by Ian Douglas
He noticed Admiral Kelsey on a chair up front. Captain Groton was leaning over discussing something with him. Next to him was Admiral Carruthers, who Hunter had been told would be the commanding admiral for the Hillenkoetter’s battle group. Hunter had met Carruthers just once before—the lone admiral boarding the TR-3B back at Groom Lake. He wished he knew more about the man. Was he a fighter? Was he any good as a war fighter? Would he back his people?
Did he know anything at all about the enemies they were about to face?
Was the Big-H a military vessel, for military operations? Or a civilian research vessel? Hunter was mildly surprised to find that he did not know the answer to that.
He decided that he’d damned well better find out.
The briefing officer was someone from the admiral’s staff. “Gentlemen, ladies,” he said, speaking from the podium up front. “I’m Commander Johnson. I imagine all of you are wondering where we’re taking the Big-H . . . and why.”
The lights dimmed, and an astronomical photograph came up on the screen. It showed a star field in the background with two bright stars displayed at the center.
“These stars are Zeta 1 and Zeta 2 Reticuli,” he continued. “It’s a double star system thirty-nine light-years from Earth. Reticulum is a constellation visible in Earth’s southern skies . . . not far from the Large Magellanic Cloud, so observers north of, say, Mexico City won’t be familiar with it. In dark skies, it’s visible as a very faint double to the naked eye. The two components are roughly 3,800 AUs apart. The two stars orbit one another once in roughly 170,000 years.
“Both Zeta 1 and Zeta 2 are quite similar to our sun. Zeta 2, a G2, is very slightly more massive and brighter than Zeta 1, a G3. Our sun is a G2.
“Those of you familiar with the lore of UFOs and alien abductions will immediately recognize the name of this star. In 1961, Betty and Barney Hill were purportedly abducted while driving through a portion of rural New Hampshire and taken aboard a spaceship. While on board, Betty was shown a three-dimensional star map. Later, under hypnosis, she was able to reproduce the map, which showed fifteen stars.
“In 1968, an Ohio Mensan and elementary schoolteacher named Marjorie Fish decided to try to use the Hill map to determine where the aliens had come from. Using beads hanging from threads in her backyard, she created a three-dimensional model of the stars nearest Earth. After a long search, she found one viewing angle that seemed to match Hill’s map, one positioned at Zeta Reticuli.
“From there, Zeta Reticuli entered modern UFO lore. It’s almost taken as a given nowadays that the Grays come from there.
“But . . . there are problems with that idea.
“First, we believe we have spotted one planet—around Zeta 2. Zeta 2 has an extensive debris field or asteroid belt which has been distorted by an unseen planetary companion. However, such a planet would be a gas giant the size of Jupiter or a bit larger, located 150 to 250 AUs from the star. This would not be a likely candidate for life, to say nothing of an interstellar civilization.
“Second, and more problematical, while we at first thought that Zeta Reticuli must be approximately six to seven billion years old—that’s a couple of billion years older than our own sun—more recent data has suggested that the star can’t be more than about two billion years old. Even if the star does have terrestrial planets, they would be far too young to have developed any life more complex than bacteria.
“For their part, the Grays refuse to tell us anything about their origins.
“So, Phase One of Excalibur will be to fly to Zeta Reticuli and closely investigate both stars. We will look for a putative Gray homeworld, as well as examine the entire system for any sign of occupation or visitation by an extraterrestrial intelligence.
“And when we’re done there, Phase Two will take us here.”
The screen changed to show a V-shaped pattern of stars, with a single bright orange star in the center.
“Aldebaran.”
Johnson gave a brief overview of the myth of Aryans coming to Earth from the stars, and of Aldebaran identified as their home star. “UFO conspiracy literature,” he told them, “has begun talking a lot about so-called breakaway civilizations, of humans who have migrated or been taken to other worlds where they have begun new civilizations of their own. In a sense, we here at Darkside could be considered such a breakaway civilization, though I’m sure all of us continue to think of ourselves as being Earthers. Unlikely as it is, if Nazi Germans fleeing the Third Reich at the end of World War II did in fact make it to another star like Aldebaran, that could certainly be construed as such a breakaway culture. And . . . our Nordic friends have found this.”
The screen displayed the same video Hunter had seen, the drifting chunk of metal with that enigmatic cross painted on it.
“I assure you all, the chances of the Germans having actually made it into space after the war without help, even as far as the Moon, are essentially nil. But this video is a compelling piece of evidence. Hillenkoetter, therefore, will proceed from Zeta Reticuli to Aldebaran and investigate that system closely. Our Nordic friends report having been attacked at Aldebaran. For that reason, we will be going in as a military unit, cocked and loaded and ready for trouble.
“Aldebaran is sixty-five light-years from Earth, straight-line distance. It happens that it also is 68.5 light-years from Zeta Reticuli. So . . . Excalibur Phase One will be Sol to Zeta Ret, across thirty-nine light-years. That flight will be our shakedown cruise, giving us time to learn the systems and identify any potential problems with the ship or its systems. Phase Two will be Zeta Ret to Aldebaran, 68.5 light-years. We expect that Phase One will take us about two weeks, while the travel time for Phase Two will add about three and a half weeks more.
“Now, as to the aliens we expect to encounter . . .”
Johnson went on to discuss the Talis, the Grays, and the Saurians at some length. Hunter had already been through this material, and could let his mind wander somewhat.
One thing that SEALs valued above all was good intelligence. When he’d led his team into North Korea, Hunter had been fully briefed with volumes of reports, satellite photos, and HUMINT—human intelligence—to show him what he and his men could expect.
This time, though, they would be going in cold—cold, blind, deaf, and stupid. What was the nature of the defenses at Aldebaran? A powerful and well-equipped enemy fleet? Some sort of orbital fort? A few aging German saucers? Alien tech?
It was, he thought, a recipe for failure. Not only had his men not been allowed to familiarize themselves with their new weaponry and hardware, but they had no clue as to what they were going to find when they reached their objective.
Johnson was showing images on the screen now comparing and contrasting the Grays and the Saurians. He’d been talking for the past few minutes about the Grays as time-traveling humans evolved a million years beyond humans of the twenty-first century, and now was discussing the reptilian Saurians.
Huh. The Saurians, he was saying, were warm-blooded. Hunter hadn’t heard that before, though it made sense. The Saurians certainly were not sluggish and as dependent on warm temperatures as cold-blooded reptiles would be.
But what Hunter really wanted were details on the Saurian technology, on their weapons. If the Saurians put up a fight out there, what would be the best tactics for 1-JSST to employ?
There were no answers to that, or to any of the other host of questions swirling around in Hunter’s mind.
“And that concludes my presentation,” Johnson said at last. “Any questions?”
He raised his hand, but Johnson called on someone else—an older man with grizzled hair and a neat white goatee. “Commander Johnson? Lawrence Brody, astrophysics department. I want to know: Is this a military expedition? Or a civilian one? Who’s in charge?”
“I’ll take that.” Admiral Carruthers stood up and took the center of the stage. “Dr. Brody, I want to be absolutely clear on this. While we have a large civilian component within
our crew, this is first and foremost a military operation.”
Well, Hunter thought. That answers that, at least.
“Captain Groton is in command of this vessel,” Carruthers went on, “while I will command the entire battle group. Where we go, what we do, will be my decision, and mine alone.
“However, Operation Excalibur has a number of purposes designed to fit in with one another, to work together. We will be representing Earth out there in the Galaxy. That’s priority number one. We will be proving to certain civilizations out there that we are capable of reaching out beyond our own planet, and conducting extensive exploratory operations among nearby stars. For that reason, the military side of this operation will be . . . downplayed.
“As such, priority two is this: our mission has a diplomatic aspect.” Carruthers gestured at two civilians in the audience, surrounded by people who were probably aides or staff. “Mr. King? Mr. Kozlov? Please stand.”
The two civilians stood and turned so that the audience could see them, bowing slightly in acknowledgment.
“Paul M. King is a senior ambassador-at-large with the US State Department. Vladimir Kozlov holds a similar position with the Russian Federation’s Foreign Ministry. They will be coming along to handle the diplomatic niceties, should we meet with other races or decide to enter into diplomatic agreements with them. Thank you, gentlemen.”
So, Hunter thought as the two sat down again. There were Russians coming along on this expedition. And that makes Excalibur a truly international effort.
“Priority three,” Carruthers went on, “is the military aspect. We will be exploring two distinct star systems, Zeta Reticuli and Aldebaran, in order to determine if either represents a military threat to Earth.
“And, finally, priority four, we carry a number of key scientists—exobiologists, astrophysicists, exoplanetary scientists, xenocultural experts, and others—who will be studying the worlds, the life-forms, and the civilizations that we may encounter. We find ourselves like children, suddenly aware that there is a huge, complicated, and sometimes dangerous world beyond the safety of our front door. The more we can learn about that world, the better for us, the better for our chances of long-term survival. Does that answer your question, Dr. Brody?”
“Yes . . . I think so. Thank you.”
“Other questions?” Johnson said as Carruthers returned to his chair. “Time for maybe one more.”
Again, Hunter raised his hand. More than anything else, he wanted someone up there to address the tactical aspects of a military expedition into the unknown. Dr. McClure had surprised him earlier by mentioning tactical combat orders; he’d never met a civilian who knew the difference between the words tactical and strategic.
In a military sense, strategic meant choices or actions aimed at achieving an overall goal or mission, while tactics were the specific actions used to implement those choices. For Hunter, the CO of the expedition’s ground force, that meant, at least potentially, engaging in combat with a hostile alien force in order to achieve Hillenkoetter’s mission goals.
Which meant it was vital to know what that potential enemy’s capabilities were. He wanted to ask the people up-front just what it was that he and his people were expected to do, and how they were suppoed to do it.
But Johnson picked another hand. “You. Yes . . .”
“Air Force master sergeant Bowman, sir. Supply. Uh . . . sir, you mentioned a five- or six-week trip out to wherever we’re going, and I assume that means a six-week trip back. But we’ve taken supplies on board that will last us a year. How long are we going to be out there, anyway? Some of us have wives and kids at home. . . .”
A reasonable question, Hunter thought. The JSST personnel had been deliberately selected for a lack of family entanglements, though many had left girlfriends back on Earth. But they could not possibly have done that with all of the civilian scientists, engineers, and technicians on board the Hillenkoetter. Six hundred people—trying to find that many qualified personnel to crew the spacecraft carrier with no family entanglements, no wives, no kids, no parents, that would be a bitch and a half.
Another hand went up in the audience—a woman.
Johnson pointed at her. “Dr. Michaels? Would you care to answer the master sergeant?”
“I can’t address the question as to why we have a year’s worth of supplies,” Michaels said. “But I can say that if all goes well, we will not be gone for as long as it will seem. Hillenkoetter has an advanced gravitomagnetic drive of alien design, which means that she will be playing some interesting games with space-time. What we hope to do is return to Earth immediately after we leave. We might be out at our objectives twelve weeks . . . or even an entire year, but to those we’ve left behind it will seem like we’ve been gone just a few days . . . maybe a week or two at most.”
“Won’t that screw up the time lines?” Bowman asked.
“Not unless we come back too early and interfere with ourselves. If Hillenkoetter were to set off for the stars, return a year later, but come back a year in time and stop the Hillenkoetter from ever setting out . . . well, that would create a temporal paradox. We’re not yet certain what that might mean. So we’re going to be very, very careful not to find out.”
Gerri! He might be able to go back and see Gerri after all!
But the briefing was dismissed, and Hunter still had far more questions than he did answers.
The Hillenkoetter was going to be deployed to the stars, and God only knew what they would find out there.
Chapter Twelve
We now have the technology to take E.T. home.
Ben Rich, CEO of Lockheed Skunk Works, 1993
12 October 1979
Tell them, the voice in his head demanded. Tell them they are not welcome here.
Hans Kammler stared at the group of soldiers in the steel-lined tunnel in front of him. Lights glared in the background, throwing most of the Delta Force troops into stark silhouette. Major Corby stood a few feet in front of him, hands on hips, a belligerent glare in his eyes. Kammler spread his hands carefully, showing the Army officer that he was unarmed. “Please, Major,” he said. “Our friends here request that you leave. Please!”
“And why the hell should we?” Corby demanded. “This is our facility! And they killed one of my men!”
The body of Sergeant Peterson lay sprawled on the concrete floor a few feet away. Much of his head was missing, and what was left was charred black. His weapon, an M16, lay at his side, the plastic melted, the barrel twisted.
“It was a misunderstanding,” Kammler said. “A tragic misunderstanding! Live ammunition is not permitted down here. Sergeant Peterson tried to enter anyway. They . . . stopped him.”
“They didn’t have to fucking blow his head off!”
There were twelve soldiers in Corby’s group, part of the Archuleta Mesa military police. They were also Delta, meaning they were highly trained and superbly disciplined, but some of them shifted uncomfortably, obviously scared. The unit had only just been certified as mission capable a month ago. The unit had been created on 19 November 1977, and was only now, two years later, coming onto active duty. Corby, Kammler thought, was too eager, too determined to show off what the new unit could do.
“Major, I do suggest that you take your people out of here. You are all in terrible danger if you do not.”
“Fuck that. I want to know what happened to Peterson! And who the fuck are you to be giving orders to us? You’re nothing but a damned civilian.”
If you only knew, Kammler thought . . . but he said nothing. Corby would not appreciate the fact that Kammler was an Obergruppenführer of the SS—equivalent to a full general—or that he’d been one once. For years now, he’d done the aliens’ bidding. While they could transmit thoughts to humans, the process seemed easier when they could use a human as an intermediary.
Please, Ssarsk, he thought, turning to the Saurian beside him. They are here to do their duty. Let them through.
The alie
ns milled about behind him, nine Grays, together with four of the taller, bulkier Saurians with their crocodile teeth and slender, bird-jointed legs. The Saurians appeared to be the ones in command, though most of the aliens here at Dulce were the smaller, more slender, toothless Grays. And where the Grays wore simple tight-fitting coveralls of some sort, the Saurians wore armor over their torsos, and there were small decorations on their chests that might possibly be weapons.
He hadn’t actually witnessed Peterson’s death, but he knew that none of the aliens carried anything like a human weapon. But as a part of their clothing, that was something else.
He didn’t like the way the Saurians had carefully spread out in front of the Grays, as though to establish clear fields of fire.
No, Ssarsk told him. They leave now, or we will destroy them.
Kammler faced Major Corby again. “They are . . . adamant, Major. You and your men must leave. Now.”
For answer, Corby drew his sidearm. “The hell with that!”
In an instant, Kammler was dazzled by a sharp flash of light—by four flashes of light, actually. Then by four more . . . and four more—twelve pulses of laser light in less than a second.
Twelve men, including Corby, dropped to the pavement, their heads, like Peterson’s, blown to burnt fragments. The last man dropped his M16 and started running for the entrance. Ssarsk put him down with a final snap of light . . . like all the others, a head shot.
Kammler sagged. “This is not good.”
Bits and pieces of charred bone and tissue lay scattered everywhere around the bodies, and the air was filled with the stink of burnt hair. Slowly, Kammler reached up to wipe a bloody gobbet from his shirt.