“Mr. Sparks, is this a CGI image?” the anchor asked.
“If it is, it’s the best one ever done.” He shook his head. “Look at that skin tone. Heck, look at the shadows.” He looked at the alien. “Madame, will it be possible to meet with you?”
“Captain,” corrected Kasumi. “It’s Captain Kasumi. The title, like my name, is an accommodation to Earth beings.” She smiled. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
The science educator continued to laugh. The astronomer rolled his eyes. “I assume your sun is a yellow dwarf?”
“More orange than yellow, but yes,” Kasumi replied. “Slightly cooler,” she said. “Three moons, longer days, shorter years.” Her crest flicked. “It works out to about the same.”
“You’re a therapsid,” the educator suddenly exclaimed. “A mammal-like reptile.”
Kasumi’s crest waggled. “Something similar, most likely,” the alien replied. “Nest did not have the same level of extinction events Earth had.” She raised a long-fingered hand. “I am here to answer whatever questions you may have,” she said. “But I want to make something clear; we are not here to invade, threaten, or predate on humans. Under normal circumstances, we would not have even contacted humans, but circumstances were not normal.” She ran her fingers through her crest. “Serendipity is a two-way street.”
“You’re here by accident?” the educator asked.
“We’re here by accident,” agreed Kasumi. “Humans have a belief in something called fate,” she said. “Rynn do not. And yet, there are times when I have no other explanation.”
She looked out at the camera, and it seemed she was no longer talking to the people in the studio. “I have been on Earth for slightly more than an Earth year. I should have died my first day here, and instead I met a human—no, I met a man—who from the very first moment treated me as a friend. But more than that, he was the key to my very survival.”
She briefly covered her eyes with her hands. “We do not believe in fate, and yet …” She reached out with a long-fingered hand. “People of Earth, my people do not believe in fate, yet I must believe we are fated to be together,” she said. “My people have roamed the galaxy for more than two hundred of your years, and we have seen wonders, but in our two centuries of roaming we have not found another race who did not automatically think of us as food or as an enemy. And by accident, we found you.” She again briefly covered her eyes with her hands.
The studio was quiet. It seemed that no one wanted to break the silence. It took a quiet cough to break the spell that seemed to have been cast. The anchor shook himself. “We’ll be right back,” he said quietly.
The uproar that followed was as loud as it was predictable. There were those in nearly every country who denounced the whole interview as a fraud, with calls for investigations and demands for firings. There were many more in nearly every country who believed what they saw, and they too were split into several predictable camps: those who believed and wanted to work with the Rynn, those who believed and wanted the Rynn to leave, and those who believed and thought the Rynn were the harbingers of Armageddon.
Also predictably, the members of the second and third groups united. What was not predictable and most surprising was that the members of the group that wanted to welcome the Rynn far outnumbered all the other groups combined. However, there was one more predictable outcome: the number of violent crimes soared as various groups took the Rynn’s existence as a license to settle scores and eliminate rivals. Governments collapsed overnight, and civil liberties were suspended by many of those that did not.
YEAR 3
20
DISCORD
The union that was the United States split asunder. It started when President Spencer ordered the immediate confiscation of all Rynn technology and the Rynn themselves to be rounded up and transferred to a holding facility. California refused to cooperate. In response, President Spencer ordered the military to arrest Governor Darren Newgate, his staff, and his family, and authorized lethal force if there was resistance. The head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff refused the order as illegal. Within days, states started taking various positions in regard to the aliens and the federal response.
Governor Newgate suddenly found himself the head of a newly christened Republic of California—a republic that, within days, was rechristened the Western States of America when Oregon, Washington, and Nevada requested to form an alliance. It was a loose confederacy at the moment, but President Newgate was working feverishly to create something more structured. Unlike many governors of other states, he had an ace in the hole, and she was sitting in his office.
“I figure we can convince Nevada to get in line by providing a reliable source of fresh water,” Newgate said. “And once we get the new fusion reactors on line, we can start exporting energy to some of the other states, like Montana and Idaho.” He chewed his lower lip. “It’s Texas that’s going to be the problem.”
“I’m sorry, Darren. I did not expect this,” Kasumi began.
“The country was fragile and had been for years,” Newgate cut her off. “If anything, we should be grateful.” His mouth twisted. “You tore the scab off, and maybe now we can heal.” He made a patting motion with one hand. “Now stop apologizing and help me figure out how to prevent a war with Texas.”
“Why do you think Texas is going to start a war?” Kasumi asked.
Newgate snorted. “Because they need something to distract their populace from how bad things are going,” he explained. “President Prescott has run his state into the ground, and he needs a new source of revenue, resources, and anything else he can grab. He’s already invaded New Mexico and Oklahoma, but that won’t fill his coffers. No, he needs to take over something big,” he said. “Besides, if he takes California, he becomes basically King of America.” He pointed to a map. “According to our satellites and the transmissions your people have intercepted, he’s moving munitions, people, and machinery west.”
Kasumi looked at the map of the former USA. “Arizona?” asked Kasumi.
“Arizona,” Newgate agreed. “He takes Arizona, and he can attack either California or Nevada.” He pursed his lips. “We’re in talks with Utah,” he said musingly.
Kasumi chittered. “I like the Mormons, but they are a bit strange. I keep telling the ambassador that in Rynn, Kolob is the name of a type of mudfish and not my planet’s name, but I don’t think he believes me.”
“They may be strange, but they are your most devoted followers,” Newgate shared a laugh with the alien captain. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to put a trading post in Salt Lake City.”
“A small one, and only open once a month. Anything they need urgently, they can contact me directly,” Kasumi agreed. “We can also construct a small power plant and deliver it to them.” Her crest rose slightly. “If they stop hesitating and sign the articles.”
“Next item on the agenda,” Newgate said. “Any word?”
Kasumi nodded. “My father will come,” she said. “It will take time to assemble the fleet, but he will come.”
“Fuck!” exclaimed Lieutenant Daniels. “North Korea just launched.” He keyed a mic. “High Flyer, this is CalCom. We got launch. Repeat, we got launch.” He recited a string of coordinates.
“We see it, CalCom,” came a chirping voice. “High Flyer taking action now.” There was silence, and all those in the room seemed to be holding their breaths. “Target neutralized,” came a chirping response. The room collectively blew out a breath.
“Thank you, High Flyer,” Daniels replied. “Busy morning, huh?”
“Busy morning,” agreed the Rynn pilot. “It was fun the first few times, but it’s starting to get irritating.”
“I hear you, High Flyer,” Daniels replied. “Thanks again.”
“As you Earth people say, ‘No worries,’” the Rynn pilot chittered and then broke the connection
.
Daniels stared at the situation board. Over the past three months since the United States broke apart, there had been over a dozen nuclear launches by almost as many countries. Most of the big powers—China, Russia, and the slowly reuniting United States—had kept their fingers off their respective launch buttons, but some of the more unstable nations were taking turns launching nuclear missiles. Daniels was not sure they even cared who they were shooting at. “They’ve got to be running out of nuclear devices by now,” he muttered.
“Missiles, probably. Nukes, probably not,” one of mission specialists responded. “You know someone is going to carry a nuke somewhere on their back.”
Daniels nodded grimly. “Just as long as it isn’t here,” he grumbled. He reached out, tapped a table, and grimaced. “Knocking wood, at my age.”
“I don’t care what you knock,” the specialist replied. “As long as it works.”
21
CIVIL ACTIONS
“Prescott is on the move,” David Eisenstadt reported. The former lieutenant commander was now the head of the colony’s combined Rynn and human military forces in alliance with the slowly expanding Western States of America. Despite no longer having a rank, he was more often than not referred to as “the commander.” Those humans who had joined the colony’s military force retained what ranks they had but were now subject to promotions approved by Eisenstadt and Kasumi.
The WSA had originally formed as a coalition of California, Oregon, and Washington after the USA itself had fractured. Within months, Nevada and Utah had joined the new coalition, followed in turn by Arizona and Colorado. Montana, Wyoming, and North and South Dakota had tried to form their own coalition, but it appeared that they too were going to consider joining the WSA.
President Zebediah Prescott’s Greater Texas Republic had absorbed New Mexico, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri, and Alabama. The rest of the states of the former USA were either part of the Eastern Coalition, the newly created Christian States of America under President Spencer, or desperately trying to make it on their own. For all intents and purposes, though, the USA was now composed of four independent countries. If Zebediah Prescott had his way, there would be one United States again, but this time under the control of Texas.
The Rynn might not have cared which group came out ahead, except that President Prescott was calling for the confiscation of Rynn technology, and President Spencer was calling for the extermination of any and all Rynn presence on Earth. While the mysterious oligarch of the Eastern Coalition was in favor of any and all trade regardless of origin, she seemed content to take a watch-and-see stance with regard to President Prescott.
“Put it on the board,” President Newgate said. A satellite image of North America appeared. The new borders were highlighted in red. Lights of different colors dotted the map.
An arrow appeared on the map. “At 0600 this morning, Prescott started moving his troops to the New Mexico/Arizona border,” Eisenstadt reported. “He hasn’t yet scrambled his fighters, but we think it will happen within the next two hours.” He looked at the map. “If it was just Prescott, we’d be able to shove ‘em back,” he said. The arrow shifted east. “Unfortunately, the CSA started mobilizing at almost the same time.” He blew out a breath. “I think we need to assume it’s a joint maneuver.”
“Agreed,” Newgate replied after a moment of thought. “Damn,” he exclaimed under his breath. “Options?”
“It’s going to take a while before the CSA ground troops are in play, but they’ve got air superiority,” the commander pointed out. “And that includes High Flyer 1 and 2.” He looked at Captain Kasumi. “Hell of a time to pull out the other two shuttles.”
“Even Rynn technology requires maintenance,” Kasumi replied. “The maintenance team is working through the cycle in order to get them back in rotation.” She shook her head. “They still think it’s going to take another two cycles before they’re complete. On the other hand, we’ve been able to produce close to one thousand personal shields.” She smiled grimly. “Earth people can be extremely competent when then want to be,” she said. “Elvin Moss thinks he can get production up to one hundred a day.”
“That will help some,” agreed the commander. “I still wish we had the other two shuttles.”
Technical Specialist Joseph Franklin was waist-deep inside an access port that was itself inside a partially completed torpedo-shaped structure. He reached out a hand. Red Clouds Paint the Sky handed him a wrench-like tool. Black Rocks sat at a station, a glowing globe hovering before his eyes. “The oscillation is decreasing,” Black Rocks reported. “Just a speck more,” he urged. “I think you’ve done it, Core Brother.”
Franklin exited the access port and stood to survey his handiwork. It was snub-nosed and torpedo-shaped, barely twenty feet in length and no more than a yard in diameter. Half of the little vessel was engine. “She’s gonna be cramped.”
Black Rocks chittered. “Maybe for a human,” he replied. “Plenty of room for a Rynn.”
“Assuming we can find a Rynn brave enough to try flying it,” Franklin replied.
Black Rocks chittered again. “Getting someone to fly it will be the easy part,” he said. “There isn’t a shuttle pilot who doesn’t want to be the first.” His crest waggled. “It’s picking someone without starting a riot that will be the hard part.” Black Rocks chittered. “Rynn may not be as brave as humans, but we do like to fly. The faster the better.”
“She could fall apart the moment she hits the atmosphere,” Franklin cautioned.
“Unlikely, Core Brother,” Red Clouds Paint the Sky replied. “Your calculations are sound. The construction is solid.” He gave his human core brother a proud smile. “If she does fall apart, it will be because the pilot decided to exceed the tolerances.” He looked at the craft. “It will be the fastest atmosphere ship ever built,” he said. “And you built it.”
“We got launch, we got launch,” sang Night Storm “High Flyer 1,” she called.
“We got it,” came a pilot’s voice. “Launch neutralized,” the pilot said a moment later. “This is ridiculous,” the pilot complained. “One warhead would be enough to devastate a city, and they’ve launched fifty in the last hour.”
“Cut the chatter, High Flyer 1,” the commander barked. “Prescott does not care how much damage he causes. He just wants to win,” he said. “Remember that.”
“It’s hard to forget,” replied the pilot from High Flyer 1, “when that offal-eating idiot keeps reminding me.” The pilot growled. “High Flyer 1, out.”
Night Storm turned in her seat. “Gentle Snowfall is correct,” she said. “This is ridiculous. A Rynn would not be so … sloppy.” Her crest curled. “So incompetent,” she said under her breath.
The commander vented a grim chuckle. “Probably not,” he agreed. “Still, if my intel is correct, he can’t have too many more left.” He went back to his command chair and sat down to ponder. “Since they can’t blow us up, at least not while we have High Flyer …”
“Can they attack High Flyer?” the familiar and raspy voice of Jeremy Blunt asked. “They must know by now that we are using Rynn shuttles to strike at the missiles.”
“Unlikely,” the commander replied. “Not unless they have stealth aircraft.” The commander frowned. “Still, we probably should consider the possibility.” He pursed his lips. “For all that they’re led by an idiot, Texas does have a powerful technological research arm.”
“What are you thinking, Grandfather?” Kasumi asked respectfully.
“I’m thinking that sooner or later, someone is going to start shooting at High Flyer and launching a strike simultaneously,” Jeremy replied. “I’m somewhat surprised they haven’t tried that yet.”
“Which may be evidence they don’t have stealth aircraft,” the commander returned.
“I’ll remind you that you yourself noted they have the skill power t
o accomplish it,” Jeremy replied.
“Someone get in touch with Daniels,” the commander ordered.
“She’s beautiful,” the Rynn test pilot gushed. “How fast did you say she’s expected to go?”
“At least twenty-five times the speed of sound,” Franklin replied. “Not that I expect you to get anywhere near that, Frozen River,” he said as he made a number of adjustments to a panel. “This is just the first flight,” he cautioned. “Take her out, enter the atmosphere, fly around a bit, and then return.”
“Is your core brother always this cautious?” Frozen River asked Black Rocks.
“When it comes to the safety of others, yes, he is,” Black Rocks replied. “If he could, he’d fly it himself.” He chittered in amusement. “Too bad for him, the pilot module is designed for a Rynn.”
“If I had known that before I started …” growled Franklin. He sighed. “Just keep it below Mach 20.”
“Multiple contacts,” Night Storm sang out. “Spirits protect us—it looks like hundreds of aircraft.” The Rynn started chirping into her Torque. “Spirits,” she chittered nervously. “Analysis indicates nearly six hundred fighter jets.”
“That can’t be right,” the commander replied. “The U.S. had at most 2,500 fighter jets.” He looked at his view screen. “There were three hundred in California. Texas couldn’t have much more than that,” he said. “The CSA must have transferred its entire air fleet,” he exclaimed. “Order Scramble.”
“Scramble. Scramble,” Night Storm sang out in calmly professional tones. “All fighters and interceptors prepare for immediate takeoff.”
“This is Commander Eisenstadt,” the commander broke in. “ROE is as follows: all aircraft must be destroyed. If a pilot ejects, leave him alone, but the aircraft must be destroyed. That is all.”
Redemption Song Page 17