Independence Day: Crucible (The Official Prequel)

by Greg Keyes

  “Inner Mongolia,” he said. “That’s the Gobi Desert you see below you.”

  Mongolia?

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  He appeared surprised. “You don’t know?”

  “Not really,” she said.

  He pointed up ahead, where she now could see a massive spread of human construction and tall, narrow towers that seemed somehow too spindly to be inhabited.

  “Dongfeng Aerospace City,” he said.

  Dongfeng, she thought. East Wind.

  He did a turn around the enormous city in the desert, lined up with a runway, and began his descent. She watched as huge hangars, rocket gantries, and industrial facilities grew larger and whipped past. The place was lousy with military aircraft, from fighters to gigantic transports. They touched down, and even before the door was open she recognized the uniformed man watching her arrival.

  “Uncle Jiang!” she shouted.

  * * *

  “You have no idea how close you came to a prison sentence, young lady,” Lao Jiang scolded Rain. “I had to ask for favors, which I am loath to do—you’ve no idea how this has put me out.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was upset. I wasn’t thinking—”

  “No,” he said. “You weren’t, but you’re going to start thinking right now. My brother’s daughter isn’t going to grow up to be some sort of hoodlum ne’er-do-well. Do you understand?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t. All I wanted to do was see where he got shot down, what he was fighting—”

  “Did it help?” he asked. “Is he any less dead?”

  “No,” she said softly.

  “I understand your anger, and your sorrow,” he said. “I—wish I could have been more available to you these past few years, but I’ve been promoted. It’s hard for me to get away from this place at the moment.”

  “As for that,” Rain said, “why are we in the middle of the Gobi Desert, Uncle Jiang?”

  “We’re building,” he said.

  “Building what?”

  “Our future,” he replied. “You’ll learn about that later.

  For right now, listen to me. You may have noticed the size of this place. There are a lot of people here, and many of them have families. There is therefore a school here—which you will attend. You will not cut class, you will work hard, and you will not joyride in any of the fighter jets.”

  “I don’t think I can fly a fighter jet,” she said.

  “Nonsense,” he replied. “You can fly anything you want. You can do anything you want. But if you don’t straighten up, you won’t get the chance. You want to fly again? Then earn the privilege. Fly for China.”

  It dawned on her then that she wasn’t actually in trouble.

  “You’re proud of me,” she said.

  He looked outraged.

  “For stealing?” he snapped. “For flying into a restricted area? For crashing a plane?”

  “For walking away from it,” she said. “You never really taught me to land, remember?”

  He glared at her, but she swore one side of his mouth twitched up.

  “Come along,” he said. “Let’s get you settled in.”

  17

  NOVEMBER

  “Hey, Steve,” David Levinson said. He held out a bottle of wine. “Housewarming present.”

  Steve examined the bottle. “Alright,” he said. “Champagne. Classy. This’ll go great with the foie gras I’m grilling out back.”

  “It’s like beer, but more expensive,” David said. “Goes with anything.”

  “Y’all come on in,” Hiller said. “Hi, Connie.” He and Connie exchanged a brief hug, and by then Jasmine was at the door, and they made a complete round of greetings.

  “The place looks different,” David said, looking around. “More…”

  “Like a woman lives here?” Jasmine said. “Less like a frat house basement?”

  “Those are exactly the words I was looking for,” Levinson said. Then he did a slight double take. “Dylan?” he said. “Holy smokes.”

  Hiller turned as his son arrived in the foyer.

  “Put on a little height, hasn’t he?” Steve said.

  “And put in some testosterone,” David said. “Is that stubble? Are you trying to grow a beard? How old are you now, thirty?”

  “Just seventeen,” Dylan said.

  “And the low voice?” Connie said. “Where did the low voice come from?”

  “It happens,” Jasmine said. “All too quick it happens.”

  “Let’s get out of the door,” Steve said. “The grill’s getting ready out back.”

  “What can I get you to drink?” Jasmine asked.

  “Why don’t we go ahead and crack the bubbly?” Hiller said. “It’s been, what, four years since we were all together? That’s worth a little celebration.”

  * * *

  It was almost too chilly for the Hawaiian shirt and shorts Hiller had chosen as his attire for the event, and it would only get cooler as the evening moved on. But when a man had a nice hot charcoal fire going, and hamburger patties waiting for the coals to be just right, he had to look the part, even if it was November.

  He had tried grilling during the summer, the year after he moved here. Once. From that he learned that when the mercury read one hundred and six, and humidity was more or less zero, you had no business with a spatula in your hand unless you were inside, with the AC cranked, flipping pancakes.

  The moon was a white ghost in the bright Nevada sky. He looked at it wistfully for a moment.

  “Soon,” he said. “You and me.”

  He checked the coals and thought they needed another few minutes. He got his glass and sat with the others on the patio, where they’d pulled rattan chairs up to a table with an umbrella.

  “I was just asking Dylan how the STEP is,” Connie said as Hiller arrived.

  “I wanna hear the answer to this myself,” Hiller said. “I need an update. Kid won’t even let me do his homework anymore.”

  “You can do my homework anytime you want,” Dylan said. “Just don’t turn it in. I’m trying to get into the ESD Academy, remember?”

  “Ouch,” Hiller said. “Didn’t we have that talk about father–son solidarity and the, you know, correlation of that to access to the car keys? Cuz I thought we had that talk.”

  “Dad has been very helpful in supporting my studies,” Dylan said quickly. “Anyway, the school is great. Hard, but I knew it would be. Still, it’s kind of rough. Back in Virginia I was at the top of my class. Here—there’s a lot of competition.”

  “My boy is up to the challenge,” Jasmine said.

  Dylan looked a little embarrassed.

  “The thing is, I came in with all kinds of advantages. Most of us at the STEP school did, but others, like my buddy Jake—he’s my lab partner in chemistry—he really had to work to get here. His parents were in L.A. when—you know. He grew up in an orphanage.”

  “A lot of kids your age did,” Connie said.

  “Yeah. Kind of makes me appreciate my own circumstances,” Dylan said. “I’ve got a mom and a dad. I had pretty good schools coming up. I think Jake was mostly self-taught. He sticks out a little.”

  “Well, it sounds like he’s motivated,” Hiller said.

  “He wants to be a pilot too,” Dylan added.

  “Oh, well that’s too bad,” Hiller said. “You’ll never be friends with that chump.”

  “Why do you say that?” David asked.

  “Well, you know—pilots,” Hiller said. “Bunch of self-important jerks.”

  “Oh, right,” David agreed. “Absolutely. Dylan, listen to your father.”

  “I always do,” Dylan said.

  “See?” Hiller said. “That’s that solidarity I was talking about. Also—don’t forget you said that.”

  “This is sort of what Connie was—I’m sorry, Senator Levinson—was talking about on TV the other day,” Jasmine said.

  “Oh, you saw that?” Connie said.<
br />
  “Yeah,” Jasmine said. “You seemed a little, well…”

  “Frustrated?” Connie said.

  “I was gonna say pissed off,” Jasmine said.

  “Yah,” Connie agreed. “The big news is that the whole country—the whole world—is united, right?”

  “That’s the story,” David said, “and we’re all sticking to it.”

  “The fact is, we’re only on the same page about priority number one,” Connie said. “After that—well, Congress is still Congress. You would think that the education bill would be non-controversial, right? We need pilots and engineers, scientists of every kind, and yet educational opportunities are shrinking for most of our kids. ‘The focus is on quality, not quantity’—I know that’s Jacobs’ favorite line, and he can prove by example that the STEP schools turn out great students. But we could have both—very good schools, and lots of them, for a fraction of our GDP.”

  “Well,” Jasmine said, “I thought you were very articulate, and I think that other guy was a condescending jackass.”

  “You get used to that if you’re a woman in Congress,” Connie said.

  “Honey, you get used to that if you’re a woman anyplace but the kitchen,” Jasmine said.

  “Excuse me,” Hiller said. “I think those coals ain’t gonna wait. Besides, I hear me a girl power conversation about to happen.”

  “Let me help you with that,” David said.

  “That’s all good,” Hiller said. “You know your way around a spatula?”

  “Maybe not all the way around,” David said. “Just about halfway.”

  “Just as well,” Hiller said. “You don’t take another man’s spatula from him—not in his own backyard. That there is sacred.”

  He stepped over to the grill, cleaned it off again, then started placing the burgers on the rack, which made a pleasant sizzling sound and released an even better aroma.

  “Smell that?” he said. “That’s the smell of America.” He glanced over at David, trying to decide whether to get into it or not for a second or two before wading in.

  Here goes…

  “So when are you gonna have something for me to fly?” he asked. “I haven’t been grounded this long—well, ever.”

  David looked pained.

  “I’ve got Strain, Tanner, and Jacobs all over me about this,” David said. “Now you too?”

  “I get it,” Hiller said. “They’re pushing hard.”

  “It’s not the hard,” David said. “It’s the fast. Those people we lost in the tunnel last month—”

  “Was not your fault,” Steve said.

  “Nooo… yes it was. Because I knew we weren’t ready for Beta. I should have refused, I should have walked out.”

  “You should be the damn director,” Steve said. “Everybody knows that.”

  David opened his mouth to reply, but instead he waited a beat and then shrugged.

  “Yeah, well,” he said, “as many times as I’ve butted heads with these guys, I don’t think I could do that now even if I wanted to.”

  “You know what you sound like?” Steve said. “You sound exactly like a man who wants the job.”

  “Well, you know how some people are,” David said, after taking a sip of champagne. “Always wanting what they can’t have. Now that I can’t have it—”

  “Bullshit,” Hiller said. “You’re a hero. You’re the guy who saved us all. Me being able to fly that thing—that was nothing without you. Everything would have been for nothing if you hadn’t done that thing with the computer virus. You just need to remind people who the hell you are.”

  “Maybe,” David said.

  “So,” Hiller said. “Seriously. A whole ’nother year?”

  “Don’t be in a hurry.”

  Hiller nodded, but then he pointed to Dylan and Jasmine, and waved his spatula at the sky.

  “They’re coming back, you know that, right? E.T. phoned home. They’re coming for us again. For my wife and my son. I get that you want to take it slow. You’re probably right. I’m just getting nervous, you know? It’s like a countdown.”

  “I know,” David said. “I know, but I’ve got something that will keep you busy for the next few months, anyway.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh-huh. The Chinese are getting antsy too. We’re sending you over there to start their training program. The hybrid fighters may not be ready, but the simulators are ready to go, and the same tactical simulations you’ve been doing with our older jets is better than nothing. They asked for you.”

  “Well if they asked for me,” Hiller said, “I reckon I’d better go.” He pointed his spatula at David. “But you think about some of the stuff I said, okay? You’re David Levinson. You need to get off your ass and own that.”

  “I’m a lease to own kind of guy,” David said. “Less chance of buyer’s remorse.”

  18

  FEBRUARY

  2007

  It was easy to lose track of time kissing Emily. She was eminently kissable, had maybe the perfect mouth for it, and her face looked great in close up. So when Jake finally thought to look at his watch, he got a rude surprise.

  “Crap,” he said. “We’re gonna be late.”

  She nibbled on his ear, which drove him crazy, and not in a bad way.

  “So?” she murmured.

  “So I told Dylan I would be there.”

  She sighed. “Fine. If you would rather be with Dylan…”

  “Well, you’re going too,” Jake said. “Right?”

  She touched her forehead to his. “Can’t we just celebrate here?”

  It was tempting, especially when she said it in the low tone of voice… but he didn’t like to go back on his word.

  “I told him I would be there,” he said.

  “Fine,” Emily said.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “What’s wrong?” she said. “You have no idea? Nothing occurs?”

  Jake wasn’t as clueless as he made out to be, but he didn’t see the point in starting the discussion she wanted to have. The celebration was all about Jake and Dylan being accepted into the Academy. Which meant that next fall, they would be leaving 51. He and Emily had been together for nearly a year, and it was starting to feel serious. There was a conversation that needed to happen, but he wasn’t ready for that yet.

  “Is this about my other girlfriends?” he said.

  “Oh, shut up,” she said. “Let’s go meet Dylan and what’s-her-name.”

  “Terry,” he said. “Her name is Terry. We’d better move, we’re supposed to get Charlie on the way.”

  “Of course we are,” Emily said.

  * * *

  Their destination was Sean Thompson’s house. His parents were only rarely home before midnight on weekends, and even when they were they were fairly laissez-faire about what went on in the basement game room—which wasn’t usually anything particularly out of line. Tonight, though, Sean had somehow procured a few bottles of champagne. Jake hadn’t spent a lot of time drinking, and Dylan practically never touched the stuff, probably from fear of disappointing his parents. Jake usually eschewed because he didn’t want it to interfere with his studies. But school had gotten him where he wanted to go, so he figured a little indulgence wouldn’t hurt.

  Champagne, as it turned out, was pretty good.

  Things started in high spirits. Charlie looked a little uncomfortable, since he didn’t have a date. Sean and his girlfriend, Melissa, were working seriously at getting drunk. Emily asked Terry slightly barbed questions, and Dylan waxed poetic about the virtues of the Academy. Terry asked him questions about his famous dad, which left Jake without much to say.

  So finally, he decided to change the subject.

  “Pool,” he said, pointing at the table. “Two out of three. Five bucks.”

  “You’re on,” Dylan said. “Rack ’em.”

  “Why don’t we play doubles?” Terry asked. She was a pretty girl, heavily freckled, with curly auburn hair. Her
suggestion was met with a moment of profound silence.

  “Oh, no,” Emily said, taking the other girl’s hand. “Just walk away from the table. You don’t want any part of that.”

  “What do you mean?” Terry asked. “It’s just pool.”

  “These are two of the most competitive men you’re ever going to meet,” Emily explained, “and if you’re on a team with one of them, and God forbid you miss a shot… Let it go. Let them bang their penises together by themselves.”

  “She means figuratively,” Dylan said. Toggling his finger between him and Jake. “This thing here is strictly platonic.”

  “Whatever,” Emily said.

  Jake narrowly lost to Dylan in the first game, but that didn’t worry him too much. He usually hit his stride in the second match, and the bubbly was making him feel loose and confident. It started well, with him breaking and sinking three balls before missing a shot.

  That, however, was the high point of the game. He missed one shot he really, really shouldn’t have, and began to get frustrated. Then, next turn, he scratched, allowing Dylan to set up for a substantial lead. It didn’t help that Terry cheered enthusiastically every time Dylan made a shot, but Emily remained silent on his behalf, chatting instead with Sean and Melissa.

  He noticed somewhere along the line that Dylan hadn’t had much to drink at all.

  Mama’s boy, he grumbled to himself.

  “Sandbagged me,” he grunted.

  “What?” Dylan said.

  “Nothing,” Jake said. “Two out of three?”

  “Dude, that was two out of three.” He reached for his glass. “How about a toast?” he said, pouring a little of the champagne.

  “That sounds good,” Jake said, still irked.

  “To us,” Dylan said. “To the Academy.”

  “To me and you,” Jake said.

  They clinked and drank. Jake reached for the pool cue.

  “Let’s go again,” he said.

  Dylan shook his head, sat down and pulled Terry onto his lap. She giggled.