The Black Ships (15 page)

Antioch, California

July 4
^th
, 2026

C
allum woke up slowly. Ordinarily, he would wake instantly but he
felt like he was underwater and had to struggle to reach the surface. His eyes
opened and he found himself looking at the standard institutional ceiling of
acoustical tiles. He turned his head, fighting off a wave of nausea and he saw
a bank of monitoring equipment with wires leading from an outlet on the front.
He reached out to trace them and found that he was cuffed to the side rails of
the bed.

It all came back to him in a flash. He must
have been found by the bodyguard. The manager from NASA was dead and maybe the
big guy from the UN as well, but Cal had allowed a moment of inattention to
cheat him of his victory. He looked at the window between him and the hallway
and could see, through the partially closed blinds, that a uniformed officer
was standing out there leaning against the window.

I need to get out of here,
he thought. He looked down at the handcuffs and smiled as he
realized that there was an intravenous needle in his right arm.  With the
professional neatness common to health care workers, the IV line ran up the bed
to where other wires ran from his body to the collection of monitors. Turning
his head and dropping his shoulder, he managed to grasp the IV line with his
teeth and pulled.

After a moment of discomfort,  the
strips of tape came loose from his skin and the needle slid out of his vein.
Without the pressure that was usually provided on removal of the needle, blood
began to seep out but it was nothing to worry about. Cal twitched his arm a few
times until the needle came into reach and he grabbed it in his right hand.

With a quick look at the window to ensure
that the guard wasn’t looking in, he used the needle to pick the cuffs where
they attached to the rail. After several seconds, he had his right arm free and
made quick work of freeing his other hand before removing the cuffs that
dangled from his right wrist.

He traced the wires on his right, realizing
that a network of sensors was sitting on his head like a hairnet. He left it in
place for a moment, not sure if it would set off an alarm and flood the room
with staff. He needed a moment to think this through.
I can’t get past that
guard without camouflage.
He looked up at the clock.
Almost lunchtime,
he
thought.
Camouflage might just come to me.

He began to work out his escape plan. Once
out of the building, he would need to pick up his emergency stash of money,
buried among the foliage in the wetlands preserve. He was pretty certain his
accounts would have been frozen by now. He pulled the covers over his arms so
it wouldn’t be obvious he was now free.

Once he had the money, he would catch a cab
to the university medical center in San Francisco. That way, his camouflage
would make sense to the driver and make him less likely to call the police when
the escape hit the news.
I can buy some clothes at the university book store
and catch public transit to the BART, which can take me to the Amtrak station
on the Embarcadero.

His thoughts were interrupted as the door
opened and a young man walked in with a tray of food. Cal breathed a sigh of
relief, he didn’t care for his chances escaping in a dress with a three-day
growth on his face and he didn’t relish the idea of forcing a woman to give him
her clothes. He might be willing to kill but there were still a few places
where he preferred to draw the line.

“Hungry, Mr. Hard Core Killer?” the young
man sneered as he pulled a tray caddy over and dropped the food in front of
Cal. “Since you’re cuffed, I’m supposed to feed you but I figure, why waste
good food?” He started to help himself to the lunch, cutting off a large piece
of pork loin before he set the knife back down. He stood there and chewed,
making exaggerated sounds of appreciation.

Unbelievable,
thought Callum as he grabbed the knife with his right hand and
reached over to grab the attendant’s shirt with his left. He held the knife to
the young man’s throat, watching the fear come into his eyes. “Drop your
pants.” The man’s eyes grew wider.

Washington, D.C.

July 6
^th
, 2026

P
arnell leaned against one of the columns of the west colonnade,
blowing smoke up in the faint hope that the smell wouldn’t stick to his
clothes. “So where did it go wrong?”

Sam reached out and took back his
cigarette, taking a drag while he thought through the briefing package. “Agent
Guilderson had the guy pegged about a month before.” He stared at the door to
the oval office as he spoke. “She knew that McKinnon was planning something big
for your visit and she had the entire place crawling with snipers and agents.
They were just about to take them when Chuck came back with Bender.” He took
another deep drag and handed the remainder back to Parnell.

“So why didn’t a sniper stop the kid from
shooting Chuck?”

“Happened too fast,” Sam shrugged. “The
pistol came out, the sniper called it in and before anyone could do anything,
Chuck was down. Next thing you know, Bender is trying to snap the gunman in
half with one hell of a tackle – used to play for the Gators so he knows how to
crack a rib or two...”

“So what happens with Guilderson?” Parnell
dropped the butt into a planter. “It’s hardly her fault those two blundered
into the middle of an FBI operation.”

“She’ll do fine.” Sam followed the
president back into the office. “There was already a summary investigation and
she’s been cleared for her next assignment.” He closed the door behind them.
“What about Chuck?”

Parnell sighed as he dropped into his
chair. He looked moodily at the desk blotter. “I’ve talked to Cara and she’s
given consent for a state funeral. It’s not much consolation for her but at
least it’s a show of respect for a man who died stopping a terrorist plot.” He
looked up at Sam. “No need for the public to learn that half the FBI was
already there, or what his blood alcohol level was,” his face was solemn.
“Chuck died for the good of all mankind and we leave it there.”

Sam picked up the folder that he had
dropped on the desk when they went out for the smoke but, before he could turn
for the side door, Parnell spoke again. “Let’s get Tom Kelly to put a heavy
guard on the Moffett site.” He put his glasses on and opened up another folder
on his desk. “You know, armed patrols, a couple of tanks, night
vision-goggles.”

He glanced up at Sam. “We damn near got
knocked back a half year by some conspiracy nut who thinks the aliens are a
scam, and he’s still on the loose. I want our production sites locked down, and
I want this kid found and buried head first out in the Sonora Desert.

Waikiki

O’ahu, Hawaii

July 7
^th
, 2026

M
ike sat in the hotel lobby with a quiet young corporal from the
service battalion. The young man hadn’t said two words during the short trip
from Mauna Kea. Mike had finally broken through by buying him a beer from the
hotel bar and pouring it into one of the cups from the complimentary
lemon-water stand. As they sat in the lobby drinking their covert beer, the
shared breaking of the rules finally convinced the young man that it was ok to
chat.

He had known Christina, one of his fellow
soldiers from the battalion, for over two years and had just recently found the
courage to talk to her. Unfortunately, she was an officer. The military took a
stern view on fraternization and Christina had approached Keira with a scheme
that would let the star-crossed couple have some time together. 

The two men were waiting for Christina and
Keira to arrive so they could switch up. Officially, Keira and Christina were
travelling together on their three-day vacation, while Mike and Corporal John
Alvarez were a second, separate pair. Both men had come on an earlier chopper
and Mike had already been to the front desk to inquire about the possibility of
changing their four single rooms to two small junior suites.

He had been shocked to learn that the
penthouse suite was slightly cheaper than the four rooms put together. He and
John had gone up to check it out and they were amazed. The suite took up the
entire top floor of the small hotel and it was the size of a large two-bedroom
apartment. They headed straight back to the lobby and struck a deal with the
attendant who agreed to bill the government for the original four rooms in
return for a small honorarium.

Now, the two men set their beer down and
headed for the entryway as a sedan rolled to a stop under the portico. Two
young women in uniform got out and walked in the door, their faces lighting up
in reflection of the happy grins awaiting them. “What are the rooms like?”
Keira asked as she and Mike came up for air.

“Just you wait and see.” Mike took her
small duffel bag. “Is the rest of your luggage out front?” he said as he looked
out through the glass front of the lobby.

“Everything I need is right here,” she
responded, one eyebrow lifting playfully.

The bag was pretty small, which Mike took
as a very good sign.

Two glorious hours later, they lay on the
king-sized bed, watching the ocean between the larger hotels on Kalakaua
Avenue. “Who do you think will go?” Keira asked the question that was on
everyone’s mind lately. A bank of computers sat in the atrium of the telescope
facility giving staff a chance to put their names forward for service with the
response fleet. Keira had put her name in almost immediately and her chances
were very good. As an engineer, her application was largely considered a mere
formality.

After a week of soul-searching, Mike had
begun thinking of excuses to put his own name forward. He knew the layout of
the mining facility as well as anyone on Earth, and his knowledge of the
terrain far exceeded any other candidate. He had been surprised and flattered
when he had discussed it with Colonel McCutcheon.

“Of course you have to come,” the man had
sounded as if he were speaking to a dimwit but his smile softened the effect.
“I’m going to need a good maneuver analyst and it would be a damn sight easier
training you on the equipment capabilities than training one of our operators
on the Martian soil properties.” He slapped him on the back as he stood to go
for lunch. “Don’t know what a regolith is and don’t much care to; that’s why we
want you along. Just put your name in and leave the narrative box blank, for
all I care; you’re a no-brainer.”

As he watched the officer walk away he
realized McCutcheon was right. All those years trying to hide away in various universities
had left him with a unique skill set that fit the situation perfectly. They
really did need him. If he didn’t go, they would have a hard time finding a
suitable replacement.

Still, Mike had waited until he was sure
Keira would be going before putting his name in. Even though the rest of his
life had fallen automatically into place, she was the one thing that he’d
needed to work for. She had ignored him at first. Soldiers get redeployed every
few years and romances tend to be short lived: especially with civilians whose
jobs aren’t portable. His persistence, and his complete inability to hide his
attraction to her, had finally won her over. He had no intention of leaving
Earth unless she would be going as well.

She’d sat with him as he filed his request.
His phone buzzed with an automated selection notice before he had even logged
off from the terminal. McCutcheon had obviously put a note in Mike’s file,
advising automatic acceptance.

Now, laying on the bed, he stretched
luxuriously, thoroughly enjoying what may well be his last chance to enjoy the
comforts of Earth. “Well, both of us are going, but you need to make sure you
get assigned to the flagship, he said. “I’m going to be stuck in the analysis
cell on the
Ares,
so I won’t be able to go visiting other ships…”

“Do you think Dr. Colbert will be going?”
Keira asked as if it meant nothing to her one way or the other. “She’s pretty,
don’t you think? Smart too…”

How the hell do I answer that without
getting into trouble?
Mike thought.
Does she
just want to paint me into a corner so she can get angry at me, or is there
some kind of right answer?
He decided the bare truth would work best. “She
is
pretty,” he began in a tone of mild surprise. “I’d kind of forgotten that a
couple of months ago.” He grinned at her. “You think I stand a chance with
her?”

She laughed and shoved him out of the bed.
“Let’s get dressed and see if Christina and John are up for getting some
lunch.”

Mike pulled the sheet from over his head.
I
may be the first guy in history to make it through the unwinnable scenario in
one piece.

Low Earth Orbit

July 15
^th
, 2026

F
rank hit the release on his harness and drifted forward to the
cockpit windows.
Oh shit! Too fast!
 He put out both arms to catch
the pilot and co-pilot seats. Fortunately, they were not currently controlling
the huge airship and, though startled by his impact, they were not unduly
disturbed. “Sorry, guys; pushed off too hard.”

He looked out the window where the first
module, lifted into space eleven days ago, was securely fastened to one of the
three dockyard habitation modules that had been lifted ten days ago.

 Each lift involved a little over a
week in transit. The low altitude airship picked up cargo from one of the
various transfer yards in Europe and lifted it to an altitude of 140,000 feet.
Once there, it docked with the transfer station, a three mile wide octopus
platform held aloft by massive helium bladders in each of it’s eight arms. From
the transfer station, the modules would continue their journey to space aboard
the much larger, orbital airships.

The orbital airships, too large to survive
the weather of the lower atmosphere, had been assembled at the floating
transfer station and they operated between there and the orbital shipyards.

Frank had ridden up from Portugal with the
second frigate module. He had watched the huge mass of steel, aluminum and
carbon fiber as it was carefully maneuvered across the central floor of the
transfer station to one of the loading doors for an orbital ascender. He’d felt
a moment of almost supernatural dread at knowing that he was standing in a
massively heavy structure, floating within the atmosphere of Earth. He’d felt
suddenly certain that it had no place being there and that it would succumb to
gravity at any moment.

The station had not fallen, of course, and
he’d boarded the massive ascender, marveling at the incredible size. It was
more than fifteen times the size of the ill-fated Hindenburg and Frank had
cringed the moment the unsettling statistic had come into his mind. A leisurely
five day ride propelled by a mix of chemical and ion rocketry had brought them
to this final destination at the Galileo Shipyard.

Frank was intent on watching the activity
on the station. Tethered workers swarmed around the edges of the module, ready
with gusset pins and welding gear, waiting to begin the first orbital modular
ship assembly in Human history. He hadn’t even noticed the vibration as the
airship’s huge loading door began to open until the co-pilot remarked on it.

A team of four thruster crews approached as
the door swung open beneath them. The four crews carefully entered the craft
and Frank pushed away from the chairs, heading back to the central stair where
he grasped the railing and rotated almost gracefully over it, pulling himself
downward to reach the lower crew level where the bunks were.

His smug satisfaction at his neat
maneuvering was spoiled somewhat when his left ankle struck painfully against
one of the carbon beams of the upper deck. He grabbed his foot instinctively
and curled into a ball, thudding gently against the last couple of stairs in
his distracted state.

“You OK Frank?” Brad, the payload
specialist was watching with an amused grin. His station was at the large
window at the back of the crew compartment . It gave an unobstructed view into
the hold and he had turned at the sound of the creaking railing to watch Frank
bounce off the stairs and drift toward the bow of the ship.

“OK, for a first-timer, I suppose,” Frank
let go of his ankle and rubbed at his left shoulder where it had struck the
stairs.

“The head,” Brad shouted.

Frank ran a hand over his head, pulling it
away to check for blood as he drifted.

“No, you numbskull, you’re going to smash
into the
head
!” Brad pointed.

Bender did a few twists, managing to spin
like a falling cat and saw that he was about to knock the ship’s only toilet
off its mounting. He managed to grab the edge of a bulkhead and his remaining
kinetic energy swung him around the new pivot point, slamming him harmlessly
into the light-weight aluminum foam panel.

“Slowly,” the payload specialist advised.
“Just a light push and then you can brachiate along the ceiling beams.”

Frank followed the advice and made his way
aft to the window. He was just in time to see the last thruster team maneuver
into position at the starboard side of the ship module. “Those guys are quick;
I almost made an ass of myself for nothing.”

“Hey, if nothing else, I found it pretty
entertaining.”

The last team reached the yellow and black
target symbols on the module and grasped the handholds welded to its bulkheads.
They muscled the thruster unit gently towards the five orange-rimmed holes,
inserting the thruster’s registration pins and closing it’s clamp. Both men
grabbed onto the thruster’s handholds to stay out the way of the nozzles and
the team lead threw the switch to place the unit under central control.

The team leader used a combined set of
controls, linking the four individual thrusters, allowing a simple, three-axis
control scheme for the short flight from the cargo hold to the linkup of the
two ship modules. Brad put a hand to his earpiece before reaching down and
activating a series of controls on a long touch-screen that was strapped to his
arm. “Confirm release of restraint clamps,” he said, before nodding at the
crackle that even Frank could hear from the headset.

With a series of small silent puffs, the
module lifted away from the floor of the hold and began to move out into the
void of space. Frank moved up to the ceiling and pulled himself along the beams
until he reached the stairs. Positioning himself on the bottom step, he pushed
off lightly and reached up to grab the railing that ran around the upper edge
of the staircase.

Moving his hands to the side rails, he
brought his feet up and over the end rail and settled on the floor, an
unnecessary step but he was still used to using the floor. The beams here were
enclosed by removable panels and so he pushed off ever so lightly, drifting
across to the same chairs that he had smashed into earlier.

He gently arrested his forward motion by
grasping the back of the co-pilots chair and he was delighted to see that his
arrival had not been noticed this time. He looked out the window and saw that
the module had already cleared the cargo hold.

At this point, there was no reason to keep
the gigantic orbital airship on station, but after so much time to get there,
everyone on board wanted to see the first two modules come together. Brad
drifted over from the stairs along with Rob, the flight engineer and the entire
crew watched the dangerous ballet unfold.

At the twenty meter-mark, the thrust team
leader handed control over to the computer. This was the part of the assembly
that scared Frank the most. On Earth, cruise ship modules were easier to
control because gravity was a solid, predictable force and a good crane
operator could quickly bring the massive segments into place.

Here in orbit, it was hard to imagine
controlling so much mass with four relatively small thruster units and he said
as much out loud as they  watched the deadly operation unfold.

“It’s no different from getting around
inside this crew compartment,” Brad answered, still looking out the window.
“Out here, even a small amount of force can move a huge object. With no
friction or gravity to fight against, you can get the job done with very little
effort.” He grinned, still watching the module as it crept towards its mate.
“The other advantage of using as little force as possible is that it’s easier
to correct if you get it wrong. That way you avoid destroying a ship or having
to crap in bags for the next five days.”

Frank chuckled. Brad’s inside joke made no
sense to the rest of the crew and they were frowning slightly, trying to figure
out where the sudden scatological reference had come from. The moment was too
tense for a humorous re-telling of the near-accident and so they concentrated
on the scene before them.

The pilot activated a touch-screen on his
console, opening a channel selector and tapped the line labeled
Galileo
Shipyard – Thruster Team.
“I shut it off as soon as they were out of the
hold,” he said to the men around him. “It’s in the procedure manual - meant to
prevent accidental chatter from our end distracting the crew but I don’t see
the harm in keeping it on, just this once.” He scanned the screen, tapping the
output menu and nodding. “As long as our end is muted, that is.” He looked back
out the window.

“Tango Lima; ten meters, over.” The crew
jumped as the voice blasted out of the speakers.

“Sorry.” The pilot stabbed at the controls,
dragging the volume slider down with a finger, then re-checked the mute
controls for output as the station controller answered.

“Golf Charlie; ten meters, over.”

“Tango Lima; three meters, over.,”

“Golf Charlie; three meters, over.”

“Tango Lima; two meters, rotational
adjustment, over.”

“Golf Charlie; roger that, two meters,
confirm rotational correction on visual, over.”

Frank was trying to remain calm. He was of
two minds about using automated controls to guide the modules together. He
realized that computers were as fallible as the programmers who built the code
but the software had extensive redundancies built in. Several feedback loops
connected the sensor gear to the thruster control algorithms and, in theory,
the system should be able to line up the holes of the gusset plates to within a
thousandth of an inch.

He knew that a human thrust controller
could easily sneeze during a critical moment and trigger a disaster, but he
also knew that a programmer on Earth could easily make an error that could be
missed by all of the validations and reviews and remain dormant throughout
months of use. Such an error might manifest itself suddenly, triggering a
massive burst from the thrusters that could smash the module into a growing
ship, killing assembly workers or even sending the embryonic ship straight down
into the burning embrace of the planet’s atmosphere.

Knowing that the team leader had the final
option of physically disconnecting the computer controls and taking over the
system gave everyone a measure of comfort, but Frank was still nervous as he
watched the heavy ship components grow closer.

“Tango Lima; roger, rotation effective,
half meter, over.”

Frank knew that men were waiting at each
gusset plate with long tapered rods inserted through the bolt holes, aiming the
pointed ends towards the corresponding holes in the approaching module.

Small silent jets of gas were visible as
the two sections of the frigate closed the final distance, slowing the
progress. The team leader called out the final distance in centimeters.

“Tango Lima; one hundred, seventy five,
fifty, thirty, twenty – pins aligned – ten, five, four, three, two, one,
contact, no re-bound, over.”

“Golf Charlie; roger that, contact, no
re-bound. Good flying. Proceed with attachment, out.”

The men in the cockpit of the airship
breathed a collective sigh of relief as they watched the silent flashes of the
arc welders through the shielded cockpit windows. The UNS frigate
Amazon
was finally under construction. The last hurdle had been jumped. The entire
plan was now proven possible and, given enough time, this first frigate would
be assembled and operational, ready to defend its home world. Given enough
time, entire fleets would be ready, not only to defend Earth, but also to
travel to Mars and fight the enemy there.

And recent news had made it clear that a
fight on Mars would be necessary. There were survivors to rescue.