The Black Ships (11 page)

“Our admirals are both right,” he said
quietly. “They can take orbit, but I’ll bet you anything they can’t take the
surface with the troops they were given. Otherwise they’d come straight at us.”

The British ambassador let out a strangled
laugh of disbelief. “You really think a civilization that can cross the stars
would send an inadequate force?”

“Absolutely,” Frank replied with complete
conviction. “The more technically advanced a civilization, the less effective
it’s government.” He turned to face the room. “When dad was posted to the South
Pacific, I saw tribes where a headman ran the whole show. Every problem was
resolved quickly or he got replaced.

“How much deadwood do you think we have in
the U.S. government?” He looked at the President.

Parnell nodded. “No argument there. We have
a ton of overlapping programs and competing agencies, but we’re working on it.”

Since the launch of the fleet building
program, the American government had become the administrative equivalent of a
liposuction patient. Programs had been slashed left and right, and many
agencies were little more than collapsing shells.

Frank sighed. “When we add a new layer to
that,” he waved to indicate the building they sat in, “it certainly doesn’t
alleviate the problem.” He nodded over his shoulder at the screen. “Just
imagine what those poor bastards must have to put up with.”

St. Peter’s Square

Vatican City, Rome

March 9
^th
, 2026

M
ärti Bohren waited by the obelisk in the center of the square as the
crowd slowly drifted past. The faces in the crowd ran the gamut from reassured
to troubled to outright furious.
Small wonder,
 thought Märti.
They
came expecting easy answers and got none.
The Pope had spoken about the
aliens for the first time and many had expected today’s address to fit them
into the church’s framework.

The only specific detail had been an
acknowledgement of the aliens as God’s children but that had done little to
mollify a flock whose faith had been shaken to learn Humanity was not alone in
the universe. Some of the crowd walked by lost in solitary reflection, while
others passed the obelisk in small knots of raised voices and angry gesticulation.

Märti smiled as the crowd thinned and he
saw his brother, Theisli, approaching with a broad grin. He hadn’t seen his
brother since four years ago, when the family was seeing the younger Bohren off
to his training for the Swiss Guard. Märti had tried to convince his brother to
remain in the army but Theisli had always dreamed of serving in the world’s
oldest military unit and so he had left their native Graubünden for what he had
thought would be a two-year stint.

Now, four years later, Theisli approached
his brother wearing a dark suit rather than the brightly-colored uniform that
the Guard was known for. “Hello,
Hauptman
Bohren!” Theisli wrapped his
brother in a fierce hug before stepping back to look him over. They were the
same rank, though in vastly different units.

“Hello yourself,
Hauptman
Bohren!”
Märti reached out and gave his younger sibling a light push just above the
pistol he wore beneath his suit jacket. “Should I be extra polite while you’re
wearing that thing?”

Theisli grinned. “I’m on duty,” he
explained. “It’s not like I’m some glorified militia captain, you know!”

“And where would my little brother get his
men from if not for glorified militia captains like me?” Märti demanded good
naturedly. “Speaking of which, how are Jeurgen and Lukas doing?” The two men,
former conscripts in Märti’s unit, had been sworn into the ranks of the Swiss
Guard the previous May.

“They’re doing well,” Theisli said after
pausing briefly to place the two names. “Lukas thinks he may stay beyond the
first two years. Both would love a chance to talk with you, I’m sure. Why don’t
you come to the barracks with me?”

The two brothers headed off for the north
side of the square. “So what’s the big news that you had to tell me in person?”
Theisli asked. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand!” he quickly amended
as he waved his brother to a huge crenellated gatehouse. “ I hope it’s good
news?”

“It’s interesting news,” began Märti
guardedly. “Some good, some not so much, I suppose.” He followed Theisli into a
long narrow courtyard where a small girl chased her ball,
her father may
well have served under me at some point.
Thought Märti. He returned his
thoughts to the topic that brought him here, seeking the right way to frame his
news. They walked through a door leading from the courtyard and soon found a
lounge where several men were enjoying their off-duty time.

“
Hauptman
Bohren!” A young man
bounded off a sofa, bringing his body to rigid attention in his surprise.

Märti did likewise, releasing the young
guard from his un-uniformed salute before extending his hand. “Hello, Lukas. My
brother tells me you’re doing well despite bad lessons learned from previous
officers!”

Jeurgen was fetched and the four men
engaged in the usual happy but slightly uncomfortable small talk that occurs
whenever non-coms run into their old officers. Old exploits and mishaps were
duly trotted out and re-told to the amusement of the men in the lounge. Finally
the topic turned back to the reason for Märti’s visit.

The men waited expectantly as Märti chose
his words. “As you know, a fleet is being built in space to protect us against
our new neighbors on Mars,” he began, noticing the wide eyes that now regarded
him with growing excitement. “As Switzerland has no navy to speak of, we will
not be providing any ship crews but we are keen nonetheless to provide some
military assistance to the fight and our financial contribution entitles us to
an active role.” He paused. This was why he had to come in person. He was not
entirely happy with his news.

“So what will you be doing?” Theisli asked
guardedly, alerted by his brother’s obvious discomfort in relating this story
and his need to tell him in person. It indicated momentous news but it seemed
to have a few thorns in it as well.

Märti took a deep breath. “We will be
keeping the current class of conscripts beyond their term of service and
training them for combat duty on the surface of Mars and for ship-board
defense.” He looked up at his brother. “Since we will not have our own ships,
we will be integrated with the forces carried by the
Hermann
. Our
conscripts will be selected from the German-speaking cantons ” He waited for
the implications to sink in. He knew what was coming and he was ready for it.

“You’re going to work for the Germans?” his
brother blurted. “Does the UN just assume that we can understand their
gibberish?” The two young guardsmen were equally shocked. Since the treaty of
Westphalia, the two peoples had gone their separate ways and, though Swiss
German was vaguely similar to what was spoken in Germany, they had little else
in common.

Still, most Swiss German speakers could
converse in regular German, if necessary.

“You’re one to talk,” Märti responded with
a grin. “Have you forgotten where the Holy Father comes from?” He could see from
the faces of his two former men that they hadn’t given the matter much thought
but his brother was unmoved.

“That’s different,” he responded with an
easy confidence that Märti had not expected. “He took a new name and
citizenship when he became the head of
this
state.” The younger brother
waved a hand to indicate his surroundings as he spoke.

“Speaking of your head of state,” Märti
changed the subject rather than argue. “The crowd seemed less than pleased
about today’s address.”

“We expected as much,” Theisli said.
“That’s why we had so many men in the crowd today.” He shook his head. “Too
many people come here looking for a specific answer and when they don’t get
it…” He spread his hands. “With the kind of questions that plague mankind
nowadays, emotions are running higher than usual, and it may only be a matter
of time before some lunatic smuggles in a weapon or tries to incite a riot.”

“Maybe this is no different than when
Europeans started showing up in Asia,” Lukas mused. He noticed the questioning
looks from the others and, slightly embarrassed, hastened to explain. “Sure
they tended to get exploited but look at them now,” he said. “India got rid of
the British, then the French were polite enough to leave when asked.” He
grinned. “When the Portuguese refused to go, they were driven out by the Indian
military.”

“So what are you trying to say, Lukas?”
There
might be something to this,
Märti thought.

Lukas thought for a moment, frowning at
Märti’s shoes. “What if the Brits tried to invade India now?” he asked, looking
up at the men around him. “The Indian military would either take them on, toe
to toe or they would fall back and just nuke them, right?”

“So,” Theisli began slowly, “you’re saying
they got invaded but they came through it strong enough to hold their own.” His
gaze was far away as he thought. “What was the name of that American Commodore
who sailed his fleet into a Japanese port and forced them to open up to trade
with the West?” This was directed at his brother, who loved to study historical
interactions between cultures.

“Perry,” Märti answered. “The Japanese
called them the Black Ships in memory of the old Portuguese carracks in the 16
^th
century; they used to paint their hulls with pitch. They were really the first
to open trade with Japan. The Japanese did OK in the long run. They damn near
captured the whole Western Pacific in the Second World War. When that didn’t
pan out, they almost bought their enemies in the eighties.”

Jeurgen laughed. “So the best course of
action is to wait here for the aliens?” He grinned wolfishly. “We play like
nice little colonial subjects and then when their guard is down, we rob them
blind?”

Maybe we should,
Märti thought.
For all we know, their capabilities could be far
greater than anyone assumes.
He felt a chill run down his spine as the
other men laughed.
We could be biting off more than we can chew.

Mountain View, California

March 11
^th
, 2026

C
allum gazed up at the ingenious lifting rigs crawling their way up
the columns of shed number three. It was the last of the massive airship
hangars to have its roof raised and the final terrestrial airship had left for
duty from this very building only two days prior. Callum had considered
destroying those vessels before they could launch but the work being done to
shed number four had convinced him that a bigger target of opportunity was
about to present itself. Already, the keels of three massive airships had been
laid and they were almost twice the size of the originals.

“Salmon again?”

Callum turned to see his employer, Lance,
and looked down at the sandwich in his hand, nodding. “When I get a taste for
something, I tend to eat it for a few days in a row,” he responded. “I like to
stick with things when they’re going well. Bet there’s some real money in that
kind of work,” he said waving his sandwich at the hydraulic units that would
not only support the columns while they were being cut but also lift them so
that inserts could be welded in place to make room for the huge new airframes.
The work was being done by a European company.

“No kidding.” Lance sounded wistful as he
surveyed the busy site. His eyes settled on a figure, picking its way through
the debris to the west of the building. “Shit!” He grabbed Callum’s shoulder.
“Cal, you haven’t seen me at all today, got it?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
He ducked into the three-story structure that his crew was framing as offices
for the hangar and slipped out another door on the eastern side.

Callum was watching him disappear into the
offices of hangar number-two when he became aware of approaching footsteps. He
turned to see one of the contract security guards who had been hired to patrol
the site. In accordance with the tradition of such things, she seemed to spend
most of her time sitting in her car watching movies on her netbook.

She was a relatively pretty young woman and
Cal knew that if she were working at a trendy restaurant where beauty was expected,
she would no doubt have done very well on tips.
Expectation is more than
half the battle
. One of his parents’ endless lessons suddenly surfaced. It
was one he had taken to heart as a child. Once his teachers had come to expect
good grades from him, he had been able to slack off just a bit and still
maintain his good average. He frowned now. She seemed to be coming straight for
him.

“Have you seen Lance?” She smiled in a
dreamy sort of way.

You gotta be kidding me.
Callum had heard stories from some of Lance’s other employees. He
possessed decent looks and a natural charm that never failed to work miracles
with his sub-contractors. It wasn’t much of a stretch to see what that
combination could mean when it came to women. Callum toyed with the idea of sending
her over to hangar two but dismissed it. Though it might amuse him to rat Lance
out, he didn’t want them causing a public fuss that might get them kicked off
the job.

Especially now that he was forming a plan.

“I think he went to check on a job in Oakland,”
Callum said, watching her frown. “Do you want me to pass a message for you?”

She considered for a moment and, to Cal’s
relief, shook her head. “I’ll just try his cell,” she said as she pulled out
her phone and slowly strolled away, looking down at the screen.

Callum was just turning his thoughts back
to the columns when his phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket
and looked down at the screen. The call display showed
Guilderson
.
Who
do I know that’s named… Oh, you dumbass!
Cal poked his finger at the mute
tab, forcing a calm face as he looked up at the young woman who had turned to
stare angrily at him.

Lance had given her Callum’s phone number
instead of his own. He had obviously felt it was an amusing joke on the new
guy. He raised the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mike, sorry I didn’t call back but I
still haven’t managed to find a keg.” He smiled and gave a theatrical roll of
his eyes for Ms. Guilderson’s benefit. She smiled and walked away. “I don’t
think it even comes in kegs yet; let’s just get enough bottles to cover
everyone…”

Cal judged that she was far enough away and
he ceased his fake conversation. He started to block her number and then,
deciding to turn it back on his boss, forwarded her number to Lance’s cell. She
had already suspected that she had been given Callum’s number and was bound to
figure it out if her calls kept getting ignored. He turned his attention back
to the columns. He had come up with an idea.

When most children were learning to catch a
football or swing a bat, Cal was learning how to construct a bunker so that
shrapnel from a near hit wouldn’t find its way inside. He knew how to field
strip most assault rifles and handguns and reassemble them in the dark. He knew
how to tell the civilians from the agents in a public situation. Their bearing
was a good indicator but alert eyes were always the best give-away.

Now, looking up at the columns he
remembered the childhood lesson that would serve him best in stopping the UN
plan and drawing media scrutiny to what was really happening. He would use
thermite. Thermite was an incendiary composition used in countless roles. From
welding railway tracks together to disabling enemy equipment, the ignition of a
metal powder mixed with an oxide of iron could produce temperatures in excess
of five thousand degrees Fahrenheit.

Cal smiled as his plan began to take shape.
He knew that steel melted at twenty-five hundred degrees so he would have no
problems there. His only problems were access, placement and timing. His smile
remained as he walked back to the scaffolding surrounding the new office block.
He would take his time. There were still several months before the first of the
new airships would lift off, and he could afford to plan properly. He and his
fellow new-hires would have to learn what security precautions were in place at
night: was the perimeter fence patrolled, did it have alarms, how far away was
the nearest response team?

He stopped as his phone rang. He looked
down at the flashing message.
Guilderson – Forward to Bryson?
Acting on
a sudden inspiration, he took the call.