by Dayton Ward
You’ve been waiting almost fifteen years for this day. A few more minutes won’t kill you. Well, maybe they will.
“But everything else is checking out?”
Stanton shrugged. “So far, but that thing is a tight ball of about three million parts, all designed to work in close formation with each other while doing its level best to bend the hell out of at least four or five laws of physics as I understand them.” He gestured toward the monitors on the front wall. “I won’t breathe easy until it’s away from this planet and on its way to be someone else’s problem.”
Peacemaker was a miraculous union of human and Eizand technology, a great deal of which Markham made no attempts to understand, instead trusting such matters to the dedicated, talented Majestic engineering and science staffs. While much of the Eizand spacecraft salvaged in 2031 was still usable, several of its internal systems had been retrofitted or replaced in order to support a three-person human crew. This included food storage, environmental control, computer and other electronic interfaces, and the cryogenics systems that would sustain the crew for the majority of its decades-long voyage. Once free of its orbiting support gantry, the ship would set off for deep space, traveling well away from Earth and maneuvering into a course that would take it out of the solar system before onboard computers sent Peacemaker on its extended voyage through the cosmos at speeds faster than light itself. Even with the fantastic engine powering the vessel—a propulsion technology that Majestic scientists only partially understood—the journey would take almost two decades to complete.
For a brief moment, Markham regretted the knowledge that he would not live to see the ship and its crew achieve the goal for which they had been training for years. He would not be an active member of MJ-12 by the time Peacemaker reached its destination; he had thought he might at least still be part of the information loop, and thus notified when the mission he had put into motion more than a decade earlier finally came to fruition.
That was now an impossibility.
Feeling an urge to cough, Markham reached for a handkerchief in his pocket and held it to his mouth. The fit was brief, yet painful, with each cough feeling like someone punching him in the chest. He glanced at the handkerchief after pulling it from his lips and saw the dark flecks staining the white material. There were more of them today, and they were darker.
Well, shit.
His doctor had given him the news a week earlier. What had begun as a routine physical almost a month ago quickly escalated into a series of tests, screenings, and evaluations by specialists from more fields than Markham could count. All of that ultimately was boiled down to a prognosis delivered by his personal physician, whom he had known for more than twenty years. The cancer in his lungs was spreading, and there was nothing more to be done, except use his remaining time to ensure his affairs were in order, finish what he could of the work he had started, and try to die with at least some of his dignity still intact.
You win some. You lose some.
He folded the handkerchief and put it in his pocket, straining to clear his throat.
“Are you all right, Mister Markham?” asked Stanton.
“I’ll live.”
For now.
Glancing around, Stanton leaned closer to Markham and said in a low voice, “Sir, may I have a word with you in private?”
Markham eyed the admiral with skepticism, but nodded and allowed Stanton to lead him from the floor and through a pair of doors leading from SpaceOps into a connecting corridor. The lighting here was brighter than inside the control center and Markham blinked a few times, forcing his eyes to adjust.
“What can I do for you, Admiral?” he asked, forcing himself to fight back what felt like another oncoming coughing bout.
Again, Stanton looked around, checking the corridor as though ensuring they were alone. Then he said, “Mister Markham, I’ve been director of the I-31 group for five years. When I was briefed on the unit’s activities and this project in particular, you’ll recall that I offered some initial concerns, and it’s a topic you and I have revisited from time to time.”
That much was true. Markham recalled his first meetings with Geoffrey Stanton, who soon after his promotion from captain to rear admiral was notified of his assignment to the Pentagon. On paper, Stanton’s duties listed him as assigned to the Office of Naval Operations for Plans, Policy, and Operations. A far-reaching organization within the navy’s already Byzantine organizational structure, it was a viable cover for Stanton’s actual assignment as director of Initiative 2031. Upon learning of I-31’s mission and long-term goals, Stanton offered a number of nuanced viewpoints. Although in favor of assuring American—and indeed, global—security in the face of extraterrestrial threat, the admiral provided a fresh, outside perspective that made Markham consider whether his own thinking had made him entrenched in his views and therefore blinded to other possibilities. Rather than shut down Stanton, Markham instead encouraged the decorated officer to continue offering his unbridled thoughts, and there had been a number of spirited late-night conversations over brandy over the ensuing five years. However, Stanton had never wavered on one crucial point, in that he did not favor a preemptive aggressive action against any target, indigenous or alien, without proper cause or provocation. This also spurred numerous discussions, and each man found himself working to move the other’s viewpoint, if only the slightest bit.
Despite whatever disagreements Stanton many have raised, he continued to carry out the tasks given to him and I-31, which included overseeing the Peacemaker project and bringing that endeavor to the point they now all awaited: launch day. The admiral still voiced his concerns in private to Markham and balanced this task with others designed to provide less extreme options in the event of “otherworldly engagements,” as Stanton liked to call such scenarios.
“What’s your point, Geoff?” asked Markham, before covering his mouth with a fist to stifle the single cough he could not suppress.
Stanton drew a long, slow breath, sounding like air escaping from a tire as he exhaled. “My point is that we’re here, at the moment of truth, and I don’t know that I feel right about what we’re about to do.”
“Are you serious?” The question came with such force that it prompted another coughing fit. Markham retrieved his handkerchief and covered his mouth, doing his best to keep from spitting more blood into his hand. He ignored Stanton’s hand on his arm, getting himself under control before glaring at the admiral. “After all these years, and everything we’ve talked about doing to keep this planet safe, you’re getting cold feet at the precise instant we’re getting set to launch this thing?”
“I’ve had all those years to think about it, sir. You know where I stand on our security. I’m as much in favor of doing what’s needed to protect ourselves, but this is different. It’s always been different.”
Markham snorted. “They came at us first, Admiral. Have you forgotten that? Twice, that we know of, but how many other times have they come here, sizing us up? What about Ares IV? The Charybdis? The space station? How many more times do we have to get smacked across the nose before we’re allowed to hit back? How do we know the next time they come won’t be when they’re coming to crush us?”
“We don’t know any of that, sir,” replied Stanton. “We’ve never been able to conclude what happened to the Ares or the others. Even if by some chance all three of those were the result of alien attack, how can we know it’s the Eizand?”
Rolling his eyes, Markham said, “We know the Eizand know about us, Admiral. What we don’t know is how much they know about us or what our vulnerabilities are. We’ve got one chance to do something decisive, and that’s it.” He pointed toward the doors leading back into SpaceOps. “We can’t stop. Not now.”
“With all due respect, Mister Markham, I disagree.”
“Then you can take your concerns to the president. This was her idea.”
No, Markham decided, it was not that simple. That they were standing h
ere today was as much his own doing as anyone else’s. “Look, I’d have been perfectly happy to leave well enough alone, and hey, if the Eizand had come looking to talk or asking for help, then maybe we could’ve worked something out, but that’s not why they came. We know they were looking for a new planet because they’ve done an even better job of screwing up theirs than we’ve done here. They weren’t looking for help, or friends. They want our planet. Sooner or later, you have to wonder when they’ll decide we’re just in the way.” He shrugged. “The way I see it, this is an ‘us or them’ situation. If we can’t win the Eizand’s hearts and minds, then we’ll burn their damned house down, and the president agrees with me.”
The current president of the United States had inherited Majestic 12 and all of its ongoing operations from her predecessor, and she had taken the time to review all of the provided material and spent weeks consulting with MJ-12 leadership before arriving at her decision earlier in the year. Most of her questions had revolved around the weapons platform the Peacemaker would be transporting across space to the Eizand homeworld. The space-based nuclear weapons package was the latest iteration of a concept first tested and deployed in the 1960s during NASA’s Gemini manned spaceflight program. Such weapons lost favor with government leaders following a near-tragic mishap in 1968, but the United States, China, and Russia quietly resumed their development in the 2030s, not long after Majestic 12 and rival organizations from other countries concluded that the tragedy that befell the Ares IV mission to Mars might have been a deliberate attack or act of sabotage by an alien enemy. Majestic’s plan for the weapons package was simple: travel to the Eizand home planet, deploy the weapons package against selected targets based on information retrieved from the alien ship’s original onboard computer files, verify that bombardment was successful, and return to Earth. Astronauts Goswami, Harper, and Park had trained for years for this mission. They knew the stakes and were committed to carrying out their duty regardless of the personal sacrifices they would make by returning to Earth nearly fifty years after their departure.
Armed with all of this knowledge, the president had confirmed her commitment to the task less than an hour ago, giving the astronauts a final send-off via teleconference before the Peacemaker crew entered hibernation.
A buzz from Stanton’s pocket forestalled any response the admiral might offer, and he extracted a smartphone and held it to his ear. After a moment, he lowered the phone and looked to Markham. “Cryo systems check out. We’re a go for launch.”
“Let’s get on with it, then.”
Would this crazy scheme work? There was no way to know if the efforts of uncounted men and women over the course of decades would bring success or failure. Predicting the ramifications of the bold plan being put into motion today was impossible. Gerald Markham could be sure of only one thing: after a lifetime spent defending his country and—indeed—his planet, he would never know whether that effort was wasted.
Ain’t that a kick in the ass?
Kansas City, Missouri
September 6, 2044
Thanks to Mestral’s continued tinkering, the Beta 7’s main display now showed an image of Peacemaker 1 as the vessel pushed out from its orbital cradle. For some silly reason, the imagery reminded Kirsten Heffron of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.
Well, you’re not wrong.
Video feeds from the orbital docking facility, itself one of several clandestine projects created over the years by Majestic 12, showed the vessel and its ominous cargo pushing away from Earth, plunging forward into the darkness of space. Leaning on her cane and with a shawl pulled around her narrow shoulders in a feeble attempt to ward off a chill, Heffron said nothing. Instead, she was listening to one of the audio feeds into which Mestral had tapped, and which now broadcast everything currently taking place in the Spaceflight Operations Center at Vandenberg Air Force Base.
While the facility was not classified, Heffron knew for certain that the mission currently being overseen there was perhaps the most secret military endeavor since the Manhattan Project. The parallels between that clandestine operation and this new effort were not lost on her. Both were conceived for comparable purposes and, it was arguable, created for similarly misguided reasons.
A little late for that kind of musing, isn’t it?
Pushing away the troublesome thought, she recalled her memories of the operation center’s layout while listening to the current audio feed and the various controllers calling out status updates with every passing minute. Then, a voice in clear authority declared the launch a success, and the mission now officially under way.
“That is Admiral Stanton,” said Mestral from where he still stood next to the Beta 7 console. “He has been the director of the group you once led for quite some time now, though the details of his assignment since being transferred to Majestic 12 are somewhat difficult to find.”
“That’s the way we liked it,” said Heffron, her gaze still fixed on the screen and the image of Peacemaker 1 as it continued to travel away from Earth.
The super computer sat exposed in the nook he had fashioned for it behind the basement’s brick wall. The nondescript ranch house southeast of the Kansas City metropolitan area sat on three acres of land, providing a nice buffer from prying eyes for Mestral and Heffron, allowing the pair to live in relative quiet. It had taken Mestral months to quietly transport the computer and other equipment from the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles once Rain Robinson made it clear that she wanted nothing more to do with the Aegis or any of its “toys,” as she put it. Robinson held no ill-will toward Mestral or Heffron, but having them in her home and at the observatory had proven too much for her to bear, bringing with it the memories of her father’s loss and the anger and disappointment she still felt toward Gary Seven and his unseen masters. Robinson had allowed Mestral and Heffron to take whatever they wanted, on the condition that they left her alone from that point forward.
Heffron could only feel sadness for the other woman. They were so close in age, and with lives shaped in so many ways by the same external factors, even if the details were markedly different. Both had devoted their lives to causes they considered worthy, only to turn away in the face of betrayal.
Life sucks mighty hard sometimes.
“So, what happens now?”
Turning from the Beta 7, Mestral replied, “There is nothing more we can do. The ship is presumably bound for the Eizand home world. Stopping it was beyond our abilities, and our attempts to alert the Aegis were unsuccessful.”
“Or they heard us and just ignored us,” countered Heffron.
“That is a possibility.”
Even though he had been able to disassemble the Beta 7 and put it back together after relocating it to this suburb on the edge of nowhere, Mestral had not enjoyed similar success with the transporter system, which had gone inert years earlier following his and Heffron’s chaotic arrival at Rain Robinson’s feet. The Aegis, at least so far as Mestral and Robinson had been able to determine, were responsible for the unit’s deactivation. Despite finding a way to restore operation to the computer, the transporter resisted his every effort, leaving Mestral and Heffron with eyes and ears to monitor events around the world, but no means of inserting themselves into things.
Probably just as well, thought Heffron. Now seventy-six, her days of gallivanting around the world in search of alien or other threats were long behind her. Even Mestral, with his extended Vulcan lifespan and superior physiology, was beginning to the feel the onset of aging. The brutal truth was that they were too old and without the necessary equipment and support to carry on any assignments the Aegis might have had in mind for Earth. The mysterious benefactors had ceased all communication, refusing to answer any requests for help or information and leaving Mestral, Robinson, and even Heffron herself high and dry. Was that because there was nothing more to be done here on Earth? Had the Aegis accomplished the goals that justified this entire decades-long endeavor? Perhaps they had failed t
o achieve those objectives, and instead had thrown in the towel, leaving humanity to fumble along the road to whatever future fate awaited it.
There’s a comforting thought.
“Is there anyone else we can call for help?” asked Heffron. “Maybe your people?”
“It is an interesting notion, but I am afraid the communication equipment at our disposal is not sufficient to reach Vulcan. Any message we send will not arrive for decades, by which time Peacemaker will have reached its destination.”
She gestured toward the computer monitor. “We’ve done a fabulous job trashing our own world and only recently figured out a way to travel to other planets. We have absolutely no idea what we’re doing, but there we go, wandering about in the dark, and acting like we own the place.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Mestral arched an eyebrow. “It is a concern my people had during our initial surveys of Earth.”
Heffron shook her head. “Right. We’re nowhere close to being ready to do something like this, but here we go anyway, and for our first trick, we’re going to attack another world. Hell of a way to introduce ourselves to the rest of the galaxy, isn’t it?”
24
U.S.S. Enterprise
2386
He did not want to sleep. There was still so much to do, and he felt guilty pausing even for a moment.
Just a few minutes. A quick nap, to make Doctor Crusher happy. That’s all I need. I can handle this.