A quick look at the tactical map revealed that all of the incoming missiles had been intercepted. That last-ditch evasive maneuver had bought them the time they needed.
The station had not been so lucky.
“Multiple impacts on Lewis Station!” Lieutenant Williams reported.
“On-screen!”
The MHD switched to a view from the Lincoln’s rear cameras, and they saw Lewis Station drifting in three pieces. The bones of the station’s superstructure were showing, hull plates clinging here and there, charred black and looking like torn bits of paper.
Then the rest of the missiles hit those remains and blotted out the tactical map with a wash of EM interference. When things came back into focus, Lewis Station was gone.
Alexander sighed. “Davorian, get us through the Looking Glass.”
“Yes, sir.”
Commander Korbin turned to him, her blue eyes wide and glassy. “What about Earth?”
Alexander shook his head. “Our orders are clear, Commander. We are to get to Wonderland and assess the planet for habitability.”
“You have a wife on Earth, Captain. I have two children.”
“And I have to believe that they’ll be waiting for us when we get back.”
“The odds of that are—”
“Better than nothing,” Alexander replied. “McAdams, how are repairs coming along?”
“The hull breach is sealed, sir…”
“But?”
“We lost a lot of supplies.”
“Then we have no choice. We have to go back,” Korbin said.
Alexander shot her a look. “Williams! How long can we last with what’s left? Do we still have enough supplies to get us to Wonderland and back?” Besides being the ship’s sensors operator, Lieutenant Williams was also the ship’s quartermaster, so he would know.
“The supplies closest to the outer hull were mostly non-essential equipment, and they were all locked down before launch. In terms of food and other critical supplies, we should still have everything we need.”
“Then our mission stands. Lieutenant Stone—”
“Sir?”
“Recall our fighters and drones. Coordinate your efforts with the helm to make sure they’re all docked before we enter the wormhole.”
“Yes, sir.”
The MHD showed stars panning by as the Lincoln rotated. The Looking Glass came into view, a clear glass marble floating in a sea of stars. It was hard to imagine that through there lay humanity’s only hope for survival—a planet that only probes had ever seen, and even then, just for a few minutes at a time. There was no way to be sure that it really was habitable, or even that its ecology wouldn’t be completely hostile to humans. What if all the planet’s water was poisonous? Or if the air wasn’t breathable? Toxic? The planet could also be home to a host of deadly pathogens. Or maybe it was plagued by high surface winds that would make growing food next to impossible.
The list of possibilities was endless.
Chances were it would be easier to colonize than the Moon, Mars, Titan, or Europa, but it would likely still be a far cry from Earth. Alexander couldn’t believe that this was what humanity had come to.
What have we done? he wondered.
He was still wondering that long after the remainder of the 61st Squadron was aboard and the Lincoln passed through the wormhole.
What.
Have.
We.
Done?
CHAPTER 4
“Setting acceleration to point five Gs,” Lieutenant Davorian said.
Alexander swallowed thickly and nodded. “Lieutenant Williams, confirm no hostiles inbound.”
“We’re clear, sir.”
Alexander turned to look at the comms station. “Hayes, set condition green.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now what?” Korbin asked, turning to him.
“Now we stretch our legs.”
The bridge came alive with the sound of seat harnesses unbuckling. Alexander unbuckled his own harness and mentally disconnected his relief tubes. That done, he manually withdrew his nutrient line. Finally, he reached up and twisted his helmet, breaking the air-tight seal with a squeal of escaping air. He pulled off the helmet and attached it to the magnetic rack behind his headrest. The HUD disappeared, and his mental interface to the ship went with it, but they’d have plenty of warning if something happened to change their alert status. The nearest possible hostiles were back on Earth, and that was at least a week away.
“Williams, you have the conn and the deck.”
“Yes, sir,” Williams said, sighing as he sunk back into the sensors station.
“Everyone else, come with me. Hayes, before you leave your station, alert the rest of the crew report to the Officer’s Lounge.”
“Aye, sir.”
Alexander reached up to the rails on the front of his armrests and pulled himself up out of the captain’s couch. At point five Gs, it was easy to suspend his weight above the chair and swing himself backward to land on the deck behind the headrest. Commander Korbin landed beside him. She’d also removed her helmet.
Looking up, Alexander saw the rest of the crew climbing down the ladders from their stations. Some of them simply jumped down and landed with muffled thuds around him. Alexander frowned. That was against regulations, even in low gravity, but he wasn’t going to reprimand them now. They all had bigger problems to deal with.
Once everyone except Williams was standing on the deck, Alexander headed for the elevators at the back of the bridge. He felt light and bouncy in the ship’s half gravity, and he had to consciously watch his steps to avoid walking too fast and tripping over his own feet. After spending a week seated in their chairs with nothing but a few mandatory breaks to stretch their legs, walking felt like a strange new luxury.
They reached the elevators and Alexander gestured for the doors of the nearest lift to open. The control panel tracked his gesture and the elevator opened with a whisper. Alexander walked in and selected one of the glowing green buttons, the one labeled Officer’s Lounge (12).
The doors slid shut and the lift went up two floors to the lounge on deck twelve. The doors opened to reveal a circular room with a wraparound vista of space. Furnishings and decorations were sparse and utilitarian, since everything had to be bolted to the deck.
Around the circumference of the room holoscreens reproduced feeds from cameras mounted on the outer hull, providing a dazzling, panoramic view of space. Alexander noticed that the geometry of space-time inside the wormhole subtly warped that view, as if they were looking out through a fisheye lens.
“Go make yourselves comfortable. Once everyone’s here, we’ll begin.” Alexander walked over to the bar and took a seat on one of the stools. He idly glanced around the naked bar, wishing sorely for a drink, but they were all still on duty, and everything was still locked down in the cabinets. Couldn’t have whiskey bottles cracking together at 10 Gs.
That’d be a waste of perfectly good Scotch.
Damaging sensitive equipment inside the lounge was a secondary concern.
After a few minutes Commander Korbin came and sat down beside him. “Sir,” she said.
“You can call me Alex. We’re going to be off duty for a while, Sirena.”
“I see. What’s this about, Alex?”
“Morale. We lost half of the 61st Squadron out there.” He couldn’t bring himself to mention Earth.
Korbin swallowed visibly. “So this is a funeral.”
“A memorial.” One of the elevators arrived, and out spilled a group of non-coms. “Come in and take your seats,” Alexander called out to them.
Another three lifts full of crew arrived before everyone was assembled and waiting. Alexander turned to them from the bar and cleared his throat.
“Everyone, gather around.” He waited as the crew came together. Seth Ryder, the CAG—commander of the ship’s fighters and drones—pushed through to the front of the group to stand beside Lieutenant Stone
of starfighter command. Ryder and Stone could have been brothers, both big, burly men with dark hair and plenty of laugh lines to herald their mutual sense of humor, though Stone had a lumpy, don’t-mess-with-me kind of face, so he was the less approachable of the two. Neither of them was laughing now, however. Ryder’s gray eyes looked glassy and haunted, while Stone’s gaze may as well have been named after him. Alexander scanned the rest of the crew and saw those expressions mirrored on dozens of other faces.
These people were like family to one another. With the exception of recent transfers, they’d all spent more time together than they’d spent with their real families. Alexander didn’t even need to do a roll call to know who was missing. There were gaping holes where their faces should have been. Even without bodies, a ceremonial funeral was called for, but they hadn’t had time to organize one yet, and Alexander wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to encourage mourning—not with Earth’s fate still so uncertain.
Making a snap decision, he nodded to the crew and said, “We lost five brothers and sisters today. That’s enough reason to mourn without thinking about who else we might have lost. The truth is, we don’t know, and without Lewis Station to act as a comm relay between us and Earth, we’re not likely to find out until we re-establish contact.
“By now some of you have probably figured out what’s going on, and since operational security is already blown, I’m free to tell you what Operation Alice is all about.
“We’re busy traveling through a wormhole to an earth-type planet called Wonderland. In light of the recent conflict back on Earth, our mission is more important than ever. We need to find out if Wonderland is really habitable, and report back to the Alliance with our findings so that we can establish a colony there before the Confederacy does.”
Alexander let that news sink in before he went on. “If you have any questions about the mission specifics, please hold them until later. I’ll be issuing a proper mission brief before the next sleep cycle that should answer all of your questions.
“But for the moment, we’re going to stop and honor our fallen brothers and sisters-in-arms by doing something unconventional. We’re going to celebrate their lives, not focus on their deaths. This is a wake, not a funeral. It’s a time to share memories of the deceased. We’ll have a few drinks, make a toast, and swap stories. For the next four hours, we’re all officially off duty. Stone, Ryder, would you please see that everyone gets a drink?”
Lieutenant Stone nodded and started toward the bar. Ryder followed a few steps behind.
“That’s all for now. Dismissed.”
Hushed murmurs bubbled from the group as everyone went back to couches and chairs. One man remained where he was. Alexander didn’t recognize him, but from his lack of insignia and overly genteel appearance, he could guess who it might be.
“Can I help you, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Your orders are to get to Wonderland with all possible speed, Captain,” the man said, approaching the bar like a snake slithering in for the kill.
“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Alexander said, holding out a gloved hand.
The ambassador shook hands with him. “Maximilian Carter, Ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary to the Alliance.”
“Plenty-potenty-ary… That’s quite a mouthful, Max.” Korbin glanced sharply at him, and Alexander offered a brisk smile to cover his contempt.
“Pleni-potentiary,” Max corrected.
“That’s what I said,” Alexander replied.
“We’re on a strict timeline here, Captain. Now more than ever.”
“A few hours downtime won’t make a lot of difference to our mission parameters, but it will to my crew’s morale.”
Alexander felt someone tap him on the shoulder.
“Here you are, sir.”
He swiveled his chair to see Lieutenant Stone holding out an acrylic tumbler full of Scotch. He accepted the drink with a nod of thanks and swiveled back to face the ambassador once more. Alexander sat sipping away under Maximilian’s watchful blue gaze. The man’s wavy blond hair, long, aquiline nose, too-perfect face, and tall, trim figure gave him an aristocratic air. He was probably meant to look erudite and sophisticated to geners, but Alexander thought he looked pompous and disingenuous instead.
“What if the Confederacy follows us to Wonderland?” Max asked.
“That’s a valid question. I have another one. What if a sea monster eats us?”
“Your attitude will be noted in my report.”
“Well, the truth is, Max, I don’t give a flying fuck what you write up in your report. I just lost five family members, and I have a paper-shuffling bureaucrat in my face, trying to tell me not to grieve for them. I’m sure you can understand how that might make me grumpy.”
Max scowled and walked away.
“That’s tellin’ him, sir,” Ryder said from behind the bar.
Alexander drained his glass and slammed it on the bar. “Hit me again. For some reason I have bad taste in my mouth.”
“Coming right up, sir,” Stone said, and then poured him another two thumbs of Scotch.
“You sure have a way with people,” Korbin said, while accepting a beer from Ryder.
“I know. Maybe I should go into the foreign service? Become a professional snot like Max.”
Korbin snorted. “You’d start a war.”
Alexander froze in mid-sip of his second drink. Stone winced and Ryder spilled a precious ounce of Scotch on the bar counter.
“I’m sorry, Captain, I wasn’t…”
“It’s all right. We had our orders, and the shots we fired didn’t start anything. Those missiles are well on their way to the Oort Cloud by now.”
Korbin nodded and silence stretched between them.
“Well, shit,” Ryder said. “Is this a wake or a wallow? I need to get drunk.”
“I’m pretty sure a traditional wake doesn’t involve getting drunk,” Korbin replied.
“I believe in the Irish wake, not the Hispanic one.”
“But you are Hispanic.”
“Jewish Hispanic.”
“Doesn’t Jewish tradition call for designated mourners that don’t shave, shower, or change their clothes for a week? You’re the ones who invented sackcloth.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Alexander said. “We’re getting off topic. This is a memorial plain and simple. Grieve or remember however you like, so long as it’s in honor of the dead. You get drunk, you pop a pill to get sober, and get back to your stations as soon as the designated four hours are up.”
Korbin nodded. “Sorry. I’m not sure what’s got into me today.”
Alexander studied his XO. He had an idea about what had gotten into her. Same thing that had her practically demanding they turn the ship around and head back to Earth. Her kids. “They’re fine, Commander.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if they aren’t, there’s nothing you can do about it, so worrying is a waste of time.”
“That still doesn’t mean they’re fine.”
“It doesn’t mean they aren’t either.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Is it? My wife lives in LA. Out of the top ten cities to target with nukes, LA is number two.”
Korbin took a deep breath and let it out again. “I guess we’ll find out when we make contact with Earth again.”
Alexander nodded agreeably. “Right.” What he really meant was, not likely. Fleet Command wasn’t going to tell them how bad things were on Earth, or even allow two-way contact with their families—unless nothing had actually happened back on Earth. It would be too bad for morale if half the crew suddenly realized their loved ones were all dead.
Hell, they pulled a third of the crew and called up the mission reserves instead just to make sure that everyone would have plenty of reasons to go back home. With a sigh Alexander put it out of his mind and turned to Lieutenant Stone.
“Everyone has a drink?”
“Everyone who wanted one.”
“Good.” Swiveling to face the rest of the room, Alexander knocked his knuckles on the bar behind him and whistled for attention. Heads turned. Eyes blinked, most of them red with grief. There were more than a few tear-streaked faces in the room.
“Listen up! Tonight we’re celebrating the lives of exactly five people. As far as we’re concerned, everyone else is still alive. For those of you who are new here, the deceased are: Junior Lieutenant Sara Martinez, Lieutenant Diana Rojas de Chacon, Lieutenant Eduardo Ortiz, Lieutenant Erika Fabrega, and Junior Lieutenant Angel Montero.” Alexander raised his glass. “To their safe passage from this world to the next. May their sacrifice not have been in vain. Salud!”
“Salud!” the crew echoed back.
Alexander threw back the dregs of Scotch in his tumbler.
“Cheers,” someone said quietly beside him.
Alexander saw that it was McAdams. She downed a martini in one gulp and waved to Lieutenant Stone for another.
Alexander nodded to her. “Where are you from?” he asked.
“Down South, same as you.”
“Then you’d have said salud, not cheers.”
“Not if my family is originally from up North.”
“Your parents emigrated?”
“Grandparents.”
“Walking up stream. I like it. Probably a smart move considering the war. They were rich geners I’m guessing.”
“Geners, yes, rich no,” McAdams replied as Stone passed her another martini.
“Then how come you’re… you are a gener, right?”
“Yes. My grandparents moved down South to invest and live off their investments. Competition in the North is too fierce, and everything’s too expensive. But things didn’t work out and they became casualties of the crime rate. My dad was sixteen and had to fend for himself so he dropped school. He met my mom, they got married, and ended up working seventy hours a week to pay for me to be born a gener.”
“So you joined the service to save your parents?”
McAdams nodded.
New Frontiers- The Complete Series Page 6
