Now the back door of the chapel opened, and Eva came through, escorted by her maid of honor. She looked beautiful in her long white gown, five and half feet tall – as tall as Vitus and Cassian. Most of the second generation Daneki had grown taller, due to changes in their lifestyle and nutrition. Her hair was done up in a classic Daneki marriage whirl, and flowers garlanded her in a ring of color, around her waist and down her back, an old Daneki tradition. In her hand, rather than flowers, she carried a small book – an old copy of the Daneki Holy Book, one of the few remaining survivors of the Great Escape they had made from Danek years earlier. To the traditional human tune of “Here Comes the Bride” she started down the aisle.
Through the door behind her, a second bride came, in Aeolian Navy dress whites, showing the rank of Admiral on her shoulder boards. Following close behind Eva, Andrea Iona Satra and her own maid of honor, Commander Derinoe, also stepped down the aisle.
In the front of the church, Vitus turned to look at Jake Hammett, standing beside him and looking just as nervous as he. Jake managed to wink at him, though, then turned back to look at Andrea as she approached. Vitus stepped forward and took Eva’s arm, turning to the priest in front of them. Seconds later, Jake stepped forward and took Andrea’s arm, also turning to face the priest.
Minutes later, the priest finished reciting the Daneki marriage vows, and Vitus took the ring from Cassian, placing it on Eva’s finger, following the human tradition. Then the Daneki service was done, and the priest focused on Jake and Andrea. He quickly finished the initial part of the RDF ceremony, and Jake turned to Ginger, standing behind him, and took the ring from her, placing it on Andrea’s finger.
The priest continued. "Do you, Jake Hammett, take this woman to be your wife?" asked Father Scipio Tolleson II.
Jake looked at the priest, grandson of his marriage with Teresa Tolleson.
"I do, Grandson," he said.
Scipio looked irritated but continued.
"And do you, Andrea Iona Satra, take this man to be your husband?"
Andrea looked at Jake, grinning. "I do," she said.
Scipio glanced down at the tablet in his hand.
"How long is this marriage contract to be?" he asked.
"Five years," said Andrea. Jake nodded.
Scipio looked at each of them in turn.
"Then by the power vested in me by the Holy Church and the RDF, I pronounce you man and wife for the period of five years per the marriage contract, subject to renewal upon mutual agreement at the end of that period, or automatic dissolution if no mutual agreement is formally logged. You may kiss the bride."
"Negative," said Andrea, "You forget I'm Aeolian. I'll kiss the groom."
And she did.
Fourteen Months Later…
"You're a father!!" said Ginger Barnett to Jake.
Jake smiled and handed her two cigars. "Yep...and twins!"
"What will you name them?" asked Ginger. "And please, not...Scipio or...Caesar or...whatever..."
"No, Andrea put her foot down on that one. She selected the names. The boy will be Alexander, after her grandfather, and the girl will be Ligeia, after her grandmother."
"Alexander and Ligeia. Kinda fits," said Ginger.
"Kinda does," said Jake. "And they are both perfect, squalling so loud I thought I'd lose my hearing. Couldn't ask for a better Valentine’s Day present."
Ginger looked puzzled. "Valentine’s Day? What’s that...?"
"Never mind," said Jake. "Before your time. What's on the agenda for today?"
Ginger thought into her AI for a second, eyes focused on infinity.
"You have a meeting with Captain Cassian on the engine revisions for the A40 in ten minutes."
"OK, good," said Jake. "Give me five minutes to review notes and then if he's here, go ahead and send him in."
Ginger nodded and left the office. Outside, she looked at Lt. Commander Martina Garcia, Jake's office administrator. "What's Valentine’s Day?" she asked.
"Beats me," said Martina. "Why?"
Nest – Bat Home Planet
1 January 2207 - 85 Years after Pandora
Privend had been on Nest for fourteen years. He had come when he was sixteen - in Earth years. That was eighteen in Bat years. Bats lived a shorter, faster life than Humans. Maybe, he thought, that was why they bred so prolifically. And colonized so aggressively.
It had not been easy to get him and his team here. The RDF searched far and wide to find ideal candidates. They had to be thin - almost to the point of abnormality. They had to be long-faced, gangly, and dark - a shade that looked reasonable to a Bat. And they had to be highly intelligent, highly focused, and willing to put their life on the line for humanity.
They had found Privend - his name then Ingumba - in Kenya at the age of thirteen. He had been an orphan, living on the streets of Nairobi, working with a gang to steal, rob or extort enough food for one more day, and to find one more place to spend the night. The RDF had taken him. They never asked; they just took him one night, and he woke up on Mars the next day. They trained him for three years. Bat culture - what little the RDF had learned of it from long-distance monitoring of the Bat's home planet, which the Bats called Nest. Bat language - via machine learning at night while he slept. And Bat education - preparing him to play the part of a well-educated, upper-class military brat.
Then there were the physical mods. The gene-splicing, to give him the ears and the fangs, the fur, the vestigial wings, the ability to hear frequencies much higher than humans. The daily physical training, to provide the rock-hard muscles the Bats displayed. Combat training, hand-to-hand, small arms, explosives, knives, poisons, the gamut. His days were full.
They finally asked him, once. About the middle of his second year on Mars. He was brought into an office and placed in a chair. He waited. Time stretched on, minute after minute, but Privend didn't mind. He had already adopted that Bat name, barely remembered his other. Privend waited patiently. Anything in this life was better than the old life, so he didn't mind waiting. After a half hour, a man came in. He was huge - at least to Privend, he seemed that way - and dressed in a dark blue uniform. There was a lot of gold braid and ribbons. He walked around the desk, stood behind the chair, and looked at Privend. His face was hard - the face of a warrior - but kindly. He smiled at Privend, then sat down. He placed his hands folded on the desk.
"You are Privend," he stated.
Privend nodded.
"I'm told that you are first in your class in almost every area."
"Yes, sir," answered Privend.
"Good. Very good," said the man.
Privend waited. He was good at waiting.
The man steepled his hands, then folded them and rested his chin on them. This brought his head down to Privend's level.
"Let me ask you a question," he said.
Privend nodded.
"You know what we want you to do?" asked the man.
"Yes, sir. You want me to go live with the Bats."
"And you know why this is important."
Privend nodded again. "There will be a war. We need to save Earth from the Bats. You need information."
"You'll be in danger almost every day."
Privend agreed, "Yes, sir. I'm not afraid."
"But..." the man paused. "But if you could go home today - leave all this behind - would you want to do that?"
Privend shook his head vigorously. "No, sir."
The man persisted. "I'm offering you that chance. We'll send you home. With what you've learned here, you should be able to survive, do better than before. You could have a good life."
Privend shook his head. "No, sir. I know what's coming. I'm ready. This is my life now."
The man smiled. He stood up and reached across the table. He shook Privend's hand.
"Thank you, Privend. Thank you for doing what I wish I could do."
The man left. Privend sat for a second, then whispered, "You're welcome, Admiral."
***
Now, fourteen years later, Commander Privend sat at his desk in BEN Naval Intelligence, considering the day. He had sent his monthly QE burst of intel back to the RDF last night. And unusually, there had been a brief reply. It was a rare occurrence, for them to contact him. He only received one, at most two, responses per year, these days. There was just not that much to discuss anymore. He sent them everything he knew, and that was it.
But last night they had sent back. The message was short.
"Begin Project Skyhook."
Rome
All warfare is based on deception.
- Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Earth, 6th Century B.C.
City of Aronte
14 January 2207
Andrea and Jake sat on the stone bench. In front of them, on a patch of green grass, a blanket held the twins Alexander and Ligeia, gurgling at each other. Empress Hecate sat on the blanket with them, trying to get Alexander to hold on to her pinkie. Hecate looked up at Andrea and laughed.
"Oh, Andrea, thank you for entrusting them to me," she said, a smile in her eyes. "I'll treat them as my very own, you know that!"
Andrea nodded at her. "I know, Hecate. I know you will."
Andrea glanced at Jake and rose. "Let's walk."
Jake looked up at her, and then nodded. He got up and waited as she turned back to Hecate.
"We're going to walk for a bit, if that's OK."
Hecate nodded. "No worries. Have fun!"
Andrea started away, Jake following. They went down the path toward the Guard barracks that Jake remembered, from all those years ago. Past the barracks, they came to the semi-hidden gate that let out into the public street. Jake paused and looked at Andrea, but without hesitation she pushed the gate open and walked out. Jake followed, a bit puzzled by Andrea's mood. Together they walked along the street, mixing with the townsfolk and the tourists staring at the Imperial Palace. Andrea walked with her head down, not looking at Jake.
"Just so you know, Jake...," she began, and paused.
Jake waited, well used to Andrea's moods. He knew this was a serious matter, so he did not interrupt. Andrea reached out and took his hand as they walked.
"Just so you know, I've updated my will," she finally got out. "If I don't come back from this war...well, the twins go to Hecate. I knew you would approve, but I'm sorry I didn't talk to you first."
Jake walked silently for a bit, then nodded. "That's the way I would want it," he said. "You did well."
Andrea walked, head still down, not looking at Jake, but holding his hand.
"It seems like yesterday, when I saw you on the Paris," she said.
"I know."
"And when we were at Strategy School."
Jake nodded silently.
"And when we got married."
Jake continued to walk beside Andrea, holding her hand, keeping his counsel.
"Jake, do you believe in the Creator?" Andrea asked.
Jake thought for a while. "Yes," he said. "Maybe not like the churches say, but I believe the universe was created. And that something - someone or something - created it."
Andrea nodded beside him. "So, what happens when we die?"
Jake considered. "I don't know, Andrea. I can only puzzle it out up to a certain point. Our lives leave an imprint on the universe. Maybe that imprint is good, or maybe that imprint is bad. It's not a very big imprint, when you stop and think about it. But it’s up to us to make the very best imprint we can. After that, it's up to the Creator."
Andrea thought for a while. Then she glanced over at Jake.
"I have tried to make you happy, Jake."
He looked back at her. "Andrea, you have made me totally, completely, utterly happy. Thank you for coming into my life."
They walked. They held hands for a while, silently. Suddenly Jake realized they were at the riverbank, where he once docked his sailboat, so many years before. He had unconsciously led them there.
Andrea turned to him, backing off and staring at him.
“Jake, I know you. I know you better than you know yourself.”
Jake nodded. “Probably…”
“If I don’t come back, you’ll shut down. You’ll curl up and die. I know what happened to you when Kirsten and Teresa died.”
Jake shook his head. “You’ll come back, so why talk about it?”
“No,” said Andrea. “You will not do that. Understand? If something happens to me, you keep living. Promise me.”
Jake shook his head again. “No promises.”
Andrea slapped him, hard, right across the face. Stinging, Jake looked at her and saw a person he had never seen before. The woman in front of him now was an Amazon warrior, battle-hardened, fierce, in fighting mode. Her eyes blazed.
“You will find something to live for. Say it.”
Jake shook his head. “No promises.”
Andrea slapped him again, hard. “Say it!”
Rubbing his cheek, Jake nodded slowly. “OK.”
Andrea repeated. “If something happens to me, you will not curl up and die. You will find something to live for. You’ll go on.”
Jake nodded. “I promise. But you the same.”
Andrea nodded. “I promise the same. For our children.”
Jake opened his arms and gathered her in, holding her close. He felt her shudder as the adrenalin wore off and she came out of battle mode. Holding her, he looked over her shoulder at the river moving slowly by, inexorable and unchanging. So many thoughts ran through his mind. His life had been extraordinary. In an incredibly long life, he had known great love, not once, not even twice, but four times. He kept thinking about a quote from long before his birth, back in the 20th century – a quote he heard in a movie about the first flight of man to orbit the moon. The mission had been called Apollo 8 and had occurred one hundred fourteen years before his birth. One of the astronauts – Jim Lovell – spoke of the view of Earth from the Moon – the first time any human had seen the distant Earth from space. Lovell had said, “God has given mankind a stage, upon which to perform. How the play turns out is up to us.” Jake smiled. He held Andrea Iona, beside the river, thinking about the play he was in.
Zeta Capricorni A – 386 Light Years from Earth
BEN Corvette Ratkiller
4 February 2207
Captain Nolot was frustrated. Scout duty was always dull, but lately even more so. Headquarters hadn't sent out a new colonization expedition in fourteen years. One was certainly due. Rumor was one was coming soon, and in this direction. He certainly hoped so. In between colonizations, there just wasn't much to do. And this two-week swing around the Zeta Cap A system was about as painfully boring as possible.
Nolot reached forward on his desk and took his bottle, poured another drink into his glass, slugged it down, and sighed again. He debated bringing in another female from his crew, but as he had already had two females this week, he was feeling a bit run-down.
Nolot's AI pinged. Something, at least, he thought.
"What!"
"Sir," said his XO, Commander Tovor, "We have an unidentified ship following us."
"Bullshit," said Nolot. "There's nothing for a dozen light years in any direction. You're picking up a rock."
"It's a confirmed vessel, sir. We had a sensor ghost behind us. We reset the console and it was still there. We dropped a passive buoy and it confirmed a frigate-class ship, no IFF, about ten thousand km behind us, very stealthy, just barely detectable."
Nolot straightened in his chair. "Crazy Ivan! Now!" He jumped from his chair, grabbing his warsuit as he ran to the bridge door.
Around him, he felt a strong Coriolis force as the compensators could not quite handle the sudden, violent rotation of the ship spinning to face the opposite direction – the “Crazy Ivan” maneuver.
Holding on to a railing against the push, he burst into the bridge just as Tovor sounded Battle Stations. The klaxon was not particular loud but given that nobody had ever heard it except in training, it got everyone's at
tention. Nolot saw the stars spinning outside come to a stop as the corvette completed the Crazy Ivan. Sure enough, the somewhat better sensors on the front of the ship showed a very dim, almost invisible wedge-shaped outline, classified by the AI as frigate sized, and no IFF. Now, after their sudden reversal, directly in front of them.
"What the hell is that?" exclaimed Nolot, still climbing into his warsuit.
"Don't know, sir. Never seen anything like it. No record of it in the AI," said Tovor, also sliding on his suit, along with the rest of the bridge crew.
"AI, is that ship showing any weapons?" asked Nolot.
"And no match in the database for anything like that?"
Nolot looked at Tovor. "We got ourselves a bogie," he grinned.
"Yes, sir," agreed Tovor.
Nolot stared at the holo for a second. He turned to the Comm Officer.
"Try to contact them, Comm."
"Aye, sir," answered the Comm Officer. He bent to his console.
Nolot turned to his slave, standing nearby. "Fath - hot drink."
"Aye, sir," said the slave, rushing out of the bridge toward the galley.
Nolot turned back to the Comm Officer. "Anything?"
"Nothing, sir," said the Comm Officer. "I've tried all normal frequencies and all frequencies we've ever encountered with other races. Nothing."
Nolot peered at the holo. "Send a warning shot down their beam," he ordered.
Tovor hesitated. "Sir, that's a damn big ship."
Nolot frowned. "Well, yes, now that you mention it, it is, Tovor. But what is our job out here?"
Tovor looked down. "Find out whatever there is to find out, sir."
"Exactly," said Nolot. "And I can't find out what that ship is doing out here just by looking at him. He won't talk to me and he just keeps following us. He probably thinks we'll just let him. Let's see what he does when he knows we won't. Send it!"
Imprint of War Page 14