“And the rest of our fleet?”
About twenty percent have been upgraded. Our eleven cruisers and twenty-seven destroyers. We’ve just started on the frigates.”
“Sounds like we have our heavy hitters in place. That’s the best we can do for now. Now we sit. And wait. And pray.
Fleet-Admiral Weiskoff’s Office
Per the norm, Fleet-Admiral Weiskoff controlled the meeting. Still, an atmosphere of anxiety and fear permeated the Fleet Headquarters conference room. Rumors swirled.
“As you all know, the latest collected intelligence from Bridgelen arrived this morning. Per the information, our worst fears have come true. The alien invaders are amassing three of its fleets into one large armada, pointed at Cencore.”
The room broke out into panicked mayhem. Everyone began shouting, demanding recognition, demanding answers to their questions of survival. Some stood. Most gesticulated, as though that would find a solution.
After allowing the pandemonium to continue for a short time, the Fleet-Admiral rose from his chair and slapped his hand on the table. “Quiet!”
As the cacophony began to quiet, he glared around the room, daring anyone to continue their uncontrolled outbursts. He waited and continued to glare until everyone resumed a modicum of decorum.
“We knew something like this was coming. We have all seen the horror vids of Sasania and Nye Nippon. So, work the problem, people. Keep it moving. Nothing has changed. Doctor Lang?”
“The Federacy AI has completed the execution of the survival algorithm matrix. It has the psychographic, demographic and skill-set qualifications mapped. It has also run the cross-referencing with Olympia’s population data base. The selection list has been generated and we are currently in the process of location and notification.”
“Mrs. Weber. Where do we stand with the collection process?”
“Measuring only those individuals and families which have been contacted and transferred to the holding areas, approximately fifteen percent.”
“Not good enough, Mrs. Weber. If that fleet left for Cencore at the time the buoy was launched, we have, at the most, eight days before it arrives. That means we have a maximum of two weeks before all ships must lift off.”
“There are constraints, Fleet-Admiral. Manpower. Transportation.”
“Those are excuses. Not solutions. General Simmons. What can we do to push this along?”
“It’s an exponential curve, Fleet-Admiral. We had to guess on where to deploy our personnel and transport vehicles. Now that we have received the list, we are focusing our efforts. The more time passes, the more efficient the collection becomes. Our current projections are full retrieval of sixty percent within one week and one hundred percent within two weeks.”
“Nothing faster?”
“We’re throwing everything we’ve got at the effort, Fleet-Admiral.”
“If that’s what we’ve got, that’s what we’ve got. Admiral Cruz. Hodr.”
“She’s spaceworthy, Sir. We accomplished that just this week. We’re currently converting it to a colony ship.”
“How many souls?”
“We project forty thousand, Sir.”
“That’s a lot of souls. How will you feed them? Maintain them?”
“We’re stripping Hodr down to nothing but engines, bridge and life support. We’re tethering a freighter for everything else. The two will be snugged tight with a pressurized gangway between the two.”
“This safe?”
“Safer than remaining on Olympia, Sir.”
“What about speed? Acceleration issues?”
“Everyone will have a pressure bag. But we don’t plan on pushing any high Gee’s. Also, our top end will only be point four SOL. It’s going to take us a while to get to wherever we are going.”
“Yes, Admiral Weiskoff. Where are we going?” Senator Campbell pushed his way into the discussion.
“That’s still in planning, Senator.”
“This list. Who’s on it? When do I get a copy?”
“Doctor Lang?”
“No one knows who is on the list. By design, it is held within the Federacy Central AI without external access. If the list were to be published, there would be riots, unprecedented violence. Therefore, it remains top secret. A new section is released as the previous list is completed.”
“Are I and my family on the list? Is all of the senate? And their families?”
“As I said, the list is kept isolated, secret. No one knows. I don’t know if I and my family have been selected. ”
“We’ll see about that. I’m sure President Barnes would like to know.”
“He knows. If fact, it was his presidential order that keeps everything secret.”
“I’ll bet that he and his family have a ride,” Senator Barnes groused, then went silent as he stewed.
“Mr. Sweeny. Where do we stand with procurement?”
The Director of Housing and Societal Development reviewed his tablet, prepared himself and began.
“First, I would like to thank Admiral Cruz. His pressing of all available ships into Encore’s service has given us a chance to save the Human Race. With that said, with a two week window, we will have shipped and preserved enough supplies and foodstuffs for half a million people.”
“Mrs. Weber. Are you going to be able to get half a million people on board our ships?”
“More, Fleet-Admiral. if we have two weeks, I project that we will be able to mobilize just over one point six million people.”
“Mr. Sweeny, you need to up your game. General Simmons. Can you throw some support his way?”
“I’ll talk to my people. The answer will be ‘yes’, but how much? I don’t know just yet.”
“Admiral Cruz, we need space and support for one point six.”
“We have that, Sir. And more. We’ve been able to commandeer enough freighters and transports for just more than two million. We’re ready. All we need is the supplies and people. And time.”
“That is the one variable that is completely in the dark. All we can do is move. We know what’s coming. We’ve all seen what happened to Sasania and Nyu Nippon. We know what the end result is going to be on Olympia. We just don’t know when. So, in closing, we need to stay focused. Stay efficient. Push to save as much of humanity as possible.”
Cencore Senate Building
The majestic hall of the Senate building reverberated with Senator Campbell’s clomping as he angrily marched to his office suite.
“We’ll see who gets to go,” the Senator mumbled to himself
“No one is going to tell me I can’t get off this miserable planet.”
Reaching his destination, he marched past his receptionist, through his office and dropped into his well-padded, high-backed chair.
“Just because he runs the military, doesn’t mean that son of a bitch can tell me what to do!”
Jamming his finger into the intercom button, the Senator demanded of his receptionist, “Get me Rear-Admiral Richardson.”
Thrumming his fingers on his desk, he waited until his communicator dinged and the Rear-Admiral’s image displayed on his screen.
“Senator Campbell. What can I do for you?”
“I need a ship. Something to hold me, my family, servants and personal belongings.”
“Why, may I ask?”
“You know why. The aliens are coming. They’re massed at our gate and are going to break through any day now.”
“I understand, Senator. But we have a strong fleet to stop them. Besides, I have been ordered by President Barnes’s Freedom Council to allow only those people sanctioned to board any ships.”
“Is that what he’s calling it? Look. Being on the Committee for Military Affairs, I’ve thrown a lot of money your way. Given you lots of benefits.”
“Yes Senator, You have. That was then. This is now. Unless you have been selected, there is nothing I can do. Fleet-Admiral Weiskoff has issued a memorandum stating that anyone breaching the
migration orders will be summarily accused of treason. That means immediate execution. No, Senator. I can’t help you.”
Senator Campbell angrily smashed the ‘end’ button and simmered as he plotted. Then he jammed the intercom button.
“Get me Herman Cox.”
More finger drumming.
“Senator. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“You know about the aliens?”
“Everyone knows about the aliens.”
“Well, they’re coming here. And we can’t stop them.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because, our dear President has put together a list of people he plans on saving. Making a convoy. Getting who he decides is worthy into space.”
“I take it you’re not on the list.”
“No one knows. That ass-hat is keeping it secret. But I’m not taking any chances.”
“You want me to get you on one of my ships.”
“You’ve always taken care of me in the past. I can help you in the future.”
“You do know that the military has embargoed all ships in Cencore, right? Mine included.”
“Come on. We’ve done enough deals for me to know that you keep tons of credits, and probably a ship, laying around for a rainy day. Well, that rainy day is here. This planet is going to be stripped and all remaining people will be eaten or enslaved. It’s not raining. A planet-wide hurricane is coming.”
“I don’t know. The punishment is pretty extreme, if I get caught.”
“I’d owe you big time.”
“Let me see what I can do. I’ll get back to you.”
“But.” Senator Campbell never got to finish his sentence as his largest donor broke the communication.
Herman Cox’s Home
Sitting in his chaise lounge, basking in the sun and staring out across his panoramic view of his lake and small mountain range, the extremely wealthy businessman pondered the future. His and his family’s future. The future of mankind. The house servant broke his reverie.
“Your drink, sir.”
“Thank you, Arthur. Would you please ask Shirley to join me?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Herman went back to his staring and pondering. His wife arrived.
“There’s a problem. Get the kids. We need to leave. Have Arthur and Mildred pack up too.”
“What’s happened?”
“I just got a call from Campbell. The aliens are set to invade Cencore. And the Federacy can’t stop them. He says that Barnes has organized an evacuation. Apparently, we’re not on the list. Pack a lot. We’re probably not coming back.”
“The kids? I’ll send Lloyd to get them.”
“Hurry. I want to be packed and loaded by tomorrow evening. We’ll leave after sunset. And make sure Lloyd tells no one why he is picking up the children.
The next thirty-six hours saw a frantic household prepare to leave everything behind. Three daughters and two sons packed clothes, games, social media devices and everything linked to their growing up. Herman and Shirley did their own packing of clothing and memorabilia. Herman opened his vault and pulled out suitcases of credits, gold bars and bearer bonds. Arthur, Mildred and Lloyd, not only burdened with their own packing, were also tasked with getting the family yacht, Money Gulper, prepared for a long voyage.
Finally, Herman deemed that everything was as ready as it could be. Closing up the lake-side manor, the five adults and five children piled into the small shuttle and flew over to the small, private space port berthing the Cox yacht. Once everyone was on board, Herman took the pilot’s seat while his eldest son, Josh, manned the co-pilot’s pod.
“Time to run through the prep, Josh.”
“Are the aliens really going to invade Cencore?”
“Yes, Son,” Herman replied as the two worked through the pre-flight check list.”
“When?”
“No one’s sure. But soon.”
“Where are we going?”
“To our summer home on Pacifica. That will give us time to make more permanent plans.”
“Check list looks good, Dad.”
“Yup. Time to go. Let everyone know we’re taking off.”
Josh pressed the com button and spoke, “Mom, everyone ready?”
“We’re all strapped in, Josh. Arthur says our stuff is well-strapped down. So, we’re ready back here.”
“Ok. Dad’s checking with the tower. So we’ll be taking off pretty soon.”
“Good flying, Son.”
After arguing and threatening, the extremely wealthy Herman got his way and received clearance. Softly lifting Money Gulper, as he and his son had done hundreds of times before, Herman babied the ship out of the hanger and into a launch angle.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Herman eased the throttle forward and followed his assigned projection into space. An hour later, after clearing the thermosphere, he relaxed
“Josh. Set the autopilot for the Americana gate. And relax. It’s been a hectic couple of days.”
“On it, Dad.”
“Money Gulper. Prepare to be boarded,” everyone heard the command over the speaker system.
“Who is this?” Herman asked as he scanned his sensors, trying to locate the source of the voice.
“Captain Fisher of the Federacy patrol ship Protector Twenty-Three. Stop all engines and remain on your current course. Again, prepare to be boarded.”
“You can’t do this! I am a private citizen. This is my private yacht.”
“Under the Powers of War Decree, The President has issued an executive order, prohibiting any and all unauthorized flights in Cencore space. Further, he has authorized the impounding of all ships for the support of the war effort. If you do not comply, you will be fired upon.”
“What? You can’t fire upon an unarmed, civilian ship!”
“Two minutes, Money Gulper. Then we will fire.”
The very distraught Herman Cox powered down Money Gulper’s engines and released his harness. Watching his monitor, he saw the Marine shuttle exit the hold of Protector Twenty-Three and fly straight towards his yacht’s entry port.
“Don’t fight, Son. Go back. Tell your mom what’s happening. Keep your brothers and sisters calm.”
“Ok, Dad.”
Herman waited. The clang through the hull announced the arrival of the Marines. Disconsolately rising, he went to the airlock, opened the outer hatch, waited, opened the inner hatch and stepped back as three Marines in hostile environment suits marched in. Seeing the weapons at arms across one of the Marine’s chest, he stepped back further.
The second Marine in line twisted and pulled off his helmet.
“Who is in charge?”
“I am.”
“And you are?”
“Herman Cox. The owner.”
“Mr. Cox, you are in violation of the Executive Order banning all unauthorized flights. As such, the Federacy is empowered to impound Money Gulper and press it into service for the Federacy.”
“What?”
“Do not do anything rash, Mr. Cox.”
“My family is on board.”
“No one will be harmed, Mr. Cox. So long as you don’t make a scene. Please step out of the way.”
Herman stepped back and the third Marine pushed past and headed to the pilot’s chair. The Marine in charge motioned for Herman to follow. Once he reached the cockpit, he saw the third Marine had removed her helmet, worked the board and studied the original flight path.
“They came from an executive port, just outside of the capitol, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, Corporal. Take us back.”
“What’s going to happen to us?”
“Nothing, Sir. You will be returned to your home. Your ship will be locked down. Then I will request orders on Money Gulper’s status and deployment.
The flight back resembled a funeral. The Cox family and their servants huddled in the galley while the armed Marine stood guard. The S
ergeant and Corporal displayed their proficiency in flying the family yacht back to its landing port, deftly floating it into the hanger and touching down.
The Cox group returned home. The Marines waited for pickup. Money Gulper, fully loaded and prepared for flight, sat.
Oishi Scout Team
Five hours later, Taketa and Juro released their logs and swam to shore. They watched as the logs picked up speed and began caroming off the deadly rocks, getting caught in turbulent washes and finally spilling over the falls.
The two Nightshades pulled off their rebreathers and wetsuits, packed everything away, activated their chameleon suits and sat.
“That would not have been fun. Not even for you,” Taketa joked.
“No, not a bit.”
Taketa pulled out his tablet, activated the communication link to his drone and brought it out of static hover. Bringing it down, he scanned their previous path, working up the river and back through the forest.
“The aliens are still working the forest. They won’t complete their search before the day ends. We’re safe here for the night.”
“Finally!”
“We dry camp here. Suits on until dark. In case they send a runner or launch any drones.”
“Hai, Sousui.”
The rest of the day and all of the night passed quietly. Alternating two hour shifts, the two Nightshades finally got full night sleeps. Waking refreshed, for the first time in weeks, each in turn stripped down, waded into a protected eddy and performed their morning toiletries.
Once both were relieved and clean, they pulled some of their last, self-heating rations, downed full meals and drank clear river water. Afterwards both went through stretching and limbering exercises followed by personal meditation forms.
Refreshed and rejuvenated, two of the deadliest men on Nye Nippon quietly watched the flowing river.
“Tough Run, Sousui.”
“Yes. Now we need to get back to our goal.”
Meeting in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 3) Page 13