The Black Ships (5 page)
Miami, Florida
January 9
th
, 2026
F
rank took a pull on his beer and reflected on the changes a week
could make. When he had left for Finland on Tuesday, he would have assumed that
Saturday’s conversation would be the usual round of shop talk with Davidoff;
mutual bitching about the prima donnas that they had to deal with in building
cruise ships. Of course, there would have been the usual due paid to Davidoff’s
father, Ivan, regarding his latest culinary delight – it was hot Italian
‘gator sausage this time – but it was a perfunctory performance.
The conversation out in the back yard was
entirely about
them
– the aliens. Frank had learned about the attack on
the Mars station as he was sitting in a boardroom overlooking the half-built
hulk of the
Leviathan
. He had thought the whole thing a joke or worse,
a distraction cooked up by one of his subcontractors. Frank knew that one of
the décor suppliers was being pressured by a rival cruise line to move them up
on their schedule. It would have no impact on the rival’s launch date but it
would almost certainly cost Frank a week that he didn’t have.
A quick surf on his laptop, however, had
confirmed the incredible news. An entire classroom filled with students had
seen one of the aliens on a video link and the British Home Office had released
a press package that confirmed the incident and urged citizens to
Keep Calm
and Carry On
.
Now, standing in Kim’s back yard, he looked
across the causeway at the cruise ships docked at Dodge Island. “Do you think
people will still want to pay for cruises?” He looked over at Kim, who was
poking unnecessarily at the sausages while Ivan dozed by the pool. “With a
possible invasion just around the corner, would you want to spend a week or two
stuck on a boat?”
Davidoff finally left the poor sausages
alone and stared across the water at
Fury
, the last ship to come out
before the
Leviathan
class. He shrugged. “Too early to tell,” he said
simply. “It could go either way; people will either hide in their basements or
decide that life is too short to deny themselves the good life.” He grinned.
“You know the old saying.
Live every day as if it were your last
,”
“And one day you’ll be right?” Frank cut
in, one eyebrow raised. “So, it’s either business as usual, a huge jump in
business or a complete collapse of the cruise industry?”
“In which case, we would need to get the
hell out of
Dodge?”
Davidoff smirked at his own wit.
“See your problem,” Frank sighed, “is that
you think you’re funny, but you really aren’t.
You’re so un-funny
that it’s kind of amusing.”
“Exactly!” Kim pounced on Frank’s last
sentence like a triumphant cat on a mouse. “It’s part of my natural charm!”
Frank nodded absently, looking down the
waterway as his boat, a confection in fiberglass and horsepower, came rumbling
towards the dock. “I suppose that’s why you’re in your fifties and still live
with your dad?”
“Hey, Dad lives with me, with us,” he
asserted with a smile. “It was Sarah’s idea, by the way. I never would have
expected those two to get along but they sure as hell ganged up on me!”
“A likely story,” mused Frank. “As soon as
she’s finished tying up my boat, I’ll go down there and ask her.” He looked
over at Kim who was rooting through his cooler, sacred ground at the Davidoff
household.
“What you’ll do,” Kim said as he stood and
twisted off a cap, “is shut your damn piehole and have another red ale.” He
handed over the bottle, trading it for his friend’s hastily drained empty.
Blackmail accomplished, Frank enjoyed that
perfect first taste of a newly opened beer and treated himself to a moment of relaxation.
Aliens or not, I’ll land on my feet somehow,
he thought, waving to
Ellen as she walked up the Davidoff’s private jetty with Sarah.
It’ll be at
least another six months on my current project before I would have to look for
work. They couldn’t afford to cancel at this stage.
10 Downing Street, London
January 9
th
, 2026
J
an was ushered into the room by an aide. The Prime Minister, at
least, was easy to identify: he was the man behind the desk, frowning up at
her. There were six other people standing in front of him and they all turned
as she entered, all but one frowning in confusion and lack of recognition.
Jan had been picked up at home where she
was grading papers over a bottle of wine. She had been on her third glass when
the policeman knocked on her door. A flurry of preparation had ensued, a quick
pass over the hair, and a change of clothes – one didn’t go to the PMO in a
vest and jogging bottoms. She left the half-empty bottle sitting open on top of
a stack of boxes labeled
Edward
. Stopping at the door, she had taken a
quick look around the flat, eyes resting on the stack for a moment before she
turned off the light and closed the door.
Now she stood looking back at the assembled
group as another door quietly closed behind her and she began to feel annoyed.
They
called me here and this is the reception I get? Well, if they expect me to
explain who I am, they can go to hell. They can ponce about all day for all I
care.
Jan was no stranger to scrutiny: she made a living in front of
hundreds of twenty-something graduate students. “Sorry if I’m late,” she
breezed. “Traffic was a right Elliot.” She was quite pleased with herself for
her performance. It was a safe bet that none of them would understand the slang
that she had picked up from her students. It was obvious that the PM had no
clue who she was and equally obvious that he expected her to identify herself.
A man in a poorly-fitted suit stepped over.
“Dr. Colbert?” he asked as he held out his hand. “Dr. Harold Livingston; Home
Office Science, Research and Statistics.”
Jan took his hand. “Dr. Livingston”
Don’t
say ‘I presume’.
“I presume you can explain why I’ve been asked to come
here?”
Bugger, I kind of said it anyway. In vino veritas… Pull yourself
together!
“As you may have already guessed, it has to
do with your rather unusual conference call on Sunday morning.” Livingston’s
face gave the impression that they were discussing nothing more serious than a
crank call.
The Prime Minister looked relieved to know
who she was. “Dr. Colbert, thank you for taking the time to join us,” he began.
“What can you tell us beyond what was in your report?”
Jan wasn’t bothered by the company but the
question did manage to catch her off guard. “Beyond the report?” she asked,
buying a few seconds to think.
There was something I was thinking about when
I was lurching to the door with my third glass of wine in hand, but what?
Her
eyebrows raised involuntarily as it hit her.
The way they walked – their
balance as they turned in front of the camera. They probably have tails.
She shook her head. “Nothing of any import, I’m afraid.”
Dr. Livingston was not to be deterred.
“Then there might be
something
of no import?”
Jan shrugged. “From the way they moved, it
looked like they were balanced by tails.” She could see the PM raise an ironic
eyebrow. Livingston, however, smiled and nodded.
“We received imagery from the Americans
that confirms your suspicion, Doctor,” he said. “And I believe, sir, that
it supports my suggestion. Perhaps the information itself is unimportant, but
Dr. Colbert managed to determine it from almost no data at all.” Livingston had
turned his head back towards the PM as he spoke.
“And
almost no
data rather sums up
our current situation at the moment.” With a slight nod, the PM turned to Jan.
“Dr. Colbert, we would like to send you to New York. The UN has been given the
task of organizing our planet’s response to the alien incursion and we’re
sending staff to represent our government. “ He looked at her for a moment. “I
am certain you will have no difficulties in proving your value to the team.” He
nodded at Livingston who politely ushered her out of the room with a smile.
Jan was less than settled on the matter.
New
York? I have papers to grade, lectures to give.
“Dr. Livingston, I haven’t
agreed to go anywhere, or hadn’t you noticed?”
Livingston stopped in the hallway outside
the door to the cabinet room and smiled indulgently at her. “Yes, it was all
rather abrupt, wasn’t it? Three minutes in that room and they expect you to
uproot your life and save the world!” He leaned forward a bit, lowering his
voice in mock conspiracy. “You wouldn’t really refuse such a request, would
you? Not when you can make a difference, surely?”
Jan sighed. “Not if you put it that way,”
she said as she stared down the hallway.
If only I had gotten a
teleconference booking for the second instead of the third.
She was
suddenly very sober.
Sixty
Meter Observatory
Mauna
Kea, Hawaii
January 9th, 2026
M
ike sat up on his cot, staring at the coffee maker where a half pot
of sullen, black liquid sat on a cold heating element. “You let the pot go
cold.” He looked over at Pete with an expression of betrayal. The engineer from
NASA hardly acknowledged the statement. He was staring at the screen with a
frown. Upon standing, Mike was able to see the screen and he froze for a
moment. “What the hell are those?”
“If I had to hazard a guess,” Pete finally
took his eyes off the screen, “and I’ve been working on my guess for two hours
now, I would say they’re for mining supplies.” He shrugged at Mike. “They
landed near your operation on Olympus Mons. The whole reason Red Flag set up
there is because volcanoes and asteroid impacts bring mineral wealth to the
surface, right?” He continued when Mike nodded. “They leveled a patch this
morning and dropped those big boxy numbers about an hour ago.” He walked to the
sink and dumped his coffee out.
“They could have parked anywhere,” Mike
thought out loud. “But going to that kind of trouble to park on the slopes of a
volcano…”
“Means they have minerals on their minds,” the engineer finished for him. He
grabbed his coat from a chair. “I’ll go out for food and I’ll bring you back
some decent coffee.” He stopped by the door. “Do us both a favor: throw out
that can of crystals and I’ll bring back some fresh-ground Kona.”
Mike smiled and nodded; the crystals were
only there for occasional use. They had never been intended to keep a two-man
watch fuelled with caffeine for over a week. “Fine.” He did his best to sound
grudging. “But no more spam sushi.”
The engineer laughed. “C’mon, it’s an
acquired taste. You have to give it a chance.”
The Red Flag astronomer gave a disapproving
shake of his head. “Seriously, dude, there is something wrong with the way your
head works. And why,” his voice grew louder, “do we always label disgusting
food as an
acquired taste
?” He jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “This is
one guy who won’t fall for the oldest marketing scam in the books.”
“Uh-huh…” Pete’s voice was thick with
sarcasm as he opened the door. “You
do
still want the bottle of scotch,
though?”
Mike chuckled. “Not in here, but point
taken; I
have
acquired a few tastes, but NO DAMN SPAM,” he yelled as the
door closed behind his friend.
Manhattan, New York
January 11
th
, 2026
F
rank sat in an old Danish-style chair. It looked like it had been
there since the ‘50’s when that kind of mid-century modern was all the rage.
I
tried to tell them they had the wrong guy; now what the hell do I say?
He
was a mess; and this was no simple mistake. This was a fail of epic
proportions.
At least he’d tried to tell them – several
times.
Just over two hours ago, he had been in a
meeting in Howard’s office where they were trying to smooth things over between
Ops and Engineering. Frank had sensed that Howard knew he was in the right, but
the VP of Operations still wanted his head on a platter. Howard was playing the
peacemaker, as usual; suggesting that apologies be offered all around. Frank
was about to employ some rather shocking language when a commotion erupted on
the other side of the door.
All eyes were already on the door when it
opened. A young Air Force captain strode in with a middle-aged man in a light
grey suit. A shield on his belt identified him as a detective with the Miami
police. “It’s all right, Alan.” Howard nodded his assistant out of the office
before addressing the intruders. “Gentlemen, how can I help you?” He was too
curious to be annoyed at the intrusion and Frank was pretty sure he was glad to
interrupt the meeting before it got even more out of hand.
The military officer was first to speak.
“Sir, we’re looking for a Mr. Frank Bender. I believe he’s one of your project
managers?”
What the hell?
Frank knew he had heard it right but that didn’t mean it made any
sense. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Grant, the VP of Ops, smirking
at him but he had bigger problems at the moment than Grant.
What the hell
would the military want with me? And what’s with the cop?
As if in answer, the detective spoke up. “I
realize this is very unusual but we have been tasked by the highest authority
to ensure that Mr. Bender is located and delivered to Miami International
immediately.” His gaze slipped from Howard to follow Grant’s confused stare.
The VP of Ops no longer looked quite so smug, but he still couldn’t tear his
eyes away from Frank. “Mr. Bender?” the detective asked.
Screw it, anything beats apologizing to
that jackass
. “I’m Frank Bender,” he acknowledged.
“What exactly is going on here?”
The cop shrugged looking over at the Air
Force captain who answered. “Mr. Bender, I can’t tell you much. Your presence
is urgently required and we have been tasked with delivering you.”
Can’t tell me because it’s classified or
just because you don’t know?
Frank looked over at
Howard who merely shrugged helplessly.
At least ‘presence is required’
sounds better than ‘we’ve come to lock your ass up’.
He looked up at the
captain. “I think you have the wrong man; I just build cruise ships.”
The detective pulled out a notebook and
flipped it open. “Frank Philip Bender?” He looked up to see Frank nod before
continuing. “Born March 18
th
, 1984, son of Captain Samuel Bender,
USN Deceased?”
Frank nodded slowly.
This just keeps
getting stranger, but they seem pretty sure I’m their guy.
He was unable to
keep the troubled look from his face as a new thought occurred to him.
Is
the cop here to reassure me that this is legit, or is he here to make
sure I come?
He stood. “Well, I still think you have the wrong guy here,
but let’s go.”
The ride down the Dolphin Expressway did
little to settle his mind. There were no other vehicles on the westbound lanes.
Every on-ramp had a patrol car with flashing lights to turn drivers away. They
reached Le Jeune in minutes where they turned the wrong way at the 30
th
street intersection, driving over the curb and up to a fence where a platoon of
soldiers stood guard over a temporary opening. To Frank’s surprise they drove
right through and onto the tarmac of Miami International after crossing over a
rough patch of dead grass.
The vehicle headed right, pulling up to a
fighter jet. Frank, whose father had served as a naval aviator recognized the
F-22 raptor. The detective followed the parking signals of an armed soldier and
shut off the engine. “Well gentlemen, I believe this is the end of my
involvement in this bullshit.” He turned in his seat to look at Frank as the
captain stepped out of the passenger side. “Mr. Bender, I have no idea what
you’ve been dragged into, but best of luck.” He grinned and turned to face out
the windshield.
An airman pulled the door open and beckoned
Frank out, handing him a flight suit.
Now, sitting in the Danish chair, still in
the flight suit, Frank looked up at the row of portraits. He assumed they must
be the previous Secretary Generals.
Or is it Secretaries General?
He
stood and walked over to the first portrait.
Might as well see the sights
while I’m here
, he mused as he leaned over to read the engraved brass inset
at the bottom of the photo.
Gladwn Jeb,
he raised his eyes to scan
the photo but noticed his reflection where the man’s dark suit gave the glazing
an almost mirror-like quality.
Shit!
he
thought in mild alarm. The experience of flying at more than two times the
speed of sound was thrilling but stressful and his hair was a sweaty mess
plastered to his head like a huge dead spider. He tried running his hands
through his hair to at least get it off his scalp but it just dropped right
back down again.
He looked around in desperation, spotting a
fabric runner under a floral arrangement on a corner table. He pulled it from
under the vase and began to rub it on his hair to wick up as much moisture as
possible. He would have to stuff the cloth behind the table and hope that it
went un-noticed for a day or two. He could definitely feel his hair getting a
bit drier.
“Um, Mr. Bender?”
Frank turned, taking the cloth from his
head with his left hand. A young man stood there with one eyebrow raised.
Nicely
done, Frank; sit here for ten minutes and THEN decide to fix your hair. Well,
nothing else to do except act like this is normal – this is hardly the most
embarrassing thing I’ve ever been caught doing.
“Yes, that’s me.” He
flashed a friendly grin. “And you are?”
“Thomas, Tom – Ramus. I’m Ms. Sisulu’s
personal assistant.” To his credit, Tom was only momentarily flustered. Perhaps
this wasn’t the most embarrassing thing
he
had ever caught a visitor doing.
“She’s ready for you now.” He smiled as he gestured through the doorway with
his hand.
Frank tossed the runner on the chair and
quickly bent to check the results in Mr. Jeb’s photo as he ran his fingers
through his hair. It looked like a bad gel job from the eighties and there was
an alarming cow-lick sticking up but it would have to do. He stood and followed
Tom into the office. It was large. Near the windows sat a desk facing a huge
conference table. Beyond the table was a discussion area with more Danish-style
chairs.
Jess Sisulu walked towards him extending a
hand. “Mr. Bender,” she said, unable to stop herself from glancing up at his
hair and flashing a slight, diplomatic grin. “I’m sorry we had to bring you
here under such unusual circumstances.” She stepped back to her left, waving
her right hand towards the discussion area. “Won’t you have a seat?”
Frank moved with her towards the chairs,
sitting across from her. “Madame Secretary, um, is that what I call you, or?”
He trailed off, feeling like an idiot.
Good job, genius. You could have
looked it up on your smartphone ten minutes ago.
He shrugged mentally.
Oh
well , it’s not like I really care what these yahoos think.
Jess had a disarming smile and she turned
it loose on Frank. “Mr. Bender, considering how much time you will be spending
in this office, I think we can dispense with the formalities. Please call me
Jess.”
“Frank,” he replied.
OK this is getting
out of hand for a simple case of mistaken identity. I’m now on a first-name
basis with the Secretary General of the UN?
He gave a slight shake of the
head, his mouth a tight mask, the bearer of bad news. “Jess, I think there has
been a mistake,” he began, his voice filled with the calm confidence that he
would soon be on the sidewalk looking up flight times on his phone. “I build
cruise ships. Has the UN suddenly gone into the entertainment industry?”
Jess grinned. “I hear there is a lot of
money to be had in cruise ships, perhaps we could fund ourselves?” She
shook her head, smiling. “You don’t just build cruise ships, Frank, you
are building the largest ship on the planet and in record time, from what we
hear.”
“Must have been something in that bagel,”
Frank mused out loud, then seeing the look on Jess’ face he explained. “Sorry,
Jess, but I must have food poisoning. You see, I’m probably sitting in my
cubicle right now with drool running out of my mouth while one of my co-workers
calls Poison Control.” He shrugged. “I’m hallucinating that I’ve been flown at
twice the speed of sound to chat with an improbably attractive politician about
my work." There was an edge to his voice. Frank was getting a little tired
of the bizarre twists in his Monday and he was trying to throw Jess off her
balance a little.
Start making sense, dammit. What’s this all about?
Jess gave a nod of acquiescence. “Fair
enough, Frank, I’ll come right to it.” She leaned forward. “By now, you have
heard of the footage out of Oxford?” Seeing him nod, she went on. “There’s
footage from another source that indicates hostility.” She stared into his
eyes. “The consensus is that they
will
come here next but nobody knows
when. When they do, we need to be ready. That’s where you come in.” She sat
back.
“You want to ship me over there so they can
beat me to death in front of a camera?” he demanded coldly. When they had
pulled up in front of the Secretariat building in New York, he had almost
thought this was some high handed attempt to apologize for what had happened to
his father. He was ready to blow his top if that were the case, being dragged
out of a meeting by armed men and flown up the coast at someone else’s whim,
but it sounded like they actually expected him to do something
for
them.
She had the grace to look ashamed, even
though she had still been working in Africa at the time. “It was wrong to leave
him behind like that.” She admitted. “So many missions had been poorly thought
out and the support was almost non existent.”
“Poorly thought out?” Frank radiated anger.
“That mission was properly thought out by the officers who were assigned to
lead it.” He remained in his seat, afraid he might throw a chair out the window
if he came to his feet. “I remember the last day I saw my dad, before he
shipped out,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. His voice grew quiet but
it still held an edge. “He told me how the troop strengths, the equipment
recommendations, the rules of engagement; all were overridden by some flunky in
this building.” He rapped a knuckle on the coffee table as he spoke.
He looked at her in silence for a few
moments. “It took the local warlords about a month to figure out the weakness
of the force and how restrictive their rules were,” he said. “If you feel the
need to send soldiers on a peace keeping mission, you have to give them the
right to defend themselves without having to go through a flowchart in some
damned handbook or call a desk jockey in New York. If it wasn’t for the French
Navy, none of them would have gotten out alive.”
The French Naval commandos had shown no
bureaucratic compunction about opening fire and had come ashore once it became
clear that the UN force was being overrun. They had established a secure
beachhead and ferried the survivors out to the
Charles de Gaulle
by
landing helicopters in the tide zone. Smaller teams had worked their way inland
to search for isolated pockets of friendly troops. Though many were saved,
Samuel Bender had not been one of the lucky ones. Two months later, he had been
beaten to death in front of a camera after refusing to read a prepared
statement.
That was three years ago.
Frank had hated the UN ever since.
“Mr. Bender, the UN hasn’t always been the
best instrument to force peace on the unwilling, and in some cases, it has
failed completely – failed the citizens it sought to aid as well as the
soldiers we sent to protect them.” She paused to catch her breath, and her
thoughts. “In this endeavor, we assume a more fitting role. We serve as a
framework for the nations of the Earth to work together. To channel all of our
efforts and resources into the most difficult construction project our species
has ever attempted.”
The hair on the back of Frank’s neck
suddenly stood on end as he stared back at her.
Is this going where I think
it is?
“Jess, do you need me to build something for you?”
An orbital
defense station? Couldn’t NASA or the ISS group do a better job?
“We have the backing of every nation on
Earth - finance, materials and expertise.” She leaned in again. “Three carrier
groups, Frank; three battle groups to send to Mars and you are the best
qualified for what we have in mind.” She carried on over his inarticulate grunt
of disbelief. “The major naval powers have let their shipbuilding industries
fall into decline. They can still help with weapon systems but when it comes to
constructing massive modular hulls, they can’t do it quickly and they have
never
done it efficiently.”