“These were backpack nukes,” Doctor Quinn said. He was younger than Kevin had expected a nuclear scientist to be, with a face that was surprisingly handsome. Some of his female research assistants were absolutely stunning. “Thanks to our modifications, they’re now bomb-pumped lasers.”
“Excellent work,” Steve said. “How do you propose we use them?”
“At the moment, I was going to suggest using them in minefields,” Quinn explained. “Our missiles are nowhere near as capable as Galactic-level weapons ... and even Galactic missiles are slow, compared to point defence systems. We would need to lure the enemy towards the mines, rather than anything else.”
He paused. “The good news is that we can start mass-producing these weapons very soon,” he added. “And, with a little reprogramming, the fabricators can actually turn out the nukes.”
“Pity about the missiles,” Steve commented. “But I see your point.”
Kevin nodded in agreement. The fastest spacecraft built using purely human technology crawled, compared to Galactic missiles. But even they couldn't outrace the warning of their arrival, allowing point defence systems to engage them before they entered engagement range. Keith Glass and his partners had several ideas for adapting humanity’s concepts to give the aliens a nasty surprise, but most of them were completely untested. The Galactics, it seemed, had the concept of Superiority, even if they had never read the book. They didn't dare throw too much of their resources into scientific development out of fear of being overwhelmed by their opponents.
But you’d think they wouldn’t have a choice, he thought, as Quinn kept talking, explaining the number of minor improvements they’d made. Their enemies are slowly gaining on them in any case.
He waited for Quinn to finish, then led Steve into the next section, where Carolyn was waiting for them. Kevin smiled at her and allowed himself a moment of relief when she smiled back, rather than the odd expressions she'd given him on the ship. He introduced Steve quickly, then looked expectant. Carolyn didn't disappoint.
“We have successfully unlocked the secret of basic antigravity,” she said. “I could give you the technobabble” – both Steve and Kevin shook their heads – “but the important part is that we can produce a limited antigravity field on command. We don’t have the sheer proficiency of alien technology, at least not yet, but we do have a way to get large amounts of cargo off Earth and into orbit without messing around with booster rockets. The downside” – she paused, significantly – “is that the system isn't particularly stable and requires careful monitoring.”
She smiled at their expressions. “But, overall, it's one hell of a step forward,” she added. “And we are working on unlocking more of their older secrets. For example, antimatter is actually quite simple to make, once we fabricate the right equipment.”
Kevin had to smile. The Galactics had never realised just how many clues their tech manuals, particularly those for technology they considered primitive, could give to the younger races. Maybe they couldn't instantly duplicate Galactic technology, not now, but they could start understanding the underpinnings of the more advanced technology and inch towards mastering the best of Galactic science. And if they got some help, perhaps they could advance further forward than anyone dared to dream.
They’d programmed the fabricators not to produce antimatter-production systems. But the unlocked fabricators had no such restrictions. Given time, the human race would be able to produce vast amounts of antimatter too, which could be used as a weapon or converted into another power source. But it wasn’t something that could ever be used on a planet’s surface. The risk of disaster was too great.
“We could find quite a few uses for antimatter,” Kevin mused. “And it would create some interesting problems for anyone who wanted to attack us.”
“Good,” Steve said, briskly. “How long until we can start mass-production of antigravity units?”
Carolyn considered it. “Give us a few months to produce a finalised design, one attached to a computer specifically designed for monitoring and adjusting the field if necessary,” she said. “And then we can start churning them out on demand.”
“By then,” Kevin put in, “Markus thinks we will have quite a few orbital stations in place to start producing whatever we want.”
He shook his head in awe. He’d never realised just how quickly the high-tech firms would move to capitalise on the promise of space-based industries, now space travel had become almost routine. American, European and Japanese firms were scrambling to win contracts and request factories on the moon, while the rest of the planetary economy was struggling to come to terms with the chances wrought in just a few months. Given time, Kevin suspected, most of the planet's industry would be in space. That, he hoped, would please the Greens.
And once we start fitting antigravity units to cargo aircraft, he thought, we will soar into outer space.
They wouldn't be able to control it, he suspected, past a certain point. But they wouldn't have to.
“Very good,” Steve said. “But how is it compared to Ying?”
Kevin sobered. “Very poor,” he said. “But Ying has been colonised for over a thousand years.”
“By a handful of rogues, criminals and refugees,” Steve said. “And yet they have a much more advanced industrial base than Earth.”
“I know,” Kevin said, flatly. “But we have to start somewhere.”
He watched Steve’s back as he moved from section to section, exchanging words with the researchers and discussing the future with the more personable scientists. If Kevin hadn't known better – and he wasn't sure he did know better – he would have said that Steve was depressed. Why would Steve be depressed? He was on the verge of making his dream real!
But he also knows how close he came to damnation, Kevin thought, glumly. That isn't good for anyone.
They reached the section monitoring the alien POWs, where they were met by a handful of sociologists and psychologists. Steve listened with apparent interest as they told him how some of the POWs had started to show cracks in their mental conditioning, but Kevin knew better. Steve was only pretending to be interested; the rote responses he offered to their words only confirmed it. Kevin was rather more interested in the long-term implications if they did manage to humanise the Hordesmen, but Steve seemed unconcerned.
He needs a holiday, he thought, as they left the section. But where can he go?
“Steve,” he said, finally. “You’re working too hard.”
Steve gave him the look he’d always given his younger brother, back when Kevin had been old enough to talk, but not old enough to tell the difference between a really good idea and a recipe for disaster.
“I think I have too much to do,” he said, waving a hand around to indicate the lunar colony. “And where would I go, anyway?”
“Find an isolated desert island and go there for a few days with Mariko,” Kevin advised. “I think the Maldives have places for millionaires who want to be completely away from the rest of the world. You could book one, then go there and relax.”
“I could try,” Steve said, “but how could I leave this untended?”
Kevin sighed, inwardly. His brother had never been good at simply abandoning his responsibilities, which was at least partly why he’d had to leave the Marines. He could be stubborn, thick-headed and generally idiotic at times, although he was genuinely devoted to his friends and the ideal of his country. But it also made him unwilling to delegate authority more than he had to.
Or, Kevin thought, to take a holiday he desperately needs.
“You have created a staff,” he said. “Edward will handle mercenary recruitment, Charles will handle all other recruitment, I will handle intelligence, Rochester will handle the colony ...”
“You’ve made your point,” Steve snapped.
“If something happens that requires your attention, you will be called back to the ship,” Kevin added. “Until then, you can just relax and take it easy for a
few days.”
“I don’t notice you doing that,” Steve muttered. It was the tone he’d used when his brothers were right and he knew it, but he was unwilling to say so out loud. “What about you too?”
“I rested on the flight,” Kevin said. On the starship, he’d been completely isolated from the concerns facing Steve and Mongo. “You, on the other hand, have always been monitoring your work. This is the time to take a rest.”
He said nothing else until they were in one of the offices and sitting down comfortably. “I think we’re going to have to base a permanent team on Ying,” he continued. “Both to hunt for starships we can buy, but also to keep track of galactic affairs. Maybe not an embassy, in the usual sense ...”
“A spy mission,” Steve said. “But do you think the Galactics will notice?”
“I don’t think they care,” Kevin said. He shrugged. “Would we be really worried if the Maldives set up an operation in New York?”
Steve paused, clearly consulting his interface. “The Maldives are an Islamic nation,” he said, after a moment. “We might be worried if they opened a consulate.”
“Then use Andorra then,” Kevin said. “Somewhere so minor it barely registers.”
He shrugged. “We’d need a long-term presence there,” he continued. “And probably one in several more nearby star systems. And probably human traders, once we have more starships to use as independent ships.”
“I was daydreaming about becoming one,” Steve mused. “It would be something different ... and it would be something away from Sol.”
Kevin nodded. Like it or not, Steve had effectively ruled as a dictator. Either he ran for election, when they finally bothered to hold elections, or he stood aside ... but either way, he was going to cast a long shadow over Heinlein Colony and the planned Solar Union. It would be better, far better, if he disappeared from the solar system after the elections, leaving a clear field for the new government. A trading life wouldn't be quite a return to the ranch, but Kevin had a feeling that was no longer a possibility. Steve wouldn't be happy on the ranch after seeing the boundless immensity of space.
“It might be a good idea,” he agreed. “But for the moment, you need a break.”
He smiled. “I’ll sic Mariko on you if you don’t agree now,” he threatened. “I’m sure she’ll force you into it.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Steve countered. “I dare you to tell her she needs to take a break.”
Kevin stared at him, puzzled.
“She went back to New York as soon as we got some proper security in place,” Steve explained. “I couldn’t talk her out of it.”
“Oh,” Kevin said. Mariko might be small and slight, but she could be as intimidating as hell when she wanted to be, like pretty much every woman who lived on a ranch. And she was devoted to her medical work. “But ...”
Steve smirked at him. “Be brave,” he said. “Don’t worry about a thing. Little boy with big job to do ...”
“Oh, shut up,” Kevin said.
Steve sighed. “I’ll convince her to come away with me this weekend, all right?”
“If you’re brave enough to try,” Kevin said. “But really, you need to take a week.”
Steve opened his mouth to answer, but his communicator shrilled before he could say a word.
“Sir, this is Tom in Tracking,” a voice said. “We’re picking up twenty-five separate starships heading towards Earth at FTL speeds. Estimated ETA is five hours from now.”
“Those will be the ships Friend promised,” Kevin said. “The first down payment for human mercenaries.”
“But not warships,” Steve mused. “That could be a problem.”
“It could,” Kevin agreed. “But I think beggars can't be choosers.”
Steve jumped to his feet, suddenly galvanised. “Sound the alert,” he ordered, as he made preparations to return to the ship. “I want the entire solar system on alert.”
Kevin frowned. “Why ...?”
“Two reasons,” Steve said. He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. “First, we need to know just how well the alert system actually works. And second, you might be wrong and these aliens might not be friendly after all.”
He was right, Kevin knew. Twenty-five starships were more than enough to overwhelm Earth by an order of magnitude. But he knew Friend’s best interests lay in cooperating with the human race. Human slaves would be far less useful than human allies.
“Good thinking,” he conceded, reluctantly. He stood, too. “I’ll come with you.”
***
The next few hours passed very slowly. On Earth, military bases were alerted and reserves called up, but there was no formal public announcement. Kevin wasn't too surprised, no matter how much he hated the Government’s willingness to defend itself while leaving the civilian population to burn. If there was a widespread panic, there would be absolute chaos and thousands of people would be hurt even if the aliens weren't hostile. Besides, what difference would it make if the aliens deployed antimatter bombs? The entire planet would be cracked open like an egg.
“They’re coming out of FTL now,” Mongo said. “I’m reading ... twenty-three freighters of various designs, one warship and one starship of indeterminate purpose.”
“They’re hailing us, sir,” the communications officer added.
“Then reply,” Steve ordered. Left unsaid was the notion that one warship, commanded by a capable crew, might be a match for all three human ships. “Let’s see who they are.”
There was a brief pause, then a familiar blue-skinned face appeared in front of them. “Mr. Stuart,” Friend said. Clearly, he'd been studying the data he’d been sent on humanity. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you,” Kevin said, swallowing. “These are my brothers, Steve and Mongo.”
“It is a pleasure to meet them too,” Friend said. “However, we cannot wait. We will merely give you these starships and leave.”
“I understand,” Kevin said. The aliens wouldn't want to draw attention to Sol if they could avoid it. “But we will meet again soon.”
“Indeed we shall,” Friend said. “We shall see you at Ying.”
He paused. “We have loaded the freighters with goods you might find useful,” he added. “We give you these freely, without obligation. You are welcome to them.”
Moments later, his image vanished from the bridge.
Kevin pursed his lips. Was the free gifts a bribe ... or a simple consideration ... or a display of just how wealthy the aliens actually were? If they could provide so many ships so quickly, just how many did they have in total? But there was no way to know. For all he knew, the aliens had spent a few hours with a fabricator and churned out everything they thought humanity might want – or need.
“Interesting person,” Steve observed. He didn't sound too impressed. “Doesn't he want to stay for tea?”
“I think he fears us being noticed,” Kevin commented. On the display, flashes of energy were being detected as the freighter crews were beamed onto the unknown starship. “And if Earth became noticed, the results might be dire.”
Steve didn't bother to disagree.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Deep Space
“And there has definitely been no sightings?”
“No, Most Supreme Lord,” the messenger said, banging his head against the deck. “They went to Earth and were never seen again.”
Horde Commander Yss!Yaa cursed under his breath. The messengers were of no Subhorde, something that made them absolutely trustworthy, for his successor would purge them if he managed to take over through assassination or outright coup. But they could also be publically blamed for the message, if someone needed to be a scapegoat. Being a Horde Commander was sometimes more about making sure that someone took the blame than actually leading the Horde.
Three ships, one of them a valuable Warcruiser, had gone missing. It wasn't unusual for the Horde to lose starships, but to lose three of them in the
same place suggested enemy action rather than the normal incompetence of his subordinates. The reports had started that Earth’s odd-looking inhabitants, the human race, had no starships of their own, but the Horde Commander knew all too well just how much nonsense, misinformation and outright lies made their way through the galactic mainstream. It was quite possible that humanity had a small fleet of starships of their own.
Or the Varnar are protecting them, he thought, morbidly. They would worry about the source of their cyborg slaves.
A Learning Experience Page 35