by John Ringo
“Gentlemen, General Wang Zhenou, Army of the People’s Republic of China,” the national security advisor said, gesturing to an Asian gentleman in a polo shirt and jeans. “General Anatoly Karmasov, Russian Army,” a short, heavyset man in country and western wear that looked a tad ludicrous, “and General Amjit Meennav,” a tall, slender and dark skinned man in Sikh dress.
“Admiral Townsend, Chief of Astronautic Operations, and Admiral Blankemeier, Director of Astronautic Operations. General Holberg, Commandant of the Marine Corps. Captain Weaver, Executive Officer of the Alliance Space Ship Vorpal Blade. And, of course, Colonel Fordham-Witherspoon, of Her Majesty’s British Government.”
“And so we are gathered,” the President said as a steward served coffee. “General Wang, would you care to lay out your initial statement?”
“The People’s Government finds it unacceptable that the United States has concealed the ability to not only defy gravity but fly into space from the peoples of the world,” the general said, gruffly. “This is a direct insult to the People’s government and all governments who believe in sovereignty and respect between nations.”
“If you truly believed in sovereignty then you would not raise an issue with another country concealing such a thing,” the Indian said in an Oxford accent. “So your response seems somewhat hypocritical. What you really mean is you want it and you’re trying to pressure the Americans to give it to you.”
“I have a point of order,” the Russian general said in a thick accent. “The Motherland’s government has had knowledge, for some time, that our dear neighbors to the south were aware of the dastardly experiments on the part of the Americans. However, I am wondering why my esteemed colleague from the sub-continent is present.”
“In other words, our subs weren’t chasing the Americans so how could we know?” the Sikh asked. “At the insistence of their British ‘colleagues,’ the Americans brought us in on the secret some two months ago. And it’s a bit broader than you’re aware. So I would suggest you hold all your bluster and opening arguments for a later time, because, in the Adar vernacular, we are seriously grapped.”
“Captain Weaver?” the President said. “I understand you prepared a briefing?”
“Actually, an overworked lieutenant commander in AstroOps prepared it, sir,” Bill said, standing up. “I’m just giving it. Gentlemen, I give you the Alliance Space Ship Vorpal Blade Mod One,” Weaver said, keying on the screen.
“One?” the Russian asked, sitting up.
“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the changes,” Bill said. “Your intel corps is better than that. The Vorpal Blade One was designed around the former USS Nebraska. The engine, which I’m sure you’re all itching to study, was an artifact the Adar found and we Americans got tinkered into a drive. Were we actually to release it for study, which we’re not, trust me and my professional background when I say that you would find it as baffling and enigmatic as we have. It is so far ahead of our technology, it is not even funny. Magic is a better description. It is not only capable of normal space flight, but of warp flight.”
He stared at the Chinese delegate as he said that and couldn’t get anything from him. If the Chinese knew about the warp capability, the general wasn’t letting on.
“Using it, we have accomplished two separate deep-space missions,” Bill continued. “The first was a local area survey during which we encountered several astronomical issues, landed on a few planets, got ourselves beaten up thoroughly, encountered another friendly alien race and got ourselves beaten up even more thoroughly by a biological planetary defense system.”
“Was this Dreen?” the Chinese delegate asked. The Chinese had not had any Dreen gates in their country. Since the war, however, there had been reports of occasional Dreen outbreaks. As with many countries, they had looked upon the Dreen as a potential biological weapon of enormous ability. And like every country that had tinkered with them, save the U.S. and Britain as far as Weaver knew, they’d lost control of the infestation.
Dreen spread-fungus was nasty. It actively tried to escape and would produce enzymes and acids until it found a combination that got it out of its holding vessel. Keeping the result from spreading was nearly impossible.
“No,” Bill said, switching to the next slide. “The system was either designed by the Cheerick, this chinchillalike species, or some older race. However, it was determined during the mission that the Cheerick could control it. It produces various ground and air combat systems as well as a space combat system termed dragonflies. They are capable of normal space operations and fire laser beams from their compound eyes.”
“Oh, very good,” the Russian said, starting to stand up. “This is some joke you play on us, yes?”
“General, this joke blew the hell out of our ship,” Bill said tightly. “We were slag when we got back to Earth and that was after we did repairs on Cheerick. The dragonflies are no joke, especially with a couple of hundred coming at you.”
“You were there?” the Chinese general said. “You were on this mission?”
“I was the astrogator, General,” Bill replied. “We lost all but five of our forty-one Marines and about half of our Navy crew as well as numerous civilian scientists and all of our Special Forces scientific assistants. May I continue?”
“Please,” the Asian said.
“The second mission was an emergency mission to determine why we’d lost contact with a colony,” Bill said, bringing up another slide. It was of a standard harsh-world science station, bubble tents and rocky soil. “The planet was HD 36951 Gamma Five. It was an archaeological station that had been attacked by an unknown force. We determined that it had been destroyed by the Dreen and rescued one survivor. Then we found remnants of a battle in the Tycho 714-1046-1 system. Following the trail of one of the ships, we encountered another race, the Hexosehr.
“The Hexosehr had recently battled the Dreen and lost. The ship was the last major battle platform that defended a refugee fleet of handpicked survivors. Most of them were in cold-sleep and the Hexosehr had fled with over a million of them. Of course, that was out of a total population, on six worlds, of just over two billion.”
“Barely your country and mine combined,” the Indian said, smiling and looking at the Chinese delegate.
“If bodies was all that was going to help, the mujahideen would have won in Lebanon,” the President pointed out. “Continue, Captain.”
“We assisted their battleship in repairs,” Weaver said. “And then went ahead to inform their refugee fleet that it had survived. The fleet had to refuel and was stopped in the HD 37355 system. The Blade assisted the Hexosehr in holding the system and, in fact, in stopping the Dreen task force. However, she was virtually scrap by the end of the battle. The Hexosehr roused their workforce and between the scrap metal from the Blade and their factory ships created a new ship from the ground up. Thus the A.S.S. Vorpal Blade Two. The rest of the briefing will be handled by Mr. Ascher.”
“Information from the Hexosehr and a Dreen dreadnought we captured during the battle indicates that the Dreen are spreading rapidly,” the national security advisor said. “They are spreading in every direction through what are called ‘local bubbles.’ In our direction, they are currently in the Orion local bubble, where most of the action the captain just described took place. There are two local bubbles between ours and that one. Hexosehr estimates, and our own, place the arrival of overwelming Dreen normal space forces at between twelve and twenty years. Best estimate is fifteen.”
“Bozhe moi,” the Russian muttered. “This is… not well news.”
“That estimate assumes two things. That they do not find out the location of Earth and that even if they do they do not want to jump ahead.”
“If I may add one note,” Bill said diffidently.
The NSA nodded. “Go ahead, Captain.”
“The Dreen, and the Hexosehr, use a warp technology that is similar to wormhole jumping,” Bill said. “We’re still study
ing it. But they jump, rather slowly compared to the Blade, from star to star. In normal space, the Hexosehr fleet will not reach our region for at least two years. The majority of the Dreen are farther out. If they found out where Earth was today, they would take at least two years to reach here, more like three, in any force. This is part of the full briefing documents we are turning over to your governments, as I understand it.”
“The U.S. government, the British government and the Adar planetary government are all aware of this new information,” the NSA said. “Our plan was to bring your governments in, through more or less normal diplomatic channels, next week. And, no, I’m not making that up. What we’ve been waiting on, frankly, is a documentary to be completed. Three, actually. One to assist the briefings of your governments and two for general consumption. At that point, the Hexosehr were going to be presented as well as the Cheerick ambassador to the Alliance. And it was intended to offer expansion of the Alliance to other Earth governments. We’re fully aware that we cannot stop the Dreen by ourselves. No combination of the U.S. and Britain can possibly do so. We know we were keeping you in the dark, but we didn’t intend to do so for much longer.”
“Frankly, this just jumped the gun by a week,” the President continued. “The general audience doumentary is complete. Would you care to see it? It’s three hours long, intended to run for three nights. But the chairs are comfortable…”
“I would,” the Chinese delegate said. “And you mentioned further information. Is this to be technical?”
“We’re going to be depending on technology from the Hexosehr,” the President said. “They are as far ahead of the Adar as the Adar are ahead of us. Perhaps further. It is Hexosehr technology that might permit humanity to survive. But it will require a world-wide effort, a coalition of the willing if you will. We have enough time to prepare. If we actually do so.”
“That is the rub, isn’t it?” the Indian said, smiling broadly. “The most effective economies on Earth, all pardons to my Chinese colleague, are the democracies. Can we sustain a fifteen-year buildup? If we did, we would win. Unquestionably. In fifteen years we could establish colonies, schools, training facilities, build a fleet beyond even the comprehension of the Dreen. We could put in massive defenses if we went to a full wartime footing for even ten years. We have six billion people on this planet and with what I’ve seen of the Hexosehr manufacturing ability, which is amazing, it would just be a matter of training space sailors and Marines. But can we? Will we? Can we sustain such a push? At the cost to our economies? In the teeth of wailing as consumer goods become scarce?”
“We can,” the Chinese delegate said. “If this doesn’t turn out to be an elaborate tale.”
“You’ll be given all the data we recovered,” the President promised.
“Let us see this documentary, then,” the Russian said. “And could we have something stronger than coffee?”
“You’re sure you’re shiny?” Eric asked.
“I’m fine,” Brooke replied, grinning. “Better than fine. Okay, a bit sore.”
“I hadn’t realized you were… weren’t…” Eric said, trying to figure out how to put it delicately.
“Eric Bergstresser, I’m a good girl,” Brooke said playfully. “And good girls wait.”
“Oh, you’re more than good,” Eric said, brushing some hair out of Brooke’s face. “You are amazing.”
“So are you,” Brooke replied, snuggling into his shoulder.
“Not all that amazing,” Berg said. “I’m sorry this was all I could swing for a honeymoon.”
The Holiday Inn, Seaside, in Virginia Beach was not exactly a five star hotel in some exotic location. But it also wasn’t as expensive and if they’d taken the travel time to go to someplace like Cancun, it would have cut time out of the honeymoon.
“This is perfect,” Brooke replied, nibbling his ear. “Wherever thou goest. I’m glad you didn’t do something expensive.”
“We might as well have just gone to the apartment,” Eric argued. “Of course, the apartment doesn’t have room service.”
“Which we won’t be using,” Brooke said firmly. “We can go out long enough to find something less expensive.”
“If you say so,” Berg replied, puzzled.
“I suppose I should have talked about this sooner,” Brooke said, sitting up. “But it’s something Momma made me promise I’d do early. So here goes. Can you let me take over the family finances?”
“Whatever you want, honey,” Berg said. “Right now, you could tell me to bark like a dog and I’d do it.”
“I’m serious, Eric,” Brooke said, pulling his chin up so he was looking her in the eye. “It’s something Momma did when she and Daddy first got married and she made sure I’d promise to do the same. You’re a lieutenant. Yes, that makes more than a petty officer, but not by all that much. And we’re going to have babies coming along, probably sooner rather than later. We’re going to have to be careful with money.”
“Agreed,” Berg said, shrugging. “Like I said, whatever you want. The only thing I spend money on, really, is my truck.”
“Which may have to go,” Brooke said, sighing. “If you’re not too reversed on the payments, we’ll need to trade it in on a family car.”
“Ouch,” Eric said. His truck was his one vanity. “If you say so.”
“I’ll make sure you have enough money to buy your rations in the officers’ club,” Brooke said. “And an allowance. But I’ll warn you, I’m a penny-pincher. I hope you’re going to be able to handle that.”
“Yes, Brooke, I can,” Eric said. “Now can we cuddle some more?”
“Please,” Brooke said, sliding down into his arms. “Are we shiny?”
“I hate trying to figure money out,” Berg said. “We’re more than shiny. So we get a couple of family cars. I can handle that.”
“One,” Brooke said. “You’re going to be gone a lot; you won’t need one.”
“Shiny,” Eric said, blinking in surprise at the response. “One it is. You really are a penny-pincher, aren’t you?”
“Enough to make George Washington scream for mercy,” Brooke said, grinning. “When all the other girls would be buying stuff at the mall, I’d go along. But I never had the urge to get any of it. Way too expensive and you could find exactly the same stuff in thrift shops. Momma made most of my dresses and nobody could tell and I learned to sew early. It’s just a matter of being really careful with money and you can look as if you’re better off than other people while, in fact, not making nearly as much. You remember that conversation where Miriam was talking about your career?”
“Vividly,” Eric said.
“Then that’s the rest of the story,” Brooke said. “I’m not willing to settle for second best. I want to be a wife first and I want you to be somebody. I’m more than willing to play the spouse game if you’re willing to do what it takes to get stars. Are you?”
Eric thought about that for a few seconds.
“I don’t mind doing the jobs,” he temporized. “I mean, that will mean lots of staff positions. But I can do those, I’m sure. I’ll learn. But stars are a long way away.”
“Every step of the way is going to matter,” Brooke said. “Think hard if you really want to do it. I’ve seen the modern woman and I don’t want that. I want to be a traditional wife. Oh, sure, I’ll get a job. But I don’t want to be double income, no kids, do you?”
“No,” Eric said definitely.
“So I’m going to be following your lead, not the other way around,” Brooke said. “And, sure, there might be some false steps along the way. Things might look bad from time to time. Maybe we’ll have to change course and ask for directions. But I need to know where, in general, we’re going. Is that to stars or not?”
“I’ve really got to think about that one,” Eric said. “Right now, I’m just concentrating on surviving the missions.”
“And please concentrate on that,” Brooke said. “But I don’t think it interfer
es, does it?”
“Not that I know of,” Eric said, then paused. “Well, spec ops officers rarely make stars. But those are the guys who marry to it and never get out. Spec ops as a lieutenant or a captain? That’s sort of like a good merit badge. I’m going to have to collect those, anyway.”
“So concentrate on surviving the missions,” Brooke said. “Please. But decide, sometime soon, if where you want to go is stars. Or if you’re going to be a major success in the civilian world. It changes what I do, how I act. If you’re going to go for a civilian career, I need to get a degree I can use to support you while you go back to school.”
“Shiny,” Eric said. “I repeat, you’re amazing.”
“You haven’t learned the half of it,” Brooke said. “Now, what was that you were explaining about positions?”
It had been a seemingly short three hours. The opening of the documentary — most of which was shot from surveillance cameras, external cameras on the ship and Wyvern systems — was definitely designed for the computer generation. Short clips of groups of people would zoom in on one, lay out a statistics and general information screen, then give deeper background about each of the characters. Then Commander Weaver was there, including his background in the Dreen War, which was open-source information. There were also several Marines and sailors as well as the commander of the ship, Captain Steven Blankemeier.
Internal surveillance cameras had caught several of the pre-mission briefings and a description of pre-mission physical, using some very nice computer generated imagery, was revolting enough that the Russian nearly lost his lunch.
Then there were the details of the missions. The more or less useless Dean’s World, Runner’s World with its deadly crabpus, nearly losing the ship and all the Marines. Some of the people the audience had been introduced to were suddenly gone — eaten, mangled, ripped to shreds. But the Blade went on.
The second hour covered the findings in Cheerick and again, people died, people who had been made to live and breathe during the earlier parts of the documentary. The Wyvern video from the fall of the science section was particularly vivid. The amazing biological defenses of the planet were detailed along with their utility to humanity, once they were fully understood. It ended with the return to Earth, startling the mission controllers with a giant crabpus mounted on the hypercavitation activator.