A spray of bullets cut off his words. The aliens had, somehow, managed to get a blocking force in ahead of them… and, he suspected, another in back of them. The space engineers had suggested that the aliens would be reluctant to use heavy weapons on their mothership, but clearly no one had bothered to tell them that; they were firing heavy machine guns right into the confined space. The small unit split up and threw a pair of grenades back down the corridor, hearing an explosion and screams of pain, but Brent knew that they were trapped. They might punch their way through the blocking force, but by now the aliens would be sealing them into a trap and sending warriors to cut off all the escape routes. They’d be expecting a surrender; they knew that most trapped human units tried to surrender, but not now.
“Cover me,” he ordered, and pulled his backpack off. It was the work of a moment to open the covering and reach the control panel and then, taking a breath, to enter his code. The red lights lit up, revealing a countdown, but he cancelled it impatiently. The aliens would break through at any moment… and, he realised now, they had been foolish to think that there was even a chance to get away. He thought, briefly, of the remainder of SF34 and allowed himself a moment of relief that they hadn’t come with him, and then held his finger over the button. It was a moment for last words, but he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to say, even though he’d known it would come down to this one day.
“I’m sorry, Luke,” he said, and pushed down on the button.
It made a single ominous click under his finger.
The world went white.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Wars end when one side decides that the uncertain prospects of peace are more hopeful than the uncertain prospects of war.
— Anon
We’re going to lose this, Gary thought, grimly. A cold sense of hopeless came over him, a feeling that it had all been for nothing. Guiding Star was picking up speed now, its massive drive starting to push it out of orbit, contemptuously outrunning the pitifully feeble human opposition behind it. The massive ship should move like a whale, he thought, but it still had the legs to outrun them. They’d barely have a chance to light it up with their lasers, let alone the rail guns, and it was large enough to shrug off a hit from one of those. It would be difficult to hit at such speeds, let alone damage enough to…
Guiding Star exploded. He stared at the twinkle of light on the display, the cameras showing the starship literally ripping itself apart, the full fury of a nuclear blast, inside the ship, shattering it like paper. The weapons and ammunition onboard the ship only added to the catastrophe tearing the ship apart… and there was no way that it could shrug that off. It might have been able to survive a nuclear blast close to the hull — and the Russians claimed that it had done just that — but the detonation had occurred inside the hull. They would have some precautions against accidental detonations, but nothing that could stop a nuke. Offhand, he couldn’t even think of anything that would stop a nuke from vaporising the ship.
Simon was laughing. “Sir,” he said, delightedly. “Didn’t I promise you fireworks?”
“Shut up,” Gary said, unable to keep a smile from his face. Even the thought of the commandos who had sacrificed themselves to take out the battle section couldn’t put a dampener on his mood. “What the hell are they going to do now?”
His thoughts turned pensive. The briefcase nuke onboard the shuttle had been the most powerful small nuclear warhead ever built, capable of levelling a major city… or at least inflicting serious damage on it. In space, where there were no rescue services, it had proven devastating… but there were still the remaining parasite ships. He did a quick count and was relieved to see that there were only fifteen of them left, most of them out of position for a quick engagement. They appeared to be trying to concentrate their forces…
It didn’t really matter. The laws of orbital motion bound the shuttles now, as thoroughly as they bound the alien craft. It would be hours yet before they were either in a position to engage or return to Earth… if they could return to Earth. It was possible that one of the two craft that had remained on the surface could be repaired to lift a small amount of propellant to orbit, but if the parasite ships wanted to interfere, they could slaughter the remaining shuttles when they made re-entry. Judging from their positions, and the uplinked data from the ground, they’d knocked out most of the ground-based laser stations… and probably still carried enough weapons to slaughter a few million humans.
His eye caught the icon for the habitation section of Guiding Star. What were the aliens thinking over there? They’d lost most of their supplies and a vast number of warriors — and the female crew members who did all the supporting work in the background — but would they feel defeated? Would they seek terms, or would they try to continue the war? Even without the battle section, they were in a formidable position to just continue fighting… and perhaps they would win.
He looked over at Simon. “The war’s not over yet,” he said. “Your wife will have to wait a few hours longer.”
“Or forever,” Simon said, numbly. He’d finally married the girl only a week before being launched into space. “I hope she waits for me before starting the honeymoon.”
Gary laughed. “Hey, you’re going to be one of the most famous people on Earth,” he said, grinning. “Girls will be lining up to suck you off and offer themselves to you.” He allowed his grin to become a leer. “If you want my advice, you got married at the wrong time…”
“Sir, with the deepest respect, go fuck yourself,” Simon said. Gary found his laugh growing deeper, almost as if he couldn’t stop. “I love her…”
“And she’s going to be insisting on the pair of you travelling incognito,” Gary pressed. “If people find out who you are, you won’t have a moment’s peace.”
“Yeah, they’ll make me sign autographs,” Simon said. He looked down towards the icon of the alien craft. “What the hell are they doing over there?”
“I wish I knew,” Gary said, checking the updates from the other shuttles. One of them was too badly damaged to make it back to Earth, not without help… and the only people who could help them were the aliens. He wasn’t too sure about themselves, for that matter; the heat shield had been bubbling off under the impact of alien lasers. They might win the battle and disintegrate in Earth’s atmosphere. “I bet they’re wishing they knew too.”
* * *
“The Guiding Star has been destroyed, Mr President,” Paul said, formally. The room had erupted in cheers when the starship had disintegrated, but the habitation section remained at L4, completely out of reach. Femala swore blind that the habitation section had nothing in the way of weapons, but Paul distrusted that on principle; he would have armed both sections to the teeth. “The attack craft are preparing to engage the remaining parasite ships.”
“And they’ve said nothing?”
“They took some damage, but the remaining craft can continue with the mission,” Paul assured him. The download suggested that several of the craft were no longer fit for anything, but scrap, but they had to fight with what they had. “They can probably defeat the remaining parasite ships, but probably at the cost of mutual annihilation.”
The President shook his head. “I meant the aliens,” he said. “Are they not trying to talk to us?”
“Not yet, Mr President,” Paul said. The President stared at the display. He had to know, more than any of them, just how close the war was — still — to being lost. If the aliens decided to call it a draw and wreck the planet, the human race would be exterminated or, at the very least, knocked back down to barbarity. There were people, he ruefully acknowledged, who would claim that the human race had never climbed out of barbarism. “We don’t know what’s going on over there.”
He paused as a message came through his earpiece. “Femala thinks we probably killed the High Priest and most of their senior officers,” he added. The possible ramifications, now that the battle section was destroyed, were not g
ood. “They might not have someone left in a clear and undisputed position of authority.”
“They’re a bloody hierarchy,” General Hastings commented. Like the rest of them, he’d been little more than a spectator, watching as the final battle was fought out high overhead. “They must have someone who can declare himself the new High Priest and issue orders.”
“They have several Under-Priests who are all equal in power and responsibility,” Paul said. “They might not have someone who can take over quickly.”
There was a long pause. “Mr President, we’re picking up a communications beam,” one of the operators said. “It’s being relayed through the attack craft. They want to talk.”
Paul saw the President’s face, a mixture of fear and hope. “We have to be careful,” Paul muttered. “They’re still dangerous, even without their battleship. We can’t afford to make a mistake.”
The President took the microphone. “This is the President of the United States of America,” he said. Paul found himself wondering, absurdly, if they knew who the President was, before dismissing the thought. They’d interrogated the diplomats back when the war had started; they had to know who the President was, even before they landed in Texas. The masses of political books had probably confused the hell out of them. “To whom am I speaking?”
There was a long pause. “This is Arbitrator Air Alinae,” the alien voice said, finally. Paul couldn’t help himself; he shivered. There was something utterly inhuman about the alien’s voice. The Arbitrator Air, one of the senior Arbitrators, the ones charged with keeping a check on the High Priest’s power, subject only to the Inquisitors. “I wish to discuss a general halt in place and a truce between our two powers. On whose behalf do you speak?”
The President wasn’t fazed by the question. “I speak on behalf of the people of the United States of America and a number of other nations that have allied to defeat you,” he said, flatly. Paul was relieved that he mentioned no names; the aliens might have a good idea of who else they needed to bomb, but they might hesitate without clear proof. “What terms do you propose?”
There was a second pause, longer than the minute time delay would account for. “We are willing to stand down and hold in place,” the alien said. “We would not seek to expand our footholds on your lands and settle further of our people there.”
The President looked sharply at Paul. “He wants to keep Texas and Australia,” Paul said. “We can’t allow them to hold on to Texas…”
“We have a duty to the Australians as well, and the Iraqis,” Spencer put in. “They’re our allies!”
Deborah leaned forward. “We need to get them out of Texas, but do we have the leverage to get them out of anywhere else?”
“No,” General Hastings said grimly. “It’s going to take us years to repair the country and rebuild our military to the pre-invasion levels. We might be able to keep fighting in Texas indefinitely, but we can barely get to the Middle East and Australia.”
The President was appalled. “You mean we have to write them off?”
Paul hated to admit it, but there was little choice. “We cannot get the aliens out of there,” he said. “If we continue the war, we might lose anyway… or see the entire human race destroyed in the crossfire.”
“But that would mean abandoning our allies to the aliens,” Spencer protested. “They won’t be able to escape alien domination.”
“Perhaps,” Paul said. He smiled suddenly, remembering how the prisoners had reacted to human society. There was no way to know — yet — but he would bet good money that the alien society they’d seek to establish on Earth wouldn’t last longer than a few years. “We can help them, covertly.”
The President lifted a hand for silence. “This is the President,” he said, keying the microphone. “We require the evacuation of the Texas settlement and occupation forces as part of the agreement.”
There was a longer pause. “Evacuating the settlement would be… difficult,” the alien said, finally. “The transport capability to move all of the million settlers and the supporting troops no longer exists.”
“And that’s us told,” Paul commented dryly. The destruction of the Guiding Star had obviously shattered more of the alien capabilities than they knew. “They can use shipping — our shipping, if they don’t want to stay with us and immigrate into American society.”
“We can provide the transport to your other settlements,” the President said, giving Spencer a warning look. The man had been clearly nerving himself up to protest, again. “Your people can be moved without much trouble.”
“You would agree to us continuing to hold the other two footholds?” The alien asked. Paul saw sweat beading on the President’s forehead. One way or the other, he was going to be remembered for this… perhaps as a hero, perhaps as the greatest traitor the human race had ever known. “You will not attempt to recover them later?”
The President suddenly looked very tired. “No,” he said. “Provided that you continue to supply the oil, as you have been making deals to do with the other powers, we will respect your right of conquest.”
The alien said nothing for a long moment. “The Arab world is going to go nuts,” Spencer said, angrily. “Mr President, I must protest this and…”
“There isn’t an Arab world any more,” Deborah snapped back. “What other choice do we have? We can’t liberate them even if we wanted to liberate them! How many of our fighting men and women — and our civilians — are you going to condemn to death just because you’re scared to face the Ivy Tower intellectuals and tell them that the world is hardly perfect?”
Spencer purpled. “The military doesn’t run the government,” he snapped. “We have…”
“They’re the ones who will do the dying,” Deborah snapped back. “This isn’t one of the wars where we can dip a toe into the blood, decide it’s too hot and back off; this is a war that could destroy us all! How many have to die because you were too stinking stupid to admit that we can’t give your backers what they want?”
“Enough,” the President said. His voice was very calm, but Paul could hear the tension underlying his voice. “General Hastings, do you believe that we could fight this war out to decisive military victory?”
“My job, among other things, is to issue military advice,” General Hastings said, calmly. “At the moment, our capability — ours and the combined forces of free humanity — to launch a liberation of the Middle East or Australia is effectively non-existent. The Navy is sunk or in hiding. The air force is wrecked and useless in an alien combat zone. The remains of the army can barely hold the line. The same, more or less, goes for our allies. The fighting would be effectively hopeless. It is hopeless.”
“I know,” the President said. “The responsibility is mine.”
The alien voice issued suddenly from the speaker. “We will abandon the Texas Foothold if you agree to provide us with transport to the other footholds and recognise our control of those territories,” the alien said. “We will recognise your independence, providing only that you allow missionaries to pass among your people and seek to lead them to the Truth. The precise details can be decided by our subordinates. Do you accept those terms?”
The President looked up at the display, and then back down to the speaker. “The responsibility is mine,” he repeated. “We accept your terms.”
* * *
“They’re getting closer,” Simon said, grimly. The parasite ships would be entering laser range — effective laser range — within minutes. The laser link to Earth would probably break the moment they opened fire. “Your orders?”
“We wait,” Gary said, sharply. They could have targeted the remaining parasite ships with the rail guns and perhaps destroyed a handful before they could react, but the remainder would probably blow the damaged shuttles out of the sky. If the aliens really were talking, however, how could they open fire and ruin the fragile truce? The wreckage of the Guiding Star’s battle section, drifting down and burning
up in Earth’s atmosphere, was a potent reminder of how quickly the situation could change. “We…”
The radio buzzed once. “This is Mission Control,” it said. “The aliens have accepted our terms. The war is over!”
“Right on,” Simon said. “Bugger me, we actually won! What now, sir?”
“We’re going to have to ask them to help us get down,” Gary said, looking up at the icons of the alien ships. It was funny how they suddenly didn’t look so threatening. “See, you’re a hero! I told you it would work out fine.”
“No, you didn’t,” Simon said. “You told me to make sure I took out extra life insurance.”
“But you survived,” Gary said. He lit an imaginary cigar and pretended to take a long drag. “Once we get down, we’ll be heroes. They’ll be naming spacecraft after us.”
* * *
“Did I do the right thing?”
“There was no choice,” Paul said. He pushed as much conviction into his voice as he could. “We couldn’t have won a second outbreak of hostilities. This way, part of the human race remains free and can build up our own space capabilities. New spacecraft, bases on the moon and the outer planets, asteroid mining… within a few years, we’ll outstrip them completely.”
“Maybe,” the President said. His tone became pensive. “I have the feeling, however, that some of the electorate won’t understand that. Why should they?”
Paul considered it. “When has the electorate ever been right about anything?”
“When they elected me,” the President said, and grinned. Paul decided not to point out that he had voted for the other guy. “I think that was a good choice, don’t you?”
“They sit in their chairs and got fed soundbites by talking heads,” Paul said. “They looked at the world through a prism held up by people with dubious agendas. They swallowed all sorts of crap because it came from someone with a bright smile, or because they didn’t want to appear racist or sexist or whatever other kind of bad buzzword of the month, or because it was easier than thinking for themselves. They got whatever they wanted when they got it and forgot that it came with a price — a heavy price, one that they didn’t have to pay.”
Invasion Page 44