by Doug Farren
“During the brief time we were sublight,” the ship explained, “I performed an active scan of the area. The asteroid appears to be surrounded by a dense collection of cloaked, automated defense stations. The exact number is unknown and I have extrapolated the number based on the few I was able to detect. I was unable to detect any active power sources on or in the asteroid.”
“They hid their shipyard in deep space inside an asteroid,” Tom said to himself, nodding his head. “They were even smart enough to hide the smelting plant in a similar manner and used a low-tech approach to send the refined materials to the shipyard. Smart thinking. A cargo ship would have been easier to spot on long-range scans.”
“They have taken great pains to hide these facilities even though they were operating in a distant system.”
“Paranoia seems to be associated with fanaticism,” Tom replied philosophically. “Have you informed Admiral Cornelius of our find?”
“I have.”
“Very well. How long before the repairs are complete?”
“The repairs of which I am capable of performing will be complete within the hour.”
The Admiral’s flagship, the Tripoli, was six light years away resulting in a round-trip communications delay of just under an hour. Tom was standing near his main fusion reactor watching a pair of maintenance robots reassemble the housing on the primary deuterium injector when the Admiral’s reply came through.
“I am so sorry to hear about Peacekeeper Chyr,” he began. “Why does bad news always seem to accompany the good? Congratulations on your find. I have recalled the fleet. Assembly coordinates have been transmitted to your ship via the tactical data channel. As soon as we…Say again!” the Admiral’s head jerked to the right. Tom could hear another voice in the background but could not make out what was being said. An alarmed look suddenly appeared on the Admiral’s face as he began issuing orders.
“Recall all ships to the Mowry homeworld, emergency speed. All previous orders are rescinded." Looking directly at Tom, the Admiral said, “I can’t give you orders, but we could use your help. The Purists have detonated several nukes on the Mowry homeworld. I’m ordering all ships to help evacuate and treat any survivors.”
“On my way!” Tom replied.
The Orion’s AI was already taking the appropriate actions and a moment later the ship was burning a hole through space. Because his ship was capable of landing on a planetary surface, Tom assumed it would best serve as a large transport. He spent the next two days helping the maintenance robots clear out as much space as possible for passengers. Pushing his ailing stardrive as hard as he dared, he was one of the first to arrive.
“Contact the Komodo Dragon,” Tom ordered his ship.
A second later, the face of Captain Scarboro appeared on the screen. “How can I help you Peacekeeper Wilks?”
“That’s supposed to be my question,” Tom replied. “My ship and I are yours. How can we help?”
Doug rubbed the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He looked physically tired. “How many people can your ship transport?”
“Fifty, maybe a few more if I pack them in like cattle.”
“That’s good news,” Doug replied. “We’ve set up several evac centers. Commander Stiles is on the surface coordinating the evacuation. I’ll transfer you to him so he can direct you.”
The screen went dark for a few seconds then flickered and came to life with the haggard face of Commander Stiles. “Wilks! Doug says you’re here to help.”
“Yes, just tell me where to go and what to do.”
Stiles glanced down as he worked a keyboard below the screen. “I’m sending you the coordinates of one of our evacuation centers. Mowry are coming there from all over the contamination zone. Pack them in as best you can. We’re shipping them to small towns scattered around the planet. God what a mess!”
“Coordinates received,” the Orion informed him via the biolink. Tom reached out and with a single action gave the AI complete control over the ship’s propulsion system. “How are the Mowry handling this?”
“They’re cooperating with us now that they know we’re here to help,” Stiles said. “At first, they attacked our shuttles, damaging one of them and injuring the pilot. Most of them speak Galactic Standard but with a terrible accent.”
“How many…” Tom found it hard to finish the question.
“I don’t know. The Dragon’s hangar bay is packed with hundreds of severely injured. We’ve cleared out a couple of storage areas and turned them into recovery rooms. The Hylindra got here about an hour ago and she’s filling up fast. Jazmin is down on the surface doing triage and trying to learn Mowry anatomy on the fly. She’s—” the Commander’s head snapped around looking towards another monitor. “Got to go Tom,” he said, formality forgotten. The screen went black.
The Orion blazed like a falling meteor as its shield forced its way into the atmosphere. Tom left the command center as the ship’s computer handled the landing. Moments later, he felt the vibration as the landing struts were deployed followed by the familiar sensation of the ship’s internal gravity generators switching off.
“Radiation levels are at 61 microsieverts,” the ship reported as the hatch dropped to the ground. “I am detecting small amounts of plutonium as well as strontium and iodine in the soil and atmosphere.”
“Not as bad as I would have thought,” Tom said. “Lock down all sensitive areas of the ship and prepare to receive passengers.”
The Orion had grounded itself in a field left bare from its last harvest. A few hundred meters away was a large partially destroyed structure Tom took to be a barn. The two wooden grain silos that once stood proudly beside it were lying on the ground, crumpled and splintered like a pile of matchsticks. Beyond the barn, he could see a steam locomotive, black smoke lazily issuing from a smokestack located at the rear of the engine. A stream of people was exiting the short line of cars it was pulling. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon as if promising to add some warmth to the chilly seven degrees Centigrade that had settled in overnight. A light layer of frost covered the ground.
A marine in full combat armor greeted him. “Are you Peacekeeper Wilks?”
“I am.”
“Your ship will be a great help,” the marine said, the suit’s speaker giving his voice a strange metallic twang. “We can’t carry very many people in the shuttles and most of them are being used to ferry the critically injured up to the ships. How many can you carry?”
“I’m guessing around 50, maybe more,” Tom said. “Just make sure they understand they will be under surveillance by the ship’s computer at all times. Where am I taking them?”
“The first group goes to a small village about 200 kilometers from here. We’re spreading them out all over the planet. My commander will transmit the coordinates to your ship before you lift.”
“How are you controlling the spread of contamination?”
“We’ve cobbled together a mobile decon shower,” the marine said, gesturing toward a bright green tube of plastic that was slowly making its way across the field. “The Mowry enter through one end, doff their clothes, get a shower, put on one of the gowns we’ve had flown in, and then board your ship.”
“Very well. Load em up!”
Tom returned to the command center and sealed the door shut. Even though the Mowry were being forced to take showers there was still a chance his ship would become contaminated. It was a risk he was glad to take in order to help move as many people as possible out of the contamination zone. Tom flipped through the various cameras located throughout the ship as the Mowry filed in. Most walked with their head down, eyes focused on a spot on the floor just in front of their shuffling feet. A few of them looked around with obvious curiosity. Very few said anything and when they did, it was in a whisper.
When Tom switched to the camera looking into his stateroom, he was surprised to see a Mowry child holding the carving of the Komodo Dragon. A nearby adult
bent down and whispered something in the child’s ear. Instead of putting the carving back, the child pulled it closer to his chest. Another whisper caused the child to begin crying. Tom activated the speaker in the room and, hoping he had correctly guessed the child’s sex, quietly said, “It’s okay, he can have it.”
Ears twitched and most of the Mowry packed into the stateroom raised their head and looked around. The adult tending to the child moved to take the carving away but stopped when someone else said something in their native language. The parent took her hands off the carving, placed her hand on top of her head, and then briefly looked up at the ceiling.
“Thank you,” Tom heard someone say in mangled Standard.
It took less than 30 minutes before the Orion reported they were full—62 Mowry were crammed into every room and passageway available. Tom was very glad he had closed the door to the command center; he could easily imagine how stuffy the air was on the other side.
After giving his passengers a warning, he lifted the ship. It would be the first of many flights over the next two days. When his services were no longer required, he fulfilled the promise he made to the Orion and set a course for Earth. So as not to challenge his ailing stardrive, Tom set his speed to a conservative 3,000c. Had he pushed it, he would have found himself arriving in the middle of a war.
Chapter 42
Sorbith spent the trip to Earth going over every detail of the planet’s extensive defense network as well as combing through everything known about the Purists. The more he researched, the more he became convinced that the Purists were going to attack Earth. Their goal would be to eliminate the existing government as quickly as possible so they could put themselves in charge. The mass departure of the AOH fleet only confirmed his suspicions.
As soon as the Tri-Star was identified by Earth’s long-range detection system, it began receiving tactical updates. Analyzing the incoming data, the ship’s AI alerted Sorbith, providing him with a summary of what had been occurring in the Mowry system. Cursing his ship’s inability to receive ultra-high-speed FTL communications, Sorbith put in an emergency call to the office of the World President.
“I’m sorry Sir,” the person manning the communications console said, “The President is unavailable at the moment.”
“Unavailable!” Sorbith exploded. “A situation involving the security of Earth has been brought to my attention and I must speak with him and his entire cabinet immediately. How quickly can they be assembled in New York?”
Sorbith watched as the operator glanced over to another monitor. He could hear the gentle tapping of keys. A moment later, the operator said, “A couple of days at most. I am in contact with his security detail. Right now, the President is deep inside Barton Creek Cave in Belize. Most of the cabinet is out of town spending time with family. I have issued an emergency notification requesting that all available cabinet members return to the New York government building as soon as possible.”
“Thank you,” Sorbith replied, frustrated. “As soon as you have a firm date and time please let me know. Sorbith out.”
An hour later, the Tri-Star informed him that a meeting with Earth’s World Government had been set for tomorrow afternoon. Instead of landing at the Australian starport, he decided to park his ship in orbit so he could go directly to the meeting. The time passed with excruciating slowness. He paced the ship's empty passageways, worried he had taken too long to make the trip to Earth.
Like a falling meteor, his ship created a blazing trail through the upper atmosphere as it headed straight for the New York spaceport. He slowed to just under supersonic speed and approached his designated landing area with almost reckless abandon. At an altitude of 500 meters, the shield snapped off, generating a puff of condensation and an artificial thunderclap as the air rushed in to replace the vacuum of space.
The Tri-Star continued to slow as the landing struts extended and the ship came in for a gentle landing. The ramp dropped down and Sorbith emerged. As he reached the bottom, an autonomous ambassadorial limousine pulled up. As soon as the limo was clear, the Tri-Star raised its ramp and took off. Twenty minutes later, Sorbith stood in front of the World President and his cabinet.
Decades ago, when the United Nations formed the world government, it seemed only natural to base it in the same building that served as the world’s meeting place. Although individual nations still existed, they all answered to the World President. Dressed in an immaculate suit, the leader of all humanity sat at the head of a highly polished, marble table. He was not very happy; neither were the eight cabinet members who had responded to the emergency notification.
“We have reviewed your concern,” World President Davin Lefort said as soon as the room was sealed. “While 1,600 destroyers is an impressive fleet, Earth’s defenses will easily be able to hold them off until reinforcements arrive. Given this information, we do not believe that Earth is a target.”
President Lefort was a thin, muscular Frenchman who looked far older than his actual age of 47. He was an avid outdoorsman, preferring to spend his limited time off from his official duties engaged in activities that sent chills up the spine of the security forces assigned to protect him. He loved climbing mountains, white-water rafting, spelunking, and other such activities as long as it took place in the great outdoors.
“The Purists believe they are destined to be the liberators of Earth,” Sorbith explained. “They have been working toward this goal for decades. Three days ago, their entire fleet headed off into space, abandoning an established base of operations. The only reasonable explanation for them to do so is if they intend on attacking Earth. I’ve already asked Centralis to send reinforcements.”
“They will not be needed,” the Secretary of Defense, General Nathanial Blankenship, firmly said. He was a burly American, looking like someone who was more comfortable holding a jackhammer than wearing an expensive suit. “Our defense network can handle their fleet.”
“If your defense network is still functioning when they arrive here,” Sorbith dropped his bomb shell.
“What are you implying?” the Secretary of Defense asked, his eyes narrowing.
“The Army of Humanity has been planning this day for decades,” Sorbith explained. They’ve had years to get their people into sensitive positions as well as working out ways to cripple key facilities.”
“Are you saying we have terrorists working in sensitive positions?” the General asked, the tone of his voice clearly indicating he did not like the accusation.
“Yes I am.”
The General leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I challenge you to back that up with facts!”
“All right,” President Lefort said, raising his voice just enough to warn the General. “Let’s assume, for the moment, that you’re right and the Purists somehow manage to overwhelm our defenses and surround Earth. What then? No matter how large their fleet, it will be torn apart as soon as reinforcements arrive. What do they hope to accomplish?”
“That’s assuming the reinforcements actually arrive.”
General Blankenship huffed, “Now you’re talking nonsense.”
“The Purists are Terran,” Sorbith said. “The Grand Council has already indicated they view the Purists as Terrans. If they attack Earth, the Grand Council may view it as an internal conflict and decide not to become involved. They may decide to pull all Alliance forces from the area and isolate Earth until things calm down again. If the Purists manage to overthrow your government, the Alliance would be forced to accept them as the—”
“The Purists are a terrorist organization that was banned from Earth a long time ago!” General Blankenship shouted, slamming both his fists on the table. “How could—”
"Their planet," the President interrupted, glaring at the General, "is also recognized as being an independent world."
Catching the President’s look of warning, the General made a visible effort to calm himself down. “So let me get this straight,” he
said. “You’re telling me that an organization banned from Earth decades ago actually stands a chance of bringing down our government? Do you have any proof of this?”
“Not directly,” Sorbith admitted. “It has always been the AOH’s goal to isolate Terrans from non-Terrans. They have never wavered from this belief. We know they’ve managed to infiltrate the Alliance military and, until recently, they had the ability to monitor our secure communications. They now have a fleet at their disposal. What do you think they plan on doing with it?”
“And this fleet of theirs is on the move,” the science adviser added.
President Lefort sat at the table, his hands crossed over his chest, head down, eyes closed. “Why was I not informed about the breach in our security?”
“Not just yours,” Sorbith said. “It appears to have been Alliance-wide. Nobody other than Peacekeepers and a very few select experts working to solve the problem have been aware of the breach. We have since closed that hole in our security.”
“What are you suggesting we do?” the President quietly asked.
“I strongly suggest you heed my warning and take whatever steps you feel necessary to prepare Earth for a major assault. Consider this as well; you may have people working in your offices who are Purist supporters. I believe there is sufficient evidence to warrant asking everyone in this room to immediately accompany me to my ship.”
“You are joking,” the President said, as the room grew suddenly quiet.
“I am not,” Sorbith replied, looking the President in the eye. “To carry out a successful takeover, the Purists will have to cripple Earth’s defenses and eliminate the existing government. Although I have no idea how they will accomplish these goals, I can at least prevent them from killing all of you by moving you to a known safe location.”
“You have no authority—”
“Since you are not breaking any Alliance law,” Sorbith interrupted, “I cannot give you orders. But I am sworn to protect all government officials. I strongly urge you to comply with my request. My ship is standing by on the roof of this building.”