Stars Rain Down (21 page)

Now he was sitting in a conference room perched on top of the colony's main dome, surrounded on all sides by a 360 view of the Martian desert, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. It wasn't how he'd imagined it all those years ago, but he realized he hadn't been fair to the red planet. He hadn't accepted her for what she truly was. The stark emptiness held its own alien beauty, whispering a long story of solitude, while hinting at an exciting future yet to come.

Amira Saladin—the woman with the striking eyes who'd met them in her powered suit—was the administrator's daughter and the colony's chief engineer... and Marcus found her nearly as intriguing as the planet she called home.

Considering her age, Marcus would have assumed she got the job out of nepotism, but he'd already seen ample evidence of her talent. The colony relied on technology more than a decade past its prime, but she kept it running and upgraded to the latest specifications. She could probably build a radio out of two rocks and a seashell if she had to.

Ms. Saladin had given Marcus and his team a quick tour of the facility before bringing them to the meeting room, and when she was finished, he asked her to stay. She looked confused, but with a little coaxing, she obliged.

Then they waited. Marcus would've despised the wait if not for the view.

Faulkland and St. Martin were seated to Marcus' left, and Rao to his right, while Ms. Saladin was half-way around the large table. Marcus thought her choice was a safe one, like taking a seat in the back of a class.

"Your father must lead a very busy life," Faulkland said after a bit.

Marcus was looking off toward the eastern horizon, trying without luck to find any hint of Olympus Mons in the distance. "No," he answered for her. "He's the type to make his guests wait. Gives them a chance to reflect on how important he is."

Ms. Saladin didn't respond, but her smirk told him he was close to the mark. "That's alright," Marcus added after a moment. "Not sure how many important people we have left. A little reflection couldn't hurt."

Another minute passed in silence, then the administrator came through the door flanked by a pair blue-suited advisers. Administrator Saladin was the absolute image of a statesman, dressed in a fine graphite suit with a red-and-white sash across his barrel-chest, bearing the dozens of service medals accumulated during his long career. He was a heavy set man, and had no doubt been exceptionally strong and stout even as a youth. The bulk had since become ornamental, but he could probably still lift a dish washer by himself.

Everyone stood, and Marcus took a long stride forward to shake the administrator's hand. The man's grip was firm but not crushing, and he had the same penetrating eyes as his daughter.

"Administrator Saladin, it's an honor to finally meet you, sir."

"And you, Doctor Donovan. I've always heard you're a surprising man, but the rumors hardly do you justice."

Marcus smiled through his teeth. "I must apologize for our rude approach to your planet. We're still learning, Mister Administrator."

"Think nothing of it, Doctor. But in the future, perhaps a little warning would be in order."

"Absolutely, sir. Warning and more."

With a genial smile, the Administrator motioned toward the table. "Please, have a seat everyone. And perhaps the Doctor will tell us how he came to be in possession of such an astonishing vessel."

For the next hour, Marcus recounted the whole story from beginning to end, how he discovered Zebra-One by accident, and the years of secret research conducted one furtive glance at a time. He explained the gamble he took in deceiving the Foundation, his team's arrival and initial exploration of the vessel, and how he came to have an alien interface plugged into his brain.

Then, as if the rest of the story hadn't been fantastic enough, Marcus told the administrator what he knew of the ship's origin, of Eireki history and their desperate fight against the Nefrem. He revealed how the human race itself came to be, and when it was all over, he was badly in need of a glass of cold water.

The administrator and his two lieutenants were left in a stunned silence, while his daughter had a look of utter disbelief on her face. It was the look of a little girl who'd just been told that unicorns were not only real, but also the source of hamburger meat.

"This is... it's quite a lot to take in all at once," Administrator Saladin finally said in his gruff voice. "And you believe the invaders to be these... Nefrons?"

"Nefrem, sir. And to be honest, neither Legacy nor I know for sure, but until we know one way or another, we should assume so."

"A very sensible thought. And what of the war you want to prepare for?" The administrator exhaled sharply with a hint of a growl, and shook his head. "I understand you have some kind of warship, but that hardly seems enough. Fill in the missing pieces, Doctor."

"You're right. It's not enough, sir. That's why I'm here." Marcus recalled the plans he'd sketched out with Legacy, and she echoed them distantly from orbit. He felt her presence there in his head even planetside, but she was faint and he already felt oddly empty without her.

"Legacy is startlingly powerful. I mean, we're only just beginning to understand the extent of her abilities. But I neglected to mention that she also houses a factory equipped with technology that far outstrips our own. The skiff that brought us here is just one example of the fleet already under construction, and it was built in just two weeks."

"Impressive. So you're going to build your own armada?"

"Much more than that, sir. Your colony is little more than a frontier town right now, and our first step should be to transform it into a fortress. A safe haven for humanity. With your permission, we'll establish a second factory here and a handful of mining facilities. With our manufacturing tech, your habitat can be improved and expanded, giving your population room to grow. Meanwhile, Legacy will build orbital defenses to prevent the kind of attack that devastated Earth."

"And then?"

"Then we build a liberation fleet and go home, sir."

The administrator had never stopped shaking his head. This was going to be a tough sell. "I have seven thousand men, women and children living on this planet. These people are colonists, Doctor Donovan. Not soldiers. Tell me, what kind of liberation force could that amount to?"

"I'll be the first to admit we're facing an uphill battle, sir, but we have to fight. It isn't just the planet we're talking about. Our analysis of the
Copernicus Transmission
indicates a sizable number of survivors. Perhaps as many as two billion."

"Two billion?" the administrator said, and he mulled over the decimal places.

"It's not easy to condemn two billion people to death, is it?"

"It's never easy to condemn anyone... but difficult choices must be made sometimes."

"I'm sorry, but if we can help them... if there's even a chance, then it's our duty to try. Ask your people, Mr. Saladin. Let them decide for themselves."

Marcus knew that he was pushing too hard, but every minute wasted amounted to more senseless deaths. They needed to start work, the sooner the better.

The administrator had his hands on the table with his fingers laced together, and he was staring at them while he chewed on his thoughts. "It's true. Something must be done, and if I extend your request to my people, you would have many volunteers. They're a courageous and selfless lot. However, I'll not give them the option until I'm convinced this is more than a suicide mission. The invaders destroyed our civilization in the blink of an eye, Doctor. What could a few thousand colonists do in the face of such overwhelming power?"

Marcus took a deep breath. "Simply put, sir, the situation has changed. The invaders caught us with our pants down. They appeared without warning, scrambled communications before anyone could get the word out, and slaughtered billions who never saw it coming. This time, we'll have surprise and superior technology on our side."

The administrator still wasn't convinced. Marcus went on. "As long as Copernicus is operational, we'll have an abundance of intel about enemy troop concentrations and defenses, and with a little planning, we can launch surgical strikes that will cripple their infrastructure with minimum risk to our own forces."

"And what sort of weapons will we use? Eireki weapons?"

Marcus smiled. The administrator was a very shrewd man. "Actually, that's one of the obstacles still ahead of us. Legacy is... forgetful... and my people may be good, but we're stargazers and mathematicians; not weapons designers. We'll need to develop our own weaponry, and your chief engineer will be key to that."

"Me?" Amira Saladin asked.

Marcus gave her a reassuring nod. "If you're willing, Ms. Saladin. I've seen your work, and I wager a single colonist outfitted with your MASPEC armor would be worth a hundred standard infantry. Just imagine what else you could build with our technology."

From the look in her eyes, she began to imagine right then and there, and that look alone confirmed Marcus' suspicions. She was just the kind of person they needed to make this work. The kind of person Legacy needed.

"How long would you need to make your plan a reality, Doctor Donovan?"

Marcus weighed options and gritted his teeth. "One year," he said.

The Administrator closed his eyes for a second and pursed his lips. When he opened them again, he spoke. "Against my better judgment, you may have your year, Doctor." They shook hands across the table. "But I'll be keeping watch on your progress. I reserve the right to pull my people out should you fail to meet my expectations."

"Understood, sir. I wouldn't have it any other way."

One year.
It was longer than Marcus could stand, and less than they needed by half, but it would have to do.

The midsummer sun was brutal. Jack Hernandez lay on his stomach, looking down the sights of a matte-black assault rifle while sweat ran off him in rivulets. He was wet from head to toe, the sweat making his weapon slippery as week old fish.

Fifty meters beyond the tip of his barrel sat a target in the shape of a man. A man who was mocking him. He might have imagined that last part.

Everybody else had qualified on their first day at the range, including Leonid Nikitin who hit every target with ease. He claimed he could blind a suicidal king at three hundred meters, and it was probably true.

Shooting was second nature to that man, but Jack wasn't so lucky. He was now on his third straight day of shooting, and the brass had assigned him a personal tutor as a last resort.

"Go ahead and take your time," his little brother Charlie said. "There's no rush today. Line it up so the post is right in the middle of the notch, then put it on your target."

Jack thought it was lined up, but he wasn't sure. After all, he'd thought it was lined up the last time he pulled the trigger, but that damned target was still in one piece.

"Is it lined up, Jack?"

"I think so."

"I need you to know it is, bro."

"Fine. It's lined up."

Charlie sat down in the dirt next to him. "Just relax. I know you're frustrated, but I'm trying to help. Just put the post on the target, alright?"

"Okay," Jack said. He shifted the rifle left and right, watching the space on either side of the post shrink, then he centered it again. The top of it was level with the top of the notch, and it was sitting dead in the middle of his target. "It's lined up," he said.

"It helps to focus on the post, so the target is blurry behind it. Got it?"

"Done."

"Now take three slow breaths. When you've exhaled the last one, go ahead and squeeze the trigger."

Jack filled his lungs and let the air slowly escape, then again, and one more time. When he finished exhaling, he pulled the trigger and the weapon barked. The butt-stock bit into his shoulder.

Charlie raised a pair of binoculars to his face and sighed.

"I didn't hit it."

"Nope," Charlie said. "Tell me what you did wrong."

"I don't fucking know, Charlie. I did everything you said. Maybe the sights are off."

Charlie shook his head. "Weapon was adjusted before it left the armory, and I test fired it myself. It's fine. Now tell me what you did wrong."

"Why don't you tell me," Jack growled through gritted teeth.

Charlie said, "Two things. First, you closed your eyes right before you fired. Don't do that. You can't hit what you can't see. Second, you pulled the trigger. I told you to squeeze it."

"And what's the difference?"

Charlie chuckled, and Jack didn't know what was so damned funny. "When you're dancing with a pretty girl and you've got her hand, you pull her to you. Once you've got her close, you give her a squeeze."

Jack closed his eyes for a second and Jess was there at the end of his arm. She was laughing and smiling, and he pulled her to him, but before she came close, he opened his eyes and was back in eastern Israel under the hot summer sun.

Charlie dropped down on his belly and put his arms out like he was holding a rifle of his own. With his right hand, he extended his index finger and curled it several times. "You're pulling the trigger, and it yanks the weapon around and blows your aim all to hell. Don't pull it." Then he opened his hand up and tightened the whole thing, like he was testing fruit. "Squeeze it. Gently. Now try it again."

Jack reseated the rifle against his shoulder and lined up the sights. He took three easy breaths and at the bottom of the last one, he squeezed the trigger. The weapon barked, and the butt-stock bit into his shoulder again.

Charlie was watching the target this time, and he said, "Better. Not perfect, but you're getting there."

"I hit it?"

"Real close this time, bro."

"Damn."

Charlie rolled onto his back and locked his hands behind his head. "Tell me about your weapon."

Jack licked the sweat off his upper lip, and his mouth was filled with salt. "It's an AN-23. Russian designed, gas-operated, rotating bolt, 5.45 millimeter assault rifle. Fire modes include semi-automatic, fully automatic, and two-round burst. The burst mode utilizes a... uhhh, blowback shifted pulse technology, ejecting both rounds before the recoil kicks in, and allowing you to hit the same spot twice with a single trigger pull. Or trigger
squeeze.
"