by Peter David
The Sea Commander watches with silent approval, but also belatedly with just the faintest tinge of regret.
The spheres are not his preferred weapons. Missiles at least provide the prey a sporting chance. An opportunity to use their resourcefulness, to display signs of personal mettle.
Not that they do not deserve death for what they did to the Sea Commander’s hatchling mate. No, they most certainly do. But the Sea Commander would far prefer to attend to it himself. To pound the vessel into submission, then have a shuttle bring him over to the boat, have the ship’s commander brought before him, whereupon the Sea Commander would crush the life out of the creature himself. He would enjoy looking into its eyes as darkness claimed it.
However, that is an indulgence, and the Sea Commander—much like his other surviving hatchling mate, the Land Commander—does not believe in indulgences. Tests are for results, and wars are to be won. There is no room in that narrow formulation for personal vendettas, no matter how much satisfaction they may bring with them.
Let the spheres take them, then.
It’s a more merciful end than they deserve.
Two X-shaped gashes now festooned both sides of the ship. Explosions rocked her, making it look as if the John Paul Jones was trembling with fear over her impending demise. She began to list, water pouring in through the tears in the hull the shredders had ripped into it. The shredders promptly came back together in midair as if having a quick conference—baseball players converging on an invisible mound to decide how to handle the next batter—and then they descended upon the ship in four different directions, seeking to wreak havoc upon the crew itself.
One of the shredders came straight for the bridge. Nagata and Hopper were the only ones remaining upon it, and they hit the deck as the shredder tore through. The glass may have been gone from the windows, but the supports were all there, and the shredder ripped them apart, sending the upper part of the bridge crashing down upon the lower. Debris landed all around Hopper. He twisted and turned, trying to avoid it, and a jagged piece hit the ground not more than an inch away from his head. Had he been a half second slower or a fraction less lucky, the thing would have bisected his skull. Then again, with debris raining down upon him, it was hard for him to think of himself as lucky.
Nagata was as buried under debris as Hopper was. He was struggling to push it off himself, and then Hopper said in a low, taut voice, barely above a whisper, “Don’t move! Don’t even breathe!”
Having torn the bridge apart, the shredder was now hovering above it, slowly drifting right and left. Hopper was certain it was looking for signs of life and if it found him and Nagata, it would tear through them with as much ease as it was destroying the ship.
The shredder descended slowly toward him, blades whirring, coming closer and closer. Sweat beaded his forehead and his eyes were fixed on the edges of the blades approaching him. It doesn’t know I’m here … it’s not sure, he thought furiously. If it knew, it would come right at me, finish me off. As long as I don’t make any move against it, maybe it can’t distinguish me from the rest of the crap around me. Playing dead is the only chance we have, because we’re sitting ducks right now. This thing has us cold. So the only shot we’ve got is to hope it doesn’t know we’re alive.
Inch by inch it drew nearer, the steady breeze from the blades wafting in Hopper’s face. It came to within less than three inches of him, and he felt sheer, stark terror building inside, seeking release. He kept his teeth clenched against it, suppressing it, and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the blades descend.
And then, just like that, the shredder was gone.
For a moment he thought it might be some sort of trick. That perhaps it was pulling back to see if anything moved, and once found, it would then attack again. But no. Through the demolished remains of the bridge, he could see it angling down toward his ship. It struck the foredeck and sliced right through it, sounding like a buzz saw, penetrating with ease and heading belowdecks.
Desperately he started trying to work the debris off him. He was at a bad angle, though, with no leverage, and couldn’t shove it away. Then he heard a sudden crash to his immediate right and inwardly jumped, afraid the shredders had returned.
Instead he saw Nagata, rising up from the dust and debris, taking only a second to brush at his uniform. Then he moved quickly to Hopper and yanked upward.
With Hopper pushing from underneath, the last of the wreckage was shoved aside.
Quickly Hopper flexed his arms and legs to make sure everything was still functioning properly. Nagata put out a hand and Hopper took it, and Nagata yanked him to his feet. Hopper staggered, coughing, over to the 1MC and punched the button, activating it. It was just about the only thing in the bridge that was still functional.
His heart died within his chest as his voice rang out through the ship: “This is the captain. All hands, abandon ship. Repeat, all hands abandon ship.”
Hopper’s voice sounded in the bowels of the ship, but it was making little difference to Ord at that moment. He was busy running for his life.
He sprinted down a hallway and the high-pitched whine of the shredder pursuing him was drawing closer and closer. Every second that passed he was sure he could feel the blades about to slice through his spine. He screamed at the top of his lungs as the shredder closed in on him.
And suddenly, as he passed an open hatch, a hand reached out and yanked him through it. It was Raikes. There was desperation etched on her face, but also determination. She was a survivor, and she clearly had no intention of letting the flying puree machines put paid to her or anyone near her.
The shredder reached the end of the corridor, whipped around, and was about to head right back after Ord. Suddenly a massive cascade of water crashed in through the hold. It immediately enveloped the shredder, which was helpless in the grip of the water’s crushing force.
Side by side, Raikes and Ord pushed the hatch door forward. Water came roaring up, pounding against it, nearly knocking the two sailors off their feet. But they maintained their footing, shoving with all their strength against the hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of water that were trying to shove the hatch door open. On the verge of being overwhelmed, they pulled desperate strength from somewhere at the last second and managed to slam home the door. Raikes spun the locking mechanism for good measure.
“It’s gonna flood all the holds!” shouted Ord.
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock! What do you think ‘abandon ship’ means? Come on!”
They ran as fast as they could, trying to find corridors that hadn’t been rendered impassable by water or that didn’t have shredders maneuvering through them looking for new victims.
Their actions were being mirrored throughout the ship. Sailors were desperately struggling to close hatches against the increasing flooding, yanking their fellows out of danger whenever and wherever they could.
But there were the screams as well. The screams of men and women who were lost to the shredders, or their bodies broken by sheets of water hitting them with the force of jackhammers. The survivors knew that the howls of their lost shipmates would stay with them for the rest of their lives … assuming they managed to survive.
Hopper and Nagata were moving through the corridors and passageways, helping the evacuation wherever they could. Everywhere they turned they saw the devastation the shredders had inflicted upon the vessel. The air was slowly becoming thick with smoke from distant fires as explosions rocked the ship. You’d think the water would put out the damned fires, Hopper thought grimly.
The worst were the bodies they discovered. Men, women—shipmates—who were destined for a watery grave because there were too many to do anything about.
Hopper’s face and uniform were smeared with ashes and blood. Nagata was much the same.
Soon they were up to their ankles in water, and then their shins, and it was rising steadily. They sprinted up the gangways, having done everything they could, seeking higher ground, which wasn�
��t going to remain high for much longer.
More explosions rocked the vessel, and Hopper was thrown against Nagata, who caught and steadied him. The destroyer was shifting under their feet, angling sharply. It was easy to tell which direction by the tilt of the water that was rising below them. “Head to the stern! The stern!” shouted Hopper as the ship began to tip on its bow.
They raced toward the non-existent safety of the upper levels, hauling with them anyone they found.
And suddenly a blast of water roared in from a cross corridor. It knocked Hopper completely off his feet, sweeping him away from Nagata. He had a brief glimpse of Nagata’s eyes widening in dismay, his hand reaching for Hopper—not coming close—and then Nagata rapidly receding as the water bore him quickly and furiously down the passageway. Hopper tried to get his feet under him but the swirl of the water knocked him right off them again. He went under, splashing his arms wildly, and suddenly something hauled him upward. His head broke the surface and he looked around wildly.
It was Beast. He’d come in directly behind him, and although the water came up to Hopper’s chest, that was less of an issue for Beast, for whom it was barely waist high. “To hell with this whole ‘captain goes down with his ship’ thing,” Beast bellowed over the thunder of the water. “Come on!”
Propelled forward by Beast, Hopper was quickly able to get his feet under him. Seconds later they were clambering to the deck. Crewmen were diving off the rails, plummeting to the water. And it wasn’t all that far below, because the ship was going down fast. There was an ear-splitting roar of metal that evoked the noises that dinosaurs must have made when sinking into tarpits. Seconds later the super-structure of the ship collapsed.
“Go! Go!” Hopper shouted, and Beast leaped clear. Hopper had lost track of Nagata, and hoped the Japanese officer was already out of harm’s away, or as much out of it as he could be under the circumstances. Hopper was about to jump clear as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, despite Beast’s admonition. Instead he stared up, and he saw, in the distance, the alien tower sitting far off in the water. The thing that must have launched the shredders and was now watching Hopper’s first command disappear beneath the waves.
And as the John Paul Jones fell out from under his feet, he screamed up at the structure, shaking his fists in impotent fury. “You … you son of a bitch! You sunk my—!”
He didn’t have time to complete the sentence as Nagata came to him out of nowhere and shoved him clear of the ship. Hopper’s arms pinwheeled as he fell and then he hit the water. He went under, then kicked his feet, fighting his way to the surface. Seconds later Nagata was by his side, and he was shouting, “We need to get clear of the propellers or—”
“I know! I know!” If they weren’t clear of the ship when it went down, either the vortex created by its sinking could pull them down, or the massive wave caused by the water displacement could swamp them.
They swam as hard as they could, cutting through the water furiously. The John Paul Jones bobbed a few more seconds, as if trying to buy them time with its last moments and then slowly—as was inevitable—the destroyer descended beneath the surface of the water.
Alex Hopper’s first command ended the way it had started: with death, tragedy and violence. And there was no guarantee any of that was going to abate anytime soon.
The Sea Commander monitors the transmissions that are coming in from all over the globe. The humans, of course, do not have the instrumentation to penetrate the watery dome that seals them in, but that does not present a problem for the Regents. What does present a problem, however, is the human’s language. It is painful for the commander to have to listen to. So, as he scans the transmissions, he kills the volume and listens solely to the translation provided by his instruments.
There is someone whose primary job seems to be imparting information: “Scientists have confirmed that there was a UFO landing in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Hawaii. We still have no communication with anyone in Hawaii. The aliens have set up a barrier around the islands, which is preventing anyone or anything from getting in or out.”
There is someone who purports to be a man of science, or at least as close to science as these primitive creatures can command: “For years we have been sending out radio signals in the hopes of making contact with intelligent life.”
There is someone who appears to be some manner of leader. “Today I want to update the American people on what we know about the situation in Hawaii. First, we are bringing all available resources to bear to closely monitor the situation, and to protect American citizens who may be in harm’s way …”
There are more and more of the talking heads, an endless array of them, it seems. Why there cannot simply be one talking head, the Sea Commander cannot begin to understand.
“International efforts continue as the crisis in Hawaii grips the world.”
“Governments search for solutions as time appears to be running out.”
“Scientists now believe that invading forces are attempting to use the satellite transmission capabilities on Oahu, and with less than one hour before transmission becomes possible, all hope remains with the three Navy warships on the inside.”
The Sea Commander finds this quite entertaining since he is aware that the three Navy warships are, in fact, now zero Navy warships.
SADDLE RIDGE
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t how it all turns out.
Sam had conjured the final scenario in her head, the way the world was going to be saved. In the movie that was unspooling in her mind, of which she was now a part, she was convinced that she and her valiant companions were going to find themselves in a position to put an end to the alien invaders’ plan … and they’d do so with the help of—and in a perfectly coordinated attack with—Hopper and the intrepid crew of the John Paul Jones.
Now, as she, Mick and Cal stood on a ridge with a clear view down to Waikiki, she watched in mute horror as—far in the distance—the last remains of the destroyer sank beneath the waves. She saw men, small as dots from her vantage point, bobbing in the water, trying to get to shore.
She was suddenly aware that Mick was pressing up against her, and for a moment thought it was presumptuous of him to try to take advantage of the situation—right up until she realized that in fact her legs had given way and Mick had stepped in to keep her upright. Cal was coming in on the other side, also lending support.
“Hopper,” she managed to say.
Cal patted her arm. “I’m sorry.”
Seized with rage, none of which was directed at the men who were supporting her, Sam pulled away from both of them and stood there, on her own, staring at the place where a ship of the line had once been and now wasn’t.
Mick had pulled out a pair of binoculars and was studying the scene more closely. “Don’t give up hope. There are lifeboats deployed.”
She knew there had been, and nodded. She knew there was still hope; it just seemed to be growing fainter by the moment. “The John Paul Jones can’t stop those things from sending their message now,” she said. She and Mick traded looks.
“You know what that means,” said Mick.
She nodded.
Cal stared at the two of them as they started moving back to the Jeep. They paused when they realized he wasn’t following them, and Mick gestured impatiently for him to climb on board.
“You’re getting that weird violent look again,” said Cal. “I don’t like that look.”
Sam could not have given a damn at that moment about what looks Cal liked or didn’t like. Obviously Mick was of the same mind, as he said to Cal, “You said that satellite only orbits by once every twenty-four hours.”
“Right.”
“So if they miss it, they have to wait,” said Mick.
Cal frowned, thought about it, then shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Then we’re gonna go try and buy the world another day,” said Mick. Sam nodded in agreement.
T
hey got into the Jeep, and then Cal stopped where he was. “You’re planning to attack them directly, aren’t you.”
“That’s the plan, Einstein. Now come on …”
And slowly Cal shook his head. “I can’t,” he whispered, and he was trembling. “I’m not like you. I’m not heroic. I’m … I’m sorry.”
“Get in the damned Jeep, Doc. I’m not kidding around.”
“Neither am I.”
Sam just looked at him with a combination of anger and disappointment, and said, “We don’t have time for this.” Before Mick could get out of the Jeep and go after Cal, Sam had gunned the engine and taken off.
Calvin Zapata stood there and watched them drive away, left alone with his cowardice.
PEARL HARBOR
The small fleet of RHIBs, carting the last remaining survivors of the doomed John Paul Jones, glided across the water, a deathly silence having descended upon them like a blanket. In every direction Hopper looked as he sat in the prow of an RHIB, he saw on the faces of his men a sense of crushing defeat. Every crewman was suffering in his own personal hell, knowing they had failed, that the world was lost … because of them.
There was every temptation for Hopper to join them.
No one would blame him. He’d gotten some licks in, he’d taken out those stinger vessels. He’d simply been overwhelmed by a weapon he could not possibly have defeated.
He’d done his best, but it wasn’t enough.
Except he refused to accept that.
He stared resolutely at the horizon, eyes flinty, his mind racing. “No,” he said firmly. “It doesn’t end like this.”
Nagata was in the small ship with him. There was skepticism in his eyes, the same look of defeat that was reflected in the faces of everyone else in view. “What do you want us to do, Hopper? Ram them with the inflatables? We have no ships left!”