The Black Ships (34 page)
“I wouldn’t drag God into this,” the
sergeant said absently as he shifted his attention to his other armpit. “He’s
going to have his hands full when our lads get turned loose back home. D’you
think the infirmary might have some kind of cream?” While he scratched various
spots, he slowly drifted towards the man.
Märti realized what the sergeant was doing
and he racked his brain for some way to distract Richner. Questioning his
assertion seemed like a good way to hold his attention. “Well, you wouldn’t be
the first person to claim they’ve cornered the market on God’s will,” he
remarked casually. “A lot of murderers try to scrub their conscience with that
old chestnut.”
“You don’t understand,” Richner protested.
“I have to do this.”
“I think I have a pretty good grasp of it,”
Märti replied coldly, positioning himself as the opponent while Dreher was
simply a man with itchy crevices, a man to ignore. “Let me see if I can
summarize to your satisfaction.” He held the man’s gaze as he raised a hand to
count off on his fingers, adding further distraction. “First, you tell us that
God wants to punish us. I don’t know how you got your hands on that particular
bit of intelligence but you must have better connections than I do and I have
family at the Vatican.”
He raised a second finger. “Next, you want
us to believe that God screwed up. His punishment backfired because now we’re
going to be stronger than ever and he needs a mere mortal like you to help him
out. Risky, that, accusing the Almighty of incompetence…”
He raised a third finger and paused,
frowning. “Well, I suppose I only have the two points, but let me ask you this:
how do you know we aren’t meant to punish the aliens for
their
pride?”
He saw the first hint of doubt play across the man’s features. “How did you
make this decision?” the major demanded incredulously. “Did you flip a coin?
Did you realize there was more than one possibility?”
Richner’s eyes were riveted on the major.
If he had been wrong, then that meant he had murdered a man for nothing more
than a delusion. His mind was trying to force him back into the simple
conviction that would give him peace, the straightforward belief that he was
obeying a higher power. He didn’t see Dreher put his foot against a storage
rack of ceramic re-entry cones and shove with all his might.
The punch connected with all of Dreher’s
two hundred twenty pounds and Richner was relieved of the need to solve his
moral dilemma for a few hours. “
Kack
,” the big NCO grimaced. “Never hit
a man’s head with a closed fist.” A German marine appeared in the doorway,
holding an MP5 submachine gun in his right hand while his left held a handle on
the outside of the doorframe, ready to pull himself back if he came under fire.
“We’re clear,” Märti said with a deep sigh.
He pointed at the unconscious Richner. “That’s the man you want, and we need an
ordinance tech in here to secure that warhead.” The man nodded and waved his
team in. Märti looked over at Dreher. “Let’s get you over to the infirmary and
have that hand looked at.” He frowned suddenly. “Did you say they have wine
back in the dormitory?”
“
Mol
,” the sergeant confirmed
guardedly, ready to stand up for the lads if the major started spouting
regulations.
“Good, I could do with a drink after that.”
“Alright, but let’s stop at the head first.
It’s more urgent than my hand.” They moved towards the magazine door. “Come to
think of it, I might need a little help.”
“If you mean anything other than help
getting out of that EVA suit, I’ll break the other hand…”
Washington, D.C.
March 14
th
, 2028
“S
ir, they’re ready for you.” Jack Kitzhaber stood in the hall door,
grinning with the knowledge that he would have one of the best days in Press
Secretary history.
“Thanks, Jack. ” Parnell looked over from
the sitting area where he was in discussion with Sam Worthington, Whitehouse
Chief of Staff, and Admiral Tom Kelly, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “We’re
almost done here. Come in and grab a seat for a minute.”
Jack walked over and dropped into a
fragile-looking 19
th
-century armchair with alarming disregard.
“First time in five hours I’ve had a chance to sit,” he said with a happy grin.
“Did I mention what a good day this is turning out to be?”
“Only a few dozen times,” Sam remarked
drily, fishing out his cell phone and holding it up. “For posterity,” he
declared as he snapped a picture of Jack’s happy slouch. “I’ll send it to your
team so they can make it look like a proper black and white.”
“Jack, we were discussing the plan for
putting our own fleet in orbit once we understand the new engines on the
captured mother ship,” Parnell cut in. “Needless to say, we’re continuing with
the designs of the second-generation ships but those will probably never be
built. We can’t afford to build any more ships in orbit. The next generation
will be built on the surface and simply launch into orbit using the new
Anasazi
engines.
“The real challenge at this point is
figuring out their star drive. Once we can replicate it, we can probably build
a starship for the same price as a surface carrier and nobody is bothering to
build those anymore.” The president paused for a moment to consider his words.
“Jack, our public stand at the moment is that the U.N. is our best friend, but
we all know what they’ve turned into. They’re dangerous. They have the only
fleet in space and they’ve sucked the world of most of its cash to build it.”
He looked now at Tom as he spoke. “We need
to get out from under their thumb, gentlemen. Once we understand the new
engines, we can put up a fleet for a fraction of the cost of the one we sent to
Mars and it will outclass whatever the U.N. has left. No one will give them
money to build any more ships.”
Jack cut in. “How long before other
countries are able to do the same? They all have access to the same data.”
The president nodded. “They do, and the
Chinese are probably going to be our biggest rivals. According to Sam, they’re
still almost half-and-half between ‘free market’ and ‘command economy’. They
can push production a hell of a lot faster than us so we have to try to beat
them on the science.”
“The preliminary reports from the tech
teams indicate that the physics involved in the captured engines may be very close
to existing but obscure theories.” Kelly leaned forward as he spoke, opening a
file folder on the coffee table. “We have a list of fringe physicists who are
about to find themselves drafted into the service of their nation.” He looked
up at Jack. “We haven’t beaten the enemy yet; they still have their nice safe
little home world out there somewhere and they sure as hell won’t take this
defeat lying down.”
“What Tom is laying the groundwork for here
is our need to keep talking about a state of war.” Parnell looked down at the
open folder as he talked. “We plan to build our own fleet based on what we
learn from the enemy. We’re building a very comfy complex on one of our
territorial islands and we’ll staff it with the best minds we have, but not all
of them will be keen to come.” He looked up at Jack. “That’s why Tom mentioned
drafting.”
“I see,” Jack said slowly. “And by
comfy
we mean?”
“Nice houses, appealing designs,” Sam
shrugged. “Streets, sidewalks, schools, playgrounds, a light commercial zone
with coffee shops and restaurants. It’s almost ninety percent complete. It’s
the kind of community that folks usually buy into on their own without the
added incentive of saving the human species.”
“And if some of our brightest and best
don’t want to come?” Jack asked lightly.
“They get put in an officer’s uniform and
sent there for less pay,” Kelly said reasonably. “They can still have a nice
house if their families come with them but
they
come, one way or
another.” He glanced over at Sam and the President before continuing. “Speaking
of recruiting, it’s time we got one of our citizens back.” he pulled a page
from his folder and slid it in front of Jack.
“It’s not exactly fair,” Parnell explained
as Jack looked down at the sheet on the coffee table. “It’s not much to work
with either but you should be able to pass that to someone in a way that
doesn’t get back to us?” Though inflected as a question, it was undoubtedly an
order.
“Yeah, I can make that happen,” Jack began
dubiously. “This won’t create much of a stir. Folks are angry about how much
money the fleet cost but hearing that the project manager took his friends and
family to Lisbon for a weekend when he was going there anyway is still going to
be small beans. We can spin it a bit, but…” He shrugged.
“It should be enough to push him out of the
UN payroll,” Sam said reasonably. “They don’t have any pressing plans to build
a new fleet so we just need to call attention to the fact that he’s still
drawing pay. We’re not looking to get him tarred and feathered. We just want
him at loose ends so we can snap him up.”
“I still don’t like this,” Kelly growled.
“Sam and I went through Annapolis together and now I’m party to a plot against
his kid? He did a damn good job working for an organization that he’s not
particularly fond of.”
“Jack, once we have him safely in hand,
you’ll turn him into a national hero,” Parnell explained, mostly to mollify the
admiral. “He actually brought the fleet in under budget.” He saw his press
secretary’s eyebrows lift a quarter inch and the President waved a cautioning
hand. “That’s not public knowledge yet but we hear that he plans to hand back
seven percent of the original budget.”
Parnell stood and reached for his coat; the
other three men came to their feet. “For the love of God, Jack, get him fired
before he releases his budget numbers. Once they come out, our chance is lost.”
He shrugged into his jacket. “We need him for our own fleet, and we want him
and his layout expert living on that island to keep the designers from running
amok. We need to get ourselves out from under the UN’s shadow.”
“Did you just say ’amok’?” Sam grinned.
“You won’t let me use it in speeches,”
Parnell retorted in a long-suffering tone. “I have to get it out of my system
before I step in front of the press, don’t I?” He buttoned his jacket and
headed for the door. “Alright, let’s go announce partial victory.”
Jack looked alarmed. “Sir, I need time to
change your remarks before you walk in there. The language doesn’t reiterate
the continuing state of war.” His best day in history was suddenly in jeopardy.
“I’ll just wing it.” Parnell kept heading
for the press briefing room.
Jack looked helplessly at Sam.
“He just might say ‘amok’ again,” The Chief
of Staff grinned at his subordinate. He leaned forward and peered down the
hall. “He’s almost at the door, Jack. Don’t you think you should get in there?”
Jack snapped out of his daze and raced down
the hall, just catching up as the President opened the door and strode in.
Kelly laughed quietly. “Do you think it’s
always like this?” he asked. “Whatever the President says in there will write
our names into the history books and he’s pulling the whole speech out of his
ass.” He grinned. “His press secretary is just this side of a cardiac event
because he has no idea what will happen in the next ten minutes, even though he
had every syllable planned this morning.”
“When you have good news, the public will
forgive just about any gaffe,” Sam shrugged. “Remember when Kennedy made his
famous Berlin speech? A lot of people claimed that adding the ‘ein’ when he
said he was a Berliner meant that he was claiming to be a jelly doughnut but
the Germans knew what he was getting at and they loved him for it.”
“Makes you wonder what went on in this room
during some of history’s great moments,” Kelly mused. “The Cuban missile
crisis, for example.”
“Probably a bit of a mess,” Sam agreed.
“But this is going to be a hell of a lot bigger, you wait and see. We still have
a whole planet filled with enemies out there somewhere.”
Those enemies were about to find that they
had lost contact with their colony on Mars.
Guernsey
Channel Islands
August 24
th
, 2028
J
an jumped from the ramp of the Osprey before it could settle its
landing gear on the ground, dropping the last four feet with a practiced,
controlled collapse. She ignored the shouts of concern from the vehicle’s
loadmaster.
Aircrew here on Earth were far more
procedure-oriented than the veterans who had flown between the fleet and the
surface of Mars. Ospreys had rarely touched the surface of the red planet but
simply hovered while troops disembarked; a sitting aircraft was easy meat for
enemy infantry.
She picked up her bag and started towards
the low stone wall separating the pasture from the grounds of a thatched, stone
cottage. A young boy on the other side of the wall was watching the
almost-silent aircraft as it floated back up into the fog. He looked to be
around ten and, like most boys, he was fascinated by the new engines that had
revolutionized the transportation industry.
There was no mistaking who he was.
“All right, Thomas?” She couldn’t help
smiling at this smaller version of Liam.
“
Coume tchi que l’affaire va?
” The
youngster grinned up at her with easy charm.
Her heart skipped a beat. Years ago, when
she had imagined children, they had been just like this young man, right down
to the father’s confident personality.
Only two years on the island and
already he’s talking like a local,
she thought, setting the bag on the far
side of the wall. She threw a leg over and sat on the cold stone. “I thought
that language was disappearing.” Very few islanders spoke the local cousin of
Norman French anymore.
“They have it at my school,” he said with a
happy shrug. “Some things are worth bringing back.” He looked down the hill to
where a small cluster of houses stood. “My mum never knew a word of it but my
Gran'mère
cried when I first used
Guernésiais
.”
He smiled at the memory. “Then she stuffed me so full of
gâche
, I could
barely walk home!”
Thomas’ mother had died in an accident while Liam was
a prisoner in Afghanistan. The boy had spent several months with his uncle in
London until Liam had come to collect him. He had a better life here, with his
mother’s family just down the hill and Liam’s sister at this cottage.
Thomas picked up Jan’s bag. “You’ll catch your
death sitting on those stones,” he said, acting as though he had known her for
years rather than minutes. “We’ve set a place for you; you’re just in time for
lunch.”
So like his father,
she thought.
Liam had the same way of making you feel you had known him forever. As they
approached the door, it opened and there he was, a cane in his left hand and a
smile on his face. He shuffled sideways as his son disappeared inside the
narrow doorway and then he threw his arms around her, the cane dangling behind
her back.
They leaned back to look at each other.
“How long do you have?” he asked.
She smiled. “As long as I want,” she said.
“After what we’ve done, being at Oxford seems like someone else’s life. I think
I’d go mad if I had to go back to grading papers and teaching classes.” She
gave a tiny shake of her head. “Sometimes, you just can’t go back.”
“Sometimes?”
She gave him a kiss before whispering in
his ear.
“Sometimes, you can.”