Qilzar interrupted Gsefx before he could object.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” he said, “but Henree had to know he wasn’t going to survive. Otherwise, why would he give you that stunning painting you have in your vehicle. Anyone who thought they might live would have never given up a work of that magnitude. It had to have been a treasure to him. Especially since he likely couldn’t have painted many more of its equal, probably none, would be my guess.”
“Many more of its equal?” asked Gsefx incredulously. “Qilzar, Henree had thirty more paintings in that clearing, all equally as good. Some probably better. The one in my ship happened to be my favorite and I think he saw how much I liked it, so he gave it to me. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He looked at his wife.
“Either of you. Yes, I will grant you that perhaps Irtlings are not as advanced technologically, intellectually, or socially as we are, but that’s just the stage of evolution they’re in. It’s not like each of our species weren’t there at some point ourselves. The determining factor about whether a species is considered a lower form of life is not how evolved they currently are, it’s whether or not they will always stay that way. Qilzar, your pet Clydon, for example. He was a Clelchin, and Clelchins have always been Clelchins and will always be Clelchins. Regardless of what point in history you choose, they will always be the same lovable pets they have always been. Not so with the Dremin race, eh Qilzar? While your pale gray skin and sharp features have always been characteristic of your species, you haven’t always been as civilized as you are presently. No different with my Clangdorian ancestors, or Lhvunsa’s long-distant Relnarian relatives. We’re all descended, at some point, from a Primitive Cultures class case-study, but we all evolved out of it because we all have the innate ability to grow beyond ourselves. So do the Irtlings, especially Henree.”
“Be that as it may, Gsefx,” said his wife in a growl he was all too familiar with, “you, are not going back there to rescue him. None of us are.”
“Let’s not be too hasty on that subject,” said Qilzar suddenly, his eyes somewhat glassy, as if he was in deep thought. “You said Henree had thirty more paintings? Perhaps Irt might be worth a second visit after all.”
“What?” said Lhvunsa, clearly amazed at what she was hearing from her former ally. “Qilzar, have you lost your mind?”
“My dear Lhvunsa, you saw the painting in Gsefx’s vehicle for yourself, how mesmerizing it is, or was, until Gsefx hid it from us. Think how much a work of art like that is worth. Think how much thirty more of them would be worth.”
Lhvunsa stopped to consider Qilzar’s proposal for a moment.
“No, it’s not worth the risk,” she said. “We’re not doing it.”
“Not worth the risk?” asked Qilzar. “They could literally be worth millions. I’d say that’s worth the risk. Besides, with a little bit of planning, we can be in and out before anyone even knows we were there.”
“No Qilzar,” said Lhvunsa. “We just got Gsefx back safely and we barely managed that. After all we’ve been through, I’m not going to risk losing him again. I would think you’d understand that.”
Gsefx could see that his wife was on the verge of tears, but he remained silent. Something had happened between Lhvunsa and Qilzar on their way to Irt, something he needed to figure out. He looked over at Qilzar, who seemed to be taken aback by Lhvunsa’s reproach.
“Of course I understand, my dear Lhvunsa,” said Qilzar softly. “But I also understand that this would be a very simple operation. We go in, rescue Gsefx’s friend, make sure he’s safe, and in the process, we make sure the paintings are safe as well. He’ll be free and we’ll be rich. I don’t see the problem.”
“You don’t see the problem?” said Lhvunsa. “The problem is that we could all get caught and killed by the Irtlings, that’s the problem, Qilzar.”
“Furthermore,” said Gsefx, jumping in to back up his wife, “even if we didn’t get caught, it’s called stealing, and I wouldn’t be a part of it in any case, but in this case I absolutely will not allow it. You’re talking about taking someone who literally saved my life and repaying him by stealing the one thing that makes him feel important, the one thing that makes him feel different from everyone else on that despicable little planet. We may not have spoken the same languages, but what little we were able to communicate, I know that Henree would rather rot away as a prisoner, or die, than have his artwork ripped away from him, especially by someone he trusted. We are not going back to steal his art and that’s final.”
“Nice speech,” said Qilzar, “but isn’t that why you went to Irt in the first place, to steal that music you like? That albalan?”
“That’s different and you know it.”
“How Gsefx?” pressed the Dremin. “How is it different?
“First off, I was going to download a copy, not the one and only version of the music. With Henree’s painting, once the original is gone, it’s gone forever. Secondly, it’s for my own personal use, I wouldn’t have sold it for a profit.”
“It’s still stealing.”
“Yes Qilzar, you are correct,” said Gsefx, raising his voice in an effort to retake the moral high ground. “It is stealing and it’s wrong. I admit that I have been wrong on many accounts during this rotation, chief among them was the idea that going to Irt and stealing music that didn’t belong to me was acceptable. I almost paid for that mistake with my life, and in the process I put your lives in danger as well. I’ll not do that again. Qilzar, you must promise me that you’ll not go back to Irt for Henree or his art, or even discuss it again. We all have to close this chapter and just go forward.”
“Gsefx, my dear boy, I will make no such promise,” said Qilzar, breaking the mood completely. “I am your direct supervisor as you know and …”
“Et Qilzar, within the confines of Galacticount, you are my supervisor. That is true. Beyond that, I also owe you a debt of gratitude for the part you played in my rescue. But in this, I will not be swayed and I insist that you swear your allegiance to me.”
“My allegiance? The mere thought is ridiculous!”
“Ridiculous is it?” Gsefx was losing his temper. “Qilzar, you flew by the ground at a high rate of speed, which means you got nothing but the quickest of glances of the Irtlings and their capabilities. I was there, on the ground, with their weapons in my face. You call them dangerous, but you don’t begin to know the half of it. To be honest, I don’t begin to know the half of it, and I know a lot more than you do. To go back and attempt a rescue of Henree would be foolhardy, and even as I talked about it before, I knew it was nothing more than idle talk. But you are serious about trying to get those paintings and I can tell you that it’s impossible. If you’re lucky, they would simply kill you and be done with it. But I honestly don’t think you would be that fortunate. I believe it would be much worse than a quick and simple death. Qilzar, you must swear to me that you will not take this notion any farther.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I will not return to Galacticount and Et Xtlar may do with you as he will. I believe I heard something about Zaras 7?”
At the mention of Zaras 7, Qilzar’s once brave facade melted completely, and Gsefx knew he had won.
“Gods, will I be forever cursed with that horrendous place? So be it. I promise.”
Gsefx knew better than to accept an open-ended promise from his boss.
“Promise what, exactly?”
“I promise,” sighed Qilzar, “to never ever again speak of Irt, Henree, or his artwork. There, are you satisfied.”
“That’s half of it, now let’s hear the other half.”
“Oh very well. I also promise not to go to Irt and attempt to gain control of the paintings or rescue Henree or anything else that might upset Et Gsefx.” He was in a full pout now and Lhvunsa had to duck her head to not be caught laughing.
“Thank you, Qilzar. Now, shall we go home?”
Chapter 32
You Like Being the Hero, Right?
“And that concludes the formal portion of my report,” said General Alcorn. “If someone will get the lights, I’ll be happy to answer any further questions you may have.”
The General did his best to put forth a positive demeanor, but he was far from happy. Nor did his audience resemble anything close to a receptive, or even impartial group. In attendance within the secure walls of the Pentagon briefing room were several of his O-Ten colleagues, all of whom shared a mutual disdain for him, a feeling that did not go unrequited.
His direct supervisor, General Frank Allen, was there as well. Though they rarely agreed on anything, and sat on opposite sides of the philosophical fence, Allen was one of the few men at this level of the armed forces that Alcorn actually respected and trusted. The Joint Chiefs of Staff, whose only opinion of Alcorn came from what they read in his files and heard from the suck-ups who sought their favor, were also in the room. He was certain they would not be friendly to anything he had to say.
The only one in the room he believed might be reasoned with would be Secretary of Defense, Langhorne herself, but he had to tread lightly. She was a politician, which meant she would be looking for a scapegoat, and he had no doubts about whose name was at the top of her list. The sad truth of the matter was that, in this case at least, his name belonged there.
“General Alcorn,” said Secretary Langhorne, slowly and deliberately, “it’s been nearly two weeks since this incident took place and we received our initial briefing. Why has it taken so long for us to receive the full report?”
Good, thought Alcorn, she’s patient. She’s willing to give me enough rope to either save or hang myself. Either way, her hands stay clean. That gives me a chance at least.
“Madame Secretary,” he said, “you’ll notice that even though we opened fire, neither of the non-terrestrial ships took aggressive actions toward us. Between that and my initial interrogation of the prisoner, I believed then, as I do now, that there is no immediate threat, and therefore felt the wiser course of action was to pursue a more detailed investigation in order to provide you with better intel, even at the risk of a slight delay.”
“I see,” said the Secretary. “What I find interesting is that you don’t seem to have any more information now than you did after the incident happened, which tells me you wasted two weeks for no good reason.”
Alcorn smiled at the Secretary. Not a smirk, not a fearful grin, but a smile that was warm and sincere.
“With respect, that’s where we disagree, Madame Secretary,” he said, being careful not to tell her she was flat-out wrong in front of the entire room. “Had I called everyone together immediately and given this same briefing, it would have been based on intuition and conjecture, not on proof. I have personally reviewed and analyzed every single piece of evidence, every frame of film, and every word of transcript from this event in order to come to the conclusions I’ve presented today. That takes time, Madame Secretary, and could not have happened if I came to you immediately after the incident occurred.”
“For the love of God, he’s just playing semantics,” said a voice from the other side of the room. It was General Samuel Walker, U.S. Air Force and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He looked straight at Alcorn. “General Alcorn, let’s cut the crap and get to what all of us here really want to know.”
“Yes sir, what’s that?”
“How in the hell did you, a highly decorated commander, hand-picked for this assignment, leading the most elite unit in the entire armed forces, let one alien in one tiny little unarmed ship, get away?”
And now we come to it. Alcorn held Walker’s gaze without wavering. He desperately wanted to glance over at the Secretary to see her reaction to the Chairman’s outburst, but this was a game, one where a single flinch meant certain defeat. Fortunately, he was prepared.
“General Walker,” he said, finally breaking the stalemate, “with all due respect, there’s not one individual in this room who’s unaware of how one is ‘hand-picked’ for this assignment.” He held up his hand to ward off Walker’s attempted interruption. “But, for clarity’s sake, let’s just say that this assignment is where Generals are sent to retire when there is nowhere else to send them.”
“You’d do well to watch your tone, General,” said Walker indignantly, leaping from his seat amid the shocked murmurs that filled the room. “Not only are you wrong in your assessment, you’re dangerously close to insubordination.”
“That’s enough Sam. Sit down and let the man talk.” It was Secretary Langhorne. Once the room quieted, she continued. “It’s not as if General Alcorn is telling us anything we don’t already know. The truth about First Contact Command, or should I say Last Stand Command, is the worst kept secret in the Pentagon.”
The Secretary looked back at Alcorn, not specifically to give the floor back to him, but as if she was still thinking about whether or not she was finished speaking. Alcorn decided to wait until he knew for sure.
“You know,” she said a few moments later, “I’ve always enjoyed TV shows and movies about aliens and such—at least as much as everyone else, I suppose, but can anyone in this room look me in the eye and tell me that prior to two weeks ago, they believed intelligent non-terrestrial life actually existed?” She paused while waiting for an answer. “I didn’t think so. General Alcorn, please continue.”
“Thank you, Madame Secretary,” said a relieved Alcorn.
“Don’t thank me yet, General,” said Langhorne, no hint of sympathy in her voice, “you’re not off the hook by any means. Don't think that being given a lousy command excuses you from your obligations. You were expected to capture and hold that non-terrestrial, were you not?”
“Yes ma’am, I was, and as commanding officer, I fully accept the consequences of my failure to do so. Be that as it may, Madame Secretary, there is a much larger issue at stake than whether or not I'm an effective commander.”
Alcorn paused for effect, expecting the Secretary, or someone else, to ask what that issue was, but hoping they wouldn’t. When nobody asked, he pressed on, directing his attention solely at the Secretary herself.
“The issue that concerns me, Madame Secretary, is that, as you’ve noted, up until two weeks ago, nobody has given a second thought to the idea that non-terrestrials might actually exist, and therefore, we’re simply not prepared, regardless of how many exercises or drills we run. You saw for yourself how quickly, agilely, and unpredictably those ships moved. Do we have anything that can match them? Certainly nothing I had in the field on the day of the incident. Judge my performance, then do with me what you will, I gladly accept whatever punishment is deemed appropriate, but for the sake of our country—for the sake of our planet—don’t overlook the larger issue. Without a better understanding of what we’re dealing with, and more focused, dedicated resources to get our defense capabilities …”
“Stop right there, General Alcorn,” said the Secretary as she rose to her feet. “That’s enough. This meeting is adjourned.” She turned and left the room without another word.
Alcorn was stunned. He had been prepared to argue his case and had even been prepared to lose, but to be cut off like this in mid-sentence was, well, it was just plain weird.
The rest of the room must have thought so too, as the chatter amongst Alcorn’s colleagues showed that they were as confused by the Secretary’s behavior as they were angered by this entire situation.
“You still know how to stir up a crowd, Teddy, that’s for damn sure,” said Frank Allen as he walked up and patted Alcorn on the back.
“I suppose so,” said Alcorn. “Frank, what the hell was that?”
“Beats the hell outta me. Come on, let’s get outta here before you get cornered by someone less friendly.”
“Good idea. Lead the way.”
Alcorn followed his supervising officer toward a side door, but was stopped before he reached it.
“General Alcorn,
a moment, please.”
Alcorn turned to find a rather unremarkable young civilian man standing before him, wearing an ill-fitting suit and looking as if he felt extremely uncomfortable.
“Yes, what is it?” said Alcorn.
“Sir, Secretary Langhorne wants to see you in her office immediately.”
Alcorn started to say something, then thought better of it. He looked back at General Allen.
“It was a nice attempt anyway, Frank,” he said. “Give my best to Karla and the boys.”
Frank nodded and left the room. Alcorn turned back to Langhorne’s assistant and motioned for him to lead the way.
Am I walking toward my salvation or my doom? He thought as he followed the Secretary’s lackey down the Pentagon’s seemingly endless hallways. There won’t be any middle ground, that’s for damn sure. I suppose she could demand my resignation, but if that’s all she was looking for, she wouldn’t have ended the meeting like that and asked for a private meeting. She would have humiliated me right then and there in front of God and everybody. No, she’s got something else in mind, something that could make getting fired look like a walk in the park.
When they finally reached her office, the handful of assistants parked at their desks in the reception area didn’t even bother to look up. Four-star generals might rate some excitement in certain parts of the world, but this wasn’t one of them.
“The Secretary is waiting General,” said the unremarkable lackey. “Go on in.”
Alcorn nodded his head in acknowledgement, but couldn’t quite find it within himself to actually say “thank you” to the man. He thought briefly about why as he walked toward the Secretary’s door, but couldn’t come up with anything except that perhaps he was just an arrogant ass. He shrugged inwardly and thought, I can live with that.
Unable to simply walk in on the Secretary of Defense of the United States of America, Alcorn knocked on the door, one loud knock, just as he’d been taught from the very the beginning of his military training.
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