“No, ma’am. We lost contact just over five minutes ago. It doesn’t look good.”
“What happened?”
“They were engaged in a missile battle. Logs and recordings from the bridge suggest the enemy were using EMPs and nukes. The sudden loss of communication seems to be consistent with one of those types of weapons being successfully deployed against them. The last data we have shows three missiles approaching from the front. They were going to use a plasma cannon against them. After that there’s nothing.”
Andrews stopped. “I see,” she said. “And you’ve had no further communications since then?”
“None at all, ma’am.”
“Okay,” said Andrews, “I’ll be right over. None of this leaves the building until I get there, okay?”
The operations room at the department of defence had a direct link to the USAN Army’s main ground control centre. It would be possible to transfer the whole ground control operation to the operations room if necessary, or to other similarly equipped centres around the globe. When Andrews arrived she was greeted by Donaldson.
“Anything?” said Andrews.
“Still no contact,” said Donaldson. “All indications support the position that Ephialtes is lost.”
“There’s no way this is just a coms failure? Or power?”
“Unfortunately not. Ephialtes has multiple redundant power and coms systems. The chances of them all failing simultaneously as a result of anything other than a catastrophic failure of the entire ship are astronomically small.”
“Shit,” said Andrews, sitting down. “What do we do now?”
Donaldson remained standing. “There’s very little we can do. We don’t have any interplanetary ships capable of reaching Mars any time soon. There’s not another launch window for a traditional spacecraft for another twelve months, and the journey would take a further six. Our HLV shuttles, even if they could be converted to the new NFJ engines - and that remains an open question, by the way - even if they could be converted they are not suitable for interplanetary missions. Any survivors will likely be long dead before we can even arrange a meeting to discuss the possibilities.”
“What about the Martians?”
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
“The Martians. What are they saying?”
“I believe we are monitoring Martian coms, I’ll get a report to you as soon as possible,” Donaldson improvised. He resolved to talk with someone in intelligence as soon as he had finished with Andrews. He hoped they would have something he could take back to her.
“What do we do now? We can’t just sit here and wait for something to happen. What can we do?”
Donaldson looked awkward. “There really isn’t anything we can do at this time,” he said. “I’ll be preparing the intelligence briefs for the president. Will you be informing him of the situation before his seven o’clock meeting?”
Andrews thought. “Yes. I’ll go to the New White House right away. Put everything you can in the intelligence report; all the details about the run up to the loss of contact and everything you can find about what the Martians are saying. That’s particularly important. They have to know more than we do at the moment - find out what that is.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s very, very important that we achieve a successful outcome to this,” said Venkdt. “There is a huge gulf between shooting a man between the eyes and simply grabbing his gun to disarm him. We have to be seen to be doing the latter. Wholesale slaughter - unprovoked, at that - would incur the wrath of the USAN and, I would hope, all decent people here on Mars, too. We are not a murderous people. We are not a barbaric people. We have sought only to defend ourselves.
“Of course,” said Christina.
“The future of our new state hangs in the balance. If we fail at this task we fail at the whole undertaking we set ourselves just a few short months ago; to build a new country and a new planet and a positive future for all of us.”
“You are writing this down, right?” said Christina.
“Of course,” said Venkdt. “The comdev is picking it up and transcribing it. I’ll edit it a bit and go through the whole thing on my stream. Do you think I should get that girl to interview me again? Elspeth? She was very good.”
“No, not an interview this time. This has to be a statement, it has to look strong and from the heart.”
“It is! Of course it is, I meant every word I just said. This will be the defining moment of the whole project. We simply cannot fail, it would be unthinkable. Not to mention those poor people up there. We can’t abandon them to their fate.”
“I know, Dad,” said Christina, “and I know you mean it. I just mean that we have to be sure that everyone else knows it too. Do a piece straight to camera, just as you said it to me just now, and everyone will know exactly what you mean and how sincere you are.”
“That’s what I’m going to do. I need a few more minutes to get my thoughts in order. I’ll do a live stream in an hour or so.”
“Good,” said Christina. “Lead with the rescue mission. Lots of detail, heavy on the magnanimity but subtle too, and work back from there. Stress the parlous situation the survivors are in. The human interest angle will grab everyone’s attention. People will be rooting for them to make it, and our guys will be the heroes when they rescue them. It’s a terrific story, people will lap it up.”
Venkdt looked at her across the breakfast table. “You seem so cynical. There are people up there in mortal danger, because of decisions that we made. We put them in peril, it’s our moral duty to save them. It’s not a soap or a reality show.”
Christina was shocked. She was reminded of how it felt when her father told her off when she was a child. “I don’t mean . . . of course, I know that, of course. How could you think otherwise? I’m just thinking of how it will play, how we can best use it to our advantage. I know they’re real people, and I know they need our help, and we’re going to give it to them as we should. All of that goes without saying. But you have to think of the other angles too, the bigger picture. You’re a politician now, Dad, so politic.”
Venkdt grunted, “I suppose so.”
Cortes always woke early. Most days when he was staying at the New White House he would take a three or five mile run accompanied by Secret Service agents. He would rise around five o’clock and be out running within minutes.
Andrews pulled through the security gates as the presidential group was leaving the building. The Secret Service agents, acutely aware of any irregularities, immediately bundled him back into the building. Andrews got out of her car and went to walk towards them.
“Hold it right there, ma’am,” said an agent with his palm held upright in front of him. He spoke into his lapel mic and half ran towards Andrews, quickly scanning rooftops as he went.
“I’m Audrey Andrews, I’m secretary of defence,” said Andrews irritably as he approached.
“It’s a standard precaution, ma’am,” the agent said.
“Can you please -”
“Just raise your arms, ma’am,” the agent said.
Seething, Andrews raised her arms and the agent patted her down. “She’s clear,” he said to his lapel mic. “It’s Secretary of Defence Andrews, please advise.”
Inside the building Cortes, flanked by two Secret Service agents, overheard the call.
“Andrews?” he said. “For Chrissake, let’s get out there.”
One of the agents replied, “Secretary of Defence, please confirm your ID by comdev, POTUS is coming out to make a visual confirmation.” By the time he had finished speaking Cortes was already striding towards Andrews with a coterie of nervous Secret Service agents about him, making the most of this exciting opportunity to break the tedium of their morning.
“Andrews, what is it?” said Cortes.
“It’s bad news, Mr President.
Cortes’ expression did not change. “Go on,” he said.
“We’ve lost Ephialtes,” said And
rews.
Cortes paused. “Lost,” he said, with no inflection whatsoever.
“Around four o’clock this morning our time. She was in a missile battle and suddenly went dark. We have to assume an EMP or nuclear strike.”
“Survivors?”
“We don’t know.”
“Anything we do know?”
“No, sir. All communications, telemetry, transponders stopped at once. We have nothing.”
“Nothing,” said Cortes. “What are we doing?”
“We’re monitoring Martian coms. We have to assume they know more about what happened than we do. It’ll be in your intelligence briefing this morning if we find anything new.”
“Okay,” said Cortes. “I want you in the briefing. Farrell and White too. And I want some ideas, and some answers.”
“Yes, Mr President.”
“I’m late for my run, get out of here.”
Venkdt honed his speech to something that worked for all its intended purposes. It was accurate in reflecting his humanity and his deeply held belief that it was Mars’ duty to rescue those aboard Ephialtes, despite the potential cost in Martian lives. He restated his belief that the new Mars was not aggressive; that they had been forced to build weapons and found an army simply to defend themselves against the worst aggressions of the USAN, and that they had been loath to use them. That, at great risk to themselves, the weapons they had used against Ephialtes had rendered it useless but had preserved the lives of its crew, and that now the absolute priority was to rescue that crew and bring them safely to Mars.
He said that the people of Mars meant no harm to the people of Earth or the USAN and that the rescue mission, which would be launching later that day, was proof of that. At great risk and cost a small force from the MSS would attempt to retrieve the crew of Ephialtes from certain death aboard their moribund spacecraft.
He mentioned his great affection for the USAN and for Venkdt Corporation, and said that he very much looked forward to working closely with both of them again in the near future.
He finished by wishing the rescue team the best of luck with their endeavour. He, and the rest of the planet, would be with them every step of the way.
“Great,” said Christina as Venkdt cut off the camera. “That was terrific.”
“And every word of it true,” said Venkdt. “I just hate to think of those poor people up there. And their parents, too. If you were on that ship . . .” He shrugged. “Well, it just doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“I know, Dad,” said Christina. “It’s awful, but they’re alive, and we’re going to get them back. A lot of people wouldn’t have done that, you know? Most people would have just blown that thing out of the sky. That’s what makes you different. That’s why you’re going to be such a great president.”
“I just hope this thing comes off,” said Venkdt.
“It will,” said Christina.
“As you know by now, we lost Ephialtes this morning, shortly after four o’clock. As of this time we know nothing of her fate, but it’s safe to assume a catastrophic failure and associated loss of life. Our best hope is that she was struck by an electromagnetic pulse. If that is the case there is some hope there may be survivors. But if she was struck by a nuclear weapon then we would have to accept that all is lost.
“Whichever it turns out to be we no longer have strike capability in the Martian theatre. We have no prospect of such capability for many, many years to come. The Aloadae each took four years to build. Both are now gone. Even if we started building this very day we can’t put another offensive vessel in that vicinity for nearly half a decade.” Andrews looked down at her papers as she finished speaking.
“What do we do now?” said Cortes.
Something pushed Farrell to try to fill the silence. “We’re waiting for some more intelligence to come in. We’re monitoring Martian coms to glean what information we can. They’re the only source of information we have out there now.”
Cortes looked up and languorously replied. “That’s waiting. What do we do?”
This time no one stepped into the breach. The silence remained unabated.
“I take it there’s nothing we can do, is that right?” said Cortes.
Once again Farrell was the only one brave enough, or stupid enough, to get involved.
“We’re still working on the diplomatic channels -”
Cortes slammed a fist down onto the table. “Diplomacy is nothing! They’ve just stolen our planet! We’re not going to be able to talk them into giving it back!”
He looked at Andrews. “Defence. What do you have? You had the two most powerful war machines ever built. Where are they now? What use are they now? How did that happen?”
“Mr President, I’m sure you -”
Cortes waved her away. “I don’t want explanations. Or excuses. I want us to be able to do what we say we are going to do. When we say, ‘We will take back what is ours,’ we have to follow through on that. We have to make it so. You know why? Because our lives depend on it. That’s right, our very lives. If people see, if the world sees that we are weak, they will destroy us. Our enemies will destroy us. You people,” he pointed a finger around the table, “have failed in your duty to protect this country. You have failed your offices and you have failed yourselves. Now you have to live with the consequences, and God help us all.” He stood up and left the room.
At 08:10 Andrews was put through to Cortes. On the video link she could clearly see the two flags either side of him. He was seated at his desk in the New Oval Office.
“Mr President, Martian news sources are saying that Ephialtes is in orbit around the planet. She’s electronically disabled and the Martians are going to attempt a rescue.”
“Are the sources reliable?”
“They are, sir. Charles Venkdt made a live stream not yet an hour ago announcing a rescue mission.”
“We’re relying on intelligence from Charles Venkdt now? Can you see what’s wrong with this picture?”
“I know this is far from ideal, sir, but it’s all we have. And it looks like good news about the crew.”
“How is it good?” barked Cortes. “They may as well be dead for all the good they will do us now. They’ll be paraded on Martian streams and we’ll look even more impotent than we do already.”
Andrews did not know what to say.
“Was there anything else?” said Cortes.
“No, sir,” said Andrews, deflated. “I thought you’d be pleased to hear that the crew are okay.”
“Yeah? Well I’m not. I don’t give a shit about the crew. I care about my ship, which is now useless, and I care about my deuterium, which I cannot now retrieve, and I care about the reputation of this country, which is now in tatters. Put out a press release: ‘The president is relieved to hear that the crew of Ephialtes appears to be unharmed, and hopes and prays for their safe passage home.’ But know this, and remember it. I do not give a shit. As far as I’m concerned you’ve all let me and this country down. They did not prosecute the mission to the full extent of their capability, and now they’re paying the price. They should be left in that tin can to rot. It’s what they deserve.”
White ordered a burger and fries with a cola, though he did not feel like eating.
“Was this our guy?” he said. “Please don’t tell me it was.”
Sherman put a fry in his mouth and chewed on it. “It wasn’t our guy,” he said.
“You’re sure of that?”
Sherman shrugged. “Can’t be sure of anything,” he said, “but I’d say this was nothing to do with our guy. They said on the streams it was a missile attack. That’s what it looks like to me. You must have access to better intelligence than I do. What are they saying?”
“They’re saying diddly-squat. The information they have is coming from the streams, same as everyone else’s.”
“Then it looks like a missile attack,” said Sherman, “just like they’re saying.”
White watched
Sherman eat. “So what about our guy now? They’re saying there are survivors. They’re going to try to pick them up. Where does that leave our guy?”
Sherman finished his mouthful before he replied. “At the moment, I guess, that leaves our guy floating around the planet with the rest of them.”
“But what happens when they get picked up?” said White. “What’s he going to do then? Any more tricks up his sleeve? A suicide vest for the rescue craft, maybe? Jesus. You have to call him off. We have to put an end to this operation right now. Cortes was pissed off when Otus went down. He’s absolutely apoplectic now. If he gets even a hint of this thing there’s no telling what he might do. You have to call our guy off, understand? You have to put an end to it.”
Sherman had just taken a large bite of burger which he chewed at a leisurely pace. He could see White’s anger rising and it amused him to watch him trying not to show it. To add to his fun he popped a few more fries in his mouth. Presently, he got around to answering. “At the moment there’s nothing we can do. He or she is there on that ship and there is no electricity or electronics of any kind whatsoever. The ship has gone dark so our contact has gone dark. We couldn’t contact him if we wanted to, nor him us. That’s just the way it is.”
“Well, when can you contact him?” said White, unable now to control the irritation in his voice. “If he does anything, if he makes just one false move, then we’re all in the shitter. Cortes is going to look into every little thing that happened on this mission. He’s going to turn over every stone and shine a light into every dark corner, and at the moment he’s got nothing else to occupy his time. He’s taken this whole thing personally, and if he finds out about our involvement that’s it for us.”
“I understand that,” said Sherman, “but at the moment there’s nothing we can do. There’s no communication in or out until they get those people off that ship. Maybe if they can get them to a rescue ship, or maybe once they have them back on the Martian surface and they’re near to communication hubs with relays back to Earth, maybe then we can get some kind of message through. But not before.”
Ephialtes (Ephialtes Trilogy Book 1) Page 43