmission device….”
Her voice trailed off, and Kharsa had begun speaking again.
“—because you are weak, Granger. You and your entire species. Trust is a weakness. Honor is a weakness. All that matters is the power you hold, whether over your circumstances, your enemies, or, as in the Valarisi’s case, your friends.”
Granger needed to keep him talking. Keep him communicating with his overlords. “Fine. Have Earth. Take it. But it’ll take time. And resources that we do not have. Will the Swarm assist with our relocation? How many ships will they provide for the transfer of so many people?”
Another pause. “The Valarisi know more than you think they do, Captain. They know how many ships your species has, and how many it is capable of producing. Even now, this very week, two hundred of your new heavy cruisers are coming online.”
Damn, they do know a lot.
“And each cruiser can conceivably fit fifty-thousand human bodies inside. So even with just this week’s production of new ships, and assuming a one week loading and travel time, that is
ten million people moved per week. Now include your entire fleet, and another six months of ship production, and you will see that Earth does, in fact, possess the ability to move its entire population quite easily.”
Proctor swore in his ear. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve got nothing. This just isn’t working. Either they’re operating at some frequency or energy outside our detection limits, or they’ve got a prearranged negotiation plan—the Swarm may have already instructed him in what terms are acceptable or not.”
Granger looked at the creases on his hands. Sixty-five years were taking their toll on his skin, if not his mind. Dammit, he was not going to be outmaneuvered by some alien puppet.
“Let’s be honest, Vishgane. There is no way in hell humanity will ever give up Earth. You claim to know us—you think you know everything about us. If you did, you would know that. Humans don’t just roll over and give up. So tell me, what’s your real angle? What are you really trying to get us to do?”
“I assure you, Captain, the Valarisi are quite serious in their demands. I recommend you—”
“To hell with them and their demands. Tell me, Vishgane, how long has it been since the Swarm ripped your people away from your homeworld? How long have you been their puppets, with your world held hostage and hanging over your head to ensure you remain obedient slaves?”
A pause. “Two thousand of your years.”
A little yelp in his ear nearly made him jump. “Sir! We’ve got something. Just a blip, but it’s something.”
Granger smiled.
Chapter Forty
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
“Two thousand years? The Swarm have occupied your homeworld for two thousand years?” Granger said dramatically. “Are you the most push-over, passive, loser of a species or what?”
Maybe if he provoked him, Kharsa would do something to elicit another triumphant yelp from Proctor. Another blip.
“Captain,” Proctor began, “we saw something on the meta-space detector. But it was very strange. Gibberish, for starters, but it was also like it bled over from a parallel band. Like the exact frequency itself was randomized and encoded. Which is extraordinary given that the band itself is only operating at twenty-something hertz. But it’s the phase of the gravitons themselves that seem to be anomalous. Keep him talking, sir.”
Granger looked the alien in the eye. “Tell me, Kharsa, does it anger you? Does it ever piss you off knowing your enemy walks free on your planet while they’ve relegated your people to some rock in space? Don’t tell me they relocated you to prime real-estate. Don’t tell me they gave you beachfront property somewhere. It’s a glorified asteroid, or some dead moon, isn’t it? Or maybe they didn’t even give you the choice you’re giving me? Maybe they just wiped out your civilians. The innocent men, women, children—they just were minding their own business one day when they realized their leaders sold them out, not knowing anything was wrong until fire started raining from the sky. Tell me, Kharsa, does that anger you?”
The Vishgane had begun to rise, and out of the corner of his eye Granger saw Colonel Hanrahan’s stance shift ever so slightly, his assault rifle angling upward. Kharsa choked out a laugh. “You do yourself a disservice, Captain Granger. Your attempts to alienate us from our friends is laughable, and misplaced. No, none of what you said has happened. We gave our world freely, and count it as a privilege, for the Valarisi now consider us the most trusted of their friends. We are first in the great family of the Valarisi. The second of the Concordat of Seven, subject only to the first—the Valarisi themselves.”
Concordat of Seven? How many species had the Swarm conquered, anyway?
Granger waved Hanrahan off—Kharsa had sat down again. Whatever the alien said, Granger had obviously touched a nerve. “Vishgane Kharsa. We are men of reason, but also men of war. We both know that humanity is not just going to roll over and let the Swarm take what is ours. We may ultimately fail, but the price for the Swarm will be steep, even with you on their side. Surely there is something else we can agree to? Perhaps an interim step to peace? Something to give both sides time to consider their options? It may very well be that our leaders on Earth take the Swarm’s offer seriously, but to reach that step from square one is highly unlikely, I assure you.”
Vishgane Kharsa nodded slowly. “You will find yourselves craving the friendship of the Valarisi before long, Captain. Find friendship or face total destruction. But your words are sound. Your leaders will come around to the Valarisi’s terms, eventually. They need time. And more evidence to convince them of what is best for your world. Very well. I offer these amended terms.”
Granger leaned forward. If there was any communication happening, it was now. “Withdraw all your forces from the Cadiz Sector, the Xinhua Sector, and the Lincoln Sector. Your worlds there are forfeit. The Valarisi promise the surviving settlers there will not be harmed, but they will be conditioned and made friends. Do this, and the Valarisi will give humanity six more Terran months to agree to the original terms.”
A voice in his ear. “We’ve got it, Captain. I was right—the gravitons that initiate the meta-space transmission are polarized in a pretty unusual way. We just weren’t looking for it before since it’s such an oddball arrangement. But we read that transmission pretty clearly. The pattern is almost … organic. Random, but in a way that’s … well, like I said. Organic.”
Granger nodded. “I have no authority to decide on such matters. Allow me to take this proposal to Earth’s leaders.”
Another pause.
“Agreed, Captain. You will proceed to Earth with reasonable speed, and the Valarisi expects your answer within the week.”
Granger stood up. “Very well. I will see what President Avery says. But she is not the only leader in United Earth we have to convince. Besides President Malakhov of the Russian Confederation, there are at least a dozen other leaders and whole worlds who don’t fall under our nation’s umbrella. And President Avery is democratically elected. The majority of the people on fifty-five worlds voted for her. If the people disapprove of such a momentous decision, she would not survive.”
“Survive?” Kharsa eyed him with a look that almost looked like disbelief. Or was it envy? “You kill your leaders when you disagree with them, Captain?”
“Kill? No. We are not so base as that. But they are removed from power if their decisions no longer reflect the will of the people who elected them.”
Vishgane Kharsa shook his head. “Such an odd arrangement of power, Captain. In our society, the way we survive is to have those with the most power lead us. To go against their wishes is dangerous for our very survival as a people.”
“Then we shall agree to disagree, sir,” said Granger. “But we’ve shown now that our people are at least capable of talking, and not just destroying each other. Come.” He motioned to the door. “Unless there was anything else you wish to discuss?”
Vishgane Kharsa held up two closed fists, like he had an hour ago on the viewscreen, and Granger took it to mean that the conversation was over.
Proctor’s voice blared over his earpiece.
“Captain, as you were finishing, we read an almost continual stream of meta-space signals coming out of that room. But that’s not all. It wasn’t just one meta-space signal.”
Her voice hesitated. “There were two.”
Chapter Forty-One
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Isaacson winced as the shuttle bucked and rolled, miraculously managing to avoid all the weapon fire streaking toward it. The captain was either a former fighter pilot himself, or absolutely insane.
“Hold on, people. Going to hit the booster engines.” The captain swore as a round hit a wing, blasting a small hole in it. “Just hold on!” he repeated.
Moments later, the shuttle shot forward and they all sunk further back into their seats as the craft accelerated at a dizzying rate. Several seats away, Conner gripped an armrest with
one white-knuckled hand and his mouth with the other. Then he vomited all over his lap.
The booster engines put some distance in between them and the fighters chasing them, but before long they too hit their accelerators. “You called anyone for help yet, Captain?” yelled Isaacson toward the cockpit.
“Yeah, but by all means ask them to hurry!”
Isaacson yanked his comm card out and tapped it furiously. “Emergency. Get me North American CONOPS Command.”
The card beeped once to confirm, and moments later a soldier’s face appeared on the screen. “Yes, Mr. Vice President?”
“We’re under attack! Scramble fighters! Get them now!”
The soldier nodded. “We’re aware, sir. Friendlies on their way now from Joint Base Standiford. Stand by.”
“Who the hell are they?”
The ship lurched again as the shuttle dove straight down in a desperate maneuver to avoid the advancing fighters. Seconds later, the ceiling became the floor as the shuttle completed the loop, reversing course and now flying westward, upside down. Another barrel roll and a few loops later and they were flying straight down again.
“Unknown, sir. Those are IDF fighters, but the transponders are off, and the identity of the pilots unknown.”
The shuttle had mostly re-entered the atmosphere, and the craft contorted as it lurched around through the endless high-speed aerial acrobatics. Such maneuvers were usually reserved for spaceflight, or upper atmospheric engagements. Not down in the lower atmosphere, just ten kilometers from the ground.
Several more rounds rained down on the shuttle, mostly hitting in the rear and the left wing. Isaacson wondered how many holes the little ship could have and still fly. He frantically looked out the window again, searching for the fighters.
There was one. Far to the left of the shuttle, but approaching fast. Craning his neck he could see the other one was right on their tail. Shit. I’m not getting out of this one.
