by Grover Young
“I've been in testing the past month.” Merely thinking about some of Doc Schneider's diabolical trials, made me want to go hide, “So, I have no idea what the line units are like. If you're asking about the scuttlebutt, I can say it's not good.”
He nodded for me to go ahead.
“Recruiting has dropped off as we reach a balance between who has to build, feed, and take care of all of those who are fighting,” I began, “The Defense Advanced Research Project Agency, DARPA, is still testing better infantry weapons, but the few I saw are still falling short. The crew served weapons worked best, but against the Sha'leian war machines they have to be damn well trained to work together or they just become casualties.
“The M-1 Abrams is still our best weapons system. A combination of regular manufacturing and 3D printing is keeping up with our need for M-1's, but we've just about run out of reconditioned rail-guns to arm them. We can make the guns themselves, but the automated ammo supply systems that keeps them in bullets are beyond us.
“I hear they're trying a kludged together system that uses a hopper that is loaded before-hand from the M-1's that do have working systems.” I didn't have to say what a disadvantage that was. Those damn guns burn through ammo like there was no tomorrow.
“On a hopeful note,” I forced a smile, “I hear the Brits have just about licked the collimator problem to give our captured plasma burners some useful range. Maybe not anywhere as good as those rail-guns, but still significantly out range their own burners. Of course, they would still need to be mounted on tanks given the power requirements, but we wouldn't have to worry about running out of ammunition. Plus we have quite a few in storage, so we won't be running out any time soon.
“Less happy is the news overseas,” I frowned, “It's almost certain that sooner or later they will establish a beachhead, a permanent landing site, most likely in a third world country near a large city. Most of those nations simply don't have the manpower or equipment to fight them off.”
“I was afraid of that,” Dean sighed, explaining, as we stepped into the toasty kitchen. He told the girls, “Just explaining the civilian side of the problem.”
“You see for decades, the USA was the nation others looked to for help.” Dean and Tamara shared a look saying they had already talked about this, “This isn't true any longer. Our primary means of extending our power, the Navy, has been wrecked.”
I nodded. Unlike the aliens from the movies, the Sha'leians had sent a kinetic strike at every carrier group that was at sea. The ones at port remained untouched, but they couldn't launch any aircraft, but for helicopters, Harrier jump-jets and the few F-35's in service. It wasn't just the U.S. either. Everyone with a carrier or anything that looked like a fleet at sea got hit. Single ships had been ignored as long as they weren't carriers. The Marines had gotten slammed hard because their amphibious ships had large flight decks.
“With so much of our infrastructure damaged,” Tamara added, “transportation of raw materials and sub-assemblies have become much more difficult. We are keeping up with our needs, but we're not the world's arsenal anymore. The days of endless 'aid' to the world has gone along with it.
“We might be holding on,” Dean sat down at the kitchen table, “but the world is losing this War. All Soylent Blue and other discoveries have done is to delay the inevitable.
“We tried a massed nuke strike using ICBM's that'd been refitted with quantum drives.” He held his head in his hands, “Not a one got close enough to cause damage. Their drones with missiles and burners wiped out the bulk of the attack, and the Sha'leian ship's own defenses took care of the rest.”
I nodded unsurprised. Ralt had suggested their ship was a warship. The fact they'd boosted their defense using the drones they'd manufactured here was an interesting fact to bear in mind.
“That hasn't been released to even the Intel Center yet,” Sheila glared at our host.
“With the constant overcast,” Dean explained, “most people couldn't see it, and with communications being harder these days, those that could haven't gotten the word out yet.
“Everyone who had anything to launch, participated,” Tamara added, sounding just as tired, “The Secretary of State pulled out all the stops to get anyone who could help as part of the operation.”
“No one knows just how many missiles were fired, because of malfunctions and dud birds, but it was our Sunday punch,” he reported.
“Okay, we tried for a knockout and we missed.” Sheila looked at both of them, “Why are you telling us now?”
“You remember the report you turned in about two weeks ago about our Thanksgiving dinner?” Dean asked, “What do you figure the odds?”
“Ah,” I nodded getting part of the why, “Given the Away Team hit the lull on the nose, based on the same information, perhaps 40%.”
“At Thanksgiving, both Tash and Ralt showed they'd been studying Earth history,” I explained, “Again and again successful attacks and offenses have tried to get the element of surprise by attacking during holidays and other unexpected occasions. This is the one time of year that the majority of the world celebrates in some fashion. Sure, China and India have huge populations and don't celebrate the month, but that will be something to watch out for during their holidays.
“So, you think they're going to pull a Pearl Harbor?” Sheila asked sharply. She had, after all, been a young adult during the Day of Infamy.
“More like 'Battle of the Bulge'” I corrected her, “In the lull, I'll bet they've been building up a huge reserve of forces, and I'll also lay odds they've worked out a way around our jamming their communications. Whether with more intelligent AI's or just plain bypassing the jammers somehow, they've got an advantage, and they're going to make it count.”
“And the rest?” Dean took a deep breath, bracing himself for my answer, “How they'll pick landing zones that are difficult for us to respond to?”
“I'm pretty sure they'll pick hard areas to access, but are still near large cities,” I explained. “They could've already had beachheads if they'd set down in desolate deserts, jungles or tundra. No one would've ever known until the army of 'bots came thundering out.
“Instead, we see them trying to take cities,” I shook my head at the illogical decision, “I think because they see built up areas as having access to easy raw materials. With landings in areas that our military have trouble getting to, like the French did in the Alps, they hope to have their cake and eat it too.
“That's why I'm really hoping Tash and Ralt make it today.” I took a deep breath, “That's a sign that perhaps, I'm wrong. I really want to be mistaken about this.”
“That's what the Intel Center thinks, too.” Dean didn't look happy, “We put out the warning about a possible landing attempt, but we really couldn't give much information as to the details.”
“That does sound a little like Pearl Harbor,” I nodded, “They had warning, but didn't have any idea of what to expect.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “after our relative intelligence success during Thanksgiving, the bosses are pushing for us to be more aggressive about getting information.”
“I would be against that,” shaking my head, I thought that was a very bad idea, “We've done well to have as good a rapport as we have. That could sour any future meetings.”
“That's the problem,” Tamara hugged herself, showing her distress. “The thought is going around that there won't be any humans here to have any more meetings.”
I glanced at Sheila, but she gave me this helpless little shrug confirming she didn't know any of this.
“So, that's what this is about?” I made myself smile, “Letting me know you're going against your better judgment and changing our plans?”
Neither one returned my smile or my insight. Sheila's eyes told me she approved even before I'd opened my mouth.
“Let me make you a deal.” I was already regretting this despite knowing it was the right thing to do, “Keep to the original program, and le
t's see what happens. If it truly looks as if we're going to come up dry, then we can push things along. Honestly, I don't think we're going to have to, but there it is. If you have a problem, I've taken the blame before when things went wrong, and I'm willing to do it again. This is the right thing.”
They looked relieved to have this decision out of his hands although technically he and Tamara were the leaders of this dubious back channel diplomatic affair.
“Now that we've decided the fate of the world,” Sheila gave us her best sergeant's glare, “We have a Christmas Dinner to prepare. Let's get to it!”
Standing outside watching the snow drift down, I pulled my parka closer to me. My lifelong addiction to reading had introduced me to military history. One saying that'd stayed with me was how tough it was waiting.
Somewhere up above those clouds, an alien ship threatened everyone on the whole damn planet. Were they planning to give us yet another very unwanted holiday surprise? Did that missile storm of nukes change any of their decisions although it failed? Did it embolden them or make them cautious wondering what other tricks we had up our crafty monkey-boy sleeves?
Then, there were the thoughts about me. Once, I'd wondered just how could any version of me turn themselves into something like Halcyon. That form was so not me that I had not taken my Prometheus's Gift very well. On one hand, I got everything I wanted. Who wouldn't want to be able to fly, or be strong enough to lift cars one handed?
On the other, being a larger than life sexy, caricature of femininity more than made up for any of the advantages. It took the tough love of a no nonsense woman like Sheila to lead me down the path to adaption. I don't think I could ever love this, but perhaps I could get used to it.
Which bought up the point of Doc Schneider's diagnosis, unlike every Prometheus's Child to date, I really did have my quantum pattern overwritten. Glancing at my hands, they were really those of the Craig Elder from that other universe. Considering some of the things Doc thinks might've caused that pattern to shoot out like a liquid under pressure to me, it was damn near a certainty that something terrible had happened.
Yet somehow, that me, that Craig Elder, was still alive.
A disturbance in the white stuff falling from the sky pulled me from my introspection.
I smiled at the good omen. Sha'leian stealth tech was very good, but even it couldn't do anything about the snow that actually landed on the saucer nor the 'shadow' it made in the snowfall.
Opening the barn doors that I'd previously cleared of the mini-snowdrift, I waved them in. It seemed we might avoid any alien holiday surprise attacks after all. Crossing my fingers, I silently prayed to the wintery sky. Please.
However, while I waved with my right hand, the left had my thumb firmly over my Q-Box button. Sheila, with her sewing-fu had hemmed a slit in my parka's pocket so I could reach it. We had been warned that a third Sha'leian was coming to dinner. I was hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst.
Damn the War and the paranoia it fostered!
When the landing ramp and doors unsealed, I let myself feel a bit more hope when a storm of invaders didn't pour out.
“Happy Holidays!” My open palm across my heart, I used the politically correct phase trying for tact.
Tash, stepping down the ramp, had a bag in one hand as he waved human style.
“Happy Holidays to you too, Quantum Warrior.” The pliable beak like mouth displayed the Sha'leian equivalent of a smile.
“Good to see you Tash!” I shook his extended hand.
“This is Kzon,” he introduced a parrot green Sha'leian.
“I am pleased to be here.” The newcomer held out his hand.
“Good to meet you too, Kzon,” shaking hands, I took pains to get his name right, “Happy Holidays!”
“You too, Ralt. Happy Holidays!” I called to the Sha'leian soldier as he closed the saucer's hatch behind him.
“We weren't sure we would be able to make it,” he said as we exchanged salutes and handshakes, “There was some recent excitement.”
“I can make some guesses,” That was one way of describing having hundreds of nukes fired at you, “just learned about that myself, but I'm afraid the details from both of our viewpoints falls under those 'uncomfortable' topics. However, that is the problem with being on the opposing sides of a struggle. For today, there is no conflict between us.
“But, I have to say this,” I took a deep breath, “I cannot guarantee your safety today. The cause of your 'excitement' has worried and pushed many into desperation. If you leave, I will understand why.”
The three Sha'leians exchanged words and looks.
“We will stay,” Tash very solemnly spoke for them, as Ralt and Kzon nodded, “for today there is no War between us.”
“Well then!” I grinned, “Our Christmas feast awaits!”
Dean's face mirrored my own relieved feelings as I and our Guests entered the kitchen.
“Happy Holidays!” were the heartfelt greetings of the day.
“We come bearing gifts,” Tash announced, happily.
Personally, I would've preferred the 'glad tidings' that they were leaving the Solar System, but all things considered I would take what I could get.
“We too, have gifts,” Dean smiled as things kept more or less to our previously made plans, “Let's take turns.”
As gifts were exchanged, I took the opportunity to satisfy my curiosity.
“Do the Sha'leians have occasions that they give gifts?” I asked as everyone made themselves comfortable.
“We do,” answered Ralt, “although we have nothing like your Christmas. Our religious celebrations are more of group affairs. Our gift giving is reserved for individual accomplishments such as reaching ones majority or other successful achievements.
“We have similar events as well.” Nodding, I thought of birthdays, Bar Mitzvahs and graduations.
Tash's eyes widened as he opened the present containing a multi-tool knife I'd picked out.
“It's not quite as versatile as one of your Morphers, but it doesn't draw power either.” I happily enjoyed his curious expression as he unfolded one tool at a time.
It was Sheila's turn to be shocked as she unwrapped a gift from Tash, a set of Skins.
“I don't know what to say.” She stared at the priceless generation zero clothing.
“We modified the control box to appear like a Quantum Warrior's,” Ralt said, clearly saying he helped with the gift, “It has additional functions so that it can appear inconspicuous since wearing such appears to be an honor unique to the Pantheon Unit members.”
“It is and I thank you,” she replied gracefully.
Then, it was my turn to be flabbergasted.
The bright red wrapping paper was more cellophane-like than normal gift wrap, but that was okay. It was what was inside that blew my mind. It was a ten inch tablet, but one that had no manufacturer's logos. The cover had a keyboard on the inside and a hinged part where you could prop up the screen for use as a net-book.
The screen displayed 'Merry Christmas' in a traditional style illuminated with holly leaves and berries. Underneath it had a blinking green button that said, 'start.'
“It is safe,” Ralt addressed my paranoia, “Your present only has connectivity with a specific attachment. Neither we nor our ship can track or locate you using this device.”
Turning the tablet on its side, I saw the USB port and a glance in the box revealed a dongle with an emblem of the old RKO pictures logo of the broadcast tower with lightning bolts emitting from its top.
Not sure of just what I was getting myself in for, I pressed the 'start' button as everyone looked over my shoulder.
There was the usual rolls of icons, but the names caught my eye: The Library of Congress, Project Gutenberg, and most of all Internet Archive.
“Holy...” Touching that Icon, an HTML search box appeared.
“Yes, Craig,” Ralt was enjoying my shock, “it is an archived copy of your Internet tak
en before it unfortunately crashed.”
Okay, he left out that his people were the ones doing the crashing, but this just wasn't possible.
“This can't possibly hold a copy of the whole Net!” I replied, “It would take more memory than I can even imagine.”
“Well,” Tash gave a little, “We did have to condense things a little, doing away with multiple entries and postings of data. All told it was only about 12,000 petabytes. It should be considerably faster since we indexed everything. Computers are our specialty.”
“There is one other file you might find of interest,” said Kzon, who'd stayed mostly silent up to now, “Go back to the main menu and look for Sha'leian Library.”
At the very suggestion that name conjured up, I thought Dean was going to leap across the sofa and wrestle me for the tablet.
Just like Tash had said, this thing was lightning fast. You touch a button, it happens, no delay, with super crisp graphics that put everything I'd ever seen to shame.
“When I was told about the giving of gifts, I didn't know what to do,” Kzon explained.
“Don't feel like you're alone,” Sheila laughed, “Many of us humans feel the same way. That's why there are last minute shoppers.”
“But I am an avid reader as well as being good with languages,” the green Sha'leian continued, “So, I translated many of my favorite books and added them to the device.”
“Thank you so very much.” I felt like I'd just found the Rosetta Stone, and it'd been gift wrapped. We needed this so very much. Any clues as to what made our guests tick were priceless.
Treating the tablet like it was made of fragile crystal, I put it back into its padded box. Even if they'd lied and it did have a 'backdoor', this thing was beyond priceless.
“When we were talking during our last visit, I mentioned the internet,” Ralt explained, “It was rude of me, since you no longer had access. I hope this gift helps?”
Dean, Tamara and Sheila's face had my same expression: shocked, awed and disbelief.