by Bob Mayer
What is interesting is that the Swarm never comes back to the site of a temporary defeat. Either because they simply accept the defeat, fear an ambush if they returned, or have no desire for revenge is unknown.
There was more, but it was conjecture and of little use in the present situation. He could imagine it was written by someone like Nyx, the Airlia who’d helped recover the ruby sphere for the mothership’s FTLT drive on Mars.
Turcotte closed the file. It confirmed the gloom and doom. If an Airlia fleet could cause a Core to retreat only three times over the millennia, what hope did Earth have?
He glanced out the broken hangar doors. The warship he could see high up in the distance was motionless. How much longer was that going to last?
EARTH ORBIT
The Swarm Battle Core was leisurely orbiting the target planet, on an up and down latitudinal corkscrew. No weapons were fired, no more ships were launched. The web of warships containing the results of the Metamorphosis was in stasis at 20,000 feet. The EMP emitters were shuttered.
The first of the scouts and warships that had been dispatched to investigate the other planets and moons in the system were returning and docking with the Core. They entered via the portals that had launched the warships through the twelve-mile thick exoskeleton of the Core.
They brought negative reports of other Scale life.
Negative reports had also been beamed up from those scouts dropped into Saturn and Jupiter’s gravity wells, from which they were unable to climb back out of. That those scout crews were slowly dying on those planets wasn’t a consideration.
There was some interesting data from Titan, the second largest moon in the system. Remnants of an ancient civilization were discovered, but the artifacts were few and far between and gave no indication what Scale had produced them. This corroborated the debris the Core had discovered in the Asteroid Belt as it passed through.
It was in the realm of possibility, given the eons, that an entire Scale civilization had evolved, prospered in this solar system and disappeared. Which planet the Scale had occupied was uncertain; in fact, it could have just been an outpost from an outside Scale species occupying a planet or moon. It didn’t matter now.
The data on the structure of the target planet showed nothing surprising. A dynamic, evolving planet. A thin crust of solid material, barely averaging one hundred kilometers in thickness sustained the land masses. The solid material was thinner, naturally, under the oceans. Relatively speaking, this was barely a wrapper around a layer of hotter, less solid material that was in motion, albeit slowly. This meant that the surface of the planet was fragmented into six major, solid plates and several minor ones that floated on the magma below.
Despite only having been in orbit a short time, the Swarm’s analysis was so exact, it could determine that those plates were moving. Very, very slowly. That, too, was a norm for planets with Scale. It explained the topography. Massive mountains between the Asian subcontinent and the rest of the land mass were the result of one plate sliding under another. Plates were either pushing toward each other or away.
The Swarm was in no rush to complete the Drop. Waiting was a valuable tactical ploy. It was possible that the Scale to be reaped had some deeper strategy that had yet to be deployed. Not likely, but a few times in the past, over the course of thousands of worlds reaped, there had been some surprises.
Waiting had the advantage of causing uncertainty and confusion among Scale. Most were hiding, hoping to escape detection. As time passed and nothing happened, they would eventually come out.
Making them easier to reap.
There was another housekeeping chore to be completed. A unique ship, different from the warships, scouts and mining ships, was launched via a portal that extended deep inside the Core. For lack of a better term, it can be called the Scoop. It was five miles long and cone-shaped. The hull was shiny and smooth, a contrast to the pitted surface of the Core. Twenty warships deployed around it for protection, even though this Scale had exhibited minimal space capability.
The tip of the cone was in the front as the Scoop accelerated away from the Core. It broke Earth orbit and headed directly toward the system’s star.
And thus the second day passed to . . . .
ON THE THIRD DAY: THE WAIT
THE FACILITY
“Asha?” Sofia nudged the woman’s shoulder. “Asha?”
“Yes?” Asha blinked, then was immediately awake. “What is wrong?” The Tesla lights were still dim and it took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light.
“There were two thousand and fifty seven removed from the Facility after being labeled Metabol.”
It was not stated as a question. “How do you know that?”
“I could feel them,” Sofia said. “Each time they were taken. We could all feel it. Is the number correct?”
“Yes.” Asha swung her legs off the cot and planted them firmly on the stone floor.
“But there are only one thousand, five hundred and twenty-four Metabols here. Now.”
“Yes.” Asha waited for inevitable next question.
“What happened to the difference? I cannot feel them.”
“They’re gone,” Asha said.
“’Gone’?” Sofia repeated.
There was movement on the other side of the room as Joseph awakened. The old man threw a blanket over his shoulders, came over, and sat on a stool.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Sofia said. “If they weren’t, I would feel them. “
“Yes,” Asha said. “Their—“ she searched for a word—“development did not go as hoped.”
“That is strange,” Sofia said. “I felt them being taken. But then I lost them. They faded away. Is that what dying is? Fading away? It was not sudden.”
Asha glanced at Joseph and the old man answered. “Death is always coming, Sofia. Thus one might say it is not sudden. But what you felt, the fading away? That was the Metabol in them fading.”
“These Fades,” Sofia said. “Did they go back to being normal?”
“No,” Asha said.
“They go into a coma,” Joseph said. “One we’ve been unable to bring them out of. Then they were purged as the Myrddin, as Mrs. Parrish, ordered.”
“She had them killed?” Sofia was aghast.
“You should be dead,” Asha said. “Everyone in here, myself included, should be dead.”
“Why would she do that?” Sofia was truly puzzled. “Why would she kill what she no longer had use for? Why not just let the Fades go?”
“Secrecy,” Asha said. “Mrs. Parrish needed secrecy for her plans to succeed.” She leaned toward Sofia. “Why are you asking this now?”
Sofia nodded toward one of the dormitories. “I feel others fading. Now.”
SURVIVAL SILO, KANSAS
“What do you have?” Tremble asked.
Jack didn’t answer. He had his rifle to his shoulder and was aiming.
Tremble picked up the binoculars. There were figures moving in the dark.
“Try night vision,” Jack said. He reached over and pressed the appropriate button on top of the binos.
The image flickered, became green-tinted.
Children. Dozens of children. Edging forward toward the silo. There were adults mixed in, holding white flags.
“Trying to play on emotions,” Jack said.
“We can’t let them in,” Tremble said.
Jack pulled his eye back from the scope, incredulous. “Let them in? I’m talking about killing them. That will keep the rest at bay for a while.”
“Fire warning rounds,” Tremble ordered. “That will hold them back.”
Jack shook his head. “Not for long.” He put the assault rifle down and picked up a M249 squad automatic weapon. He rested it on the firing slit. Then he fired a long burst, every fourth round a tracer, stitching a line just in front of the kids.
They scattered and ran, the adults with them.
Jack put the machine
gun back on its rack, the barrel smoking. “They’ll be back.”
“I’m sure they will,” Tremble said. “And when they do, we’ll lock down. We should lock down now.”
Jack shook his head. “Not until we get an idea what those many-eyes bastards hanging overhead are up to.”
“We’ve got the video—“
“No, we don’t have the video feed,” Jack said. “Didn’t you check control? Anything topside got fried. Some sort of electromagnetic pulse.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. The people would have torn the cameras down anyway. But I don’t like being blind. We keep an eye on things until we know what those alien shits are up to.”
Tremble stared at the former SEAL. “You do remember that I’m in charge?”
Jack returned the gaze. “We used to run a training operation in the SEALs. We called it Fenceline. It was for infiltration. We’d be flying in on a plane or chopper and then the exercise controller would intervene and say that we’d just crashed or been shot down. So we’d land wherever it was they determined. And the aircrew would have to go with us. The rule then was that no matter what the rank of the Air Force crewmembers, the senior SEAL was in charge once we were on the ground. Because we were the experts.”
“So?”
Jack pointed down. “You were the expert for building and selling this place.” He pointed out the slit. “But now that the shit has hit the fan, you might want to consider me the expert.”
“I’m in charge,” Tremble said.
“Sure, boss. But you better get your head out your ass or you’re gonna get us all killed.”
EAST SIDE, MANHATTAN
The Assassin was making soup, using a field-expedient stove she’d made out of a coffee can and using heat tabs from her small pack. She glanced over at Marly sitting in the midst of a pile of stuffed toys, uninterested in any of them. The Assassin knew little about children, other than that they were smaller versions of adults. She knew enough that her own childhood experiences should not be used as a template. She’d figured the kid’s stuffed toys might cheer her up, but that didn’t seem to be the case.
“Your father was a very brave man,” the Assassin said, stirring the soup. Everyone had to eat. It appeared the nanny had bugged out two days ago. The Assassin didn’t bother to ponder the moral implications of a nanny abandoning her charge and if she had, she’d have sided with the nanny’s logic and decision. The only decision, if she considered it, the Assassin would have a problem with, was returning here, to this place, to help this girl.
It made no sense.
“How did you know my papa?” Marly asked.
“From the United Nations,” the Assassin said, which was sort of the truth, since she’d followed him home the night before she’d induced him to step out of the window in the study one floor above their head to commit ‘suicide’. “He saved people’s lives.” Which was sort of the truth too, since the Assassin had threatened to kill his daughter and nanny if he didn’t step off.
“I know you must be hungry,” the Assassin said. She glanced out the window. It was an overcast night, which was a small blessing, since the alien ships were above the clouds. That’s if they were still there. She could see people moving about, some heading toward the bridges off Manhattan, others scavenging and looting. Some probably thinking, more hoping, the aliens had left.
The Assassin had absolutely no doubt those ships were still up there. Waiting. It was what she would do if she were to invade a planet. The people crossing the bridges made her consider possible courses of action. Leaving the city was an option, but it would expose them to the masses. The Assassin was leery of her fellow human beings under stress. Her belief was that any time more than three people gathered together it was a clusterfuck. Her experiences around the world had proved that fear to be more than justified.
Besides. Where was there to run to?
Which meant she needed to consider a defensive position. The Assassin had several bolt-holes and safe houses in the city, but she’d never planned to defend a position in an almost abandoned New York City. She was almost overwhelmed by the possible choices. More appropriately, she was excited about those possibilities. An entire city to choose from?
She put on a tactical assault glove and lifted the pan off the small flame. Poured half into one bowl, half into another. Grabbing some spoons, she carried the bowls over to Marly. The Assassin sat down cross-legged and extended one bowl to the young girl. “Be careful, it’s hot.”
FORT DAVIS, TEXAS
The doors to the Hobby-Eberly Telescope at McDonald Observatory were wide open, which wasn’t surprising. The people who worked here had had an early and very good look at the Battle Core long before it entered orbit.
Darlene’s alligator skin boots sounded loud on the tile floor. Rex’s nails clattered beside her. She had the pilot’s gun and one extra magazine of ammunition. She also had a terrible headache that she was reluctantly accepting wasn’t lack of nicotine, since she now had plenty of cigarettes. She walked to the observer’s seat, attached to the viewing part of the scope. The dome doors were also still open, but with no power, there was no way to align the scope. Still, she sat down and took a look. Nothing of interest.
Darlene walked to a door leading to a metal grating that went around the base of the dome. Someone, probably one of the geeks, had lugged one of the large portable scopes up here. These were used at the band shell when the general public would come for a star-watching, wine-drinking evening excursion. Dinner at the café before such evenings was always packed but the yuppy people were lousy tips.
Darlene leaned over and put her eye to the optic. She aimed it at the closest warship. Zoomed in. Big orb. Eight arms, each over four hundred yards long. Each arm was a cylinder of a fixed diameter of fifty yards.
Darlene frowned. While the orb was a solid black, the arms were dark colored, but the surface seemed to be—she couldn’t quite make it out. She adjusted the focus. At this distance she couldn’t be sure, but it looked to her like there was something, more lots of small things, alive on the outside of the arms, writhing about.
Darlene shivered and pulled her eye away.
She looked to the south, where she knew Bobby was probably sitting next to the wreckage of the trailer, waiting for her to return.
He’ll be waiting a long time, Darlene thought. The sex had been tolerable, but stupid was unbearable. The things she did in the line of duty amazed her at times.
She closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind. They were out there. Where she belonged. Respite from the headache.
But she couldn’t reach them.
She went into the bowels of the building beneath the scope. There was a locker room. She pulled out a flashlight and looked through the lockers until she found what she needed. She used scissors to shave her hair to stubble. Then she lathered what remained and used a razor to shave it bald. Done, she toweled off the soap. She stared at the faint tattoos covering her head and nodded. “Yeah. That was then.” She looked down at Rex. “This is now. Good boy. Come.”
He grinned back at her, tongue hanging out one side of his mouth. She sensed his worry over the warships along with the lack of people in a place that had the scent of so many.
“I agree, Rex.”
Together they walked out of the observatory and headed toward the valley to the west.
FORT HOOD, TEXAS
“Two more men have gone,” one of the platoon sergeants informed First Sergeant Donovan.
The nominal company commander was sitting on the webbing in the back of his APC, boiling water on a small camping stove. He absorbed the update without comment.
“I’ve had to move men around to make sure we’re got a driver, TC and gunner in ever track.”
Donovan nodded. “All right.” He took a couple of packets of instant coffee and shook them into the boiling water. “Want some coffee, Jeets?”
Jeets, short for Jetersburg, was a skinny, short white man. It had been Army or j
ail ten years ago and he’d chosen Army. He’d stuck with it because it gave him structure, purpose and a steady paycheck.
“Sure,” Jeets said.
Donovan poured some into Jeets’ canteen cup, then his own.
“You scared, Top?” Jeets asked as he blew on his coffee.
“Sure.”
“You think they’re coming down?” Jeets asked. “They already done a number on us.”
“They’re coming down,” Donovan said. “They didn’t come all the way here from wherever they came from, to stop this close.” He indicated the warships hovering overhead.
“Why do you think they’re here?”
“Why’d we go into Iraq?” Donovan asked.
“Shit, you went into Iraq,” Jeets said. “I only did the Afghanistan deployment three years ago. I aint been here that long.”
“But why’d we go in, way back in ’02?”
Jeets shrugged. “Al-Qaeda? ISIS?”
“Wasn’t no Al-Qaeda there,” Donovan said. “We took down Hussein and he hated those Al-Qaeda fucks. And we made ISIS by tossing his military in prison so they could plot and conspire against us. Total clusterfuck.”
“What’s that go to do with the aliens?”
“We went into Iraq because of oil,” Donovan said. He pointed up. “They want something here. Something they need.”
“Like what? Gas?”
Donovan took a sip of coffee and then shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe water? Maybe they want to live here? Maybe they’re tired of living on that big thing going around up there?”
Jeets considered that. “What if—“ he paused and stopped.
“What if what?” Donovan prompted.
“What if what they want is us?”
SS SAROV, STRAIT OF JUAN DE FUCA
The Captain sat with his three officers in the small mess that was allocated to them. He’d had Vladimir, the political officer, inform the other two about Poseidon’s activation. He looked at each of them, gauging their reaction.