by Ken Lozito
“On behalf of Phoenix Station, we appreciate it,” Connor said. They’d traveled a long road to get here, and on the eve of what would ultimately become the defining moment in human existence, they had to trust each other.
“I would like a few moments to speak with you alone,” Tobias said.
Connor nodded and looked over at the others, but they had already risen from their seats and were starting to leave the room. Sean paused to take one last look at the holoscreen. His father gave him a firm nod, and Sean followed the others out.
Connor saw that the committee members had left the conference room on New Earth and Tobias was also alone.
“What’s your state of readiness?” Connor asked.
Tobias sighed. “We’re still moving people to various bunkers throughout the continent and to Sanctuary. Anyone who can hold a gun has been armed, and we’ve been training them as best we can.”
“But they’re not soldiers,” Connor said.
Tobias shook his head. “No, they’re not, but they have a right to fight for their survival.”
“You’re right; they do,” Connor said and debated in his mind whether to be completely honest with Tobias about their chances.
“I need you to do something for me,” Tobias said.
“What do you need me to do?” Connor asked.
“Level with me. What are the odds of this plan of yours stopping the Vemus?”
Connor drew in a breath. “We’ll hit them hard. We’ll make them bleed, but I don’t know if we can stop them. That ship is the biggest thing we’ve ever seen. We’re not even sure how it works. In theory, the Vemus are able to absorb other spaceships and this could be the result of that, but without knowing how thick the exoskeletal hull is, we can’t be sure exactly how much damage our weapons will do. That’s why we hope to hit them by surprise.”
Tobias nodded. “With an extremely narrow margin of error.”
“Some of the things we’re doing here were only theoretical in the NA Alliance military—things like completely replacing how we do secure communications and command-and-control units that make even the thought of targeting missiles flying at point-four c’s of light-speed possible. I could keep going, and I know you could do the same,” Connor said.
Tobias leaned back in his chair. “The Ark was supposed to be our escape from Earth, a way to begin anew without all the historical conflicts dogging our footsteps. We brought the best and the brightest with us. Admiral Wilkinson snuck you and the rest of the Ghosts aboard the Ark in order to escape injustice, and I understand his motives for doing so. What I didn’t anticipate was how essential you and Wil Reisman and Kasey Douglass would be to our survival. Given what I know now, I believe none of us would even be here if it weren’t for you. We’d have fought and cobbled something together for our defense, but it wouldn’t have been the Colonial Defense Force. That was your gift to this colony, and no matter how this turns out, I thank you. My son has become his own man in no small part due to your influence. I’m proud of him . . . and of you.”
Connor felt a small lump growing in the back of his throat. The path that had led Sean Quinn to join the CDF had always been a point of silent contention between Connor and Tobias.
“Sean earned his place. He’s proven himself time and time again,” Connor said.
“I know he did,” Tobias said knowingly. “I think that’s one of the reasons he’s stuck by you—the fact that he’s my and Ashley’s son held no sway with you.”
Connor nodded and watched as Tobias seemed to be deciding whether to say something else. It was a question Connor had anticipated and was something any parent had a right to ask, knowing their child was going to be in imminent danger.
The moment passed and Tobias didn’t ask Connor anything.
“I’ll send Sean in to speak with you,” Connor said at last.
Tobias swallowed hard. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sounding thick.
“Good luck. Send my love to Ashley,” Connor said.
“I will. You take care, Connor.”
Connor rose from his seat and headed for the door. Once outside the conference room, he motioned for Sean to go back inside. Connor closed the door, having no desire to hear what father and son had to say to one another. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was that he cared too much. Connor only knew what his own son looked like and had a sense of the man he’d become. But thoughts of his son still brought a deep, powerful pang of guilt. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself no matter what anyone said. Connor glanced at the conference room door for a moment before walking away.
Colonel Cross and Major Elder walked with him back to the Command Center, where they entered and went to their stations.
“General,” Captain Caleb Thorne said, “we’re ready to execute operation Tip of the Spear on your command.”
Connor looked up at the PRADIS screen. The Vemus Alpha was approaching Sagan’s line and would cross it within the next few hours. They had to launch now to get their missiles and command-and-control units in place.
“Do it,” Connor said and used his neural implants to send his authorization codes.
Phoenix Station had secondary and tertiary computing cores, and the station was designed to be able to maintain operational effectiveness even if the subsections broke apart. Connor watched as Captain Thorne executed Connor’s orders. HADES IV-B missiles were launched from missile tubes along Phoenix Station’s superstructure. The missiles would cluster into groups, going to their preconfigured coordinates before heading to the main objective.
Connor’s mind raced as he thought of all the possible outcomes of his actions. They’d come up with this plan as a team, but Connor was the one who gave the order. The responsibility fell squarely upon his shoulders. He had trouble believing their attack would simply do nothing to the Vemus Alpha, but it was a possibility. The best-case scenario was that they would soften up the Vemus Alpha’s outer layers so when it attacked them, the remaining weapons on Phoenix Station would continue to tear apart that ship until there was nothing left.
A countdown timer appeared in the upper right corner of the main holoscreen. The pieces were moving into place and soon the attack would begin. The colony was as ready as it would ever be. Anyone left in the cities was there to fight. Noncombatants had been moved to secure locations.
“Tactical, prep data dump for broadcast,” Connor said.
“Yes, sir. Ready to send on your command,” Captain Thorne replied.
“Send it, and I want the scheduled dumps to occur more frequently now that our missiles are in the air,” Connor ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Captain Thorne replied.
At least they could keep Lunar Base in the fold as much as possible. Connor knew Nathan Hayes would follow his orders, but being kept in the dark would wear away on anyone’s resolve, and the fact that they were fighting for their very survival would only compound the tension. He’d put Nathan in command of Lunar Base because Nathan believed in the mission. He wouldn’t blindly follow orders, and it would take someone with a strong belief in what they were doing to carry out the difficult task Connor had set out for them.
Major Quinn entered the command area and walked toward Connor, coming to a halt at his side.
“Thank you, sir,” Sean said.
“You’re very welcome, Major,” Connor replied.
Together they watched as the CDF soldiers who manned their posts in the various work areas of Phoenix Station executed their duties, all while the Vemus Alpha drew steadily closer, coming toward them like some inescapable leviathan with a purpose none of them really understood. Connor looked around at the CDF soldiers performing their duties. They were rolling the dice. What happened afterward they would deal with, but right now they were committed to a course of action. Connor’s gaze came to a stop on the Vemus Alpha image on the PRADIS screen, and he clenched his teeth.
“Sometimes you have to roll the hard six, sir,” Major Quinn said, speaking so only C
onnor heard him.
“You’ve got that right,” Connor said.
There was no turning back now.
14
Noah had only been at Sanctuary for a few days and he hated it. He was supposed to help with the alien power station they had here and somehow adapt its output for the colossus cannon. A short while ago he’d received news that Lunar Base was in comms blackout, which meant he couldn’t communicate with his wife. The last he’d heard from her was a prerecorded message that was to be sent down from Lunar Base personnel if Dark-Star status was authorized. Well it was, and now he was out of touch with the most important person in his life. He hated this. Maybe he should steal a ship and head to Lunar Base.
Sanctuary was the largest refugee camp for colonists to hide from the Vemus threat. Its location on the continent put it far more remote than any of the small cities they’d built. Sierra was the only true city, and was the most heavily populated, but Haven and Delphi were a distant second and third. The colony government had put time and resources into building bunkers and temporary housing away from population centers. They’d targeted areas that were naturally fortified against New Earth predators but could also be hidden from an invasion force. Since Sanctuary was a large alien city built mostly underground, it could easily accommodate tens of thousands of people.
He was working in one of the topside temporary work areas the archaeological teams had put there when it was just them way out in the middle of nowhere. It was one of the few quiet places he’d found where he could get some work done. Adapting an alien power source to their equipment was a simple concept, but it wasn’t easy to actually do.
The door burst open and Lenora stormed inside, her face contorted with lines of anger.
“What’s wrong?” Noah asked.
Lenora swung her gaze toward him, seeming surprised to find him sitting there. The fury in her eyes gained the intensity of one of the tornadoes that used to blaze through this area of the continent until they’d put a couple of storm satellites in the area that used focused microwaves to prevent the tornadoes from even forming.
“All the damn people here, contaminating the site. We had an area cordoned off because we haven’t had the chance to catalog the artifacts or really study the area. We just marked their locations. And I just found people moving into a group of habitats because they felt crowded in the designated areas and wanted extra space. Kids were running around, playing with artifacts, if you can believe that. Who lets their kids run around and play with things we barely understand?” Lenora said, her tone shrill.
Noah regarded her for a moment, arching his eyebrow.
Lenora glared at him. “Don’t you say it.”
“They’re scared, Lenora.”
Lenora blew out a frustrated breath and shook her head. “I want my dig site back.”
“Yeah, well I want my wife back. We should tell the Vemus to stay away because they’re inconveniencing our lives,” Noah said.
Lenora crossed her arms in front of her and looked away from him. For a few moments, neither said anything.
“I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” Lenora said and then growled in frustration. “How can you be so calm?”
Noah’s eyes widened. “Calm! Trust me, I’m not calm. I’m just trying to focus on my work.”
“That would be nice.” Lenora rolled her eyes. “I have a hundred thousand people here interfering with my work. Can you tell them to go away?”
“A hundred! I thought they capped it at fifty thousand,” Noah said.
“No, we’ve got a hundred now. One of the major bunkers failed. The area was unsuitable because of seismic activity or some such. Those people were moved here,” Lenora said.
“It’s only temporary—” Noah began, and Lenora glared at him.
“Don’t give me that. And it’s not the people being here . . . Well, maybe it is, but it’s just . . .” Lenora’s voice trailed off.
Noah looked at her. Lenora was like a big sister to him. She’d taken him under her wing when they’d first woken up after being in stasis for two hundred years. But he’d never seen her so agitated. She usually had a tighter rein on her emotions. She was a born leader. Once set upon a task, just get out of her way. It was no wonder she and Connor had had some of the most heated arguments he’d ever seen. In some respects, they were two sides of the same coin, but in others they were polar opposites.
“I can’t even figure out where the aliens that built this place went. They’re all gone. No remains, nothing. Nothing but these structures to even say they existed, and if the same thing happens to us . . .” Lenora said, her voice becoming thick.
Noah’s instinct was to give her a hug and tell her that everything would be alright, but he knew that wasn’t something Lenora wanted. “There really is no sign of what happened to the aliens that built this place?” Noah asked instead.
“Nothing but theories. We don’t even know what they looked like. We know they manipulated the genetics of some of the species that live here now and that they were quite advanced in some ways and primitive in others,” Lenora said.
“So they didn’t get on a spaceship and fly away from here?”
“There’s no evidence of them being able to fly in the atmosphere, much less in outer space,” Lenora answered and pressed her lips together. “Do you think they’re alright?” she asked and gestured upward.
Noah swallowed hard. “Right now they are. They haven’t engaged the Vemus yet.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, for one, we would have heard about it. Dark-Star status is a protocol that essentially hides the fact that we have a lunar base. It’s part of Connor’s overall strategy,” Noah said.
Lenora looked away. “Connor,” she muttered as if the name were a blessing and a curse. Noah heard a tinge of longing in it. “But he wouldn’t order that protocol unless they had found the Vemus.”
“He wouldn’t have done it unless he was absolutely sure,” Noah agreed.
Lenora’s shoulders drew upward and he watched her body stiffen. “Damn it.”
This time Noah did give in to his instincts. He rose out of his chair and hugged Lenora. She was trembling, and after a moment she clung to him, burying her face in his chest. Noah didn’t say anything, and after a minute she let him go, quickly wiping her eyes.
“He was never really here. Once we learned about the threat coming from Earth seven years ago, he stopped being here. He threw himself into his work, building the CDF. Then he lost Wil and Kasey . . . and that message from his son. This fight has been more personal for him than it’s been for anyone else. I’m worried about him. I’m worried he’s going to throw his life away to balance all the loss as if he had no other choice but to sacrifice himself,” Lenora said.
Noah’s mouth hung open. For as long as he’d known her, she’d never spoken to him about Connor.
“Connor would trade his life for a chance to stop the Vemus from coming here,” Noah said.
Lenora shook her head. “I’m sure he thinks he would. It’s what he’ll convince himself he’s doing. But you didn’t see him before he left for Phoenix Station. He wants to die. He thinks that if he sacrifices himself, it will make up for all his regrets,” Lenora said.
Noah’s brows pulled together. “That’s not true—”
“Yes, it is. He blames himself for not being there for his son. He blames himself for not being able to save Wil and Kasey and all the other soldiers who’ve died fighting the Vemus. He refuses to see the fruits of all his efforts and only focuses on what was lost,” Lenora said.
“I thought he was doing better. Didn’t you speak to him?”
“I did. He seemed like he started to listen, but I’m not sure. You know him; he can teach a boulder about being stubborn,” Lenora said.
“Yeah, but—”
“If he really thought he was going to live, don’t you think he’d be here fighting or coordinating the attack instead of being on Phoenix Station?” Lenora
asked.
“You don’t understand just how fast things can change up there. He’s right where he needs to be,” Noah said.
“Which just happens to be the perfect place for him to perform his heroic sacrifice,” Lenora said bitterly.
Noah sighed, becoming irritated. “He may carry all that guilt, as you say. You’re probably right about that, but what you don’t see is that he wants to protect you.”
Lenora snorted. “Don’t you dare say he’s doing this for me.”
“It’s part of it, whether you want to admit it or not,” Noah replied.
Lenora stomped away from him. “If he wanted to protect me, he should have stayed.”
Noah’s shoulders slumped. “Come on, Lenora. That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not, and neither is him throwing his life away. Neither is it fair that your wife is holed up on Lunar Base. Nor is it fair that people had to leave their homes so they can hide because otherwise they might die. None of this is fair!” Lenora shouted and stalked out.
Noah took a deep breath and couldn’t stop his mind from racing. They were both right, and that worried him more than making Lenora see reason.
He powered off his workstation and went outside. There were makeshift roads worn by all the traffic—be it people on foot or vehicles moving equipment. Work crews were hustling about, relocating into the ruins and off the surface. They needed to mask their presence here as much as possible, but as Noah looked around at all the temporary tents and buildings, he didn’t see how that was going to be possible.
Noah glanced around, looking for Lenora, but she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he heard a high-pitched, piggish voice giving orders while coming closer to him. Noah started walking away but he heard the shrill voice calling after him and turned around.
“Captain Gibson, what can I do for you?” Noah asked.