Off World- Ragnarok

by J. F. Holmes

  Chapter 13

  Alpha Centauri University main lecture hall, Gate Crash minus seven hours

  “You know, Anna, you’d look pretty good out of uniform,” Chris Santos said quietly. He stole a quick glance at his XO, who hid a smile with a pretend cough. She would look good, too. Anna Worthy was almost the same height as her commander, and she’d put back on the pounds that had been starved away in Ranger school. Going from a starved skeleton with a shaved head back to a woman who had turned down a modelling contract to join the service felt kind of good to her.

  “You’ll never know, will you?” She smiled. Of course, they had to keep up the façade. That’s why they were attending the lecture at Rigel University in uniform, as ‘professional education’. Fraternization was frowned upon in the Army, and their relationship was a closely-held secret. One that went no further than pretty much the entire Bravo Company.

  “Come on, let’s go. I’m looking forward to this,” she said, wanting to take his hand. He followed her, and they both took seats in the back row. When the lights dimmed and the screen lit up, she slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it gently, leaned over, and whispered, “Someday I’m going to bang your brains out.”

  “So romantic,” she shot back, giggling. A man in front of them said, “Shhh,” without turning around, and Doctor Fitzgerald stepped up to the podium.

  “I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight,” she started, then took a sip of water. “Our lecture on the native sentient life of Alpha Centauri will consist of about a half an hour of talk, an intermission, and then a question and answer session. I ask that you hold all questions until that time. Thank you.”

  The first slide that came up was an aerial shot of the terrain east of the Davis Highlands from an altitude of several thousand feet. “I apologize for these shots being old; as you know, overflights have been restricted since the Battle of the Bridge in an effort to avoid stirring up the Gvit. However, as you can see here, here, and here,” a laser pointer danced across the screen, “the size of these cities indicates the Gvit have a population in excess of a million, if their dwelling patterns are anything like humans’.”

  “That’s a lot of targets!” muttered Santos, and the man in front of them turned and gave him a look. The infantryman gave him his best “Who, me?” smile, which turned into a grimace as Worthy pinched the inside of his leg.

  “We don’t actually know, because all prisoners from the battle were repatriated before our xenologists were able to study them.” It sounded like that was something that annoyed the doctor, but that was only natural. “The purpose of my lecture tonight is to discuss where the Gvit came from, based on recent archeological excavations in the ruins by the Great Bridge, and genetic samples of both Alphan burials and Gvit corpses.”

  She paused and shuffled some papers, then advanced the slide to show bullet points summarizing her talk. “First, evidence shows that approximately three to four hundred years ago, there existed a thriving late-nineteenth, early-twentieth-century level civilization on at least this continent, if not worldwide. I have no need to tell you that, since you’ve all seen the ruins themselves, but the dating is a first.”

  “She’s right,” said Lieutenant Worthy quietly, “there’s stuff out there all over the place.”

  “I know. Dig a foxhole, you hit a street. Turn up glassware everywhere,” Santos whispered back.

  “DNA analysis of the remains of the native Alphans from burials and corpses of the Gvit warriors after the last battle show that, while they’re all based on the same amino acids and basic DNA as Earth life, the Gvit are distinctly NOT related to any known Alphan genetic line of evolution. In fact, their sequences show distinct genetic engineering. In other words, the Gvit, ladies and gentlemen, did not evolve through natural processes, but were made in a lab. Probably as a warrior species, placed here to exterminate the Alphans before they reached a certain technological level.”

  A roar broke out, a group of academics all seeming to shout at once. Finally one man stood and yelled, “BULLSHIT!” Fitzgerald tried vainly to restore order, with multiple academic types arguing with each other as she called for silence.

  “This is great!” said Santos. “Almost as good as a firefight!”

  Worthy smiled and said, “Next time, I’m bringing popcorn!”

  Fitzgerald finally restored order by turning off the lights. When she flicked them back on, Santos and Worthy were startled to be caught stealing a passionate kiss, but no one noticed them.

  The man who’d shouted “Bullshit!” still stood, but before he could say anything, Fitzgerald headed him off. “Professor Kincaid, what are your objections?”

  “There is absolutely no evidence that the Gvit are anything other than a parallel evolution along a different genetic line, and that the destruction of the Alphans was nothing more than an inevitable class of civilizations. Obviously the Gvit, as predators, won the day, despite being technologically inferior.”

  “I have an answer to that.” Fitzgerald turned her attention to the back of the room and said, directly to the two soldiers in uniform, “If either of you are veterans of the last war against the Gvit, could you please come up here?”

  Looking at Worthy and shrugging, Captain Santos stood and said, “I am, Ma’am.”

  “And you are?”

  “Captain Chris Santos, commander of Bravo Company, 1-9 Infantry.”

  A smile crossed the redhead’s face, and she said, “Ah, perfect. Could you come up here and assist me?”

  “Where are you going with this, Miranda?” said the still angry Professor Kincaid.

  “Give me a minute, Fred. You always were too hasty.”

  As Santos approached the stage, the slide changed to show a picture of what was obviously the remains of some kind of rifle. It was corroded, and the shape seemed to be…off, but it was pretty obvious what it was. Making his way up the steps, the infantryman saw that the weapon itself lay on a small table. It was massive, about the size of an M-240b machine gun.

  “Captain, can you tell me what this is? Or more importantly, what it’s not?”

  He looked at it closely, then picked it up. It was surprisingly light, made mostly out of ceramics and plastics, but it wasn’t sized for human hands. Everything was too far apart, and too massive.

  “Well,” he said, turning it over to look for a magazine or charging handle, “I can tell you what it’s not. Definitely not made for human hands. The proportions and the reach are all wrong.” He hefted the weapon, looking down the barrel, and most of the crowd shrank back. Santos ignored them, concentrating on what he had in his hands. Any place that had metal was pretty corroded, but on the whole, it was remarkably well preserved. Massive shoulder stock, some kind of box magazine, and a long ceramic tube for a barrel.

  “For example, I’m a big guy, and my finger can barely reach what looks like a trigger, or more like a firing stud. From what I remember of the excavated Alphans, they averaged a little over five feet, even smaller than us. Let me guess, this is an electromagnetic rail gun? Where did you find it?”

  “Under the skeleton of a Gvit who was buried by a collapsing wall during the sack of the local Alphan city. A flood then buried the whole thing in sediment. My team excavated it last week. Your opinion is all the proof I need.”

  She turned and faced the crowd, and said simply, “The Gvit aren’t native to this planet. They were put here by a spacefaring race to eliminate a threat before it developed.”

  The room again descended into chaos, with angry shouts, and some people actually getting up and leaving. It was several more minutes before Doctor Fitzpatrick could restore order. When she did, she asked Santos, “Why would no other weapons of this type have been found, Captain? We discovered plenty of Alphan technology weapons, just transitioning from black powder to brass cartridges and smokeless propellant. They hadn’t really started using internal combustion engines yet, or discovered flight.”

  “Well, if I had to hazard a
guess…after the slaughter, because that’s what it would have been, they policed the battlefield and picked up every weapon they could find. You’re not going to leave tech like this in the hands of a toolmaking, defeated enemy.”

  “They, Captain?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. The Gvit are smart, but none of them ever made a weapon like this. Hell, even we’d have a hard time with all the resources of Earth at our disposal. Can I keep it?” he asked jokingly.

  “We’ll turn it over to DARPA soon enough. We’re almost done with our analysis, and yes, some of the microcrystals in the ceramics and metals show evidence of having been grown in zero G,” said the doctor.

  Santos looked at it admiringly and said, “Well, I’m damn glad the Gvit are down to swords and spears. They’re tough enough bastards anyway, without giving them things like this. I’d hate to run into whoever does have this tech.” He reluctantly put the weapon back on the table and left the stage as Fitzgerald finished her presentation. The question and answer session was almost as contentious, and Santos and Worthy slipped out the door early, before the professors came to blows.

  As they walked outside in the red proximalight, Worthy said, “That’s quite the bomb to drop. I hope she gets that stuff to Military Intelligence back on Earth ASAP.”

  “Well, not much we can do about it. Looks like whoever made the Gvit dumped them here and took off.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “With weapons like that, it wouldn’t have taken much more than a brigade of Gvit to wreck this world. Genetically-engineered soldiers are disposable, and cheaper than high-tech weapons. The Gvit we have today are the descendants of those abandoned soldiers, if she’s right.”

  It was a disturbing thought. Somewhere out there was an enemy who was far ahead of humanity in technology, and not afraid to stomp other species before they became a threat. Maybe.

  “Well, I can see you’re all hot and bothered after handling that gun. Got a little bit of weapon envy going on there, infantryman?” She laughed, and they disappeared in the direction of the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters.

  Chapter 14

  ACECOM SCIF, Gate Crash minus ten minutes, 02:00 Local

  The Operations Center of ACECOM, or Alpha Centauri Command, was a state-of-the-art building situated in the middle of Fort McHenry. The base itself sat astride the entrance to the causeway that led to Seaside, but the Ops Center was hidden behind the twenty-foot-high concrete parapet that encircled the base.

  Inside the secure communications room (“secure from what?” groused the Sergeant Major, and he did have a point) the leadership of the colony gathered around the long conference table. A flat screen on the wall showed the symbol of the president of the United States with the words “STAND BY” underneath.

  Though he was the ranking military officer, Brigadier General Halstead yielded the head of the table to Richard Conklin, the appointed governor of the colony. That Conklin also happened to be one of the Vice Executive Officers of the oil giant that was financing the whole thing was beside the point, mused Halstead. The man had come up from the corporate ranks, and although in his late fifties, he still carried himself like the oilfield roughneck he once was. Thankfully, he was also a veteran of that long-ago war in Iraq, and worked well with his military counterparts.

  On Conklin’s left sat the head of the scientific research station. Miranda Fitzpatrick was the only person to be granted a Doctorate in xenobiology, a discipline she’d largely invented herself. The first person to ever step through the Gate onto an alien world, her red hair matched her drive and passion for her work. SGM Olsen loved to play the stupid infantryman around her, though she always smiled when she caught him grinning while she tried to explain Gvit biology. If his boss didn’t know any better, he’d say they were shagging, but he also knew Olsen was totally devoted to his wife.

  His musings were interrupted when the seal was replaced with a view of a similar briefing room, containing only two people. General Carrier, sitting to the president’s right, was in Marine camouflage, something only Halstead noted as being unusual. She looked as if she’d just come from inspecting front line troops, tired in that jet-lagged way. The president himself looked exhausted, deep circles under his eyes. The partisan battles he’d fought to win the seat, only two years earlier, had aged him.

  All three stood, but President Hernandez waved at them to sit down with a ghost of his old smile. “There’s no time for formalities, people, and thanks for getting up so early. I’m only here to talk to you for a minute. Things are getting rather hot outside; I’m sure you’ve heard about China.”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Conklin. “Any change to the situation?”

  “Not as of late. Complete media shutdown, and our satellites are getting blinded every time they pass over Beijing. We have no idea if the hardliners succeeded in their coup or not.”

  “What about the Russians?” asked Halstead.

  His commander in chief shook his head. “They’re sitting back, waiting to see who wins. I’ve ordered two more carrier battlegroups to move to the Western Pacific. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. I just wanted you all to know that we’re thinking of you, even in the midst of this crisis.”

  “Is that why, Bill, you shipped us another three thousand people to house and feed?” asked Conklin. His old friendship with the man was one of the reasons he held the position he did, and why he could talk to him that way.

  “Listen, Jack, Seaside is the new frontier. You have no idea how it’s invigorated the population again. You know as well as I do that there’s a line out the door at the lottery stations for immigration.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Bill. What’s up?” General Carrier seemed a bit taken aback at Conklin’s familiarity and tone, but the president ignored it.

  “We…” and the skilled politician hesitated, then continued, “some of my advisors thought it might be good to establish a bigger foothold on the planet. Claim it for America, so to speak.”

  “The Gvit might have something to say about that, Mister President,” said Doctor Fitzpatrick bluntly. “There’s a whole country of them right across the river.”

  “Well, that’s where diplomacy will have to work. I’m sending the secretary of state through next week to try to open formal negotiations with the Gvit Confederacy. I’d like your help, and any of the linguists you have on staff.”

  The scientist barked a short laugh. “You don’t negotiate with Gvit, Mister President. Unless you want the secretary back in the form of a head on a pike, I suggest you rethink your plan.”

  Hernandez raised his eyebrow, surprised. “I’d have thought you’d have more sympathy for them, Doctor Fitzpatrick. I’ve read your work; you seem fascinated by them.”

  “I am, but I’m also not stupid,” she said bluntly. “Sarks fascinate me, too, but I’m not jumping into the water with them wearing a bikini.”

  Hernandez was annoyed at that and looked to General Halstead. “David, General Carrier’s going to brief you on the latest military developments. Thank you all for your time; I have a meeting upstairs two minutes ago.”

  The watched him exit off screen, and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs asked Conklin and Fitzpatrick to leave. “Boring military minutia, I’m sure you have better things to do. General Halstead will, no doubt, bring you up to speed on things if need be.”

  When they’d also left, she plunged right in. “You might have noticed that we’ve been shipping you a shitload of conexes, David.”

  “Yes, ma’am, you’re driving my G-4 crazy. She’s just stacking it down by the water, says we’ll sort it out later.”

  “Well, there are some people who agree with Doctor Fitzpatrick. Starting next week, your unit’s going to be replaced by the 2nd Armored Division. If we need room, we’re going to have to take it. And you’re going to get breveted up to three star in accordance with commanding ACECOM.”

  “Good,” he answered, “because the 9th is getting a little wo
rn out. Hell, some of the stuff my guys have was old back in ’03, when we punched Hussein’s ticket.” That was something they both remembered.

  “I know. They’re rail heading the heavy stuff now, three brigades of Abrams, Bradleys, Paladins, Apaches, the whole shooting match. If the Gvit want to play, we’ll hand them thei—” The transmission cut off abruptly.

  Having been through interruptions in their Skype connection often enough, Halstead waited patiently for the techs at either end to restore it. If nothing showed in ten minutes, they’d reschedule.

  Chapter 15

  Building 001, Gate Control, 02:05 local

  A hundred meters due east of the Gate sat a squat concrete building, air conditioners running full blast to keep the control servers’ temperature down. There was no sign on it, just a number, 0100. Through it ran all the communications nexuses that kept the colony in touch with Earth, and the local internet. Watch standing here is complete bullshit, thought the Air Force network admin. “Nothing ever freaking happens on this stupid planet, and I’m tired of being shit on by stupid college girls and ugly Army chicks.” Tech Sergeant Wurtzer hammered on his keyboard, practicing hacking a Chinese network, taking his anger out on the computer.

  “You should request a PCS back to Earth, amigo,” answered his boss, Master Sergeant Ortiz.

  Wurtzer snorted, started to say, “I didn’t ask to be here in the…” then stopped, frowning. An icon had started to flash on his screen, overriding the simulation he was working. “Uh, we’ve got a probe coming in; someone’s banging at our firewall, Chief.”

  Ortiz took his feet of his desk and grabbed his Oculus, slipping the VR set over his close-cropped hair. “Probably Cyber Command testing our systems.” What he saw in his headset made the experienced network admin exclaim out loud, “MADRE DIOS!”

  “Yeah, I see it!” said Wurtzer, hammering furiously on his keyboard. “398 is trying to take control of the Gate,” said the junior NCO, using short hand for the Chinese People’s Liberation Army’s shadowy, unofficial cyberwarfare unit.