by Nick Webb
Chapter 34
Epsilon Garibaldi Four, Epsilon Garibaldi System
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Granger muttered a profanity. “And why in the hell would I agree to that? You just destroyed three of my ships, and your allies just destroyed twenty.”
Vishgane Kharsa bowed his head slightly. “Because, Captain Timothy Granger. I have been instructed by the Valarisi to offer you terms of peace.”
“Surrender? No thank you.”
“Not surrender. A peace treaty.”
Peace? Could it be?
No. President Avery herself said that this would only end one way. With the complete and irrevocable destruction of the Swarm. They would not come back. Ever.
But for now, they had a chance to stall, at least. “Very well. You say you will come here? I assume you won’t come alone? How many security personnel will be accompanying you?”
A sound came from the Vishgane that Granger could only interpret as a scoff. “Security? Please. You pose me no threat. If you try to take me from this place or otherwise harm me, over five hundred Dolmasi ships stand ready to descend on our current position and subdue you.”
Granger nodded slowly. “Understood. I expect you in our main shuttle bay then. We’ll send the coordinates over after—”
Kharsa interrupted. “We know where your shuttle bay is, Captain.”
“Oh?”
“We know everything about you, Captain Granger. What the Valarisi know, so do their allies.” He held up two fists, as if in goodbye.
The screen went blank, replaced by a visual feed of the battlefield, a graveyard of steaming ship hulls and scattered debris. Occasional electrical arcing raced over the dead IDF ships, and steady rivers of goo streamed from the remains of the Swarm carriers.
“Proctor, with me. Alert the marines—I want fifty men lining the walls of the shuttle bay and perched up above on the walkways. And call Doc Wyatt—he might have some insight after talking to Kharsa. Diaz, you have the bridge.”
He led the way out the door. Proctor followed.
“Tim, do you really think they want peace?”
“Are you kidding?” Granger shook his head as they strode down the halls, taking a detour when their usual route to the shuttle bay was cut off by extensive battle damage. Injured crew members, supported by comrades, hobbled down the halls toward sickbay. Doc Wyatt flagged them down and fell into step with them.
“An actual Dolmasi is coming aboard the ship?” said Wyatt.
Granger nodded. “Wants to talk peace. Or so he says. We need to find out what they really want. Are they just stalling to save those last two Swarm carriers? Is there something we have that they want?”
“Is there something we know that has made them change tactics? Maybe our new willingness to invade into their space has changed their minds about this war,” added Proctor.
Granger stepped over a steel girder that had been knocked loose from the ceiling. “Or at least given them pause. Maybe they’re just stalling until more ships show up. We should have the fleet on a hair-trigger—q-jump the hell out of here if anything unexpected shows up.”
“Agreed.” Proctor called up to the bridge to relay the order and before long the three were standing outside the shuttle bay. Colonel Hanrahan, the marine commander, met them outside.
“I’ve got forty men on the walls, and ten up above as sharp shooters should the need arise.”
“Good. Clear the hallways around the shuttle bay. If we need it, we’ll use the conference room down there by the galley. Get twenty more men stationed around the corner, a few in the galley itself, and in each storage compartment on either side of the conference room. Seal off the deck, and have hazmat units ready in case anything … completely unexpected happens.”
“Aye, sir,” replied Colonel Hanrahan in his gruff voice.
Granger walked through the door with Proctor and Wyatt in step just as the Dolmasi shuttle was passing through the electromagnetic atmosphere shield. The giant bay door closed slowly behind it and the small craft settled to the floor.
The ramp lowered. Vishgane Kharsa stepped out, alone.
If not for his obviously scaled face and hands, Granger would have thought him human—two arms, two legs, a largish torso, stark militaristic clothing that covered most of his skin. Two feet, though these were bare and more heavily scaled than his hands. Each had five toes, though. A remarkable case of parallel evolution—Granger supposed the exobiologists would have a field day if the war ever concluded and there were any Dolmasi left to study.
Granger stepped forward and held a hand out toward Proctor and Wyatt each. “This is my executive officer, Shelby Proctor.” She stepped forward and Kharsa extended his hand—he seemed very well versed in Earth social customs. Proctor shook it after a tentative pause. “And my chief of medicine, Doctor Wyatt.” Doc Wyatt stepped forward and shook Kharsa’s hand as well.
Vishgane Kharsa stepped forward and offered his hand to Granger, who accepted it.
Instantly, his head began to swim with blurred images, light, and color. He swayed involuntarily. Granger felt himself falling, and within a moment, all went dark.
Chapter 35
Epsilon Garibaldi Four, Epsilon Garibaldi System
Shuttle Bay, ISS Warrior
Granger blinked and shook his head.
He was dreaming. Looking around, he recognized the recurring dream he’d been having. But this time he was awake. Two lights shone down from above and he smelled the familiar acrid burn. He sat up—he was sitting on a table. An examination table? A tube stuck out of his arm. He ripped it off and slid down from the table, glancing around the room.
A window. There was a window on the wall of the room—a small space that looked like a medical examination room. He hobbled over—his legs hurt—and peered out the thick glass.
Space.
Unfamiliar stars peered back as he looked all around the starscape.
A green planet rotated far below. Speckled with scant clouds and a surface dappled with occasional giant lakes and channels, the sight looked familiar. Almost. He was struck by how welcoming the globe appeared. He yearned for it. He needed to get there, desperately. It looked so close, yet he was far above in orbit, aboard some sort of station. As his eyes grew accustomed to the scene, he noticed shimmering lights—not stars—set against the distant star field. Ships?
With a roar, the world snapped back into view. Kharsa. The handshake. He stumbled forward and released his grip. Proctor reached out to steady him, and half a dozen marines nearby raised their weapons suddenly.
Vishgane Kharsa peered down at him—he was at least two meters tall. “Are you well, Captain?”
The memory was fading fast, just like his dreams. But he’d never progressed this far before. Had contact with the Dolmasi somehow stirred his memories of his disappearance? He waved the marines off. Slowly, they lowered their assault rifles.
“Fine.” He stood taller. “Just fine.”
Proctor let go of Granger and gave him a look that said, Are you really ok?
He nodded slightly to her and looked back at Kharsa. “How do you know so much about us? You know our language. You know our customs. How?”
“I told you, Captain, what our allies know, we know.”
“The Swarm taught you our language?”
Kharsa bowed his head slightly. “The Valarisi have been aware of humanity for hundreds of years.”
“And they determined we were a threat? That we had resources they wanted? Or do they just attack everyone?”
Kharsa looked confused. “The Valarisi desire all to be their allies.”
“Do they control their allies?”
“Are you asking if we are slaves? No.” Kharsa made a choking sound that Granger recognized as the laugh. “But the Valarisi are … very persuasive.”
Right. Most conquerers tend to be persuasive with the people they rule, Granger thought.
“Very well. Why have you come? You want peace?
Then tell the Swarm to stop invading our space. Stop attacking our worlds. Leave us alone, and we will leave them alone.”
Kharsa cocked his head, as if thinking hard. After several moments he finally said, “No.”
“Excuse me? That’s it? No? Then our business here is finished. Get off my ship.”
“My apologies, Captain, I’m merely passing along the will of the Valarisi. Think of me as their conduit. Their mouthpiece.”
Interesting. Could they be in constant communication? He gave Proctor a knowing glance, and she looked back, steadily. She turned to the alien and bowed slightly. “Excuse me, Captain, Vishgane, I have duties to attend to. If you’ll excuse me.”
Good. She understood.
“Captain,” she said, nodding to him.
“Commander.”
She reached out a hand to him. Odd. They rarely shook hands. As he clasped hers she pressed something into his. Aware that she was giving something to him that she didn’t want the alien to see, he closed his fist around it and hooked his hands behind his back.
Proctor left. He turned around to make a show of watching her go, and with his back turned to Kharsa he glanced down at what was resting in his palm.
The tiny earpiece receiver that Proctor wore in her duties as XO.
Her purpose was clear. He was to wear the earpiece. She would help him guide the conversation with the Vishgane. It was obvious what she was going to attempt:
Listen in on the Dolmasi’s conversation with the Swarm. Crack the code.
Now to keep Vishgane Kharsa talking. Granger turned back to him and smiled.
Chapter 36
North American Airspace, Earth
Vice President’s Shuttle
Isaacson scrolled though file after file, directory after directory, searching for the relevant information, but either he just didn’t know where to look, or he didn’t possess a high enough security clearance. He could find nothing on the anti-matter processing program. Nothing on the bomb casings. Nothing on the Squaretop Mountain Wyoming site. He couldn’t even find Sergeant Gall’s service record—the young scientist he’d met in MUNCENT—only her draft record.
Interesting. Perhaps that meant….
He glanced up at Conner. The young man had obviously been crying, but kept it silent. “What was your brother’s name?”
The kid sighed and closed his eyes. “Preston.”
Isaacson nodded, and discretely entered the brother’s name into the draft database he’d brought up on his data interface pad. “A good name. Preston Davenport? Tell me about him. What was he like?”
“Well, sir, he was taller than me, for one. Way smarter. Always scoring higher on tests—”
“He was close to your age? You were in school together?” Isaacson asked absentmindedly, feigning close attention.
He nodded. “Just a year older. He was the smarter one, but I was always more athletic. I could always squish him at wrestling or basketball or whatever we did.” Conner droned on. It seemed therapeutic for him to talk about his brother. Isaacson nodded at appropriate points, asking vague questions that induced reminiscent and nostalgic answers.
But mostly he was focused on the data coming across his screen. Or rather, the lack of it. Very, very interesting. There was hardly any information on Preston Davenport either. Nothing besides the draft record, like Sergeant Gall. No assignment. No current location. His current status hadn’t even updated to reflect the boy’s recent death.
Both Preston and Sergeant Gall simply did not fit anywhere in the government logbooks, beyond the basic record of their existence.
Conner had stopped talking. He’d apparently just told a humorous story about his brother and a pained smile showed on his face. “Sounds like a wonderful young man, Conner. You should be proud,” said Isaacson. “Proud of his service. He died defending United Earth. Speaking of which, did he ever mention where he was posted?”
Conner shook his head. “Said it was classified. But it was on Earth, out west somewhere. At least, that was what I guessed from things he said. Something about the heat and the dry air. Made his skin crack.”
An idea struck him. Preston was stationed somewhere near Wendover, Nevada. Somewhere he might have been killed by, say, a massive explosion that locals would have felt as an earthquake. An explosion underground. It was too coincidental to be unrelated.
“Well, when we get back to D.C., let’s have a drink in his honor. And maybe, when you’re feeling up to it, I’ll treat you to some, ahem … coffee.” He winked at the young man. Nothing better for the soul than busting a nut.
“Sorry, sir, I’m not a big coffee fan. It’s the caffeine. Headaches.”
Isaacson almost sighed from the disappointment—that probably meant there was a big can of instant coffee waiting for him at his D.C. residence rather than an exotic half-Columbian, half-Sumatran woman.
But before he could react, the shuttle lurched.
And dove.
“Strap belts, NOW!” the captain yelled into the cabin comm. Everyone around him immediately latched their seatbelt, but Isaacson fumbled with his—he rarely wore it. He fastened it a split second before the entire cabin turned upside down.
The shuttle rolled several times, and lurched into a new direction.
“Captain, what the hell are you doing?” Isaacson screamed toward the cockpit.
Something caught his eye outside his window. He understood.
Two fighters, guns blazing, closing in on them fast.
Chapter 37
Epsilon Garibaldi Four, Epsilon Garibaldi System
Conference Room Three, ISS Warrior
“Vishgane, we have much to discuss. You seem to know so much about me and my ship. Would you like a very brief tour before we continue?”
Granger held out his hand toward the doors to the shuttle bay. Colonel Hanrahan stepped forward. “Sir, I don’t believe that is prudent at this point.”
“I understand your concerns, Colonel,” Granger eyed the Vishgane. “But if our guest had nefarious purposes he would have ordered his fleet to directly engage with ours.”
“Yes, sir, but he may be here to gather intel. A tour of the ship would not be the wisest course of action, at least from my perspective.”
Good man, he thought. But he had no intention of showing the Vishgane anything of importance. He was just stalling. Granger nodded. “Very well, Colonel. We will steer clear of engineering, weapons platforms, and all areas of the ship which may contain technology unfamiliar to our guest.”
Vishgane Kharsa made his choking noise, indicating he found the remark humorous. “Captain Timothy Granger, there is very little that we do not know about you or your ship. Let us dispense with your … tour, and speak of more important things.”
He needed to get his earpiece in without the alien seeing. “Very well, Vishgane. Please accompany me to a conference room. Just down the hallway. At least there we can sit and talk in a more private setting.”
“I assent to your wishes, Captain.”
Granger indicated the door. “This way, then. Colonel Hanrahan, please lead the way.”
The colonel grunted his acknowledgement, shouldered his assault rifle, and walked out the door. “If you’ll follow me, sirs.”
Vishgane Kharsa stepped away from his shuttle, and the ramp retracted into its receptacle as the small craft sealed up tight. “I will know if it has been entered, Captain. Do not betray my trust.”
Granger smiled inwardly at the remark. An odd request, especially when juxtaposed against the unprovoked aggression displayed by both the Swarm and the Dolmasi, and by the fact that he was about to attempt an intel op far more risky and with a higher reward than simply breaking into the alien’s shuttle. They were about to eavesdrop on the Swarm’s mysterious communications link, one that allowed for apparently near-instantaneous communication with each other, and with, apparently, the Dolmasi.
“Of course not, Vishgane Kharsa. This way.”
Hanrahan led the
way, the Vishgane followed, and Granger brought up the rear, discretely pushing the tiny receiver into his ear. Doc Wyatt fell into step with him.
“What do you expect they’ll say? What could we possibly give them or do that will make them pull back?”
“I guess we’ll find out, Doc. Just keep an eye on us. This is the first time we’ve ever encountered a non-human face-to-face before. Your observations will be of utmost value, no doubt.”
The conference room door was flanked by two marines, and as they all stepped through Proctor’s voice came through the earpiece.
“You hear me, sir? If you can, clear your throat.”
Granger cleared his throat, and indicated a chair near the table, which he hoped was big enough for the Vishgane. “Please have a seat.” He turned to Hanrahan, who’d been accompanied by the two marines. “That will be all, gentlemen.”
Hanrahan stood his ground. “Sir, I can’t leave you here alone with the alien.”
Granger glanced at the heavily armed marines, and back at the Vishgane, who’d sat down. “You may stay, Colonel. Your men will stand guard outside the door.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Granger sat. Proctor’s voice came through again. “I hope that throat-clear was for me. Sir, we’re not reading any EM signals originating from the conference room. Scanning for neutrino-based, graviton, and meta-space signals next.”
Vishgane Kharsa broke the silence. “Captain Granger. On behalf of the Valarisi, I offer peace. These are the terms: first, that you withdraw all your ships of war to the Sol System, to your former Lunar Base, where they will await assimilation into the Valarisi defense force.”
Defense force? Is that what they called their invasion fleets? Granger held a steady gaze on the alien.
“Next, you will prepare for the arrival of the Valarisi on all your worlds by first confiscating all weaponry from every citizen, and then ordering them to report for conditioning.”