Confrontation

by William Hayashi

  “One moment, sir,” Andrews said, then moved into the hallway outside the bedroom to radio for orders. Moments later two Secret Service agents showed up, one male, one female, and took up positions just outside the bedroom. Andrews knocked, then stuck his head inside the door.

  “Mr. President, ma’am, the director said that there’s no reason for you to leave the quarters tonight. However, there will be two agents stationed outside the door to assist you in getting to the bunker as quickly as possible and take Mrs. Laughlin away to the alternate shelter, if needed.”

  Laughlin chuckled and said, “Message received, Tim, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Very well, Mr. President. Good night.”

  * * *

  “The Americans have informed us that another spacecraft is inbound, and because of your insane actions I believe we are about to suffer at their hands—again,” said Russian President Chirkoff to General Rowan. “We already know you acted without authorization, letting the entire world know we have armed satellites in orbit. But what possessed you to do something so foolish as to fire a nuclear rocket toward their ships?”

  “I was not going to let the destruction of our space center go unpunished. Those niggers must be taught a lesson that transgressions against this great nation have consequences!” Rowan replied.

  “You fool! What consequences? Their spaceships are invulnerable to our weapons, and are fast enough to escape any rocket or missile we can fire at them! I should have you publicly executed, just to show the world that Russia had no role in the launch of that rocket, that it was one man who not only fired the rocket, but was also responsible for the secret arming of Svoboda in the first place. All of this is going to be laid at your feet, so I advise you to wind up your personal affairs. That is unless you decide to take the soldier’s way out … ” Chirkoff pointedly said, pressing the intercom button. “Please have former General Rowan taken into custody and held pending my orders.”

  * * *

  Martin Harris had just returned to his quarters for the evening at Shelter Fourteen when his phone rang.

  “Sorry to disturb you, doctor. Could you join us in Monitoring? There is something we need you to take a look at,” one of the naval technicians on duty requested.

  “Be right there. Any guess at what you’re seeing?” Martin asked, while pulling his shoes back on.

  “The readings appear to be too high. We’re not sure whether it’s the detector or something new that we haven’t seen before.”

  “Be right there.”

  Martin hurried to the monitoring center, quickly swiping his ID card at the door to let himself inside. Once inside, the watch commander led him to a console tracking the inbound ship. Martin cycled through the screens, noting the estimated power and gravitational displacement. He asked, “Has it been going at this clip all along?”

  “Yes, sir. They are traveling at about 750,000 miles an hour. We’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Well, according to this,” Martin said, pointing to the readings on a little-used maintenance display screen he had pulled up, “the gravitational displacement that’s being measured suggests that whatever is on its way is bigger than any other ship we’ve seen.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Tell you what, let’s look at past history,” Martin said, pulling up the data from the previous two arrivals. “Here we know that they were flying three ships joined together until they arrived in Earth’s orbit; then they separated.” He opened another window showing the previous inbounds. “And here are the two ships that brought Jove back. The gravitational displacement is definitely higher because they were towing both Jove and the Svoboda remains. What the current readings suggest is that either there’s a hell of a lot more ships coming or there’s one really big craft and again, maybe some outliers too.”

  “Is there any way to tell the difference?”

  “If their ships still don’t show up on radar worth a damn, the only other way I can think of is if we can get a visual on them. By morning it might be close enough to see with one of the orbital telescopes. Give me a few minutes and I’ll pull together some comparisons of previous inbounds along with this one,” Martin said distractedly, as he began to gather data. As he buried himself in the task, he was really wishing that he had the help of Alan Richards, the hotshot programmer who wrote the underlying detection code a decade ago.

  As he analyzed the information, Martin was beginning to see that whatever was coming was causing a gravitational displacement that was huge in comparison to the previous incoming ships. Part of the reason, he was sure, was because of the unbelievable speed which the ship, or ships, traveled. But he suspected that something really big was approaching. He wondered, given the attempted destruction of their previous mission by nuclear attack, if the equivalent of a battle cruiser was being sent to hand out an ass-kicking.

  He sent a spreadsheet and a couple of graphs containing summaries of all the readings of inbound colonial spacecraft, the number of craft as discovered later, and the gravitational displacement, speed, and other data to the watch commander’s console.

  “Anything else?” Martin asked.

  “No—this is great,” the commander said, browsing through the data. “Thanks, doc!”

  “I’ll be in my quarters, but I’ll stop by first thing in the morning to see what’s shaking out.”

  “Good enough, I’ll leave a note for them to expect you. Good night,” he said, as Martin headed for the door.

  “Catch you later …”

  * * *

  Chief Petty Officer Timothy Pritchett was awakened from a deep, tired sleep by Seaman Fisher gently patting his foot; no one woke a Navy SEAL within arms’ reach if they knew what was good for them.

  “What’s the problem, Fisher? It better be important,” Pritchett said groggily.

  “They want you on the horn, chief.”

  Pritchett got up from the floor, easy to do in one-sixth-G, and made his way over to the radio.

  “Chief Pritchett here; over.”

  “Chief, this is Commander Edwards. Be advised that there is another inbound from the separatist’s habitat that’s due in the area in a few hours; over.”

  “Understood. Is there any intel that suggests we’re at risk here, sir? Over.”

  “Negative. However, the Pentagon believes that given the events of three weeks ago when the Russians shot off a nuke at their ships, addition caution is called for; over.”

  “Understood. Although I somehow doubt a few hand weapons and machine guns are going to be much good against their tech. Does command have any new orders for us? Over.”

  “Negative, chief. I wish we had some additional support we could send your way. Hang tough. It’s a testament to your team’s training that you’re all still alive up there. Before you even mention it, know that Greenfield’s death was unfortunate and, given the circumstances, unavoidable. Also know that we’re always thinking about you and getting you back home every day; over.”

  “Much appreciated, sir. We’ve got a little more gray hair, but we’re hanging tough. The only easy day was yesterday, sir; over.”

  “Outstanding, chief. If anything shows up by you, you contact us ASAP; over.”

  “Affirmative, commander; over.”

  “Over and out, chief.”

  When Pritchett turned around, he saw the rest of the team was awake, standing behind him.

  “You all heard?” Pritchett asked, knowing the answer already.

  “Sure did. You think this might be it?” Lane inquired.

  “The separatists haven’t paid any attention to us for the last ten years, I doubt they’re going to start now. Why, what do you men think?”

  “Hey, even if they did decide to bring us home, it ain’t gonna be no picnic,” Hall replied bitterly. “Ten years under lunar gravity, no matter h
ow much we’ve been working out, it’s gonna be a bitch on the heart. Sometimes I think Greenfield took the easy way out,” he said quietly.

  “Stow that noise, sailor. You think dying from an infected gut was easy?” Pritchett said angrily, looking into the eyes of the rest of the team. He paused, then seeing no one else was willing to speak, he added, “I know what some of you are thinking. I know some of you think that it’s unfair that we ended up here, that Kaminski’s disobeying the President’s hold order on deploying here has essentially killed us all. But we’re still alive. And on the upside, we’ve broken all kinds of space endurance records! We’re all in the Guinness Book!” he said, getting laughter from the others. “But the bottom line is, we go where we’re ordered. And some of us make it back and some don’t. Our return home is just taking a far longer time than we imagined.”

  He stopped, looking them over.

  “There are those who were prisoners of war for over ten years. There’re those who died even more horrible deaths than Greenfield, God rest his soul. But where there’s life, there’s hope. I know that’s trite, but it’s true.”

  “But chief, we’re down to five working suits,” Hall reminded.

  “They can always drop more when the time comes. I ain’t giving up,” said Pritchett, noticing the others subconsciously straightening up, pulling their shoulders back.

  “Now I’m going back to sleep. I have a hard day of nothing and exercise tomorrow!”

  “Aye, aye, chief,” said Lane, saluting, with the others following suit, holding until the chief returned their salute.

  “Night, chief …”

  Chapter 42

  WON’T GET FOOLED AGAIN

  The spacecraft towing the space station slid into the L4 LaGrange point in the Earth/Moon system, signaling the beginning of Christopher’s grand design for future relations with Earth. Accompanying the space station were two heavily-reinforced jumpers and a self-contained rescue pod. Once they verified that the station was in a stable orbit, the two jumpers positioned the rescue pod between them and took off for the moon.

  * * *

  “Mr. President, according to naval monitoring, a large ship or space station was dropped off in the L4 LaGrange point, and now there is a ship, or ships, heading for the moon,” the bunker’s commander informed.

  “Notify those men on the moon to expect company. And raise the threat level to DEFCON Three, put our forces on high alert,” Laughlin ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Laughlin turned to Dawkins sitting across the table and said, “I have a bad feeling about this. Would you call General Cleary, Bob Abbott and the rest of the team, have them here as soon as possible. Not that it’s going to make much difference. Whatever those people up there have got planned, chances are almost certain we can’t do a damn thing about it.”

  * * *

  “Thank you for coming so early in the morning, John,” Bridget Manchester said. She and Beau Templeton were the only board members in attendance for the meeting.

  “My pleasure, Ms. Manchester.”

  “First of all I want to thank you for joining the Jove mission, I know it probably felt like an offer you couldn’t afford to refuse. But we are grateful to you for your looking after GST’s interests, your success in communicating with Ms. Atkins and then later with Attorney Walker were extraordinary. You’re the only person on the planet who has successfully communicated with anyone from their community,” she said.

  “Thank you, but I believe it was a matter of being in the right place at the right time. And in both instances much was done to get me into a position to do so,” he said, smiling.

  “Touché,” she replied, a slight smile turning up the corners of her mouth, failing to touch her eyes.

  “Mr. Mathews, I would like to know your impressions of the people you talked to, and by extension, the community they belong to,” Templeton announced. “Did you get the impression that there is any chance at all of what could be characterized as normalized relations with their community?”

  “Frankly, no.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because we have nothing they want,” John said succinctly.

  “Are you sure? They must want something if they’re clowning around on Earth. What do you think they were doing down here?”

  John thought about it for a few seconds before replying. “I don’t know. For all we know they were here to pick up Walker. According to what I heard, there were three ships here, and like everyone else I’m curious why, since I presume a single ship should have been sufficient to retrieve a single person.”

  “Did Walker give you any clue?” Templeton persisted.

  “He did not. But when I asked why they were here, the man with him said that he had forgotten his watch; obviously a joke. I told this all to the FBI, but I assume you all have read that report by now, correct?”

  “Of course. We were just wondering if you left anything out that you might want to relate to us. However, we actually called you here to inform you that we have a jet standing by at LaGuardia prepared to take you anywhere the separatists land so you can try to initiate communication with them once again. They seem to be amenable to talking to you, either because of your relationship with Atkins, maybe combined with the fact that you have a daughter living in the colony that you didn’t know about. We have a car downstairs that will take you to your hotel so you can grab your things and then take you to the airport. We would like you to stand by until we determine where they are going and what they’re going to do. Maybe there’s a chance that your being, as you say, in the right place at the right time again might make a positive difference.”

  “And, that I might still influence them concerning sharing their technologies with us?”

  “You have a problem with that? Don’t you realize how what they’ve already accomplished could revolutionize this country—hell, the whole damn world?”

  “And GST wants those technologies merely to benefit the world?” John said in undisguised disgust.

  “Of course not. But GST isn’t some soulless corporation, we spend billions of dollars in philanthropy,” Manchester said gently. “We spent over half a trillion dollars on Project Jove with practically no return on our investment to date. I’ll be the first to admit that our doing so was casting bread on the water. We do expect to benefit from our investments in space technologies, not to mention the spin-off discoveries and developments that result. We are a business.”

  John let out a deep breath and sat back in his chair, feeling trapped again.

  Templeton said in a reasonable tone, “We don’t want anything more than another attempt to make contact with the separatists, to try one more time to open a dialogue with them. And yes, it’s for GST’s benefit, and yours, and the world’s. Of course one of the goals is normalized relations with them, maybe even the opportunity for people, people like you, to join their ranks. I know you ain’t black, but your circumstance is different with you having a daughter up there; at least that’s what we’re hoping.

  “You can say no, John, and there will be no repercussions or reprisals. But we think it’s important for you—for us—to make the effort. GST is the biggest multinational in the world, we have resources that eclipse most nations. An alliance with us, or even a small measure of cooperation between the separatists and GST would be of benefit to everyone. Think it over,” Manchester said, then fell silent, finished with the soft, hard sell.

  John didn’t say a word for a few moments, mulling over the situation he found himself in again. Without a word he got up and headed for the conference room door, pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Manchester called after him.

  John stopped mid-dial, turned around and said, “I’m calling Weston to let him know I’ll be out-of-pocket for the duration. Then I’m going to have your car
take me to my hotel so I can pack my bag. I presume the jet waiting for me has a full complement of communications gear aboard?”

  “Of course it does, it’s my personal jet,” Templeton said wryly.

  “Well then, I’ll just be on my way,” said John, leaving the room.

  Once he was gone, Manchester looked over to her American counterpart and said, “We really have to quit squeezing this man.”

  Templeton laughed and said, “The right tool for the job, nothing more, my dear.”

  * * *

  “Chief Pritchett, be advised that a potential hostile is inbound your position. Current estimates place their arrival in less than sixty, that’s six-zero, minutes from now; over.”

  “Understood. To whatever extent we are capable, we will defend ourselves if attacked, command. Pritchett, out.”

  “You heard the man. The separatists are on course for the moon, and may be on their way here,” Pritchett announced.

  “About fucking time!” Takahashi exclaimed.

  “Right! All they have to do is vent the atmosphere out of here and we’re toast,” Hall said sarcastically, checking the action of his British-made machine gun.

  “You five with working suits, get them on, less the helmets, and stand to,” Pritchett ordered. “Hall and I will be hoping for the best.”

  The time crawled, especially since the only means of knowing the progress of the inbound ship was by radioed status reports from Earth.

  “It’s confirmed, chief, they’re traveling directly to your location. Stand by; over.”

  “Roger that, command; over and out. Look sharp, people,” Pritchett ordered.

  Moments later they felt a vibration they were all familiar with; the opening of the massive exterior airlock door. They rushed over to the display screen showing the camera view of the interior of the airlock. Once the door fully opened, they watched as something nearly filled the exterior opening. As it advanced farther they were able to see that what at first appeared to be a single ship was in fact three separate objects. Between two spacecraft was what looked like one of the ceramic containers that were found scattered around the hole in the lunar surface where the colony used to be. Only this one had what appeared to be an airlock door.