Valkyrie (Expeditionary Force Book 9)

by Craig Alanson

  Smythe nodded. “I want to hate them, as traitors, but they are only misguided.”

  “Or not,” I added. “Remember that Chisholm guy we captured? He was pretty certain the Kristang weren’t the good guys. He was willing to sacrifice himself, if there was any possibility that would get better treatment for people on Earth. Ah, shit. There’s no point arguing about this now. Skippy, when you developed a vaccine or whatever to counteract the pathogen last time, you built a virtual model of human biology. Can the Thuranin do that?”

  “No. If you remember, despite my confidence in the model I built, we tested the vaccine on the infected Keepers. Even I could not be certain my model was completely accurate. However, though the Thuranin do not possess the technology to build a biological model of humans, the Maxolhx do have that capability, and would likely loan it to the Thuranin. As I explained, the kitties do not want their clients distracted by conducting a risky attack on Paradise. They will bend the rules in this case, because the kitties are also somewhat concerned about the Alien Legion. So, as Margaret stated, do not fool yourselves into thinking an operation to rescue the people on Rikers is about anything else. Pulling those people off that world will not necessarily stop the Thuranin bioweapon effort.”

  “It would slow down that effort, though?” Simms asked. “Denying the Thuranin access to,” she swallowed like she’s eaten something distasteful, “those test subjects, would make them go back to the drawing board?”

  “It would,” Skippy admitted reluctantly.

  “Then,” Simms looked right at me. “It is worth considering an op to rescue those people.”

  “Argh,” Skippy groaned. “Yes. Shmaybe. I guess it is worth thinking about it, developing a plan. Unless that distracts us from doing something more important.”

  “More important?” The nerves that controlled Adams’s facial muscles were back to operating perfectly, because she gave Skippy a look of unmistakable disgust. “Sir,” her focus was back to me. “You all have had loads of fun flying around blasting the enemy with our ghost ship, while I was on R&R. I know that must have felt good, to hit back at the enemy. Did you really accomplish anything? Colonel, you said the best we can do is play for time out here, try to delay the day when the Maxolhx turn Earth into a radioactive cinder. That’s all temporary. Rescuing those people, the children, and bringing them to the beta site? That is permanent. That will change their lives, forever. That is something that matters. That is worth doing.”

  “Gunny, you’re preaching to the choir. I want to launch a rescue op.” I tried to assure her, because the look she was giving me was ‘I thought I knew you but now I am not sure’. “We need a plan to minimize risk to our ships and crew, and to avoid risk of exposing our secret. If we can do that-”

  “Don’t forget, Joe,” Skippy scolded me. “You also need to dream up some cockamamie cover story, for why anyone would risk a military operation to pluck a bunch of lowly monkeys off an isolated world.”

  “Shit. Yes, thank you, Mister Encouragement,” I glared at him. “That is on my freakin’ list, along with everything else.”

  Smythe cut through the bullshit. “Right. Assuming we will try to create a workable plan, what data do we have?”

  “Well,” Skippy sniffed. “Of course I have far more data than you would ever need about the planet-”

  “Yes,” Smythe was brusque. Adjusting to his new legs had made him more irritable than before. “Do you have any data that is useful? I would like to know the disposition of enemy forces on Rikers, I suppose we won’t have that until we arrive in-system, when-”

  “No,” Skippy was smug as usual. “I have detailed information about the status of Kristang defenses on and around that world.”

  “You do?” Kapoor gave Smythe the side-eye, and the STAR team commander nodded. Both of them assumed Skippy was boasting.

  He wasn’t. “In fact, I do. The Thuranin conducted a secret recon there five weeks ago, in case they can’t reach an agreement with the Fire Dragon clan, and needed to go down to take the humans anyway. There is a faction of Thuranin leadership that is eager to pound the Fire Dragons on Rikers, to make the point the Thuranin should not need to bargain for anything from their loyal clients. Whatever the Kristang have should be available for use by their Thuranin patrons, for the greater good of their glorious coalition in the overall war effort against their nefarious enemy, blah, blah, blah. The real reason that a faction of Thuranin are itching to do a smash-and-grab on Rikers is to demonstrate their strength. Everyone across the galaxy views the little pinheads as weak, with good reason because the Jeraptha have been kicking their cloned asses.”

  Smythe and Kapoor exchanged a satisfied glance. “Status of enemy forces, check,” Smythe acknowledged, well pleased with that aspect of the situation.

  It was Simms’s turn to ask a question. “What do we know about the people? The humans,” she clarified, because we had to do that now.

  “I know where they are, or, where they were five weeks ago. Also, I have bios, including names, origins, health status, all that, on all the human subjects. The Thuranin demanded full data as part of their pre-purchase inspection.”

  “Pre-p-p-purchase?” Adams spat. Her stutter came back when she was agitated.

  “Gunny, Skippy is just stating the facts. What do you mean by ‘bios’? You know who these people are? Like, names?”

  “Well, yes, of course, you ninny,” he verbally slapped me in front of my team. “The Kristang kept careful records of who they kidnapped. Names, locations, family and medical histories. The lizards didn’t simply snatch people at random. The subjects were selected, to comprise a broad spectrum of human ethnicities and maximize genetic diversity. Their goal was to replicate the overall human population, with as few individuals as practical. That is also why they preferred to take entire families-”

  “Families?” Reed expressed her outrage.

  “Yes. By studying a genetically-related family group, the Kristang could-” Even he could not be clueless forever. “Hey, I didn’t kidnap those people. And I don’t approve of what the lizards did. If you truly want to have the best chance to help those people, you need to understand their background, and the motivations of the lizards.”

  “What I need,” Adams had a painfully pinched expression on her face again, only this time it was wasn’t from frustration. “Is access to nukes and railguns. And anything more exotic we have aboard this bucket.”

  “Margaret,” Skippy chided her. “That is not-”

  I cut off Skippy’s reply with a knife hand. “That is exactly how all of us are feeling, Gunny. We can use that as motivation.”

  Skippy understood he had overstepped. “Access to full biographical information about all the surviving humans is on your tablets and laptops,” he stated in an apologetic tone. “Also, all the data I have about the planet, defenses, local civilian population, and anything else you might need.”

  “We’re agreed, then?” I asked, looking around the table. “We move forward with planning?”

  “You’re asking for a vote, Sir?” Kapoor asked warily.

  “I am asking for input and advice, from my senior staff,” I explained.

  “In that case,” Kapoor didn’t look at Smythe before he answered, which was a sign of his growing confidence. “I recommend we study the issue. It will be very difficult,” that time he did look at Smythe. “To conduct any substantial ground operation, with the personnel we have aboard.”

  “Understood. Do your best,” I addressed my order to both Kapoor and Smythe. “Give me options. If we need more people.” I shrugged. “We’ll add that to the list.”

  After I dismissed the meeting, I endured the usual round of people wanting to talk with me individually, to ask questions or express their concerns. When that was done, I walked back to my office, for an individual discussion I wanted.

  As I sat heavily in my chair, I called out “Hey Skippy.”

  “Hey, Joe,” his avatar appeared instantly
. “What’s up?”

  “Why are you so against us trying, at least trying, to rescue those people?”

  “Children, Joe. Rescue the children. I do not think you would contemplate such a complicated and risky operation, if only adults were involved.”

  “Whatever.” He was pissing me off. Which is what he wanted, and I fell for it. Taking a deep breath gave me time to calm down. “Maybe you’re right. Why are you so against the idea?”

  “It’s not just this,” he sighed. “Joe, you can’t save everyone. Right now, we can’t save Earth at all. We have the most powerful warship in the galaxy, we are moving a freakin’ wormhole to Earth, we have a secure beta site outside the galaxy, and you want to risk all of that, for the sake of less than two hundred of your people. That does not make good sense, no matter how you look at it. I know you. You’re the kind of person who can’t go to a dog shelter, because you would come home with a dozen dogs instead of just one.”

  Ok, he was right about that. “I’m not trying to rescue everyone. Just the people I can.”

  “Same thing,” he dismissed my logic. “Either way, it leads to nothing but heartache for you, Joe. You have to accept there is always a limit to what you can do. I notice you didn’t dismiss the option of an orbital strike.”

  “I have that in my back pocket,” I replied through gritted teeth. “That won’t be mentioned as an option, by either me or you, unless we don’t have any other workable options. Understood?”

  “Jeez, yes. Don’t be mad at me, Joe.”

  “Sorry. Ok,” pulling my laptop out of a drawer, I opened it. “I will study this data you got for us.”

  “Um, before you do that, I suggest you visit Margaret.”

  “Why?”

  “Dude, I don’t want to invade her privacy, but, you gotta trust me on this one.”

  Skippy’s advice about personal issues wasn’t always useful, so I approached Adams’s cabin carefully. Before tapping the alarm, I straightened my uniform. Then my thumb pressed the buzzer, and I was committed. “Adams?” I said into the intercom. “Can I speak with you?”

  There was a silent pause, then the door slid open.

  She was sitting on her couch, legs crossed in a pose I think is called the ‘Lotus position’. All I know is that pose is something guys can’t do. Her upper body was bent over the tablet on her lap. She looked up, wiping tears away with the back of her sleeves.

  She had been crying.

  Unsure if I was there as the commanding officer, or as Joe Bishop, I opted for a neutral “Gunny?”

  “Oh,” she wiped her left eye angrily. Then she sat up straighter. “Sir. Come in.”

  She unfolded her legs and started to get off the couch. “As you were, Adams.” I pressed the button to close her door behind me. “What is it?’

  “This,” she was regaining her composure, turning the tablet screen to me as I sat on the couch next to her. I was sitting close but not too close. Also not so far away that it was obvious I was being careful not to be too close, you know?

  Damn it, why is life so complicated?

  On the tablet was the biography of a ten-year-old girl. Most of the data was about her original and current medical condition, I didn’t read the details at that point. The top of the file had two photos side by side. Instantly I understood why Adams was so upset. Why she was reading about that girl.

  “That could be me,” she tapped the screen.

  The girl on the left was younger, looking startled but not afraid. The photo was cropped so it focused on her from the waist up, her right hand was reaching out and at the corner I could just see another hand, and an adult’s hand, holding her. She was wearing a clean T-shirt and either jeans or jean shorts. With her left hand, she was clutching a smartphone, and though I couldn’t tell what was on the screen, the screen was lit. Whenever the photo was taken, there was electricity available in that area. And the area was the southern United States. How did I know that? Because over her right shoulder was the blurry sign of a Krispy Kreme donut shop. Yes, it could have been other places in the world, but the odds were against that. Plus, also in the background was a man wearing the colors of the Tennessee Titans football team.

  The girl on the right was older, frightened, and sad. Her face had been washed but her neck was dirty, and from the streaks of dirt remaining on her face, she hadn’t used soap. She was wearing a shirt made from some sort of sack, maybe canvas. Her hair, which in the first photo was tight curls that cascaded down over her forehead, was now matted and shorter. As I could not see the lizards caring about the personal hygiene of their slaves, I assumed one of the adults had cut her hair to make it easier to manage.

  All of those things I noticed at a glance, including the stunted and yellowed rows of corn growing in the background, behind the more-current photo of the girl.

  None of anything I mentioned is what I really noticed, right away.

  It was the girl’s face, in both photos.

  She could have been a young Margaret Adams.

  The girl in the first photo had her hair styled in a longer version of the way Adams usually wore her hair. The shade of their skin was roughly similar, as were their eyes and cheekbones. The older girl, in the second photo, looked startingly like Adams, except gaunt and without any hint of joy in her eyes. Even at her worst, in a coma, Margaret had not looked as sickly and generally worn down as this girl.

  “It could be you,” I reached out and squeezed her shoulder, not even thinking what I was doing. I didn’t need to think about it, it was a natural thing to do. She was hurting.

  Again, remember, Skippy explained that as her brain healed and adjusted, her emotions would be on a roller-coaster. He had nanobots regulating production of hormones to protect her from a real problem, but mostly he had to let her newly- revived brain and body get used to each other and find a balance. If I had a massive dose of testosterone one day and a crash the next day, I would be angry and depressed and a general pain in the ass to everyone. Margaret was handling the situation much better than I would have.

  She leaned into me, then jerked back on the couch. Wiping away tears, she turned to me, her eyes narrowed but pleading. “Are you really considering not rescuing these people? You’re going to just let her die?”

  I do not know much about women, that fact has been well-established. I do know one thing about women, because it applies to men too. People rarely ever talk about only one thing. Behind their words is a whole lot of stuff they are not saying, but they are thinking it.

  Margaret wasn’t only asking if I, as the mission commander, was considering the option of taking no action to pull the people, our people, off Rikers. She wanted to know if I was the kind of person, the kind of man, who could let that little girl die.

  She wanted to know what kind of man I am.

  She also wanted to know if we had a FUTURE, with that word in all caps. And if that future, our future, might possibly include a little girl like the one in the photos.

  Ok, maybe I am reading way too much into one simple question.

  I don’t think so.

  Yes, guys tend to be clueless.

  When guys are clueless, it is in the direction of not picking up the subtext of what people are saying.

  Also, maybe it is way too early for Adams to be asking any questions about our future, if we had one.

  Again, I don’t think so. We still didn’t know each other that well. She was not dropping down on one knee and proposing to me right there.

  Which, at that moment, when I saw the pain in her eyes and that she was asking me to make it go away, would have been totally Ok with me.

  Just sayin’.

  Maybe my emotions are not completely under control either.

  That’s life.

  If I was right about anything at all, she was asking if I was the kind of man she thought I was, because she wanted to get to know me better. Was I the kind of man worth getting to know better, or should she drop the whole idea?


  That’s what she was asking.

  “We don’t have a plan yet,” I mumbled. “The objective,” I emphasized. “Is to pull our people out of that hell hole, and bring them home.” She knew the difference between an objective and a plan. The objective is what you’re going to do, unless you can’t.

  In the military, we hardly ever say we can’t do something.

  “Our people.” She picked up on that right away.

  “Every human in this galaxy are our people. No one else cares about us.” I tapped her tablet. “That includes this girl.”

  She looked away from me, back at the girl. Her finger traced the outline of the older girl’s face. “Sir, I have never asked you for anything.” Her eyes flicked up, reading my reaction. “I want us to bring this girl home. Not just her, all of them.”

  “If we can,” I replied cautiously. I had to be cautious. If the likely cost of rescuing those people meant losing our ships, or exposing the secret that humans were causing havoc around the galaxy, then I could not authorize a rescue. She knew that. “If there is any way that we can, we will,” I added.

  “I want you to make it happen.” She held her gaze, looking from one of my eyes to the other. “We do the impossible all the time out here. This has to be possible.”

  “I promise. If it’s possible, we’ll do it.”

  “It’s impossible,” Major Kapoor announced dourly, as I dropped into my office chair and waved them to sit. He and Smythe had been waiting for me in my office.

  “Seriously?” I groaned, on the verge of shouting at the special operator. “How could you know already? It’s only been-” I dug for the zPhone in my pocket to check the time.

  “Time isn’t the issue,” Smythe explained. “It only took a quick overview of Skippy’s summary to determine the operation is impossible.”

  I gave him the side-eye. Had Smythe’s near-death experience made him timid? No, that was never going to happen. Had it made him cautious, too cautious?