The only thing I could do was shake my head.
Over the course of two hours, the planning went from this-is-crazy to shmaybe-this-could-happen, although we needed a lot of hard work and some luck before we would be in the position to try it. The plan relied on Skippy, of course, and also the STAR team. Knowing Smythe would want to talk with me in the corridor after the meeting, I answered his question before he could ask. “Smythe, while we review the details of the operation, we will be taking the ship back to Avalon, to pick up the STAR team and additional pilots.”
I couldn’t tell whether Smythe was pleased or surprised that I was doing the sensible thing, without being prompted to by him. He nodded once, and added “Sir, we also need to practice the boarding operation. I know we can’t anticipate the type of ship we will be assaulting, however-”
“That is not a major problem,” Skippy announced. “The Maxolhx construct most of their larger warships to a standard template, so the interior of the habitable sections tend to be very similar. Joe, I suggest we go back to the Nubrentia system.”
“Nubrentia?” After a moment of asking myself where the hell that was, I remembered that system was the site of Admiral Tashallo’s famous victory over a combined Bosphuraq and Thuranin force. “Why?”
“Because that is the most convenient place where we can find large pieces of Bosphuraq warships. The birdbrains copied their basic ship designs from their patrons, so a section of Bosphuraq ship would be easiest for me to modify, to build a mockup for training to assault a Maxolhx warship.”
“That would be useful, Sir,” Smythe looked at me.
“Ok, we’ll try it,” I agreed. “But we will need to find a piece of debris small enough to take with us.”
“Joe,” Skippy warned, “the Dutchman has a limited capacity to carry other ships now. We no longer have docking platforms.”
“I know that, and we’ll have to work with it. We can’t risk conducting assault training at Nubrentia. If the STAR team is away from the ship, we have to recover them before we can jump away if some other ship comes sniffing around. We know the Jeraptha, and probably others, are monitoring that system. We will find a chunk of ship that is the right size, and bring it with us to Avalon. There, we can conduct training without the danger of being interrupted by unwanted guests.”
The Commissioner from Peru was enraged when she came to Hans Chotek’s office, in one corner of a makeshift hut on Avalon. “You have worked with Bishop before,” Sofia Vizcarra said quietly, although the way her fists were clenched spoke of her true emotions. “What will you do?”
Hans Chotek avoided giving an immediate response by lifting the lid off a tin of foil-wrapped chocolates, poking around with a finger, selecting one, and offering the tin to Vizcarra. She shook her head, irritated, glaring at him. That was, Chotek thought with a smile that did not show on his face, improper behavior for a career diplomat. “What will I do?” He asked slowly as he popped the chocolate into his mouth. They were speaking English because, though the four Commissioners all spoke multiple languages, English was the only language all four of them had in common. Chotek spoke passable Spanish, but in a Castilian manner that the Peruvian Vizcarra found pretentious and stilted.
He chewed the chocolate slowly, savoring it. That chocolate might be one of the last he ever enjoyed. If Avalon were truly the site of humanity’s last refuge, and they were cut off from an Earth that soon might not be capable of supporting life, then no more chocolates would be coming. The supplies they had brought to Avalon included a wide variety of plants, and a scattered selection of domesticated animals, but cacao trees were not among the many items that were stuffed into the Flying Dutchman’s cargo bays.
He would miss chocolate. Hans did not particularly have a sweet tooth, so he did not crave the candy. But it was a comfort and a reminder of home, a reminder of his childhood.
He would miss chocolate.
“I do not see that there is anything we can do,” he finished his thought, and contemplated another chocolate.
The Flying Dutchman had jumped into orbit unexpectedly and overdue, although that aspect of the ship’s return was not disturbing. No one on Avalon, certainly not the four Commissioners, had expected the UN to make a quick decision about whether to pursue that world as the beta site. The original excitement about the pirate ship’s tardy return was not from alarm, it was caused by speculation about what the UN might have decided. Was the ship packed with colonists, eager to make Avalon their new home? Was the Dutchman bringing a second wave of researchers and supplies, to continue evaluating whether Avalon was a good choice for a secure human refuge? Had the ship returned to evacuate everyone from the surface and if so, was that because the Dutchman had located a better candidate for the beta site?
The smart money was on the second option. For the UN to declare Avalon the beta site so quickly, would be an unprecedented rapid move by a bureaucratic body that typically dealt with decisions by endless discussion. And as there was nothing in the initial survey data to indicate the planet was hazardous to human life, it was unlikely the UN had decided to pull the plug on the operation. Sending additional supplies and researchers would give the UN more data to work with, and allow the bureaucrats to delay making a decision. The last option, that the Dutchman had located a better world to settle on, was highly unlikely. Really, there was no reason that humans had to settle for only one refuge that was safe from hostile aliens, but there was also no rush to identify other secure worlds. It would be generations before humanity could begin building starships in sufficient quantity for moving significant numbers of people off humanity’s homeworld, and many generations before humans had to worry about an alien threat.
Observers on Avalon did quickly notice what looked like broken pieces of a starship attached to the Dutchman. Excitement spread like wildfire, wondering where and why the pirate ship had acquired such an odd burden. As Colonel Bishop was not immediately forthcoming about why he had brought part of a broken alien ship to Avalon, rumors began flying. Especially after the Dutchman detached from its burden, leaving the debris in a stable orbit, geostationary in line of sight from the main encampment on Avalon. Bishop refused to comment until his dropship landed, and he dropped the bombshell news about why the Merry Band of Pirates had returned.
“He can’t do this,” Commissioner Vizcarra said with a dramatic vehemence that made Hans briefly wonder where the TV cameras were. Diplomats did not typically demonstrate such strong emotions, unless they were doing it to have an effect on public opinion. On the other hand, Hans considered, diplomats were not typically faced with the prospect of being stranded forever on an alien planet, while Earth was being targeted by a powerful war fleet. The emotions she was showing were very likely not for dramatic effect. Hans suspected that was true, because he was feeling those same emotions.
He had the advantage of having experienced the prospect of hostile aliens coming to Earth more than once, so he was able to keep the situation in perspective. “You mean, he should not do this, or he is not authorized to do this? Because, as he controls our only starship, and our military guard force is loyal to him, he can do almost anything he wants. Sofia,” he held up a hand to forestall her continued argument, speaking softly because he could empathize with her anguish. “You are correct, I have served with Bishop. I served with him for more than a year, in situations I thought were equally as desperate as our current circumstances. Nothing you or I can say will have any effect on him. He does not fear consequences when he returns to Earth, because he does not expect to ever return.”
“How can you trust him?” Now her anger was directed at Chotek, for having broken faith with his fellow Commissioners. “He is reckless.”
“He is reckless, that is true,” Hans agreed. “He is also smart, and clever, and he has what Napoleon observed is the most important characteristic in a military officer: he is lucky.”
“We must do something. Colonel Chang might-”
“Appealing to
Colonel Chang will be of no use to you,” Hans distanced himself from her by saying ‘you’ rather than ‘us’. “Chang is an outstanding officer. He is also subordinate to Bishop’s command, and he agrees with Bishop’s plans. For that matter, so do I. Sofia, Bishop is no dreamer, he is a realist. Yes, his plan to capture a Maxolhx warship is rash, but no more so than other operations I thought were impossible, before the Pirates accomplished the task. If he succeeds in acquiring a senior-species warship, the Flying Dutchman can be dedicated to bringing humans here from Paradise, where they, at least, will be safe. If he fails to capture a Maxolhx ship and the Dutchman is still flightworthy, then he intends to bring people from Paradise, until the Dutchman can no longer fly.”
“Trying to capture a senior-species warship is a foolish fantasy. The boy wants a shiny new toy,” Vizcarra practically spat out the words. “A dragon he can ride into battle, and slay our enemies.”
“You don’t know him,” Chotek’s tone was a bit less quiet and a bit less friendly. “Bishop is under no illusions that any ship he might capture can protect Earth by itself. But maybe, with one of their ships, he can break through the Maxolhx blockade of the Gateway wormhole, to warn Earth about the battlegroup. And possibly to bring more people from Earth to Avalon, as many as he can.”
The idea that the blockade might be broken gave Vizcarra something to think about. “If Bishop is going to Earth, he should take-”
“If he attempts to run the blockade, he will come here first, and we can discuss who could or should, return to Earth with the Pirates.”
“Then, you refuse to talk with him?”
Chotek decided to indulge himself with another chocolate. “I already have spoken with Bishop.” He chewed the chocolate, savoring it. “And I happen to agree with him.”
For me, the toughest part of returning to Avalon, was saying goodbye to the good Doctor Friedlander. “I’m sorry,” I told our local rocket scientist, after informing him that he would not be coming with us. “The safest place for you is here on Avalon.”
“Colonel,” he looked away, his lips drawn into a thin line. “I didn’t come out here to be safe. I came out here to make a difference.”
“You are making a difference.”
“A difference for my family,” he turned toward me. There wasn’t fire in his eyes, there was just a sad weariness. I knew that feeling. “The UN said that if we set up a beta site, the families of the survey teams will have priority.”
“Oh.” I knew that but hadn’t thought much about it. That secret policy applied only to civilian members of the survey team, not the military. My family would not have priority if we had to evacuate people off our homeworld. “You figured that, if Earth is attacked, your family could be safe out here?”
“As an insurance policy,” he nodded. “I’ve seen what’s out here. No offense, but we’ve been lucky so far.”
“I hear you. Doctor, I’m sorry about this.”
“Don’t be sorry,” the fire shown in his eyes again.
“Yeah, I know. Fix the problem.”
A sheepish grin flashed across his face. “I’m an engineer. Fixing problems is how I think.”
“I can promise you that if we are able to run the blockade and reach Earth, I will do everything I can to bring your wife and daughters away with us.”
“My daughters have families also.”
“I know.” That was the problem. Everyone we took to the beta site had loved ones, and those loved one had loved ones. No matter what happened, someone would have to be left behind. Unless we pulled everyone off the surface, which was impossible.
“I appreciate the offer, but if you are able to run the blockade, please bring me with you.”
“To persuade your family to come with us?”
“That, or,” he looked away again. “To be with them, if that is the end for humanity.”
“I understand,” I said, and that was the truth. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked hopefully.
Looking around at the Earth crops growing in neat lines, in fields hacked out of the giant ferns, I pondered the idea of running away from our homeworld, in ships stuffed full of desperate, frightened people. We could jam people into the Dutchman, plus take the Qishan and Dagger attached somehow to the creaky old Dutchman. Between those three ships, maybe we could squeeze in six thousand people, because we had to leave plenty of room for supplies. When we arrived at Avalon, all those people would need places to live, and food to eat. “Do what you can to get this world set up for refugees.”
“At this point,” he looked over at the fields where test crops were growing. Some of the plants looked healthy and some did not. “The important work is being done by the biologists.”
“Think of it as cross-disciplinary training.”
He shrugged. “It’s best for me to keep busy anyway.” He stuck out a hand, and I shook it. “Good luck, Colonel. Our prayers will be with you.”
"I'm going to miss that place," Katie Frey said as she pressed her forehead to the porthole, one of the few places aboard the Flying Dutchman where the crew could see outside, without using cameras and displays. Portholes, even ones constructed of exotic composite material like the one she was using to look down at Avalon, were weak spots in the ship’s structure and therefore the star carrier’s designers had included as few of them as they thought necessary.
“You might see it again,” Giraud waited patiently for the Canadian soldier’s eyes to drink in her fill of the view.
“I hope not,” she replied without turning her head.
“Why not?”
“Because,” she pushed herself away from the view. “If I ever come back here, that likely means we can’t get to Earth, our homeworld is about to be destroyed, and the only reason we’re here is to dump people from Paradise in the hope we can build some semblance of civilization out of nothing.”
“They could help us,” Giraud observed.
“Who?”
“The people from Paradise. They are used to deprivation, to being cut off from Earth, to fearing that all other humans in the galaxy are dead or slaves of the Kristang. To the people down there we brought from Earth, being trapped on an alien planet and having to survive with the resources they brought from home, is a shock. People on Paradise have already experienced that, and thrived. For them, coming here will just be a change of scenery,” he announced with a characteristic shrug.
“I wish I had your optimism, Sir.”
“Optimism would be hoping we can save our homeworld.”
“I’m not allowing myself to get my hopes up about that,” she admitted.
“No?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you work so hard, training to capture a warship from the Maxolhx, if you do not think we can save Earth? That is also an unlikely dream.”
“Because,” she glanced back at the green and blue world below the Dutchman. “We have to try. And if by some miracle this op works as planned, we can use that ship for payback.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
It was my day to serve in the galley, along with Adams and Reed. With such a small crew, we served a simple breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, and concentrated on preparing a nice dinner. Reed suggested shrimp and grits, partly because our supplies included plenty of shrimp, and not many people were eating grits with their breakfast. With me being from Maine, you might think I did not like grits, but you would be wrong about that. You might also think that grits are something I first ate in Basic Training, and again you would be wrong. My uncle Edgar lives in Florida during the winters, and I visited him there enough to develop a taste for grits. Real grits, not that instant stuff that tastes like wallpaper paste.
Anyway, Reed’s recipe for shrimp and grits met the approval of Adams, so we went with that. The hydroponics garden was producing a nice batch of strawberries, so I suggested that I make a strawberry roll for dessert. Crew morale was understandably low, and I was hoping a special treat would pick
up everyone’s spirits. A special dinner would also be a nice way to welcome aboard the people we had recently and rudely pulled off the surface of Avalon.
The truth was, I needed to make a treat for the crew, because that would be a couple hours when I didn’t have to think about impending doom that I couldn’t do anything about.
“What,” Reed asked, “is a strawberry roll?”
“You never had one?” That surprised me.
“Sir,” she gave me the side-eye. “Is this like that bread in a can thing?”
Before we left Earth, Simms had loaded aboard a box of B&M brown bread in a can. Both plain and the kind with raisins, which is my favorite. “No, it is not like bread in a can.” At first, I set out sliced brown bread for breakfast, when people could toast it and slather it with butter. Trust me, it is wonderful. Some people liked it, so I pushed my luck and went too far. One day for lunch, I served franks and beans with brown bread. That was a Saturday night tradition when I was growing up in New England, but apparently a bit too regional for our international crew. Those who didn’t like brown bread for breakfast were not thrilled to see a disc of bread on their plate, and ‘beanie-weenies’ was not a popular meal with anyone. I had plenty of leftovers for my lunches that week.
“A strawberry roll is,” I paused. How do I explain it? “You ever had a jelly roll?”
“Ooh,” Adams made a face. “My grandmother always made a jelly roll for church suppers. I didn’t like that even when I was a kid.”
“It’s not like that,” I hurried to say before Adams got turned off to the whole idea. “The cake part is similar, you bake it thin. But instead of jelly, you put freshly-whipped cream on, with sliced strawberries. Then you roll it up, carefully. When it’s in a roll, you put more cream on the outside, and fresh strawberries on top. Because of the cream, you have to keep it in the fridge until just before you serve it.”
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