The Cresperian Alliance (25 page)

"Crispy Resistance Force?” Jeri's eyes twinkled. “I think this is...” she hesitated. “It's good, but it's sad too, in a way. My people were so innocent, so peaceful..."

"I know, Jeri,” Kyle murmured from his station, “but I'd say you've been damned lucky. To have existed for so long, and never to have encountered more in all your travels than a few wild animals? When your star system is apparently so close to Snapper space?” He shook his head. “I don't know how they missed you."

"Me either, Kyle,” Jeri admitted, “and I'm glad they did. But I could have done with them missing us awhile longer."

"That would be our fault,” Kyle sighed. “In that respect, Madame Secretary of State is right. We ran into a hornet's nest we didn't even know was there."

"Oh, dear God,” Bang exclaimed then, glancing at his screen. “Look."

The crew's attention returned to the surface imagery. A collective gasp went up.

"Concentration camps,” Jan Wersky hissed, barely audible. “My great grandparents died in concentration camps."

The crew of the
Starskipper
could do nothing but watch as a unit of Snappers marched some thirty Cresperians out of a small building—wondering how thirty could even fit into the building—and rowed them up against a scarred, scorched stone bluff face. Moments later two Snappers opened up their laser rifles, mowing down the ranked Crispies, cutting them in two with a couple of waves of their weapons. Entrails gushed onto the ground and ruptured; blood and body fluids from the burst organs spread in a small pool at the base of the rock. An earthmover came around a corner of the bluff and began callously scooping up the body parts.

Piki wailed and rushed from the flight deck, running for the head.

"I'll see to her,” Peggy Nunez offered. “You guys keep scanning. That bitch back on Earth needs to know what's really going on."

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In his private office, President Thomas Waterman kicked back in an overstuffed easy chair, chatting on a secure phone to General Caleb Washington.

"Looks like the Secretary of State is in a bit of hot water,” Washington noted.

"Yeah, looks like it,” Waterman tossed off nonchalantly. “Every party leader on BOTH sides is ready to choke her. Pretty big leak to the press, too."

"Yeah, pretty big,” Washington agreed. “Wonder how that happened?"

"No idea,” Waterman said with an audible smirk. “No idea at all."

"Ah-huh.” Washington sounded disbelieving.

Both men chuckled. “About time she got her comeuppance,” Waterman pointed out. “The nicest thing about it all is that I haven't seen her in two days. Next subject."

"...So have you been keeping up with the video snippets, Mr. President?” Washington queried.

"Pretty well, yeah, Caleb. I try not to do it too late at night, though. Too grim,” Waterman sighed. “I have enough nightmares as it is."

"I... know the feeling, sir,” Washington responded, subdued. “Do you think it's enough to convince... certain diplomats?"

"Dear God, I hope so,” Waterman groaned. “Seriously, the way they're getting the imagery—starting from full planetary views and then zooming in—that's enough to convince anyone that the planet has been devastated. And,” he swallowed hard, “the concentration camps... how many have they found now?"

"Ten. Large ones,” Washington noted. “Whether they believe in Him or not, Lord have mercy on the Cresperians."

"Indeed. Yes, that should get our pacifist's attention. How are we doing on the new weapons development?"

"Not too badly, sir.” Waterman thought Washington's tone sounded more hopeful with the change of subject. “We've shared the technology with our allies, and almost all major cities around the planet are now outfitted with the upgraded shielding and disintegrator cannons. Some even have sonic concussor cannons. We've got a complete constellation of disintegrator cannons and teleforce cannons in geosynchronous orbit, clusters in the Lagrange points, and several already placed in the asteroid belt. Huge platforms hidden in the Sun-to-Jupiter Lagrange points, too. There's always a big cluster of asteroidal debris in those locations, so we can practically hide a small moon there."

"That's good."

"Yes, sir, very good. But we've gone fully three dimensional with the sensor constellations too—or we're working on it, I should say. I expect it all to be complete within a few days of the return of the
Starskipper
. We'll have a sphere of protection out to the radius of the asteroid belt, at least."

"That's gotta be a lot of cannons."

"Not really. Not with the range we've achieved on the disintegrators, not to mention the teleforce cannons. Those things are cool.” Waterman heard the grin in Washington's voice. “Some of the Crispies are declaring Tesla must have been the first Cresperian on Earth. And they're only half joking."

Waterman sat up, startled. “Is it possible?"

"Dunno. He certainly had some really strange devices that nobody has been able to duplicate—until now."

"Can we find out?"

"I doubt it,” Washington sounded doubtful. “Once a Crispy has converted to human, his genetics are identical to a human's. The only way to tell would be to find the core of their perceptive organs. It's like a small tumor attached to the spinal cord directly behind the solar plexus. As long as Tesla's been dead, that would... have... decayed...” Washington's voice tapered off, a sound of shock in it.

"What's wrong, Caleb?"

"Sir, either Tesla wasn't a Crispy—or he isn't dead."

"WHAT?!"

"Tom, you know how long the Crispies live! If Tesla was a Crispy, he must have faked his own death, and adopted a new identity!” The general, in his excitement, dropped into a more familiar mode of speech with his commander in chief.

"But... Caleb, we know his family! He didn't get married, or even have affairs! If he was a male Crispy, he should have gone nuts, not to mention sex crazed! How..."

"I don't know, Tom,” Washington admitted then. “But maybe it's something to try to look into, one of these days when we actually have time."

Waterman settled back into his chair, trying to will his befuddled mind to settle as well. “Okay. Investigation for a future day. Maybe we can find his remains and take some of our Crispies to see them, and they can pick up something."

"Maybe. Supposedly his ashes are in a museum in Serbia. If they really
are
his ashes."

"That makes it easy. Now, back to our preparations. What about infantry?"

"The personal quantum shields and invisibility torcs are already in the field. We've got hand held disintegrators that are essentially duplicates of the Crispies’ rings, in pistol form,” Caleb noted, his voice indicating he was having difficulty shifting gears. “The foot soldiers will also have teleforce rifles, and each unit will be outfitted with one or more sonic concussors."

"Why just one per unit?"

"They're kind of big. Think... oh, rocket launcher, or the old bazooka."

"Oh. Okay, go ahead."

"Cavalry—to include tanks, aircraft, et cetera—will have, in addition to the biggest honking conventional shells we can handle, disintegrator cannons, teleforce cannons, and sonic concussors,” Washington declared. “Well, I take that back—it was decided not to put the concussors on airborne craft, due to the possibility of destabilizing their flight. Those will be on tanks and armored personnel carriers, though. And we might have a few hovertanks by then."

"Really? Excellent,” Waterman was pleased.

"We're working hard on it,” Caleb averred. “And we've got specialized, replaceable and rechargeable batteries for the smaller vehicles, like tanks, to operate the new equipment. It's based on a combination of Crispy and human technology. For heavy active duty—that is to say, battle—they last a couple of hours, so we have backups aboard. We have to scale up the weight of what the Crispy devices could handle for everything, but we're awfully close."

"How soon?"

"Now that we've got the regular military to help out, within a week or ten days, sir."

"Wonderful! But you're not...” Waterman began, letting his tone drop for emphasis.

"No sir. Nobody outside SFREC personnel and the top brass—and our allies’ equivalents—know the actual secrets. We're just using the regular military to help deploy."

"Okay. Good.” Waterman drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, and there was a temporary silence. Caleb Washington broke it.

"There's something else on your mind, isn't there, sir?"

"Yeah, Caleb, there is,” Waterman admitted. “Our non-allies. We promised to protect the entire planet."

"I know, sir,” Washington sighed. “We can't give them the technology because we can't trust them with it. And we can't create a planetary shield. But we've got weapons deployed in orbit around the planet, and we have starships to send out against the Snappers, and troops that can be mobilized, with high tech weapons. And if I remember right, sir, you promised to TRY, not to DO."

"Yeah, yeah,” Waterman murmured. “I hear everything you're saying, Caleb. We can only do our best. And even with all of our new tech, there's still no guarantee. Still, after seeing the video of those concentration camps... Caleb, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.” He paused, considering, then amended his statement. “Well, maybe on the Snappers themselves, but..."

"Yeah. I know,” Caleb said, falling back into familiarity. “But look at it this way, Tom. They seem to be focused on the Cresperian system. They might not even come here."

"Are you proposing we leave the Cresperian home world to its fate?” Waterman wondered.

"No, no! Not at all."

"Then they're going to find out about us,” Waterman pointed out. “Chances are they're smart enough to put two and two together. After all, we've already had a scout ship come to observe from the edge of our system."

"True,” Washington argued, “but if we suddenly show up on their flanks at Cresperia and whup some Snapper ass—and I'm talking about total eradication, which I believe we can achieve—they might not have a chance to figure it out, or even get out a distress call. And they'll definitely think twice before coming after us in our home system, even if they do."

"You know better than that, Caleb. First off, we haven't gone up against a Snapper force of this magnitude before. There's no guarantee, as you pointed out. And you know the old adage: ‘No battle plan ever survives first contact with the enemy.’ Second, even as fast as things seem to go in a battle—and remember, I served, when I was younger—there's always somebody whose job it is to send out that distress signal IMMEDIATELY. It only makes sense. The Snappers may be ruthless, but they are obviously extremely intelligent. So they won't have neglected that duty. Third, we don't know for certain that we have a good line on ALL their weaponry. And last, if they're as egotistical and empire minded as they seem, they're going to see an ass busting as a challenge, not a deterrent."

A sigh came from the other end of the phone. “I know, Tom. I know everything you're saying is true. But I have to believe my scenario is at least a possibility. Otherwise, I'm throwing away good men and women, and possibly two entire planets as well, on what amounts to no more than a massive suicide mission.” There was a silence on the line. “We've already started tactical planning for a mission to Cresperia here. It can be mounted within about a week of the return of the
Starskipper
. We've code named it Snap, Crackle, Pop. What's the word on our allies in that regard?"

Waterman shook his head, fully realizing that Washington couldn't see it, but unable to stop the expression of disgust. “They'd have been ready days ago if we hadn't had to delay for... a certain diplomat."

"Well... maybe the delay was worthwhile, after all,” Washington soothed. “We're getting some really good intelligence information out of this mission."

"We are, that,” Waterman admitted. “Is Captain Preston annoyed that his ship went out without him?"

"No sir. He—and his handpicked crew—understood the dynamics of the situation, especially once they saw the makeup of the volunteer crew. In fact Preston took the time to give Lieutenant Anderson a rundown of command functions."

"That's a mark in his favor."

"He's a good man. He'll be a good starship commander too. He's got some experience—sea-based, but experience, just the same. And he understands the notion of a three dimensional battle better than some Air Force officers."

"All right, Caleb, I won't take up any more of your time. Thanks for keeping me in the loop."

"Any time, sir."

Waterman hung up.

The next day, the
USSS Starskipper
returned home safely with all hands. They debarked, decidedly solemn, and Lieutenant Anderson formally transferred command of the vessel back to Captain Preston.

"Good job, Anderson,” Preston murmured. “You AND your crew."

"Thank you, sir,” Anderson replied. “We... had a vested interest."

"I understand entirely. And thank you for taking good care of my ‘girl.’”

Hand grinned slightly. “I would have said it was the other way around, Captain."

The two men chuckled.

"You have to understand, Tom, emotionally they're pretty stressed,” Admiral Terhune explained to President Waterman in the president's private office. “It was a helluva mission. Not only did they have to be on constant alert, running a gauntlet of literally thousands of enemy ships—I have it to understand that none of the crew got any sleep for... well, for about as long as Cresperians and enhanced humans CAN go without going over the edge. But they also had to deal with the horrors of seeing what had happened to Cresperia and its people. And some of the crew ARE its people, and all of the rest have emotional ties of at least friendship, and in half the cases, mating. They're hurting."

"How much rest have they gotten?” Waterman asked, concerned.

"The trip back took about half a day. They split that up into two shifts, so by the time they landed, everyone had had about six hours of sleep. And they're all sleeping on the trip in to the Enclave. Now, how restful that sleep has been is another question..."