by Ken Lozito
“Something bad did happen to Earth. I don’t doubt that, but why would it come all the way here? What kind of living entity does that?”
Connor shrugged. “Understanding is not a prerequisite for us to take action to defend the colony.”
“Yeah, but at what cost? Do we stop building medical facilities in favor of outfitting a space station or whatever war machine the CDF can come up with for a threat that might never manifest? There has to be a balance.”
Connor shook his head, not believing what she was saying.
“Look at yourself. I can see it written all over your face. Anyone who doesn’t agree with you is dooming the colony and everyone in it,” Lenora said.
Connor took a steadying breath. “You don’t understand. Whatever this thing is wiped out all the militaries back home. Wilkinson sent us that warning so we could prepare ourselves to face what’s coming.”
“And you have. For the past seven years you’ve worked yourself and everyone around you mercilessly. We have defense platforms, some godawful monstrosity of a space station equipped to fight off an armada, and the last chunk of the Ark is devoted to building another ship for the CDF to use. You’ve never once stopped and thought about what would happen if those things never showed up. What if they don’t come for another forty or fifty years? How long can you keep this up?” Lenora asked.
“For as long as I have to until the job is done and you’re safe,” Connor replied.
Lenora pointed her finger at him like a knife. “Don’t you dare say you’re doing this for me. I didn’t ask you to give up your life in order to work tirelessly for something that might never happen. You’re doing this because you love the challenge. It’s right up your alley—an intangible obstacle that you have to figure out how to overcome. That’s why you’re doing this.”
“So defending the colony isn’t a good enough reason?”
“Who are you fighting for?” Lenora shot back, holding her arms out wide. “Who is it? I want to know. You don’t have me; you have the soldiers who report to you. So who is it that you fight for? What is it that drives you so hard?”
Connor snarled and turned away from her. Bull twisted his head to the side, looking at him curiously. Lenora came around to his other side so he had to face her.
“The mere thought of this threat not being real scares you more than anything else because it would mean you might have to move forward with your life without a war to fight. We’re sixty light years from Earth and the pattern is just the same. You devoted yourself to stopping the Syndicate and you were willing to put everyone else aside, and you’re doing the same thing again here,” Lenora said.
“No, I’m not,” Connor replied.
Lenora drew back in mock surprise. “Is that so? Then give up the Colonial Defense Force. Let someone else take command and stay here and explore these ruins with me. Right here. Right now. Do it.”
Connor’s heart pounded in his chest. His thoughts couldn’t keep up with his emotions. “No one else can—” he began to say.
“Do what? Oversee the armed space station or train soldiers? Yes, they can. Your old platoon was on the Ark too, and Kasey Douglass is quite capable, as you’ve said on more than one occasion,” Lenora said.
Her gaze bored mercilessly into his. Connor clenched his hands into fists. “I can’t,” he said, his voice sounding raw. “I can’t sit by and let others fight, knowing there’s something I could have done to help.”
“You can help. You can stay here,” Lenora said.
Connor glared at her. “You don’t want me here.”
“No, I never said that. You walked away from me. Remember?”
Connor swallowed hard and his throat felt thick. “There was too much to do.”
“You’ve done enough. Let it go,” Lenora said, and Connor heard the pleading in her tone.
She wasn’t one for showing much of her feelings, but he could see it in her eyes. She must have been thinking of these things for a long time.
Connor glanced around and was thankful they were far enough away from other people that they couldn’t be overheard. Then he saw Sean, who was pointedly looking away. The security detail assigned to Connor had to stay near him.
Suddenly, there were shouts coming up from inside the dig site, and Ramirez came running over to them.
“Sir, this place is amazing! There’s a significant power source here,” Ramirez said.
“Is there anything we can take with us?” Connor asked, his voice sounding husky.
Ramirez shook his head. “We need to run some extensive analyses of the systems before we start figuring out how to take it apart. We might be able to use the materials here and convert them as a base for our own power stations, but I’ll need more than this small team to figure that out.” Ramirez looked at Lenora with excitement. “This is an unbelievable find. My heartiest congratulations to you, Dr. Bishop.”
Lenora thanked him.
Ramirez headed back to the research base, saying he needed to send a preliminary report back to Sierra.
Connor stepped closer to Lenora, and she stiffened. “I have to go,” he said, hating the words.
Lenora narrowed her gaze. “Go then. Be with your squads, your platoons, your fleets, where you’re in charge and can quell any argument anyone makes. Run away, Connor, just like you’ve always done. Run away from living a life worth remembering,” Lenora said and stalked away from him.
Connor watched her go, at a complete loss for words. Bull walked next to her, following her into the dig site. Part of him wanted to lash out at her and scream how she was wrong about everything, especially him, but the words wouldn’t come. Deep in the pit of his stomach a gnawing fear uncoiled inside him, whispering that Lenora’s words were truer than he was willing to admit.
6
Connor sat alone, brooding in the back of the combat shuttle. The CDF soldiers occupying the area closer to the cockpit spoke in hushed tones. They’d just left the archaeological dig site. He glared at the blank console in front of him. The harder he tried to push everything Lenora had said from his mind, the more he dwelled on it. He could hear echoes of his arguments with his ex-wife, though Lenora had done a much better job at getting to the point.
Reisman left his seat near the front of the shuttle and walked toward him. The former Ghost eyed him with an arched brow. “So, what’d you do this time?”
Reisman had known him too long to stand on ceremony, and he sat down in the seat next to him.
Connor sighed. “I work too much and I have control issues.”
Reisman nodded.
Each of the former members of the Ghosts had experienced varied reactions when they were brought out of stasis aboard the Ark, but most of them had reacted much better than Connor.
“Do you ever think about everyone you left behind?” Connor asked.
“Of course, all the time,” Reisman said. “Did I ever tell you about what my brother Jamie and I did camping one summer?”
Connor shook his head.
“There were eight of us, but since me and Jamie were so close in age, we stuck together. Strength in numbers. Anyway, one night we kept finding all these frogs roaming around the campground. It was like someone sent out a signal and frogs were everywhere. So we got one of those big five-gallon buckets and started tossing them in. No plan. We just kept catching them and tossing them in the bucket. Eventually, we caught so many frogs we had to drape a towel over the top to keep them from escaping. The bucket became so overloaded we could hardly carry it anymore, so we put it down. Some people walked by, coming from the communal showers. It was nighttime,” Reisman said, frowning. “Not sure if I mentioned that or not. Me and Jamie looked up at the bathrooms and then back at our bucket of frogs at the same time.” Reisman started laughing. “We knew better than to head directly toward it, so we circled around, using the woods for cover, and ended up on the women’s side of the bathroom. We waited until the coast was clear and bolted to the door. We could hear
the girls in the stalls and showers, but no one saw us in the doorway. We each took a side of the bucket and heaved it back like a battering ram. My little brother Jamie pulled the towel off at the last second and we must have sent hundreds of frogs into the bathroom,” Reisman said, breaking off in fits of laughter, and Connor joined in.
“We hauled ass out of there so fast I think we lost the bucket. Within a minute or two we heard shrieking from the women’s bathroom and then the park ranger came driving up to investigate. God, that was so much fun,” Reisman said and sighed.
“Did they ever figure out it was you guys?” Connor asked.
Reisman shook his head. “Well, the next morning my dad asked us about the bucket that had gone missing, but before Jamie or I could make something up, he said something about hearing raccoons coming through the campsite the night before. He winked at us and kept whipping up some eggs for breakfast. We got some extra bacon that morning.”
Connor snorted.
“So that’s what I think of when I think about home,” Reisman said, and he became somber. “It beats thinking about that other stuff . . . you know, the virus.”
Connor nodded. He’d obsessed over that mysterious message Tobias had shown them all those years ago. They’d hoped that perhaps there were remnant pieces of the detailed data that was alluded to in the message on one of the buoys. They were wrong. Despite their resident tech genius, Noah Barker, and a number of other engineers’ valiant attempts to extract data, it turned out to be simply and irrevocably gone.
“What about you? Do you ever think about home?” Reisman asked.
“Sometimes, but as the time goes by it gets harder to remember any of their faces, and it’s not like the Ark had any of our personal files, since we weren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” Connor replied.
Not all the Ghosts had adapted well to colony life. Eventually, they’d joined the CDF, and at the time Connor was just happy to have their help. He should have realized that their willingness to devote themselves to this fight went hand in hand with their unwillingness to let go of everything they’d been forced to leave behind. Could he ever walk away from the CDF and leave its fate to someone else?
“General, we’re starting our final approach to board the Vigilant,” Sean’s voice said over the speakers.
“Acknowledged,” Connor replied, letting his own musings dissipate.
“Time to get back to work,” Reisman said. All evidence of former mirth was erased.
“When we get aboard the ship, can you check that the updated targeting protocols for the missile-defense platforms have been pushed out across the system?” Connor asked.
“Yes, sir,” Reisman said.
The Vigilant was their only heavy cruiser and was orbiting New Earth. Connor had no idea how the NA Alliance military had been convinced to give up a heavy cruiser and two Starwolf-class destroyers for the Ark’s mission, but he was glad they had or their defense of New Earth would have been primarily near the planet itself.
An immediate sense of familiarity came over Connor as he made his way from the Vigilant’s main hangar to the bridge. The stark gray battle-steel walls were a reminder of Connor’s time in the Alliance military, although the uniforms were different. The colony’s selection committee recruitment process did ensure that the people recruited had the skill sets to fly these ships, but they had the bare minimum experience to make them proficient at their jobs. The Colonial Defense Force was an amalgamation of the NA Alliance military branches since their numbers barely scraped above ten thousand soldiers, and even then the actual infantry was only a small portion of the CDF as a whole. They were relying heavily on automated defense platforms and drones. When putting the CDF together, Connor had tried to leverage every asset the colony had available, which made them significantly different than the militaries of old. He hoped it would be enough.
He entered the bridge and the ship’s computer announced his presence. Colonel Ian Howe rose from the commander’s chair on the raised platform central to the bridge. Like most of the higher-ranked officers in the CDF, he had the rank because he was the most experienced. However, Connor wasn’t fooled. No matter how you sliced it, he commanded the most inexperienced military forces in the history of humankind.
“Welcome aboard the Vigilant, General,” Colonel Howe said.
The colonel was a trim man whose mostly bald head sported close-cropped hair barely beginning to show a color closely matching that of the nearby bulkhead walls.
“Thank you, Colonel. What’s the status of the Banshee and the Wyatt?” Connor asked.
“They’re escorting the cargo carrier Chmiel to Titan Space Station. They departed ten hours ago,” Colonel Howe said.
Connor nodded. “I think we’ve given them enough of a head start.”
“We’re ready to depart at your command, sir,” Colonel Howe said.
“Make it so,” Connor said.
Colonel Howe began issuing orders. The Vigilant’s fusion reactor core increased its output to the main engines and the ship began moving away from New Earth.
“Comm, send a message to COMCENT that we’ve gone command blackout and will no longer be sending automated transponder updates for our ship’s location,” Colonel Howe said and gave Connor a nod once the communication was away.
Connor used his implants to activate a ship-wide broadcast. “Crew of the Vigilant, we’re about to begin our combat operations drill. Our target will have no advance warning of our intentions and will act accordingly. This is as much a test of Major Corwin and Major Cross’s reactions to us as it is to see how well you perform the orders you’ve been given. Combat drills are nothing new and we will continue to do them long after today. This is our time to prove ourselves and conduct ourselves with the highest orders of excellence. And if that doesn’t motivate you, then how about a reminder being given to our two destroyer crews as to why a heavy cruiser is not to be underestimated in this star system.”
Connor closed the broadcast and saw the hungry gleam in the eyes of the bridge crew. He looked over at Colonel Howe.
“I’ve invited senior staff to go over the plan, as well as a few ideas that have cropped up that I thought you might like to hear,” Colonel Howe said.
Connor gestured for the colonel to lead the way.
7
Over the next several days, Connor observed the crew of the Vigilant as they stalked their prey. The Starwolf-class destroyers were restricted to the cargo carrier’s best speed. The Banshee and the Wyatt traded scouting sweeps, patrolling the area ahead of their escort. Their course headings took them near the missile-defense platforms, and Connor noted that they had applied the software updates for the onboard AI cyber warfare suite.
Major Savannah Cross of the destroyer Banshee proved to be the more dangerous player in the cat-and-mouse game Connor was executing. Since this was their home system, Major Cross did a fair number of active scans while on scout patrols and had nearly detected the Vigilant.
Major Alec Corwin of the destroyer Wyatt was a bit more conservative with active scans while on scout patrol and he didn’t take his ship as far away from the ship he was escorting as Major Cross had. Both destroyers executed their orders as they saw fit, and there were risks to both of their approaches. Major Corwin liked to stay closer to the cargo carrier and would quickly be able to respond should the carrier run into trouble. Major Cross made wider patrol sweeps and so had more of an insight into the surrounding area but would take longer to respond if the cargo ship got in trouble. Connor preferred Major Cross’s approach and noted that in his report. Those reports and analyses would be made available to the destroyer commanders after the training exercise.
Connor also kept an ongoing report on how Colonel Howe and the crew of the Vigilant performed. There were times when the colonel had all the subtlety of a blunt instrument. The Banshee had almost detected them while Colonel Howe had been on duty and thought that running a scheduled scan of the system was acceptable. Col
onel Howe was a good man, but he needed to break free of running his command by adhering to a checklist. Connor glanced over at Reisman, who was sitting across from him, working on his own terminal. They were in a strategy room near the bridge. Connor had taken over the room during his stay on the Vigilant.
Reisman was studying a data readout from last night’s logs. His green eyes slipped into calculation, and he seemed to reach some sort of conclusion. He noticed Connor watching him. “They can’t all be Kasey Douglass,” Reisman said.
“No, they can’t,” Connor replied. “That’s the thing I always noticed about ship commanders who’ve spent too much time on a certain type of vessel. They tend to think only in terms of the vessel’s well-established practices and aren’t willing to push the limits. Colonel Howe is a good commander. He can get things done, but he lacks a certain finesse when it comes to all this sneaking around.”
“Well he does have quite a large ship with great big guns and what not,” Reisman said.
Connor glanced over at Sean, who sat at a different terminal. “What do you think?”
Sean twisted his mouth into a thoughtful frown. “He’s not a hunter. He commands the ship, firm in the knowledge that he has the tactical weapons advantage in any engagement.”
Reisman looked at Connor. “Colonist.” He snorted. “You’ve corrupted this young man.”
“Corrupted or not, he’s exactly right. The question is what to do about it,” Connor said.
“You could shift the ship commanders around, but then you’d need to account for a learning curve. I would suggest taking the straightforward approach—telling him what he’s doing wrong,” Reisman said.
Connor had already made up his mind but was curious to see what Sean and Reisman would suggest. Sean had great instincts for engagement and had grown into an excellent leader.
“We’re due to be on the bridge, sir,” Sean said and closed his terminal session.
Reisman did the same and rose from his seat.