Earth unaware

CHAPTER 17

Allies

Concepcion called the Council to the helm even though it was the middle of sleep-shift. The adults quickly gathered, groggy and unkempt and alarmed. “Weigh Station Four has been destroyed,” Concepcion said. “We just received the data from the Eye a few moments ago.”

Their faces showed shock, horror, confusion. Those who had been half asleep were now wide awake.

“The hormiga ship unleashed a massive burst of its weapon as it was passing the station,” said Concepcion. “The station subsequently went dark. No light. No power. The main structure is mostly intact, but several pieces have broken off. We don’t have any contact with the station, so we have no way to determine if there are any survivors. We’ve been trying to reach them for some time now, but without success. Segundo believes the weapon could be laserized gamma plasma. If that’s accurate, then it’s likely the station received a fatal dose of radiation.”

“How many people?” asked Rena.

“We don’t know,” said Concepcion. “Several hundred at least.”

One of the Italian survivors began to cry, a woman, Mariana, who had lost her husband and four children. Rena put an arm around her, comforting her. The news was reopening a still-healing wound.

“I thought the hormiga ship was a distance from the station,” said Segundo.

“It was,” said Concepcion. “Which is one of the reasons why we suspect this may not have been a tactical strike.”

“Not a strike?” said Bahzim. “What could it have been? An accident?”

“Edimar will explain,” said Concepcion.

Edimar stepped forward, and a rendering of the hormiga ship appeared behind her in the holospace above the table. “It wasn’t an accident,” she said. “The hormigas deliberately fired their weapon. But based on what we’ve learned from the Eye, it’s not clear if the hormigas were targeting the station.”

“What else could they have been targeting?” said Rena. “If they hit it with a focused burst, it’s too much of a coincidence to suggest they weren’t aiming for it.”

“That’s just it,” said Edimar. “The ship didn’t fire a focused burst. It fired in every direction at once.”

She hit a command on the holotable, and a simulation began. Gamma plasma ejected from all sides of the hormiga ship at once, growing outward, getting larger, until the ship stopped emitting the plasma, and the fast-growing wall of destruction became a giant ring with the hole in the center, continually getting larger as it stretched out in every direction.

“The hormiga ship didn’t fire at the weigh station,” said Edimar. “It fired at everything.”

The simulation was on a loop and began again from the beginning.

“If it fired in all directions at once,” said Rena, “and has a long range, why didn’t we get hit?”

“Because we’re much farther away,” said Concepcion. “Well behind the ship. Over two million kilometers. We’re probably getting some radiation, but it has greatly dissipated by the time it reaches us. Not enough to damage us. Not a lethal dose. We were lucky.”

“Don’t know if I’d call this lucky,” said Rena. “This means the ship’s weapons are far more powerful than we thought.”

“What if they aren’t weapons?” said Segundo. “Or at least, maybe the ship wasn’t using the radiation at that moment as a weapon.”

“What do you mean?” asked Concepcion.

“If it’s sucking up hydrogen atoms at near-lightspeed and taking in all this radiation, it has to expulse it somehow,” said Segundo, “especially when it’s trying to slow down. It doesn’t want to shoot it out the back like it normally does. That would only give it massive thrust. And it doesn’t want to accelerate. It wants to de celerate. So it must be getting rid of the buildup some other way.”

“And if its weapons and fuel are the same substance like we suspect…,” said Concepcion.

“Then its weapons are the means of releasing all that buildup,” finished Segundo. “Notice how the weapons fired in all directions at once at the same amount. That’s logical, because if it released the plasma on just one side or if it released more plasma on one side than on the other, the plasma would generate enough thrust on that side to change the ship’s course, which the ship doesn’t want to do. Its course is set.”

“So Weigh Station Four was destroyed by the ship’s exhaust?” asked Selmo.

“If you want to call it that,” said Segundo. “It’s the one drawback of their weapon. The ship never stops collecting hydrogen. And when they’re decelerating, that’s a problem because they have no other way besides their weapons to dump all the excess. So they blast it out in every direction, and whatever happens to be right outside, tough luck.”

“That’s irresponsible,” said Bahzim. “If you have a system like that, you have to make sure nothing is in the way.”

“Apparently the hormigas don’t care what gets destroyed,” said Segundo.

“So the weigh station was at the wrong place at the wrong time?” said Rena.

“No,” said Concepcion. “The weigh station was destroyed by a careless species with no regard for human life.”

There was a silence among them.

“What are we going to do?” asked Segundo.

“I’ve made a decision,” said Concepcion. “Only because one had to be made immediately. If you think I’m wrong, it’s not too late to change that decision. But I don’t think I’m wrong. I told Selmo not to decelerate. Rather than move for Weigh Station Four, we’re moving to intercept the ship and attack it.”

The reaction was fierce and loud as everyone began speaking and shouting at once. Concepcion raised her arms to quiet them, but the tumult continued.

Segundo’s voice thundered over everyone else’s. “Quiet!”

The voices died.

“Let’s hear her out,” said Segundo.

“Thank you,” said Concepcion. “I know what I’m suggesting is extremely dangerous, but consider our situation. As far as we know, no one else is aware that this ship is headed to Earth. No one else knows it’s killed hundreds of people, or that it has a weapon powerful enough to annihilate anything within a hundred thousand kilometers of it or more; or that its creatures care nothing for human life and will attack without provocation. We’re the only people who know that. And right now we don’t have any means of issuing a warning. Weigh Station Four is gone. We can hope that Victor will reach Luna and warn Earth, but he’s still several months away. The hormigas will cover a lot of space in that time. And if we let them, if we do nothing, more people will die.”

“How can we possibly stop it?” said Dreo. “We can’t compete with its tech and weapons. A whole fleet of warships couldn’t stop it. You thought going up against the pod was impossible? This would be a thousand times worse.”

“We don’t have to destroy it,” said Concepcion. “It might be enough to cripple it. That would give Earth more time to build a defense, or it would give military ships enough time to come and destroy it.”

“And how would we cripple it?” asked Dreo. “We have five PKs. Five. Have we forgotten how big this thing is? We’re a fraction of its size. Five PKs might not inflict any damage.”

“I don’t know how we’d do it,” said Concepcion. “That will require thought. But doing nothing isn’t an option. If we let it go, families will die. Whole clans maybe.”

“No offense,” said Dreo, “but that’s not our problem. We did our part. We destroyed the pod. We saved nine people. We sent Victor to Luna. We lost Toron and Alejandra and Faron. We’ve made our sacrifices. We’ve done our duty. What you’re suggesting will get us all killed. This is out of our hands now. It’s too big for us to solve.”

“I agree with Concepcion,” said Edimar. “If we can make an attempt to stop it, we should.”

“Of course you agree,” said Dreo. “You lost half your family. You’re angry. I, for one, would like to live. Besides, did we not just establish that they have a weapon that can destroy everything around it? How could we even get close enough to attack it?”

“Don’t think of it as a weapon,” said Segundo. “Think of it as exhaust.”

“What difference does it make?” said Dreo. “If it fires it, we’re just as dead.”

“It does make a difference,” said Segundo. “Because if it just unleashed a massive amount of exhaust, then it stands to reason that it won’t release more exhaust for some time. If we’re going to strike it, now is the time.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Dreo. He looked at those around him. “Am I the only one who thinks this is insane? What about our children? Are we willing to risk them, too?”

“We don’t have to do this alone,” said Concepcion. “There are other ships ahead of us. If we can contact them, we can enlist help. Maybe we could load the children onto another ship and keep that ship out of the fray.”

“We’re not a warship,” said Dreo. “This isn’t our fight.”

“It is our fight,” said Concepcion. “It is most definitely our fight. That ship is a threat to every human alive. Now, if all of you tell me I’m wrong, if all of you disagree, then I’ll stop the ship. Otherwise, we’re attacking that ship.”

“How can we enlist help with all this interference?” asked Rena.

“The radio will work for up to a few hundred kilometers,” said Segundo. “It’s the long-distance messages that can’t get through. If we get close enough to another ship, we can get a high-bandwidth message through. Holo to holo.”

“Who would help us?” said Bahzim.

“We’d have to be selective,” said Concepcion. “The only mining ships that could likely intercept the hormigas are ones that are already moving in this direction at a high velocity. There isn’t time for other ships to change their course and accelerate up to our speed. Selmo, what ships ahead of us qualify?”

Selmo wiped his hand through the holospace and busied himself with the data from the Eye. “I’ve got ten ships in front of us, but only two of them are matching our speed and moving in our direction.”

“Two ships?” said Bahzim. “That’s not much of an assault, especially if one of them is going to take the women and children.”

“What are the two ships?” asked Concepcion.

“One’s a WU-HU ship,” said Selmo. “D-class. A drill digger. About half the size of us. Not much of a fighter, really.”

WU-HU was a Chinese mining corporation, a direct competitor of Juke Limited, though they were small potatoes in comparison. Concepcion liked WU-HU. They stayed to themselves and didn’t resort to claim jumps or clan bullying. If anything, they respected free miners. Whoever the captain was, Concepcion was almost certain he or she would help.

“What about the other ship?” asked Concepcion.

Selmo looked at the data and frowned. “It’s certainly a fighter. Well defended. Plenty of guns. Strong hull. But I’ll be damned if we want his help.”

Concepcion knew at once whose ship it must be.

“It’s Lem Jukes,” said Selmo.

Lem grabbed a meal box and found Benyawe already eating at one of the dining counters. “I have an idea that I’d like you to pursue, Dr. Benyawe. Something to keep you busy on the flight home.”

“We’re not exactly twiddling our thumbs in the lab, Lem. We do work.”

Lem smiled. “Naturally this would be in addition to your current duties with the glaser.”

“And if I refuse? Will you abandon me at the next stop like you did Podolski?”

“Podolski had a special assignment and will be well taken care of,” said Lem. “He has passage to Luna. We didn’t abandon him. The whole thing was his idea.”

“He must’ve forgotten that when we left him behind. He didn’t seem too eager to stay.”

“Going to the weigh station was a mistake,” said Lem. “I take full responsibility. I had no idea it was crawling with criminals. We took decisive action, and I don’t think anyone can begrudge us for self-defense. How’s Dr. Dublin?”

“Recuperating. The doctors reset the finger breaks. He’s in a cast and taking meds.”

“Good.” Lem pulled the tab on his meal box, allowing the food to float to the top of the container where he could suck it up with the straw.

She studied him a moment. “Did we kill those men because they knew about the glaser?”

Lem sighed. “ We didn’t kill anyone, Doctor. Chubs and his security team, working under my father’s instructions, saved our lives. And no, they didn’t kill them to protect corporate secrets. We were threatened. You were there. Now, put it out of your mind. I need that brain of yours focused on other matters.”

“Your idea.”

“I agree that gravity focusing is the future of the company, but not in its present state, not as a glaser. It’s too unstable. The subsequent gravity field is too unpredictable.”

“We’ve been working sixteen-hour days for almost two years, nearly getting ourselves killed to demonstrate this glaser for you, Lem, and suddenly you’re not interested?”

“On the contrary. I’m very interested. But I think you’ll agree our current model needs some work. I’m merely making a suggestion on how to improve it. If it’s a terrible idea, you’ll tell me. You’re the engineer, not me.”

“What’s the idea?”

“Two glaserlike devices connected to each other like a bola that can be placed on opposite sides of an asteroid. Like earmuffs. They operate under the same principle, but their gravity fields counter each other, so the asteroid is still ripped to shreds by tidal forces, but the gravity field doesn’t grow to unstable levels. It’s far more contained. The rock is still ground to powder, but nobody dies.”

“I’ll put a team on it,” said Benyawe. “I’ll oversee it personally. It’s a good idea. It’s worth exploring.”

Lem was surprised. He had expected a polite, yet slightly condescending lecture on how the idea was appreciated but far too impractical, a verbal pat on the head that essentially said, “Why don’t you leave the thinking to the grown-ups?” After all, how could he presume to think of something they hadn’t? They were the most brilliant minds in their fields. He wasn’t a scientist; he didn’t know physics, not to their level anyway. Yet Benyawe was going with the idea. Or was she merely placating him? No. It was a good idea. It did have promise. And isn’t this what entrepreneurs do? They have ideas, and they call on people who can make them happen. Isn’t that what Father had done?

Lem left the dining hall with a spring in his step, which was easy in zero gravity. Everything was finally working out. It was all coming together. He had four cargo bays nearly full of cylinders as a gift for the Board. He had successful tests with the glaser. Podolski was handling the snafu with El Cavador, so that would go away. And now, if Benyawe and her team pulled through, he might return to Luna with plans for the next generation glaser, an idea for which he could largely take credit.

Lem smiled.

He had gone through a rocky patch, yes, but the old Lem Jukes was back. He stopped and checked his reflection in one of the shiny metallic columns positioned throughout the ship. He hadn’t shaved in two days, but he liked the stubbly facial hair. It was that rugged, devil-may-care look that women he had known seemed to swoon over. He put his shoulders back and checked his profile. It was the look of a leader, a face that demanded to be followed. He had Father to thank for that.

He straightened his jacket, checked his other profile, and continued on. He hadn’t gone far when he passed a female crewmember-someone who worked in the kitchen by the looks of her. He gave her his best smile, and the woman nodded and blushed, continuing on her way. So he still had it. After almost two years out of the game, he hadn’t lost his appeal.

He took the tube to his quarters and wondered whom he should call on when he returned to Earth. It probably wasn’t too early to think about that. If he achieved a more prominent place in the company as he expected, it would pay to have a woman at his side. Not necessarily a wife, per se. But someone who could accompany him to corporate engagements and charm members of the Board.

Lem put on some music, took off his greaves and vambraces, and floated over to his computer terminal. There was no shortage of beautiful women in his contact list: women of enterprise, medicine, science, entertainment, even a Danish countess, though Lem had found her rather self-absorbed eventually. He clicked through their photos and smiled at the memories. Many had progressed to a third or fourth date, but rarely had they gone any further. Lem traveled too extensively and worked too heavily.

The most recent entry was over two years old, he noticed, but that was to be expected: Lem had been in space. Other entries were as old as seven or eight years, which surprised him. Had it been that long? Worse still, he hadn’t maintained contact with any of them, even though he had promised to stay in touch with them all. He suddenly realized how foolish he would sound trying to contact them when he returned. Hey, remember me? We had dinner seven years ago and I was completely charming and then never called. Shall I pick you up at eight?

How classy. Lem allowed his eyes to readjust until he saw his own reflection on the terminal screen. He was kidding himself, and he knew it. He pushed off the desk, found his razor, and shaved. Stubbly hair indeed.

He was towel-drying his face when an alert popped up in the holospace above his desk. Lem waved his hand through it, authorizing the message. Chubs’s head appeared in the holospace. “We’re getting a high-bandwidth radio message over an emergency frequency, Lem. And you won’t believe who it is.”

“Someone we know?”

“El Cavador,” said Chubs.

Lem froze. El Cavador? How was that possible? “I thought the radio was down. I thought we had interference.” They hadn’t received any messages for days now.

“The interference mostly affects long-range transmissions,” said Chubs. “If a transmission is close enough and strong enough, it gets through apparently.”

“How close is El Cavador?”

“A day behind us. Matching our speed.”

Lem swore under his breath. A single day. They were practically on top of them. Well that was just perfect.

“It’s worse than you think,” said Chubs. “They’re asking for you personally.”

Lem closed his eyes. Everything was coming apart again. Podolski couldn’t have wiped El Cavador already. It was too soon. The free miners had been tracking him. They must have read Lem’s files and now they’re coming to name their price for the files’ safe return.

“What do I tell them?” asked Chubs.

For a moment, Lem considered not taking the transmission. If he ignored them, maybe they’d go away. But no, if extortion was their agenda, they’d only go somewhere else and sell the data, which would be worse. “Put it through,” said Lem. “But I want you watching and recording this holo, Chubs. You alone.”

“Understood.”

Chubs winked out, and the woman’s head appeared in the holospace. She looked exactly as she had months ago: old and commanding and made of steel.

Lem checked his collar then leaned his face into the holospace so that she could see him as well. There would be a time delay in their conversation, and the length of the delay would depend entirely on how close the two ships were.

The old woman spoke first. “Mr. Jukes, I had hoped that our paths would never cross again, but circumstances demand it. I am Concepcion Querales, captain of El Cavador. We are contacting you because we require your assistance. Weigh Station Four has been destroyed. I am sending you all the files I have to prove this fact to you and your crew.”

Lem said nothing. If files were coming, he knew Chubs would immediately start combing through them. But Weigh Station Four destroyed? Impossible. Lem had left there, what, less than a week ago? This was a trick. They were plotting something.

As if Concepcion could read his mind, she said, “Everything I am about to tell you will sound ludicrous to you, and you will no doubt think this some ploy on our part to seek revenge for your attack on our ship. I assure you this is not the case. I am contacting you, Mr. Jukes, because we are desperate for your assistance. An alien ship has entered our solar system. Among the data I have sent you are its trajectory and coordinates. You can look for yourself and see that it’s there. This ship is already responsible for the deaths of an estimated six hundred people, including everyone aboard Weigh Station Four and three members of my own crew. Among the data I’ve sent you is a video of the alien species. This is not a joke, Mr. Jukes, and I would not be contacting you unless we were in dire need. I am sending you rendezvous coordinates. A WU-HU vessel in the area has agreed to join us in an attack on the ship six days from now. Our hope is that you will add your ship’s strength to ours. The alien ship continues to decelerate, and if we all accelerate and change our course slightly, we can intercept it and save countless lives, perhaps Earth itself. I will give you and your crew three hours to review our data and respond. Please acknowledge message received and intention to respond.”

Lem didn’t move, trying to keep his face free of any surprise. “Message received. We will respond. Makarhu out.”

He pulled his face out of the holospace. Chubs’s head appeared almost instantly in front of him. “We got their files. I thought it might be loaded with a virus, but it’s clean. The navigator ran the coordinates she gave us for the ship.”

“And?”

Chubs shook his head. “You better get up here, Lem. There’s something out there. Something like I’ve never seen.”

Lem and Chubs spent two hours going over all of the data from El Cavador. When they finished, they immediately went looking for Benyawe. They found her down in the engineering room with six other engineers, drawing rudimentary designs on the wall of Lem’s new idea for the glaser.

Benyawe smiled when Lem entered. “Mr. Jukes, we were just discussing this bola-shaped design of yours. Perhaps you could explain to the engineers what you explained earlier to me?”

“Some other time,” said Lem. He touched a button, made the drawings disappear, and turned to the gathered engineers. “If you’ll excuse us, we need a moment with Dr. Benyawe in private on an urgent matter.” He gestured to the door. The engineers exchanged glances, startled, then quickly gathered their things and left. Chubs locked the hatch behind them.

“You’ve got my attention,” said Benyawe, with a look of concern.

Lem first played the holo message from Concepcion. Then he played the vids from El Cavador on the wall. Benyawe watched everything in silence, showing little reaction, like a calculating scientific observer. She didn’t even jump as Lem had when the hormiga showed itself on the surface of the pod. When the vids were over, she asked specific questions, and Chubs answered by putting the rest of the data from El Cavador up on the wall. Benyawe was silent as she read through it, clicking through the various windows, checking the math, rechecking the coordinates.

When she finished, she turned and faced Lem. “We can’t call them hormigas. That’s Spanish for ‘ant.’ The scientific community would never approve of a living language classification. It needs to be the Latin. Formic. At least that’s my professional recommendation.”

Lem blinked. “Who the hell cares what we call them? I’ve just showed you a damn alien species, Benyawe. What difference does their name make?”

“All the difference in the world,” said Benyawe. “This is the greatest scientific discovery in our history, Lem. This changes everything. This answers the most fundamental scientific question out there. Are we alone in the universe? The answer, obviously, is no, we are not. And further, we’re not the most technologically advanced species, either, which will sting every human’s pride, I suspect.”

“I am not interested in science, Doctor,” said Lem. “Your scientific mind might be tickled pink at this discovery, but my mind, my logical, practical, reasoning mind, is peeing in his mind pants. There is an alien ship out there rocketing toward Earth with unimaginable firepower and likely malicious intent. Now, if there is any chance whatsoever that this is a hoax and Chubs and I are gullible idiots, tell me now.”

“No,” said Benyawe. “This is legitimate. The evidence is incontrovertible.”

“No doubt in your mind?” asked Chubs.

“None. We need to relay this information to Earth immediately.”

“We can’t,” said Chubs. “Long-range comm is currently shot because of the interference.”

“Even the laserline?” asked Benyawe.

“The transmitter’s out,” said Chubs. “El Cavador believes the venting of the alien ship may have damaged external sensors as far away as a million kilometers. We hadn’t tried sending a laserline in a while or we would have noticed the problem sooner.”

“Now you know what we know,” said Lem. “How do we respond to El Cavador? I’ve already gotten Chubs’s opinion. Now I want yours.”

Benyawe looked surprised by the question. “We tell them we’ll fight, of course. We tell them we’ll be at their side, giving them everything we’ve got. We have to stop that ship, Lem. Destroy it if we can, though I suspect their captain is correct. Crippling it is the best we can hope for. But as for our answer, it must be a resounding and absolute yes. The Makarhu will join the fight.”

Lem nodded gravely. “That’s what I thought you would say.”

“You disagree?” asked Benyawe. “It’s my vote against both of yours?”

“No,” said Lem. “The decision’s unanimous. We attack these bastards.”