by Nick Webb
A situation caused by Isaacson himself, dammit. Though he knew no one was around to see it, he felt his face flush red. Not only was he responsible for Miami, for Phoenix, hell, for all of it—tens of millions of lives, now he was responsible for his own undoing.
But at least all those Russian cities would be safe. Unless that was a ruse, too. Dammit, his head ached—he had no idea what was real, what was imagined, what lies had been told, what lies were actually true, who his enemy was, who he was fighting for. It was all a blur of deception.
He was fighting for himself—he knew that at least. But who was on his side? Volodin? Avery? LaPierre? His own party? He had to get word to them somehow. If the people knew what was going on, there’d be a revolution, Swarm invasion or no.
A moan came from the cell next to his. Solid metal interrupted his direct line of sight, but someone was definitely in there. Some young draftee, most likely, who’d gotten homesick and tried to call his parents or girlfriend one too many times.
Another moan. It was a woman.
“You all right in there?” he said.
The moaning stopped. He heard sudden movement, as if someone had sat up quickly. They stood up, whoever they were, and he heard soft footsteps.
“Eamon? Eamon, is that really you?”
Holy shit. He bolted to his feet. “Madam President?”
A chuckle. “I told you to call me Barb, Eamon.”
With two steps he crossed the breadth of the cell and held onto the bars, straining to see around and to his left, to the other cell holding Avery. “You’re alive? But … General Norton told me your ship exploded. He accused me of doing it!”
She chuckled again, then sighed. “Well, in his defense, I did suspect you. Told him to keep an eye on you. Told him you might try something like this.”
“You did?”
“Looks like we were both played. Played like a freshman congressman. Here we are, at the top of our games, seasoned politicians, feared or loved by everyone, and we were outdone … by a soldier.”
He shook his head. “He can’t be acting alone. Speaker LaPierre must be behind it. Why else go after both of us at once?”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he heard movement as if she’d sunk down to her knees or sat down on the floor. Moments later, a hand reached out, just visible past the last bar of his cell. The gold band of her turquoise ring flashed in the dim light. It was Avery all right. He knelt down and reached out to it. Holding it. She gripped back tightly.
“Eamon, I’m so sorry. I should have trusted you. This was all my fault. All I wanted was to save Earth, and now I may have doomed it.” Her voice sounded small. To his ears, she seemed broken. Her tone sounded like one defeated. Utterly defeated. Had Volodin been wrong about her? He was insistent that she was a Swarm agent. He supposed a Swarm agent knew how to act. But act so completely convincing like this?
“No, Barb. You did good. I should have taken you more seriously. You told me to feel out the opposition and root out the ones trying to kill you. But instead I dallied. I … should have exposed all of them.”
She squeezed his hand again, then let go and pulled back—it sounded like she slumped to the floor from kneeling. “Well, we did our best. What else could we have done? I suppose I could have just rounded them all up and put a bullet through their brains like I did to that bitch Sparks. Ha!”
“So you did kill her?”
“Of course I did. I knew she was one of the ring-leaders months ago. That’s why I invited her to my inner circle right after the invasion. I mean, true, I did appreciate the quick access to congress I had through her, but really I wanted to keep an eye on them all. Tapped her comm, had her followed when she wasn’t with me. Whole nine yards. Traced her to you, too, by the way. I had half a mind to blow your head off right after the invasion. But … you were different. You changed afterwards. You stepped up to the plate, stopped talking to your buddies, did your duty and didn’t complain once. I … I should have trusted you.”
The ship rumbled in the distance.
“What the hell was that?” he said, standing up.
He heard her sigh. “That would be the Swarm, most likely. Ever been in a battle, Eamon?”
The ship shuddered again. So did he. “No.”
A small chuckle. “Hold on tight, then.”
Chapter Seventy-One
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
“Task Force Granger One has engaged the Swarm, sir. The Tel Aviv, Poseidon, and the Canada have already taken heavy damage, but three Swarm carriers are already destroyed.”
Granger nodded. So far, so good. “Status of the missile frigates?”
“Entering low orbit and dispersing across all longitudes and latitudes. Task Force Granger Two reports minimal response. Several hundred Swarm fighters detached from the main battles and tried to intercept the frigates, but the heavy cruisers made quick work of them.”
He examined the tactical readout and watched the battle unfold on video. The space between the twelve remaining Swarm carriers and the cloud of IDF vessels surrounding them was filled with flashes, explosions, streaks, and flares, like a fireworks display on United Earth day. He winced as he watched another heavy cruiser explode, but in response a wing of light cruisers caught one of the carriers in a vicious crossfire, peppering it with tens of thousands of rounds of mag rail slugs. Soon, it too exploded, crashing into its neighbor as it spun out of control.
Admiral Zingano’s voice rang out of the speaker nearby—the two had an open commlink for the duration of the battle. “Tim, these carriers are toast. We shouldn’t need reinforcements. I recommend you take your task force and go deal with those stations. Careful—they’re most likely armed. Keep your distance and hit them with nukes under mag rail escort.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” He glanced over at Diaz and nodded—he’d get tactical ready. Proctor’s research was more or less concluded, but with a gash across her face and a minor concussion, she wasn’t quite up to directing a battle. He stood up and pointed to a spot by the nearest orbital station and rested a hand on Ensign Prince’s shoulder. “Take us in, son.” He tapped his commlink to the rest of fleet. “Task Force Granger Three, converge on the stations. Mag rails and nukes. Forty ships per station. Let’s get this over with.”
The Warrior sailed through the gulf of space between it and the nearest station, accompanied by nearly forty other cruisers. He supposed that this particular station could very well be the one he had memories of. The one where he’d looked out longingly at the planet below, turned into a Swarm agent, compelled to do their bidding. Compelled to feel their feelings and think their thoughts. To be their “friend.” There was no way to be sure which of the five it was, but assuming it was this one made the approach that much more enjoyable.
“Open fire,” he said. And with a surge of pride and unexpected emotion, he watched as thousands of mag rail slugs slammed into the massive station, initiating hundreds of small explosions as they ripped through the armor. Dozens of green anti-matter beams lanced out from the undamaged portions, but gradually they fell quiet as more and more eruptions of fire and debris burst out from the surface.
“Nuclear strike. Fifty warheads.”
“Nuclear strike,” repeated the nuclear targeting officer, and the woman nodded to her crew. “Arming. Targeting solutions found. Firing.”
Granger stood back up. He wanted to soak in the moment. Bask in it. Finally, after months of casualties, blood, horror, sacrifices, lost friends, razed cities, and devastated worlds, he was ready for a win. An utterly convincing and final win.
The anti-matter beams blazed out from the surface of the battered station, searching for the incoming missiles, but the beams were too few and the warheads too many. Within another few seconds the first nuke found its target, then another, then two dozen more. The screen lit up, oversaturated with the intense explosion, and when the glow finally subsided, Granger grinned. The station had b
roken up into at least five pieces. What was left of it, anyway.
He checked his tactical board to watch the progress of the other four attack wings, and satisfied that the other stations were either destroyed or nearly so, he sat back down. “Diaz, status of missile frigates?”
“All in position, sir.”
He tapped the fleet’s open commlink. “What are you waiting for, boys? Deliver your packages, and let’s get the hell out of here.”
On the video feed he watched as each of the eight hundred missile frigates launched their cargos. Thousands of small tungsten spheres blazed through the atmosphere like a meteor storm. He supposed the view from the surface was spectacular. At least, it would be spectacular only for the next minute or so. Soon, the entire continental crust would be a molten, radioactive wasteland.
“Twenty seconds to surface detonation,” said Diaz.
Granger tapped the fleet commlink. “This is the beginning of the end, my friends. This is where we break the Swarm’s back. We’ll mop up the rest of them in the months ahead, but when it’s all over, you get to say you were here to witness this moment.”
“Ten seconds,” said Diaz.
Finally.
“Five seconds.”
“Four.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“One.”
Granger crossed his legs and leaned back. Any second now….
Any second now….
“Tactical? Anything detected on the surface? I thought we would have seen them from up here.”
The sensor officer shook his head. “Nothing, sir.”
Granger leaned forward and hesitantly tapped the all-fleet comm. “What happened?”
The commander of the lead missile frigate answered. “Looks like they … uh … looks like they were duds, sir.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, sir. Looks that way.”
Granger punched the line to Admiral Zingano. “Bill?”
“I got nothing, Tim. They’ve been tested extensively. This … this is unbelievable.”
“Sir!”
Granger recognized the panic in Ensign Diamond’s voice. Dammit.
He knew what was coming next.
“New sensor contacts! Dozens of them. Q-jumping nearly all the way into orbit. Reading thirty … no … forty—” Diamond looked up, his face turning ashen. “One hundred Swarm carriers. More appearing every second.”
Granger slumped down into his seat and could only think of one thing to say.
“Shit.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Isaacson nearly jumped with the next lurch of the deckplate. He couldn’t imagine why, for the life of him, General Norton had taken the ship into battle, especially with the president and vice president on board. That thought came automatically, before he realized how silly the concern was, really. With the Speaker of the House already dusting off the chair at the Executive Mansion there was really no concern about losing either of their lives at once. They’d most likely be secretly executed once they returned anyway.
“Calm down, Eamon. For hell’s sake I can hear you hyperventilate from all the way over here.”
He snapped. “Calm down? Calm down? We’re being held captive by the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff on board a ship that is apparently locked in battle with Earth’s mortal enemies all while the Russian Confederation is colluding with members of congress behind our backs and trying to kill us, but they needn’t bother because Speaker LaPierre is most likely going to off us if we get out of here alive, and you’re telling me to calm down?”
A strange noise came from the cell next door. A snicker. Then a full-blown laugh. In spite of himself, he started chuckling along with her. It was somewhat humorous, after all. Gallows humor—the only kind those on death row enjoy.
“Oh, Eamon, look at us,” she started, before descending into another laughing fit. “Look … look at us. If we get out of this alive I need to treat us to a long, long weekend at Camp David.”
His laughter died down, and he said, still smiling, “What? You and me? Camp David?”
She snorted. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you look at me. And, now that we’re here—now that we’re essentially about to die—I’ll say it. I admit it. I asked you to be my running mate not only because it would satisfy the opposition, but I found you incredibly sexy. Oh, don’t laugh—”
He’d descended into another laughing fit, and she joined in, trying to finish her sentence. “No … no, seriously. You, the oldest eligible bachelor in D.C., me an old spinster—though I’m only fifty-five, and they call me ancient! That chiseled jaw of yours. Those piercing blue eyes. Shit, Eamon, it was everything I could do to keep myself out of your pants that first year of our term.”
He wiped an eye and hiccuped. “Our first year was last year!”
“My point exactly.” She sighed. “Oh, Eamon. Things could have been so different, without the Swarm. Without this bullshit war.” She paused. “Ok, here’s another confession. You were right. And Norton was right. Your whole faction was right—I was planning an action against the Russians. I was finally going to expose them, bomb their military industrial centers to hell and back, and finally put them in their place. Payback for the last Swarm war. The Khorsky incident only reminded us: they’re not to be trusted. They want us dead, and I was going to be damned if I didn’t see them dead first.”
He sat up from the wall. “You were actually going to bomb their worlds? Start a war?”
She made a dismissive noise. “No. No war. I was going to finish the war with them before it ever started. They were building up their forces covertly. They were manufacturing ships and weapons on a scale that was starting to dwarf us. They were blocking all our settlement moves in the United Earth council all the while moving out into new territory of their own. They’ve been openly hostile for years. Threatening us. Humiliating us with our inaction while they built their strength. War? No. I was going to destroy their military bases. Their manufacturing facilities. Their industrial base. Their weapons stores. General Norton told me how he saw you snooping around the anti-matter facilities. Yes, that was how I was going to do it. Shock and awe, the old term was. It was going to be sudden, it was going to be devastating, and it was going to be complete. Minimal civilian casualties, of course, but it would have set their military back for half a century.”
Silence. So—Volodin was telling the truth. What else had he told the truth about? What was a lie?
“Ok, your turn!” She laughed again.
“My turn?”
“That’s right. It’s confession time. I told you mine. You tell me yours. And if they give us a moment alone before we’re executed I’ll give you the best blow job you’ve ever had.”
He snickered. “I don’t know, I’ve been around the track a few times. Done my share of test drives.” He paused. “Fine.” He stood up and started pacing his cell, which only allowed him four steps before he had to turn around.
The ship rumbled again and Isaacson swayed.
“All of it, Eamon. I want it all.” She sighed. “Tell me a good story before I die.”
“All of it. Right.” He took a breath. “I planned to kill you. I was going to do it. But … I changed my mind. I’d discredit you first and force you to resign. I arranged a little surprise with Ambassador Volodin—something that would scare the public into thinking you’d betrayed us all with the military cuts.”
It felt therapeutic in a way. He in his cell, next to her cell. Like a confessional box from older times. But with bars. And a deposed president instead of a priest.
“A … surprise?”
What the hell was he doing? Oh well. No turning back now. And if there was a god, if there was anything after he closed his eyes one final time, at least he could check off this box. Insurance.
“The Russians have been in contact with the Swarm for a decade. Volodin clai
med they figured out not only how to communicate with them, but to control them. Claimed they made them hollow out an entire asteroid for them and some other shit. So, he was going to arrange a minor Swarm incursion for me. Target a few decrepit old Jupiter System bases. Send a shock to the voters, making them realize what a huge mistake it had been to vote you in and allow you to neuter the military. There would be a recall election. And I would be there in the middle of things and denounce you. Force you to resign.”
She sighed. “But the Swarm didn’t stop, did they?”
He shook his head. “Volodin swore they could control the Swarm, but it appears he was … mistaken.”
“So that’s why they were early. Why their cycle was broken….” She trailed off. “How did the Swarm penetrate so far before they were stopped? Our ships were nearly powerless against them. If it weren’t for the Constitution—for Granger….”
“I gave Volodin the smart-steel modulation frequencies.”
“Ah.”
He paused again. “Sorry. It was selfish of me, Barb. I know.”
“It was,” she said matter-of-factly. He heard her stand up. She’d been sitting on the ground the entire time, apparently. “And I forgive you, Eamon.”
“You do?”
“Of course! We all make mistakes. Who knows? I may have done something similar in your place. But that’s neither here nor there. Go on. What else?”
He sighed. “When that all went down, I got scared. I pulled back. I stopped talking to the faction that wanted you out. Senator Quimby. Speaker LaPierre. Congresswoman Sparks. All of them.”
“Holy shit, man, how many were there?”
He shrugged. “Oh, ten or so. Senator Smith was sympathetic to us. Senator Daly reviled you and wanted to pull the trigger herself. Senator Patel wanted you dead, but not if I was taking your place—it was a complicated mess at times. I’m glad I pulled back from them. Disgusting people if you ask me.”
