If Tomorrow Comes

by Nancy Kress

  “Yeah? And why is that?” Her tone was a challenge. Leo picked his words carefully.

  “Nothing against Rangers. Christ, you guys are the best of the best. But lying there in the hospital, I just realized it wasn’t for me. Not the service—hell, I’m a lifer. But what you just said—the emphasis on leadership. I’m just … not.”

  Long silence. Leo was thinking how to make his escape from sick bay when Zoe said, “Okay, I can see that. You’re all right, Leo.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You, too. For not blabbing. Now get the fuck out of here so I can sleep.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They grinned at each other, and Leo left whistling.

  In the passageway the PA boomed. “This is Captain Lewis. Ambassador Gonzalez and Colonel Matthews to the bridge, please. Repeat, Ambassador Gonzalez and Colonel Matthews to the bridge. Ladies and gentlemen, we have contact with Kindred.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Two weeks aboard ship. Marianne stood on the bridge; once again she was there only because Ambassador Gonzalez had requested her. She, in turn, had suggested that Dr. Patel be present. If Kindred was going to communicate information about the vaccines developed against the spore cloud, Marianne wanted the virologist to hear it immediately. Nobody had expected the Friendship to arrive so soon. This temporal glitch would add tension to the humans’ expedition.

  Not that there wasn’t already tension. As the Friendship, now under the in-system drive, had flown toward Kindred, the ship had repeatedly hailed the planet. Kindred had never replied.

  “We greet you from World,” a voice said in Kindese. Marianne had learned a few useful phrases. Tourist phrases, her mind mocked.

  Gonzalez said, “We greet you from Terra.” Whatever the ambassador said next, Marianne couldn’t translate, but she assumed it was more ritual greetings.

  Captain Lewis said to his engineer, Joseph Volker, “Why isn’t the wall screen showing images?”

  “They’re not sending any. The broadcast is on the same frequency as ours—I think it’s coming from their ship on the ground, right … there.” One of the bridge screens sprang to life with a stylized globe decorated with an asterisk, a dotted line running from that to a tiny icon of the Friendship in space.

  The Kindred said something, and Gonzalez replied sharply. Marianne recognized the word “why,” or at least one of the words for “why.” Kindred, a complex language, employed different inflections for different states of being: absolute, tentative, in flux, and rotational.

  The Kindred answered for a few seconds, and then silence.

  Captain Lewis said, “Mr. Volker?”

  “It isn’t us. The channel went dead. I think … it might be because the Kindred ship just passed over the horizon as the planet rotated. Captain, they don’t have any comm satellites in orbit that I can detect. None. And no space stations, either.”

  Marianne blinked. Terra had hundreds of communications satellites, most using laser-based communication systems in contact with Earth, with deep-space and Martian probes, with each other. Why wouldn’t the Kindred, so much more advanced that they could build starships, also have them? It made no sense.

  Gonzalez said, “The Kindred I was talking to—I didn’t understand her title—said that the government would communicate again in an hour or so.”

  Volker said, “Then it can’t be just that their ship is over the horizon. The rotation period is twenty-five hours three minutes.”

  Captain Lewis said, “Ambassador?”

  Maria Gonzalez said, “We wait.”

  * * *

  An hour later, communication resumed. Nearly everyone aboard had spent the time sitting in the wardroom with steaming cups of coffee. Ship’s time was after midnight, but as far as Marianne knew, no one was asleep. One of Colonel Matthews’s Rangers “stood watch” beside the open door to the bridge. (Why? What did the Army expect—a hijacking?)

  Marianne eyed James Ramstetter, one of the ambassador’s entourage. His official title was “Security” and ostensibly he was her personal bodyguard, but Marianne suspected he also worked for the CIA or NSA or FBI or maybe some Washington agency so secret she’d never heard of it. Maybe Gonzalez’s chief of staff, sociologist Wayne Henry, and her economics adviser, Will Bentley, did, too. Or maybe these were merely the people needed to set up a United States embassy on an alien planet. Don’t be paranoid, Marianne.

  David Sherman said, apropos of nothing, “The spore cloud intersects Kindred in seventy-one days, Terran.”

  No one answered him; they all had this information already.

  The wall screen brightened. The ambassador had made the decision to communicate openly, throughout the entire ship, whatever was said from Kindred. Even the infirmary, where Salah Bourgiba had one of the Rangers recuperating from some sort of minor intestinal operation, would hear and see the first transactions with Kindred.

  The wall screen showed the planet, much larger now as the Friendship traveled toward it. No image had been transmitted from the planet. And the audio—

  “That’s radio,” David Sherman, the geologist, said. “Listen to the static!”

  There was so much of it that only a few words of Kindred were clear. Then, all at once, a female voice speaking unaccented English. “Terran ship? I greet you. This … garble garble … today … garble garble … land…”

  “Who is this, please?” Ambassador Gonzalez said.

  “Garble garble … more.… can’t.… more tomorrow—”

  David said, “Maybe they mean that when the planet brings the grounded Kindred ship in direct line on communication again—but why wait? And why radio? Their previous message was laser-based, like ours.”

  The staticky, unintelligible speech had continued to broadcast. Then, shockingly, a whole sentence came through static-free: “Do not attempt to land on World.

  “Please.”

  * * *

  “They don’t want us,” Mason Kandiss said to Leo and Zoe. For Kandiss, this was a long speech. The three of them crowded sick bay, Leo and Mason sitting on the two chairs and Zoe up in bed. Miguel Flores was on watch in the common area.

  Kandiss was one of the biggest men that Leo had ever seen. His magnificent body bulged with the kind of muscle that came from daily climbing ropes, lifting weights, scaling walls, running for miles. He was spit-and-polish—you could be blinded by the shine on his boots. Zoe had told Leo that Kandiss was “the real shit.” From her, this was high praise. “Plus,” she’d said, “he wasn’t one of the pricks who hassled me about women in combat, you know? He don’t talk much, but he’s okay.”

  Leo said, “If they don’t want us—but wait, who doesn’t want us? That was an American voice. Not an alien. So what’s up with that?”

  Zoe said, “Ten Americans went to Kindred with Noah Jenner. Well, nine and him. Maybe they run the place now? Naw, that’s dumb. How could it even happen? They’re supposed to be peaceful, this great culture with no war and shit like that.”

  Leo had heard that, too. He wasn’t sure he believed it. Everybody had wars. “I’ll tell you who will want us, any minute—Colonel Matthews. We’re going to be—”

  All three wristers vibrated. Kandiss said, “On. Kandiss here. Sir?”

  “Battle stations immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” Leo and Kandiss said simultaneously. Zoe moved restlessly in her sick bunk. “Sir, Berman here. I can—”

  “Negative, Berman. Stay where you are.”

  Kandiss was already out the door. Leo said over his shoulder, “Probably nothing will happen anyway.”

  “Yeah,” Zoe said unhappily. “Probably not.”

  * * *

  Nothing did, at least not until morning. Leo stood in full gear at his station in the corridor by the shuttle bay door, ready to defend it against nothing, and stared at the wall screen in the corridor. They were all over, those screens, so that nobody missed anything. Or maybe the screens were also security cameras watching the corridors—he didn�
�t know.

  The wall screen showed the planet getting bigger and bigger. The Friendship must be going really fast. Now you could see the one big continent coming over the horizon, scattered islands around it like water spiders on a pond. Probably now the planet would resume communications with the Friendship. Weird that they’d stopped during the night.

  Kandiss had said “Maybe religion,” which Leo thought meant some bizarre-o thing where everybody had to not bother the gods during the dark hours. Berman thought maybe they had iron discipline, with no talking after lights out. “For the whole planet?” Leo had said. “That doesn’t seem realistic.” Berman had said maybe it wasn’t realistic, but how realistic was it that the Kindred never had wars and had only one culture? Dr. Bourgiba had once started to explain about how a small group of humans had been taken to Kindred 140,000 years ago and how they happened to be both genetically similar and basically passive types, until he’d noticed that none of the Rangers was listening to him. Bourgiba knew a lot, was really smart, but Leo thought the doctor was also somehow … hard to put a word to it … not all together. Inside. No, that wasn’t right—Bourgiba wasn’t nuts. It just sometimes felt like for all his smoothness, there was nobody really home.

  Leo was getting sleepy. This battle watch came on top of a full day’s duty and he hadn’t slept in twenty-two hours. Well, shit, that wasn’t so long. At Ranger School he’d done Camp Darby on three hours sleep a night, doing hard physical labor instead of just guarding a shuttle bay against nothing. Although …

  Shit. He’d been asleep on his feet. Only for a few seconds, but if Owen or the colonel had seen it … Worse, he had a flash-dream of Berman, naked. Which was weird because he didn’t really want her, despite those long legs and slim waist and firm breasts. Despite that face. He couldn’t figure out why, either. Now, that Dr. Patel—

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  “Prepare for possible attack,” Captain Lewis said through the wall screen. “Repeat—” At the same moment Leo’s wrister said, “Code one. Code one,” in Owen’s voice, and the wall screen in front of Leo glowed with another ship, shaped exactly like theirs, hurtling toward Kindred.

  * * *

  Salah stood on the bridge behind the ambassador’s chair, the backup translator. The official English-Russian translator, Gonzalez’s chief-of-staff William Bentley III, should have been doing this, but the ambassador had already made her decision. Bentley was on his way to his quarters.

  Just in case, Gonzalez had said.

  The Russian ship should not even exist. That was what the world had been told: the Stremlenie had been destroyed. But here it was, appearing from nowhere, erupting into space just as the Friendship must have done. Gonzalez spoke in Russian, hailing the Stremlenie, identifying herself and her mission. There was no answer.

  The Stremlenie continued toward the planet.

  Salah knew the history of this ship. Everyone knew the history of this ship. Russia had lost the genetic lottery no one had known would occur: a widespread allele in that already starving country had caused many more fatalities among Slavs than anyone else. The devastation from the spore cloud, plus climate change and totalitarian politics, had bred a virulent hatred of Kindred. Those Russian scientists who pointed out that the aliens had not actually caused the spore cloud were disbelieved, or shot. The aliens and the spore cloud arrived in tandem, therefore the cloud was a weapon aimed at Terra, and the Western countries were too deluded or soft or blinded to see that. The classified name for the Stremlenie, which had been made public only after the United States had barely averted Terra’s first space battle, was Mest’: the Revenge.

  “Friendship to Stremlenie…”

  A burst of Russian. Salah translated for Captain Lewis, Engineer Volker, pilot Lieutenant Yi, and Colonel Matthews. “‘Friendship, this is Stremlenie. Return to Earth now. We have no quarrel with you unless you interfere with us. Return to Earth now.’”

  Gonzalez said in Russian, “What are your intentions?” Her voice was calm, but Salah saw the fingers of one hand curl so tightly into a fist that the ambassador’s rings bulged away from her fingers.

  On the second wall screen, the sunrise glowed across one-third of the Kindred continent.

  * * *

  Leo said, “Go, go!” He grabbed Dr. Patel from Kandiss, below him on the shuttle-bay deck, and hoisted her into the shuttle, along with a huge plastic case she would not let go of. Lieutenant Ritter was already at the shuttle controls; the engine hummed. Dr. Henry, Ramstetter, and Branch Carter were already strapped in. How many more? Leo ran through the memorized list in his mind—where the fuck was everybody? At least the ones that had shown up wore filter masks; you couldn’t trust civilians to remember mission equipment. This was only a contingency plan, but everybody was supposed to act like they were really going to launch.

  Zoe, in full gear, came to the shuttle door. Kandiss’s face screwed into confusion.

  Leo said, “No, Berman. Your orders were to stay in sick bay.”

  “Those were yesterday’s orders. This is today. I’m on the first team list.”

  “Were on it.”

  “You got orders any different?”

  Leo didn’t. Kandiss shrugged. Zoe tried for the first step and staggered. Leo said, “Oh, fuck,” grabbed her, and threw her in harder than he had thrown Claire Patel.

  Where were the rest of them?

  Owen appeared, carrying rifles and other weapons, both arms full and two slings on his back.

  * * *

  On the bridge, silence. The Stremlenie did not answer Gonzalez’s question about their intentions. She had begun to repeat it when another voice spoke. “Friendship? I greet you. This is Noah Jenner speaking on Kindred. We are sorry not to communicate with you last night, but our equipment did not permit that.”

  Volker looked up briefly, frowning in puzzlement, before returning to his screens. Matthews scowled. Captain Matthews said into his wrister, “Get Dr. Jenner on the bridge. Now.”

  The ambassador said, “Mr. Jenner, we are a United States mission seeking to establish diplomatic relations with your planet. Do you speak for World?”

  “No, but our … our rotational mother is on the way from … a distant city. Meanwhile, I’m here, much closer. There is a problem, Ambassador. It’s not safe for you to land here just now. The spore cloud—”

  A burst of Russian on the other frequency. Captain Lewis said, “Mr. Jenner, wait just a moment please. Thank you.”

  Salah translated the repeat of the Stremlenie’s previous speech: “‘Friendship, this is Stremlenie. Return to Earth now. We have no quarrel with you unless you interfere with us. Return to Earth now.’”

  Gonzalez spoke. Salah’s stomach did an abrupt lunge. He translated. “‘Stremlenie, this is the Friendship. Be advised that any attack on this ship or on the planet below will be considered by the United States as an act of war. I am authorized to say this by the president of the United States.’”

  Noah Jenner’s voice said, “What?”

  Engineer Volker said, “The Stremlenie is changing direction, towards us. Calculating…”

  Gonzalez said, “Doctor, go. Run. Captain Lewis, tell the shuttle to launch as soon as he’s aboard.”

  Colonel Matthews said into his wrister, “Code one. Repeat, Code one.”

  Noah Jenner said, “An attack? By whom? What is going on up there?”

  Volker, his normal stoic demeanor finally giving way, said, “Why don’t they know? What the hell kind of equipment—”

  Salah didn’t hear the rest. He was running through the common room toward the shuttle bay, stomach flopping with every step, forcing his mind to stay clear of the hundreds of questions pounding it like bombs.

  * * *

  Dr. Sherman, the geologist, was aboard the shuttle; so was Dr. Bentley, the economics guy. Owen strode through the door, half dragging Marianne Jenner, who carried a laptop.

  “Captain Lewis said I’m needed on the bridge! My son—”

/>   “Please be quiet, ma’am, and sit down. These orders supersede Captain Lewis’s. Brodie?”

  “All but the other doctor.” Leo blanked on his name, but it didn’t matter. Owen said, “Kandiss, get him in one minute. If you can’t, run back here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The doctor raced through the shuttle bay door. Kandiss pushed him aboard and jumped in. Leo slammed shut the door as the shuttle bay opened to the stars. He fell into his seat just as the shuttle lurched forward. The bulkhead, down near the floor, said BOEING; the shuttle had not been part of the very minimal alien plans but, rather, something added with current American technology. The lurch felt like the Greyhound that had brought Leo to the recruiting station when he’d run away from home—

  Why think about that Greyhound bus now?

  Don’t think, either, of those behind on the Friendship: her crew, Captain Matthews, Miguel Flores, Ambassador Gonzalez. The Ranger unit’s mission was to protect the ambassador, but she had overridden that when this contingency plan was created. Matthews, when he’d explained the plan to the unit, had clearly not been happy about it. But Gonzalez’s authority came direct from the president, the commander-in-chief. Now this part of the unit’s primary mission had become to protect her representative, Wayne Henry, until either the shuttle passengers returned to the Friendship or Ambassador Gonzalez was ferried to the ground.

  Had the ambassador known a Russian ship was coming? Or suspected it? Did she stay aboard because she was the only one with direct authority the Russkies might listen to? Or—

  It didn’t matter. Leo’s job was to follow orders, not question them.

  Outside the shuttle window, a blinding flash of light.

  Someone screamed. Another flash of light. Leo couldn’t see what was happening. Did the shuttle have weapons? The Friendship must—

  The shuttle abruptly turned, and Leo had a clear view. From one of the ships shot a beam of light, and the other one exploded in a sunburst. Which one?

  The pilot, Ritter, said shakily, “Sir, the … the Friendship was fatally hit. No survivors possible.”