by Jean Johnson
But the Greys, however dangerous, powerful, and meddlesome, were a known quantity. Semi-known, technically; they weren’t the sort of visitors who were willing to sit down and chat for a while. Yet, this mission was not about the Greys? That was . . . news.
“New aliens, Premiere?” Jackie asked, voicing her confusion. “Are there any descriptions of this new race?”
“New races, plural,” he corrected, and nodded at his predecessor.
Rosa tapped her controls, sending text descriptions and sketches to each seat across the table console. “You’ll each be given a full set of all the data collated to review in your free time, but to summarize . . . the images reported by the precogs have been of many different types. Lizardlike people, catlike people . . . even giant spiderlike people have all been noted in these precognitive visions.”
Jackie shuddered. She had always feared and hated spiders. The possibility of an alien race that looked like . . . ? She pulled her thoughts back to the information being shared as the ex-Premiere continued.
“These visions have not gone away. They have kept growing in strength and number; at first, only the strongest precogs had flashes of visions, a couple of them with only a dozen images between the lot . . . but five months ago, even the weaker precogs started seeing these alien races interacting with Humans, including military members. Two of them have photographic memories—one from the Psi League and one from a pagan branch of the Witan Order. The League helped them both to coordinate with the military to look for familiar faces.
“As the world’s second psychic to hold a civilian office above a regional level, nearly everyone in the League who had these visions recognized you, Jackie,” McCrary told her. “That was the real reason why I decided to request that you step down from your Councilorship, so that you would be available for these missions. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you or anyone else any of this earlier, but we didn’t want scraps of information turning into wild speculations.”
Jackie nodded, accepting the reason and the apology.
“Your telepathy includes a very strongly ranked xenopathy,” Rosa stated next, tapping the tabletop away from her screens. “You have both military and government experience, you have proved you can make good, swift decisions under various circumstances, and you have the ability to talk with the Greys, cetaceans, pachyderms, and the greater apes. You are, in a word, ideal for dealing with these new races in a hopefully positive, peaceful way, should the visions prove to come true, and we suddenly have a lot more versions of sentiency to deal with.”
“What if they’re not peaceful?” Colvers asked the former Premiere.
“We have taken that side of things into account, and will be prepared to deal with it,” the Admiral-General answered. “You worry about your own mission parameters, soldier. Those are to explore new star systems, as the other Aloha ships are doing, and to establish hopefully peaceful contact with as many new life-forms as you can manage under MacKenzie’s leadership. If this isn’t just the precogs booting their dreams into the wind.”
“I have a question, sir,” Jackie said. At his nod, she asked, “If a bunch of alien races are going to be encountering us, shouldn’t I stay here in the Sol System?”
“Most of the images suggest you’ll all be somewhere else,” Admiral Nayak told her. “We have not yet found any truly inhabitable worlds in the systems of our nearest stellar neighbors, but in several of the images, the landscapes seen included patently alien plant life. To be fair, we have only just begun exploring beyond our system with the new other-than-light ships, but at the distances our OTL ships can travel, it is only a matter of time before we encounter those inhabitable worlds.”
“More to the point,” Rosa continued, “one of the strongest images was of MacKenzie, here, performing Mankiller-style at a big hula festival here on Earth . . . and the precog in question had reason to believe it was after First Contact had been made.”
Jackie closed her eyes for a brief moment, stifling the urge to groan. “It’s called the Merrie Monarch Festival, not ‘some big hula festival.’ There’s a lot more to it than just hula . . . and yes, I did agree to perform holokinetically this year,” she added, opening her eyes. “It takes place in the week following Easter . . . which falls on the first weekend in April, this year. It starts three months to the day from now, in fact, and I perform on the sixth of April.”
“Then we’ll need to get you into the stars as soon as possible,” Kurtz stated. “You’ll have two weeks to train on your ship’s systems, all of you—and I expect the three of you who are familiar to step up and help the three who are not. Once you are reasonably trained, you will be expected to launch and start taking your place on the scouting rosters, seeking out new star systems and dropping off surveillance satellites and hyperrelay units as you go.”
“Up until the moment of First Contact, Commander Graves will be in charge, and you will all be expected to follow his commands until that point,” the Premiere instructed them. “After that point, Major MacKenzie will be in charge. Your official government position at that point, Jackie, will be Ambassador of the United Planets, and you will have full rights on the Council, from proposing legislation all the way through to voting on related issues, with the caveat that your vote is to be confined to those items that affect your constituency on an interstellar basis only—you don’t have a vote on what goes on strictly back home, but you do have one if it involves anything from outside this system.”
“What would be my constituency, then?” Jackie asked, curious in the face of that unusual restriction. “All of the scouting ships outside the Sol System? Anyplace where we’ve left a hyperrelay satellite?”
Premiere Callan gave her a sober, level look. “The entire United Planets is your constituency, Jacaranda. Within and without the Sol System. Your vote will only register for anything involving territories and peoples outside the United Planets, specifically those things you will be facing in your role as Ambassador. You will also have authority to broker initial treaties to ensure neutrally peaceful interactions with any First Contact races.”
Jackie sat back, trying to absorb that. The only Councilors who had jurisdiction that broad were the Premiere and his or her apprentice, the Secondaire. If she had that kind of authority . . . that would make her the third most powerful person in the United Planets. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for the responsibility, but as Callan continued, Jackie pulled her wits together. She might not be ready at that moment, but she would have to be, soon.
“Once you have hopefully established neutral, peaceful relations, Ambassador, you will then itemize and prioritize various recommendations before turning over each matter to the Council to decide as a whole,” he told her. “You are also expected to stay on top of all interstellar matters in order to provide solid counsel, as well as to vote on each related issue.”
“Unfortunately, not all of the precognitive visions were of peaceful coexistence,” Kurtz warned the six of them. “There were images of the ship you’ll be assigned firing its cannons, and of strange vessels engaged in heavy combat. There were images of personal combat as well, including some scenes of rather grisly violence. You may have to make some rather tough decisions as a crew. Not all of these visions may come true, and we would prefer it if you did not declare war on anyone, Ambassador,” the Admiral-General added dryly. “But as a soldier and an officer, we know you are aware that there are times when a fight is inevitable. Try to make it evitable, if you can.”
As an attempt at humor, the joke fell a little flat in the face of the somber news. Thorsson shook his head. “I am not certain I should like to be on this expedition. I know kendo and judo, but I have not fired a gun. I am a scientist, not a soldier.”
Rosa McCrary reached over and touched his hand, using some of the same soothing charm that had made her the steady, beloved rock of the last four years. “I know what’s in those reports, young man, and I find the worst of the images a bit frightening to contemplate,
myself. But you are one of the top scientists available for gauging whether or not a planet has readily available resources. More importantly, you will be able to gauge if a planet or moon is suitable for dome colonization . . . or hopefully even direct colonization.
“If there are other races out there, and they do seem to require similar, oxygen-breathing environments, then it might be possible they know of worlds we could expand to, or perhaps jointly colonize. If we can get along,” McCrary allowed. “Earth is still very overcrowded. Our torus stations have gravity, but a very limited amount of living space. Mars and the Moon are growing overcrowded despite being strictly for research and resource gathering . . . and the gravity is far too light on those two for safely raising children,” she finished. “Someone has to be on hand to discern if there are new worlds we can safely claim.”
“You are very much part of our long-term plans for these missions, Thorsson,” Premiere Callan stated. “This isn’t a short-term deal. If we find new sentients out there, and if we can establish peaceful relations, then we need to be able to convey our needs and wants to these people, whether they have two arms, or four arms, or a dozen legs. You are a part of Ambassador MacKenzie’s initial, official embassy.”
Again, Jackie shivered, shrinking a little inside. Firmly, she guided her mind away from thinking about multilimbed arachnids.
Rosa lifted her chin at the Finn. “You’ll also be helping Mbani double-check your headings and locations. There are a lot of stars within twenty-five light-years of here, and you might end up going out even farther than that. Astronavigation has gotten good, with all the satellites that are being planted in our nearest neighboring systems, but you may end up a hundred light-years from here, or even five hundred. What we know of those star systems is five hundred years old, so your job is to discern the new differences and bring back details and recommendations.”
Mbani eyed the tall blond, and shrugged. “I do hope you’re very good at astronavigation, Thorsson. The only thing we can be grateful for is that a hyperrift exit won’t open near a high-gravity well, so at least we won’t smack into a moon or a planet when we emerge in a new system. Very small asteroids are another matter, though.”
“Oh, sure, cheer me up with bad news,” Thorsson quipped. “Next you’ll tell me the ship we’re on doesn’t have a sauna.”
Colvers gave him a bemused look. “Of course it doesn’t. OTL ships are too small for such frivolities.”
Thorsson sighed heavily, dropped his elbows to the table, and thumped his brow into his palms, the picture of dejection. He smiled shyly in the next moment, letting everyone know he was only teasing. Jackie smiled back, but few of the others did.
“I have a question.” Colvers eyed the senior officers and the Premiere. When Callan nodded, he asked it. “Why weren’t we told any sooner? Not her,” he added, poking a thumb in Jackie’s direction. “But the commander, the lieutenant commander, or me? Why weren’t we told weeks or months ago?”
“Because unlike most other psychic abilities, precognition isn’t something that the wielder can reliably control, never mind summon up on demand,” Jackie explained. That question was one she herself could field. She wasn’t a precog, but she had studied that ability alongside all the rest while being trained by the League. “And everything a foreseer sees is only a possibility, one that can be altered even just by knowing it’s a possibility, and therefore potentially avoidable.”
“We had a few reports coming in from several months ago, but it was only very recently that the psis had several visions all at once. When that happens, that usually means it’ll happen soon,” Premiere Callan stated. “As MacKenzie has stated, anything can change and prevent those visions from coming true . . . but the closer to an event, the more frequently they’ll show up, and the more likely they’ll actually happen.”
The former Premiere nodded, agreeing with him. She gestured at Callan and herself. “We can only act when we think there is something worth acting upon. Otherwise, we’d end up chasing would-be/could-be shadows, and that’s just frustrating. Not to mention it wastes resources. Now that we know it’s coming up soon, with reasonably high probability that it will actually happen, it’s finally worth acting upon. Even if that means a very short lead time before events actually happen.”
Admiral Nayak looked at the others, then tapped the surface of the table. “Time to open up your dossiers and begin reading. Major MacKenzie, you’ll need to sign quite a bit of paperwork before Premiere Callan can leave, government authorizations and such, so you’ll need to start with that. Colvers . . . whatever personal opinions you may have about your teammates, keep them to yourself. This goes for all of you. Cooperation and courtesy may one day save your lives.”
“Yes, sir,” Colvers murmured. The others nodded as well and returned their attention to their pads.
“Most of the forms have been slightly modified from the Councilor ones, so at least the content of all that paperwork will be familiar, if tedious,” Rosa commented in an aside to Jackie.
“You will also be expected to recite the Oath of Civil Service every single day, MacKenzie,” Premiere Callan added, giving Jackie a level, firm look. “Recite and log it every day, so the citizens back home know that you’re taking that oath to heart. We’re handing you a huge chunk of authority. We need even the skeptics to know you can be trusted with it.”
Jackie nodded since that was all she could do. She had recited that oath five days a week for the last five years and was quite familiar with the lengthy piece. The situation was serious, so she tried a little bit of humor to leaven it. “Do I at least get weekends off?”
“Only if you’re here, at home, and off duty,” he told her. “If you’re out there, there’s no such thing as a weekend holiday in space.”
“Or saunas in space,” Thorsson mumbled under his breath, face still braced in his hands. He got another sympathy pat out of Rosa, but only a brief one.
“By ‘here,’ the Premiere means in Earth orbit. You will all be moved to special quarters on Space Force Station MacArthur by the end of this week, if not sooner,” Admiral-General Kurtz stated. “The Space Force will be footing your relocation, transportation, and other mission-related expenses, in the understanding that what you are allowed to bring up to the MacArthur will be examined and regulated—you will have a little more leeway than the average military personnel in terms of quarter sizes and such, but not by much, and certain items will still remain on the prohibited list.
“This and other points of information have been collated and arranged into files for each of you to peruse. The core information and regulations remain the same, but the rest has been tailored to your particular specialties. Lieutenant Yarley will distribute your mission pads now.”
Nodding, the youngish man with the single silver bar on his uniform collar points fetched a stack of datapads from a side table, handing them out with a quiet double check of each name. Jackie accepted hers with a sigh, anticipating all the paperwork ahead. Sure enough, the very first section in the files was a thick data packet of forms to be read and signed on the spot.
“Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen, ladies. Unfortunately, the Admiral-General and I have other work to do,” Premiere Callan stated, as each of the six settled in to read. “Admiral Nayak will be taking over and handling things once we have gone, though Honorable McCrary will remain to help answer any questions you may have. I realize this isn’t a typical mission by any means . . . but while precognition in general is nebulous at best, these are certified and tested precogs giving us visions of what might happen. Rosa and I both agree that we would rather have the United Planets prepared and have nothing to do for our trouble, than be caught off guard without any contingency plans at all, should the worst of the visions come true.”
Jackie rose out of polite habit when Premiere Callan did. So did the others. Once he and the head of the Space Force had left, they settled back down, eyeing each other with wary curiosity. All excep
t for the Finn. Thorsson glanced at his datapad, turned it so that the lettering was upside down, turned it again, and raised a hand palm upward in confusion. “They want me to . . . to decide on spatial coordinates for explorations based on a bunch of words? Jumbled dreams?”
“You’re not the only one,” Mbani told him. “This isn’t my idea of scientifically conducted astronomical observation, either.”
“You’re a psi, MacKenzie,” Colvers stated, slanting Jackie a shuttered look. “Why don’t you pluck it out of the air for us, and make things easier?”
“I’m not that kind of psi, Lieutenant,” Jackie demurred. “I don’t have precognition. The most I could do is ask to meet with the precogs, get their permission to go into their memories of their visions, and try to project a holokinetic image of what they see . . . with no guarantee that what I’d be projecting is in any way accurate. Memories are easily disturbed and altered.”
“That could be helpful, though,” Thorsson pointed out. “I am a visual person. If I could see what they saw, even if the image was nebulous, it could help—it could be an image of a nebula, yes?” He smiled at his joke, looking around to see if the others had a sense of humor, too.
Jackie returned it wryly, Mbani flashed him a grin, and Graves smiled but shook his head. “You might wanna work on your jokes a little more there, Thorsson.”
“Call me Lars, please,” the geophysicist returned politely. “We will be working together.”
“If you could return your attention back to the reading and the signing, it would help speed this along,” Admiral Nayak stated, interrupting them. “We won’t be done until I’ve scheduled movers to get each of you packed and up to MacArthur within the week.”
“I’m already packed and ready to go,” Jackie stated. At a snort from Colvers, she addressed his unspoken skepticism. “All my things were packed up so they could be moved out of the Councilor apartments here on Kaho’olawe and into a place on O’ahu. I’d only opened up . . . five, six boxes? I have a kit bag ready to go in my car, but if I’m allowed the time to visit my storage unit, it’d only take me a couple of hours to sort out what I’d need for living in space. Presuming the military issues me new uniforms and such,” she added, glancing at the admiral.