The Great Destroyer (13 page)

“Charlie III-2, what are the approximate dimensions of the tunnel you are standing in?”

The robot quickly consulted the laser measuring tool built into his optical sensor, which he ordinarily used to aim his rifle.  “The ceiling is approximately 1.7 meters tall, and the sides are 1.1 meters apart.” Charlie III-2 himself was about 2.1 meters tall, so he had to hunch over considerably to fit.

Cramped for a human, but about the right size for the smaller Ushah, Yazov considered.  He squinted at the monitor, trying to see how far the tunnel extended...

“Shit, does anyone see an end to the goddamn tunnel?” Yazov asked.  No one in the command center in Houston spoke up.

“Charlie III-2, how far does the tunnel extend?”

“At least 3,500 meters, Mr. Yazov.  That is the limit of my range finder.  To establish a more precise answer, I would have to move further into the tunnel.”  Charlie III-2 was unperturbed, but everyone at Houston felt their stomachs turn to ice.

Tanner noted unnecessarily, “The Charlies are only a few hundred meters from the beach.”

Yazov said flatly, “Well, that explains how they got over here without anyone noticing.”

“They built a tunnel from Madagascar to the mainland of Africa?!” a communications specialist asked incredulously.  “How deep is the Mozambique Channel?”

“A kilometer or two for most of it,” Luke answered, having quickly found the answer on the Internet.  “Not impossible to drill under.  The deepest mines in the world go down much deeper than that.”

“And then they walk under a damn ocean in a tunnel barely bigger than they are?” the communications specialist inquired rhetorically.

Tanner shrugged.  “They must not get claustrophobic.  Don’t lizards on Earth burrow?  Maybe they didn’t evolve to fear tight spaces like we did, coming from the savannah.  The smaller the tunnel, the easier it would be to excavate... “

“And the easier it would be to hide,” Yazov finished the thought.  “And they had a huge island to hide their activities in.  This might not even be the only tunnel.”  Over the radio, he added, “Charlie III-2, what is the temperature in the tunnel?”

“70 degrees Fahrenheit, 21 Celsius.”

“Charlie III-1, what is the current temperature at your location?”  Yazov asked one of the robots outside the tunnel.

“84 degrees Fahrenheit, 29 Celsius.”

Yazov nodded, as if he had expected the answer.  For the benefit of everyone else in the command center, he said, “The Ushah must have suits that hide their thermal signature, or else we would have seen them on the satellites.  But the air in the tunnel was colder than the air outside.  The Ushah must have thought of that—they built two hatches leading into the tunnel to insulate it from the outside so when someone left the tunnel, the sudden change in temperature didn’t register on our satellites.  Someone must have gotten sloppy and left the lower hatch open, though.  The thermal anomaly our satellites saw was the cold air suddenly warping the thermal signature of the area right around the tunnel entrance.”

The room was quiet for a moment as all present considered the implications of the discovery.  Yazov finally said, “Our friend the professor is going to have to have another little talk with the Ushah.”

“Ashsef, I imagine you know the reason for my call,” Jackson said into the speakerphone on the table before him.  He sat in an ornate conference room in Toronto with First Representative Flower, Dr. Takagawa, Safety Minister Redfeather, and a coterie of aides.  It had only taken a few hours to arrange the call after the incident that was now being referred to as the Battle of the Tunnel, though it had been fought entirely above ground.

Ashsef had been working on his accent, and the hiss that characterized much of the Ushah speech was almost totally erased now.  “Hopefully, you are calling to explain why your mechanical slaves attacked our explorers.”

“We have video of the entire encounter,” Jackson replied.  “Your soldiers attacked the Charlies in our territory, where your soldiers had no right to be under the terms of our treaty.”

Ashsef’s voice held no trace of shame or guilt.  “For many reasons, we needed to see what lay beyond the bounds of our island.  For example, your weather patterns are unknown to us, and we wanted to establish a meteorological outpost where we could identify incoming storms that have disrupted construction of our buildings.  We also wanted to see if there were any other kinds of animal life on the African continent so that we might raise them on our island and diversify our diet.”

To call Jackson skeptical would have been an understatement.  “Why didn’t you just build a boat and come over in broad daylight, then?”

“We are not an ocean-going species.  Our home planet’s oceans were much smaller than yours.  We have far more experience building tunnels than we do building boats.”

More tidbits about the Ushah home planet for Peter to read into,
Jackson thought. 
Assuming it’s true...

“Why didn’t you give us any warning of your exploratory trips to prevent this kind of misunderstanding?” Safety Minister Redfeather interjected, much to Jackson’s annoyance.

Ashsef answered in a softer tone, “Our ship in orbit had observed that there were few permanent human settlements on that section of the coast, so we assumed you would not mind if we examined the area without your consent.  We didn’t think there was anyone on the coast who needed to be warned.”

Redfeather nodded, relieved.  “Well, we will work with you to make sure that future misunderstandings of that nature will not occur.”

The professor of conflict resolution blanched.  He stabbed at the mute button, and said harshly, “They broke the treaty, and you’re calling it a misunderstanding?!”

Redfeather glared back, and was about to reply when Ashsef said, “One way to prevent such accidents in the future is if you allow us to establish a small community of scientists on the coast so that we may carry out our scientific surveys in daylight, with full notice to you in advance.”

Jackson started to speak, but Redfeather cut him off.  “We would look favorably upon that resolution.”

Jackson was too shocked to say anything for a moment.  Ashsef quickly responded, “Excellent, I will notify the Enshath of your decision.  We will start sending our scientists across immediately.”  The line clicked off.

Standing from his chair so violently that he knocked over a pitcher of water, Jackson shouted, “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!  Do you even realize what you just did?”

The Minister of Public Safety turned white with fear, then red as he answered hotly, “If your Charlies didn’t have such itchy trigger fingers, we wouldn’t be in this mess.  We need to smooth this out before any more Ushah get hurt, or maybe next time they’ll take out their frustration against humans instead of your toys.”

Jackson controlled his anger with great conscious effort.  “You just gave them a beachhead.  The entire point of the treaty was to limit them to a place could keep an eye on them, somewhere they couldn’t do too much damage.”
Redfeather waved a dismissive hand.  “How much damage can a few of their scientists do on the Mozambique coast?”

Jackson slammed the table.  “We don’t know how many Ushah they’re sending across!  Can you tell the difference between their soldiers and scientists?  I’ll bet you your seat on the goddamn Cabinet that they aren’t going to let us inspect their facilities to make sure they aren’t bringing weapons across.”

The Safety Minister said nothing for a moment, then, “We will ask to verify the scientific purpose of their installation, but we need to keep in mind that we are dealing with rational beings not dissimilar from us.  They have a home now, and enough resources to sustain their population.  Why would they jeopardize that just to cause trouble?”

* * *

Two weeks passed.  The Arcani were present on the Mozambique coast to observe the arrival of the Ushah in three cargo ships on the fifteenth day after the conversation between Jackson, Redfeather, and Ashsef. 

Having received an open invitation, the Ushah came in broad daylight.  The spectacle was transmitted to the whole world, including Project Charlie, by press embedded with the Arcani.

“So much for their claim that they built a tunnel because they are too cautious to use boats,” Jackson observed acidly.

The three vessels used had been constructed by Ushah engineers in a matter of days.  They very much resembled human ships, though they were painted in bright patterns, which the Ushah seemed to prefer for ceremonial occasions.

Emma Takagawa stood beside Jackson watching a large-screen television in the main control room at Project Charlie as a news program played footage of the ships in transit. 

“They must have observed human vessels on the water from their mothership,” she speculated.  “Ships aren’t all that complicated; they must have reverse-engineered the basic principles and made facsimiles.  Why reinvent the wheel?  They would reasonably assume that we’ve had a couple thousand years to pretty much optimize ships for use on Earth’s seas.”

The ships had sat stationary for about thirty minutes, anchored a mile or so from the shore.  Then, about thirty smaller boats were lowered into the sea from the three ships.  The smaller boats ferried the Ushah to the beach, where they hopped out into the surf and waded the short distance to shore. 

Given the violence of the meeting aboard the
Empathy
, no arrival ceremony was planned.  The Arcani and press kept a respectful couple hundred yards between themselves and the landing party.  The Ushah paid little attention to the humans, and started using odd-shaped devices to conduct various measurements.

“Engineers,” Takagawa muttered.

Yazov, standing to her left, pointed to Ushah beginning to spread out into the jungle in the background behind the engineer being filmed by the press.  “Soldiers.”

The cameras were paying more attention to the engineers because they appeared to be doing more interesting work.  There also appeared to be a leader issuing orders among the Ushah.  However, there were far more soldiers, Jackson saw, and they had already begun to disappear out of camera view.

Each Ushah wore a supplemental oxygen mask and a thick suit to keep warm in what to them was a brisk 85 degrees Fahrenheit.  The suits were decorated with bright colors, apparently different for each individual.  It was hard to discern a pattern of insignia or professional designation, but it was clear from what each of the Ushah was doing what their profession was. 

Suddenly, the camera cut to three Ushah, two soldiers and a diplomat who were making their way over to the press team.  “You must move the cameras back behind the trees,” the diplomat said flatly.  The soldiers continued to advance, and the Arcani and press started moving away from the scene, the cameramen walking backwards to record as much as possible.

“The soldiers are clearing the area so that no one can see what the Ushah are up to,” Jackson observed. 

“They must be planning on hiding whatever it is they’re going to be setting up,” Takagawa said.

The picture on the main screen cut away from the camera feed and back to the anchor in New York.  “Our studio has received an order from Terran Alliance officials to stop transmitting video from the area.  Evidently, the TA is trying to respect the privacy of the Ushah, which the Ushah have clearly acted to establish.”

“Bullshit,” Jackson observed for the group.  The anchor paid no heed. 

“We do not know how important a role privacy might play in their society, and until we do, TA officials are not going to allow news crews to record what is happening.  First Representative Flower has released a statement saying that Safety Ministry personnel of the Terran Alliance will maintain a watchful eye over the Ushah contingent even now being unloaded on the Mozambique coast.’”

Just then, Takagawa’s cell phone rang, and Jackson just had time to see on the phone’s display that the call was coming from a Toronto area code before the Japanese roboticist answered.  Jackson could only hear one side of the conversation.

“Takagawa here... yes, First Representative, we watched the unloading... I don’t know what they’re planning, but I suspect it will be important to find out.... Yes, the Charlies can keep an eye on the Ushah and make sure they don’t start expanding out from their beachhead.... No, given what happened to the Arcani at the tunnels, I would not recommend having Arcani along the perimeter.... With all due respect, it doesn’t matter what the Ushah would feel more comfortable with.  They’re in violation of the agreement.  They were not supposed to bring soldiers across the channel with them.... Yes, I understand that there are political necessities, but—... Very well, I will order the deployment of the Charlies to support the Arcani.  I will coordinate with Safety Minister Redfeather to make sure we have coverage.... Good bye.”

She pushed a button to end the call.  Turning to face Yazov, she asked, “How many Charlie III’s can we deploy to support an Arcani force maintaining a perimeter outside the Ushah beachhead?”

Yazov growled, “The Arcani are useless.  They will only get themselves killed and complicate the operations of our soldiers.  Why has the Safety Minister ordered this?”

Takagawa sighed.  “I don’t know.”

Jackson knew that wasn’t true.  The explanation was political, of course.  Word had gotten out that Redfeather had agreed to allow the Ushah into mainland Africa, and some of the less friendly media outlets were beginning to question why a victory over the Ushah had led to an apparent retreat from the coast. 

Consequently, Redfeather’s approval rating was down and he was beginning to lose followers on social media outlets.  He needed to use his own forces so that he might get back a little of the respect that the public now solely accorded to the Charlies.

“Whatever the explanation,” Jackson said, “We need to figure out a plan for when the Ushah decide to push on the borders a little.”

* * *

Six days later, Jackson was in the command center, sitting on a comfortable office chair and drinking coffee.  It was afternoon in Houston, but the dead of night in the Mozambique jungle.

The former Yale professor was watching various video feeds from drones and satellites as 15 Charlies patrolled about 60 yards back from the perimeter established by about 100 Arcani. 

The camera crews were gone by this point.  Safety Minister Redfeather had allowed them several days to interview Arcani and get some good publicity, then finally acceded to the demand from Project Charlie that the number of people in the patrol area be kept to an absolute minimum. 

“What do you think, Viktor?  What do the Ushah do?”  Jackson asked.

As operations director, Yazov was almost always in the command center when he wasn’t sleeping or exercising.  Right now, he was standing behind the row of technicians sending and receiving data from the Charlies in the area.  His eyes flicked from screen to screen, watching the video feeds for some sign of the enemy’s intentions.  After a moment, he answered.

“This is a political question, my friend, and you understand the Ushah better than I do,” the Russian said modestly.  “But if I were an Ushah soldier and the order came down to push back our line, I’d concentrate my soldiers on one section of the perimeter and make a breach, then just start wrapping the perimeter up until our forces broke or pulled back.”