Finally, Marshall's patience was exhausted. “So, are you here to say something, or am I just supposed to look at you?”
“Sorry, sir. I'm here to give you an update.”
Marshall started tapping his pen on the desk. “Updates go on memos, and I read them daily. Put it in a memo, and I'll read it tomorrow.” He turned to the papers in front of him.
“I guess it's more that I need to update you on some new information, not an update itself, sir.”
He glared at the boy. “New information comes to me from the section head in charge of that department. You're not head of anything.”
Matt cleared his throat. “Well, it's more news I need to relay. Yes, that's it. It's news.”
“No, son, it's bad news you need to deliver. Shoot-the-messenger-type bad, I'd imagine. If it was good news, someone senior to you would sell his children to be able to present it to me. So, I'll get the revolver out of my desk while you tell me whatever the hell news flash you have, okay?”
Matt's eyes grew to very large saucers. He knew his cousin was hot-headed and given to violence. He was scared to death at that moment, waiting to see if the lunatic would reach into a drawer. He didn't. That made it physically possible for Matt to speak. “We suspected for a little while, but I'm afraid we know for certain now, sir. It's about the UN, their worldship program to be specific.”
“Son, if you don't spill the beans immediately, I will have you dragged from this building and shot. I kid you not.”
“The UN is way ahead of us in asteroid conversions.”
Marshall ground his teeth, contemplating the bad news. “So? I've said before I only want two hundred and fifty. We'll make that goal easily. What do I care if they have a few more?”
“They're coring an asteroid in less than a week, sir. They turn out three hundred a month, and we're talking big ones. These babies can probably house two hundred thousand each, maybe more. We can't know for certain.”
Marshall tried to run the numbers in his head. Ten years, thirty-six thousand vessels. That would be … eight billion passengers. “That's impossible! Who gave you that ridiculous information? I want them in my office in ten minutes!”
Matt turned ashen. He could barely speak. “That's not possible, Mr. President. The numbers come from the CIA. I'll can call him for you, but he's in Virginia.”
Marshall thumbed the intercom. “Head of the CIA on holo, now!” To his aide, he snapped his fingers and pointed to a chair. “Park it, son. We'll get to the bottom of this, and then I'll figure out who gets hanged for such unimaginable incompetence.”
Almost immediately, a tiny man stood on Marshall's desktop. “Mr. President. I assume you've received our update?”
“Yes I have, Phil, and I have to say I'm not pleased on many levels. Heads will roll, I promise. Who came up with those insane numbers? And, if they are true, why am I only hearing about them now and not, oh I don't know, many years ago? I'm really hot, Phil. Speak to me!”
Phillip Szeto knew it was probably a mistake to have accepted this job as head of the CIA. He foresaw this exact scenario coming to pass. But, if he'd refused, he'd only have been executed sooner. Lose-lose situations were so unpleasant. “The numbers are good, Stuart.” No need to be overly fussy when you're about to meet your maker. “Security in space is extremely tight, as you know. We've tried for years to get people on the inside but have failed at every attempt. We finally caught a break and placed someone. She's a prostitute, to be specific, on one of the support stations. Last week someone let slip that the pace of work was 'busting his balls.' His words, not mine. In the process of comforting said balls, our girl was able to encourage him to divulge that they were coring asteroids in a week. Pretty soon after, he realized he was disclosing highly classified information and clammed up.
“She reported she tried 'for all she was worth' to find out more, but he decided no quality of sex justified further treason and wouldn't elaborate. In spite of the risk, I elected to send a drone missile into one of their assembly zones to get a look for myself.” He stopped to shake his head. “Didn't make it very close. But two extremely disquieting discoveries were made. First, even from a distance, we can confirm there are cored asteroids being fitted for habitation—too many to count. The second has to do with the drone. It was equipped with vibration sensors. If struck by a missile, it would send a signature pattern before it was fully disabled. No such signal was sent.”
Marshall interrupted angrily. “You mean received!”
Phillip swallowed. “No, Stuart, I mean sent. All systems were confirmed operational at the time of its destruction.”
“Cut to the chase. What are you saying?”
“The drone was destroyed at quickly at long range and without an explosion.”
“That's what you said. What're you trying to tell me that means? Help me out here.”
“Our experts have no idea how the drone was destroyed. Our people in Houston couldn't come up with anything either. What we do know is that it was disabled by some intervention we are not capable of understanding or replicating.”
Marshall put his hand to his mouth. “Shit,” he whispered.
“Shit,” Phillip responded, “is an understatement, Mr. President.”
“Phil, I want all of your top people and all the top people at NASA in my office first thing in the morning. Everyone, you got that?”
“Even Frontera?”
Good point. Marshall played the various chess games out in his head. That, he was very good at.
“Yes, bring him too. If this is as bad as it seems, he can't hurt us any longer.” Stuart rested back in his chair. “He might not be making the return charter to Houston.”
The meeting the next morning only served to infuriate Marshall even more. No one had, or would divulge, any guesses as to what had improved to accelerate the construction process. Only when pressed would the head of the asteroid coring operation admit she couldn't conceive of any process that could proceed that quickly. As far as she was concerned, it was impossible. If the UN was doing the impossible, well, that wasn't her area of expertise.
Discussion concerning the missing drone were equally unhelpful. The rocket men were adamant. The craft was working perfectly. No tell-tale vibrations of an explosion were detected. The military types were equally adamant. There were only a limited number of ways to disable a drone at a distance—hitting it with something solid, blowing it up with a bomb, or penetrating it with a laser. There existed, they swore, no technology that could produce the reported results. The drone's destruction was, like the production number before, impossible. The impossible was not their area of expertise either.
Marshall wished he could afford to have every single person in his office shot, including himself. “Let me sum this clusterfuck up. Our enemies are doing the impossible. In fact, they're doing it a lot. We are not capable of the impossible. We can't even guess what they're up to. We can't tease that information out of a single soul. A million Joe Sixpacks work up there, get drunk every night, and return home eventually, yet we can't pry the needed information out of a single one. Would anyone like to tell their president why such a sorry state of affairs exists in his realm?”
He scanned the room, exuding hatred from his eyes. His gaze stopped at Frontera. “How about you, boy genius? You've been remarkably silent throughout this debacle. Any thoughts, ideas, guesses, or wild notions you'd like to share with these lesser intellects?” He swept his hand across the room.
“No, sir. None.”
“That's it? None. What the hell am I overpaying you for? Tell me like you knew all along, son. How can the impossible be commonplace?”
“With all due respect, Mr. President, I resent that implication. I've been nothing but hard-working and loyal. My contributions have been indispensable. I, too, have no expertise in the impossible. Therefore, I have nothing to add.”
“Yes, all true. But you smell funny to me, that's all.”
Frontera twisted in
his chair. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Goodness, no. I'm being forthright and open. There something about you that smells…odd. You don't add up. Why is it that you grace us with the abundant fruits of your labor as you do? Seems profoundly odd to me.”
“Perhaps the fact that you're holding most of my family hostage might have some influence on my thinking in that regard.”
“That, I'll grant you,” he responded. “For now, I guess that'll have to do.” To those gathered, he barked , “This meeting is over. I want all of you back here the day after tomorrow. You had all better impress me mightily with results or many will suffer beyond their wildest dreams. I'm a man who makes such dreams all too real.”
ELEVEN
“It was bound to happen, sooner or later. Fortunately for us, it was later than we could have hoped for.” The Secretary General of the UN tried to sound upbeat. That was part of her job. Inside, however, Mary Kahl was anything but calm and confident. She knew Marshall was a power-hungry maniac who would stop at nothing to have his way. An immediate, all-out nuclear attack was a very real possibility. For certain, her military had planned and trained extensively for that contingency. But even the most pie-in-the-sky estimates predicted outcomes that were grim—extremely grim. “General Casey,” she asked the head of her military, “any updates we need to know about?”
“No. All our forces are on red alert. Shield membranes protect most of the vital assets. All space craft are holding in attack positions.” He squared his shoulders and spoke with a bravado he didn't feel. “We will do well, ma'am. Minimal losses on our side and near complete annihilation on theirs.”
“I can't believe we're talking about attacking the USA,” Kahl said, holding her head in her hands.
“Only if they attack first, ma'am,” was Casey's response.
“Dr. De Jesus, any update on your preemptive actions?”
He twisted his head nervously to one side. “No. The computer algorithms are extremely complex. I have several AIs working on them around the clock, but I'm still not one hundred percent certain if my scheme will work or when it might be ready.”
“Best estimate?” she asked.
“A few days. I'm sorry.”
“This is war, Toño. War is never predictable, and it's always messy. I'm sure you're doing your best. Jon, how about you? Ready as you can be?”
“Yes,” was my terse reply. I had been to war. More than anyone present, I knew how horrible it was. I dreaded the prospect of fighting in one again. “It'll take them a few days, maybe less, to decide on their course of action. We definitely need to try and convince Marshall not to start World War III. But you're right. He's insane. Force he might respect, but reason will not sway him.
“Ark 1 is currently fitted with three membrane generators. A squadron of fighters is equipped with single units also. Once Toño gets us the calculation, I suggest we act, assuming it's not too late.”
“Fine.” She stood. “Keep me posted.”
“Jon,” Toño said, “Are you available for a chat?”
“For you, Doc, anytime.”
“Let's go to my office.” Once there we sat down.
“What's on your mind?”
“Jon, this plan of ours is nothing short of suicidal. I'm not certain we should proceed.”
“We've been over this before. Every crew is aware of the danger. We're glad to assume the risk for a chance to avoid an all-out war. War might well mean the end of our evacuation efforts and of us as a species.” I shook my head. “No. There's too much at stake to worry about a few lives. We're all in, and that's that.”
“I know. I just wish there was a better way.”
“There isn't, so let's drop the subject. Hey, how's Offlin doing? I haven't been by to visit him for weeks.” I thought a moment. “Maybe a couple months.”
“Our friend is well. His tank is next to my main lab, so we see each other often. He understands you're busy.”
“What's he up to?”
“He still refuses to allow me to design him an environmental suit so he can be mobile.” He directed a thumb at me. “He's as stubborn as you. I don't know if it's a manifestation of depression or that he's simply not curious about this place.” He tossed his head to one side. “But he eats well and talks to a fault.” He harrumphed. “But by far his favorite activity is playing those stupid holo games. The fish hardly sleeps.” His arms were extended in frustration.
“Maybe you'll have to ground him from them if he doesn't go outside and play more often.”
“Stop by when you can. He'd like to see you. He measures us all against the standard that is you.”
“Toño, anybody who knows me would. He's only human.”
“On that low note, I must return to work.”
“I going to take Ark 1 into synchronous orbit over the eastern US. That way I'll be in position when you get me the numbers.”
“I hope you're not wasting your time. I'm not certain when they'll be ready.”
“It beats sitting around here waiting for an unscheduled doomsday.”
TWELVE
“So, not one of you has come up with a damn thing in the last two days? We're in the middle of a major crisis, and I'm surrounded by the mentally impaired. Whatever did I do to deserve you pack of hyenas?”
Every person in the room, including his longtime secretary Mary Jane Plumquist, rightly feared for their lives. They knew the man better than most. He was quick to anger, but even quicker to punish. And he prided himself on his ruthlessness. As the years passed, he made it a point to continually improve his ruthlessness. Everyone wanted to remain silent, but silence would only guarantee their collective deaths.
“Mr. President,” said his newly promoted chief of staff, Matt Duncan, “with all due respect, I'd like to say I can vouch to the fact that everybody's been working with extreme dedication. I urge you to remember that they're your biggest supporters. It might just be that the UN has covered its tracks so well that our intelligence efforts were doomed from the start.”
Stuart eyed Matt like was a starving man and Matt was food. Then, an element of calm settled into his expression. “Thank you. I appreciate your devotion to our staff. I need to make some hard choices, and I'd rather do so with a modicum of insight.” He huffed loudly. “I guess I won't have that luxury, this time out.”
He turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Chuck Thomas. He was the first military officer Stuart had downloaded into an android host. “Are you prepared for an all-out assault on their combined forces?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied without hesitation.
“Does anyone want to suggest an alternate course, given what we know today?” Marshall actually did want to avert such an extreme act. He had, however, come to conclusion that there was no alternative. Surrender or die. Those were the only options he saw. To crawl on his belly like a snake to those traitors, those criminals, was more than he could tolerate. If they wished to force the extinction of the human species, then he was going to grant them their wish. It was their fault in the first place. If they had only come to him when they first made whatever breakthrough they'd had, he'd have spared them. They were intentionally signaling that they wanted the US to die as a nation by not sharing their technology. What other response could they have expected? The USA was not going to die in its sleep like some old man. No, it was going out fighting in a blaze of glory!
“Mr. President,” asked Duncan, “what are your orders?”
Marshall balled up both fists and raised them overhead. “Blow the sons…of…bitches to hell!”
There was a long, airless silence in the room. The words had been said, and there was no going back. After a tortured eternity, Duncan spoke, though there was no life in his voice. “Very well, sir. Where are you…where will you position yourself during…for the duration?”
“I and everyone on the list Plumquist will hand you will proceed to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. We leave immediately
. Once everyone is there, our attack will begin. Even if some aren't there yet, the missiles fly no later than noon tomorrow. Is that clear?”
“Sir.”
THIRTEEN
“Al, are we stable over Washington?”
“I'm sorry. I believe I'm growing senile, pilot. I could swear you asked me that same question not fifteen minutes ago.”
“Al, does the expression 'time of war' mean anything to you in terms of decorum?”
“Hmm. I'd have to say 'decorum' is a pretty big word to expect a senile AI to understand.”
“I'll take that as a no.” Sapale didn't smile, but I knew she enjoyed our bickering.
“Never mind,” I huffed, “I'll check it myself.” I walked to the bridge console and sat down.
As I began tapping the keys, Al piped up, “Oh, are you hoping to confirm we're in the same spot in the sky over that big city down there? Well, if you are, we are.” After a couple seconds, he chided me. “It's customary to say 'thank you' after a person has performed a favor for you.”
“Thanks. I'll keep that in mind when you become a person.” Sapale snickered loudly. For the umpteenth million time, Ffffuttoe asked her what she was laughing about. “Al, I…”
“Sorry to interrupt, Captain. Incoming Priority One communication from UN Central. Shall I put it on speaker?”
“Yes. Video on all screens.”
“Jon,” Toño shouted, “thank God I found you!” I was going to remark that finding me in a spaceship with a radio wasn't all that hard, but I could tell that it wasn't a time for jokes. “The unthinkable just happened. Two minutes ago, Marshall gave the order for a totally committed nuclear attack against the UN and its allies. He's sending all his weapons at us.”
“That crazy son of a bitch! When?”
“No later than noon tomorrow, EST. He's leaving for Cheyenne Mountain as we speak. Jon… this is it. He's just signed the death warrant for the human race.”
The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2) Page 5