Theogony 1: Janissaries (3 page)

“All of these people, as well as some additional Americans
from the other services, would augment the platoon by filling in the slots of
people that were killed or incapacitated during the war,” said the general. “As
requested by the Psiclopes, we will keep the surviving members of the platoon
essentially intact.”

The director of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), Dick
Bartlett, raised his hand to get the general’s attention. Bartlett was a man of
many faces, the CNO knew, who was equally adept at conning money from Congress as
he was picking up women. He’d take candy from a baby if he thought he could get
away with it. He usually could, too. “Watch this,” whispered the CNO to the
chief of staff of the air force. “I’ll bet he’s got a guy.”

“What do you mean?” asked the chief of staff, who was
relatively new, to the CNO.

“He’s always got a guy,” answered the CNO. “If we went to
the surface of the moon, he’d probably say that he’s already got a guy there.”

General Dixon acknowledged the CIA director, who said, “I
have a guy that would be perfect for the platoon, as well.” The CNO looked at
the air force chief of staff and rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” said General Dixon. “This is a military organization.”

“I understand that,” Bartlett said, “and I have a former
SEAL in my organization that would be absolutely perfect for this platoon.” He
looked around the room and said, “He’s SAD/SOG,” as if that explained
everything.

“What the hell is a SAD/SOG?” whispered the air force chief
of staff.

“It’s the CIA’s version of special forces,” replied the CNO.
“The Special Activities Division is the CIA group that does clandestine
missions and covert operations. The Special Operations Group is the department
of operatives that collects intelligence in countries where the U.S. doesn’t
want to be associated. They’re the folks that the government denies all
knowledge of.”

“Are they any good?” asked the chief of staff.

“Oh yeah,” replied the CNO. “They’re ultra elite. The whole
organization is made up of former SEALs, Green Berets and 24th Special Tactics
Squadron troopers. They can do anything from direct action missions to
assassinations to special reconnaissance. They’re also full-time spies, who
collect intelligence wherever they go.”

After a pause and a frown, General Dixon asked, “I expect
your guy has a military rank that we could recall him to, so that he would fit
into the unit?”

“Of course he does,” answered Bartlett. “You can list him as
Corporal John Jones.” Even the air force chief of staff could tell that name
was bullshit. “He’s trained in combat SCUBA, hand-to-hand combat, apprehension
avoidance, cyber warfare and tactical communications, among other things,”
continued Bartlett. Thinking about ‘Mr. Jones’ last mission, he added, “He’s
also pretty good with improvising explosive devises and hot-wiring vehicles.”

“Wonderful,” said the CNO, in a stage whisper. “If there are
any space cars, he can steal them for us.” Several people around the CNO
giggled, eliciting a glare from Bartlett.

“I’ll put him up against anyone you’ve got!” said Bartlett,
voice rising.

“That’s fine,” interrupted the president, anxious to keep
things on track, “I’m sure he is extremely capable and would be an asset to the
team. I’m also sure that he would be there to try and collect as much
intelligence as possible, which you
WILL
make known
in its entirety
to this
entire
group.
Is that understood
?”

A master of his own domain, the director wasn’t used to
being spoken to so abruptly. He nodded his head, although somewhat stiffly.

“Good,” said the president, moving on. “He’s on the team.”
Looking back to General Dixon, he asked, “What about Canada? I didn’t hear any
mention of our neighbors to the north. Admittedly, they were more invested in
the problem than any other country, with Chinese forces only 100 miles from
some of their cities, but they were actively involved and came unconditionally
when we called. Do you have something for them?”

“We looked at that,” said the General, “but they didn’t have
any ground forces that brought capabilities beyond what we had. They do,
however, also fly the F-18 Hornet; we thought they might be a good fit for the
space fighter squadron.”

A flash of annoyance went across the CNO’s face as the army
chief of staff discussed matters that were the navy’s prerogative, but then
Admiral Wright realized, having already been chewed out once for it, he needed
to think bigger. “I agree,” he said finally. “Perhaps we could get two aviators
from Canada who are used to flying with each other and integrate them
together.” Heads nodded around the table.

General Dixon smiled. “Along with the platoon recommendations,
my staff also put together a list for how we might assemble the squadron based
on the nations and services that were participating in the ground unit. The
list suggests a USAF officer as executive officer for the squadron and then
three other USAF pilots, another three from the navy, two Canadians, two
Japanese, a Korean, a Brit, a German and an Australian.”

Both the CNO and air force chief of staff asked to see the
list, and he passed them each a copy with their names already on it. “That’s 16
people,” said the air force officer, looking at his list. “I thought we were
going with eight crews for the six fighters on the spaceship.”

“We are,” said the CNO. “Didn’t you hear? The fighters are
two-seaters. One for the pilot and one for the weapons system operator (WSO).”
The chief of staff was a former F-16 fighter pilot, who liked doing everything
himself and didn’t believe in WSOs. He would rather have had an extra 200
pounds of gas. The CNO had been one of the last A-6E Intruder pilots when he
had first come into the navy. He found the chief of staff’s viewpoint
shortsighted, having seen first-hand the benefits that a task-based division of
labor could bring to a two-person crew. There’s just no way that you can look
outside the cockpit to watch for enemies when you’re looking down to flip
switches.

“OK,” said the president, “that’s a good start. I will work
with Isabel to bring the nations that we need onboard, while the services put
together their plans for manning the platoon and the squadron. No one is
authorized to bring anyone else in on ‘Olympos’ without my expressed
authorization. Work together to build a plausible cover story that we will use
until the news finally breaks. And
nobody
talks to the Psiclopes about
any of this. I want to talk to them first.”

Everybody left to pursue their tasking, already deep in
thought for how they could accomplish everything that was on their plates.

Arges smiled from where he watched, invisible, nodding in
satisfaction. Bill Jacobs was a better leader than he had thought. Maybe this
species wouldn’t be eradicated, after all, like so many before them had.

“Why me?” asked Calvin as he sat sipping a beer at the
kitchen table in the Sommers’ house. There was already talk that not only was
he going to remain the commanding officer of the Ranger platoon, but also he
was going to be in charge of the space fighter group on the spaceship. While he
was willing to do both in order to be the first human to get to fly a no-shit
space fighter, he knew that his lazy afternoons were rapidly coming to an end.
He had been scrambling to get the last bit of paperwork completed before he had
to take on those tasks, and he had just finished the last award, which was why
he was treating himself to a well-earned beverage.

Calvin and Sara had been enjoying some quality time alone
when Steropes had arrived. Unusual for the Psiclops, he had actually used the
front door rather than just showing up in their midst like he normally did.
Calvin had appreciated the good manners. Steropes had refused a beer claiming
that the alcohol affected them differently than it did humans.

“What do you mean, ‘why you?’” Steropes asked.

“He means,” said Sara cutting Calvin off, “why is it so
important that Calvin goes on this mission? Why is it so important for him to
lead the platoon? Why is it so important for him to also have to lead the fighter
squadron on the spaceship, too?”

“That’s a lot of ‘whys,’” said Steropes. “Unfortunately, I
can’t answer them. Arges thought it important for him to be there and to be in
charge.”

“You
can’t
answer them?” asked Calvin “or you
won’t
answer them?”

“To tell you the truth,” replied Steropes, “it is actually a
little of both. Arges has a feeling that it is important for you to be in
charge of the military contingent. I learned a long time ago to listen to his
feelings.”

Calvin considered the answer for a couple of seconds and
then asked, “I guess the real question I have is, why do I have to command both
the ground force and the space fighter squadron? I can foresee times when both
might be in action at the same time. How am I supposed to do both of them?”

Steropes gave a very human shrug. “I have no idea,” he
replied. “I guess you’ll figure it out when you need to.”

“But how am I supposed to get any time with him,” asked
Sara, “if he has to put together two different groups, train them, supply them
and get them ready to go to space in six months? He was going to take some
leave so we could go on a vacation together, but now that has been cancelled.”

“I’m sorry that it has to be this way,” said Steropes, “but
his presence is important, even crucial, to the success of your people as they
go down the path they’re on. What is the happiness of two people when compared with
the prospect of your whole race being eaten alive?”

Leaders from all of the nations that had assisted the U.S. in
the Sino-American War had been invited to the White House for a formal dinner
and “thank you” from the President of the United States. The United States had
been in trouble and had asked for assistance. Now that the crisis was over, the
U.S. wanted to show its gratitude to those that had honored their commitments. It
was all very above board.

Although everyone appeared to leave after the event, not all
of the foreign leaders actually did. Body doubles took the places of the prime
ministers of Britain, Canada, Australia, and Japan, as well as the presidents
of Germany, South Korea, India, Italy, and Chile. The real leaders went to meet
with the President of the United States in the DUCC’s conference room, over
half a mile below the White House.

“Thank you for coming,” said the president, “and for your
trust in meeting with me like this.” None of the leaders had been allowed to
bring any of their aides or staff, and no notes were being taken. The only
thing on the conference table was a stack of folders by the president. All of
the foreign leaders were impressed with the facility. In the preceding three
weeks, it had become a beehive of activity and now had a very ‘lived-in’ look.
“I’m sorry for all of the secrecy that was required to get you here, but I
believe that you will all agree that it was necessary.”

He looked around the room at the well dressed men and woman;
for the second term in a row, the South Koreans had elected a woman president.
“Before we go any further, I would like you to give me your word that what we
discuss in this room will stay a secret for one year. At that point, it will be
made common knowledge at a joint press conference. Do I have your word?”

Everyone nodded their heads except the Japanese prime
minister, who raised his hand. “Sadly, I cannot give you my word on something
that I haven’t heard yet. My duty is to my country, and if the secret involves
something damaging to my nation, I would be caught between honor and duty.”

The president had expected at least one head of state to
express such a reservation and was prepared for it. “I understand and respect
your position,” President Jacobs replied. “However, your participation is
crucial to this discussion. How about this? I promise that nothing we will
discuss will be damaging to your nation and, if after hearing what I have to
tell you, you feel that you can’t keep it secret, you will give me three days
to announce it. Are those terms agreeable?

“Yes they are,” replied the Japanese prime minister with a
bow, “and thank you for your consideration.”

The president also bowed, saying, “You’re welcome.”

“Lady and gentlemen,” began the president, savoring the
anticipation in the room, “I have asked you here this evening because you are
either long-time allies of ours or were nations that helped us during our
recent war. As such, we want to have you with us at the beginning of a
momentous journey. We have been contacted by aliens that need our assistance.”

Having seen all of the security precautions that had been
taken, the heads of state had expected something momentous, but they had
expected something related to the recently completed war. Not something like
aliens. Gasps and choruses of “oh, my god” in various languages filled the
room. In addition to a general feeling of excitement, there were several
suspicious and uncomfortable looks around the table as several of the leaders
tried to determine what kind of game the United States was playing.

The President of Chile, in particular, felt out of place in
this group, as his nation was neither a NATO member, nor a long-time U.S. ally.
The only Spanish-speaking member of the group, and the only nation from South
America, he wondered why the United States had included his country in such a
momentous secret. Because Chile had offered the assistance of a few planes and
ships in a war thousands of miles away? Surely, this was a joke. “I’m sorry,” President
Diego Rojas said, “but did you just say that you had been contacted by aliens?
Do you mean aliens from another planet or illegal aliens from another country?”

“I mean aliens from another planet,” said Bill Jacobs. He
looked behind him.

The leaders drew a collective breath as the Psiclopes became
visible. “This is Arges, Steropes and Brontes,” introduced the president. “They
are the Psiclopes, meaning ‘those who see with their minds.’”

Arges stepped forward. “As the president said, I am Arges,
and these are my friends Brontes and Steropes. Thank you very much for coming
here today. We would prefer that news of our presence not get out to the rest
of the world at the moment. It is unfortunate that we have had to reveal
ourselves, but we need your help. The communications relay to our home world
has ceased functioning, and we do not know why. It might have broken, but it is
far more likely that it was destroyed by a hostile race, possibly the Drakuls. We
need to go and ascertain which of these things has occurred, but we need
assistance in manning our ship.”

“Who are these Drakuls of which you speak?” asked the
British prime minister.

“Imagine a ten foot tall carnivorous frog,” replied the
president, “and you have a Drakul. They like their meat raw when they eat it,
still alive if possible, and like to drink its blood prior to consuming it. They
are nasty, brutal and vicious.”

“Drakuls?” asked the German president, somewhat in
disbelief. “As in Dracula?”

“Yes,” replied Arges. “Just like that. Drakuls made it to Earth
once, a long time ago. We thought that we had killed them all, but one got away
and established himself in the mountains of Romania. He did his best not to
attract our attention, and he was successful for a long time. Eventually, he
ate enough of the locals that the rumors of him spread, and we were finally
made cognizant of his presence. We subsequently eliminated him.”

“Couldn’t Dracula turn people into vampires or the undead?”
asked the British prime minister.

 “Converting people into vampires is a fallacy,” answered Arges,
“but when they bite someone, the Drakuls
do
inject a poison into them.
The venom works like a mind control agent, and the victim will do whatever the
Drakul that bit the person tells him or her to do. This is usually just to wait
somewhere until the Drakul is hungry again, but they can also be told simple
commands like ‘guard’ and ‘attack.’ Victims may appear to be converted, but
they are simply under control of a toxic agent. With regard to the victim being
undead, there is some veracity in that, as the first thing the poison does is to
destroy all of the higher level brain functions of its victim. The brain ceases
to function, but the body is not dead. For all intents and purposes, victims of
the Drakul are, indeed, the undead.”

“So,” said the German president, “We can either join the
team, help out and work to defeat the Drakuls, or we can be eaten alive. Not
much choice there. Consider Germany to be ‘in.’

“Australia is ‘in,’ too, mate,” said the Australian prime
minister. “What do you need from us?”

“In the interest of time,” broke in the U.S. president, “by
a show of hands, is there anyone that is
not
‘in?’” No hands went up.
“Thank you for your support,” said the president, “and welcome to Olympos, the
code name for the effort to assist the Psiclopes and defend the planet. The
first thing that I need to tell you is that there are going to be requirements
for membership in this group that are going to be non-negotiable. The biggest
of these is that, once the word gets out, there will be financial obligations.”

“We are hoping to send out the first mission within about
six months, with it returning approximately six months later. At that time, we
will announce that we have made contact with the Psiclopes and that our focus
has shifted from terrestrial obligations to defense of the Solar System. We
will unilaterally withdraw from all of our previous treaties and implement a
new one, the Treaty for the Defense of Sol. Within one year of the
announcement, developed nations will be expected to spend 30% of their GDPs on defense;
high developing nations will be expected to spend 20% on defense and low
developing nations 10%. We will be standardizing all defense systems for
interoperability and implementing a single combined military. It won’t be the
United States’ military, but the Terran military. Everyone that participates
will have the same opportunities for command; senior level promotions will be
made by a board that is made up by representatives of all participating
nations.”

“I’m sure you’re all wondering, ‘what’s in it for me if I
participate?’” asked the president. Several heads nodded. “While I’d love to
call upon everyone’s honor and say it’s the right thing to do, I know you are
going to have to sell this to your citizens. First and foremost, your nation
will have access to the Psiclopes’ technology. In the brief discussions we have
had with them, we have found that their technology is far beyond ours. Our scientists
agree that the nations that don’t have access will be completely left behind by
those that do within five years and will be unable to compete economically.
Most agree that will happen within three years.” He looked around the room.
“This isn’t meant as a threat; it is economic reality. We are not going to share
this technology with those countries that aren’t willing to do their parts, nor
are we going to allow them to steal it.”

The German president nodded and stage-whispered to the
British prime minister seated next to him, “Now we see why the French weren’t
invited.”

“I’m not pointing fingers at anyone,” said the U.S.
president, who, like everyone else, heard the ‘whisper.’ “Everyone will be
treated equally, but everyone will be held to the same standards. If some
nations don’t want to participate to that standard, so be it.” He paused. “Lady
and gentlemen, we are at a crossroads in human history. We have been told that
the Drakuls have wiped out nearly every civilization that they have faced. I
intend to do everything I can to ensure that doesn’t happen to us. Even with
the injection of Psiclopes technology, it is unlikely that we will be
successful by ourselves. We need everyone to work together to help save the
human race.”

“OK,” said the British prime minister, “you have our
support. If we can’t discuss this publicly for a year, why are you telling us
about it now?”

“The purpose of this meeting today is two-fold,” said the
president. “First, as friends, I wanted to make you aware, so that you can
begin looking at options as to how you will bring your economies up to a full
war footing. That way, when the time comes, the transition can be made as
seamlessly as possible. The announcement of aliens is going to cause turmoil;
this will give us time to plan for it so that we can reduce the chaos to a
minimum. For our part, we are going to announce that we are looking at ways of
preventing another event like the Chinese invasion of Seattle. That will give
us an excellent cover story for studies to transition our economy to a state of
war. It also provides a cover for looking at fighting wars in places we never
expected and the development of new technology.”

“The second reason for today’s meeting is to invite you to
participate in our first journey into space. We will be sending a mission to
assist the Psiclopes, who have a spaceship that we will be crewing for the
journey. We are inviting you to participate in both the space fighter wing that
we will be deploying, as well as in the ground unit that will be accompanying
them. The Psiclopes have asked for a certain group from the war to be the basis
of the ground force, but it will need augmentation, and we want to include you
in this from the beginning. We have looked at our needs and the capabilities of
your forces, and we have come up with some suggestions for where you might best
be able to participate.” The president passed the stack of folders in front of
him down the conference table. Each one had a country’s name and flag on the outside.

“If you would take the folder with your country’s flag on
the outside,” President Jacobs continued, “you can see what we would like you
to provide. The cover story for both of these units is that we are forming ‘Centers
of Excellence’ (COE) to develop new methods of training and employing special
operations troops and aviation units, based on our experiences during the war.
We are going to tell the press that we have analyzed the world’s forces and are
opening up the COEs for our allies to participate. We will be looking for ‘free
thinkers’ from your militaries; we want soldiers and airmen that will be able
to deal with aliens, new technologies and a journey into space.”

“This trip also opens up some additional prospects for the
future. For example, the Psiclopes’ ship runs on Helium-3. While it is fueled
for this trip, they will need more for the next time it goes out. One thing we
noted on our moon landings last century was a relative abundance of Helium-3 on
the moon. I am also proposing a new, joint mission to build a base on the moon.
We can say it is to collect Helium-3 for a new fusion reactor project, which we
want to use to generate clean, safe power. My experts tell me that Helium-3
fusion is possible and that as much as 70% of the energy in the fuel could be
captured and put directly to work. We would, however, need a much larger source
than what is naturally found on the Earth; we’d need to extract it from the
moon. Not only will we harvest it from the moon for additional trips through
space, but the Helium-3 will also give us an additional source of cheap, clean
energy to power our societies.”

“Now, I know this is a lot of information to digest at one
time,” finished the president, “but we needed to get you onboard as quickly as
possible. Are there any questions?”