Extinction

-3-

When I came down to Andros, I was worried. Did the ground people know? How much did they know?

We’re screwed. That’s the thought that kept bubbling up in my mind. By we, I meant Star Force. We had a hodge-podge international force of nanotized troops. How loyal would they be without a fleet, without an invading enemy to fight against? Was everything I’d spent so many lives building up about to implode?

Alamo’s big, black hand descended with smooth speed. She dropped me off at the main base, at the command bunker. It was a steel, prefab building. We’d only just gotten a white coat of paint on it to keep the heat down. I knew they’d be in there—Crow’s Generals. I’d only met with them a few times, mostly online, and we’d never liked each other.

Overhead, the Alamo hovered, blotting out the sun from the sky. The men at the door saluted me. I smiled at them and tossed one back. Who knew, maybe it was my last chance to be treated by my marines with full respect. They eyed me and the Alamo with furtive glances. They tried to look calm, but they weren’t. They were good men, but their eyes were filled with concern and curiosity. They’d heard something. Whatever it was they’d heard, it hadn’t been good.

I threw open the command bunker’s double-doors and marched into the cool gloom. Air conditioners thrummed and computers murmured. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the muted light after the blazing sands outside.

“Colonel Riggs?” said one of them. All three of Crow’s Generals were there. The one that had spoken was General Sokolov. He was a stout man with thick, black eyebrows that needed trimming. His black eyes were small, narrow and annoyed. He’d always been the biggest bastard of the lot. He sounded surprised to see me—and not the happy kind of surprised, either. Maybe he’d been expecting someone else. I decided not to ask him about it.

“None other,” I said. “I’m here on an important mission, men—ah, sirs.”

I approached them. One of those big table-surface computers, this one about the size of a pool table, filled the center of the room at hip-level. They leaned on it, hats tipped back and ties loosened. They looked like they’d been sweating it out, watching our confrontation with the Macro battle fleet. I couldn’t blame them for that.

They stared at me as I walked up. I could tell, just looking at them, that none of them had yet taken the nanite injections. I’d learned to notice tell-tale signs. Our kind didn’t slouch much. Nanite-enhanced troops stood as if our feet glided on air. As if Earth’s gravity had no effect on us—or as if it had only the light tug of the Moon. We didn’t slouch, because we were strong. We didn’t feel weighed down. We could get tired, but that was mostly in the mind. Our brains still needed sleep, dreams and downtime. But our bodies never seemed to run out of gas.

These men looked like they felt the full crushing weight of gravity and their lost power. They looked weak, soft and tired. None of them bothered to salute me. I didn’t bother to salute them, either.

General Sokolov spoke up again. “Do you care to explain yourself, Colonel?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Report then, by all means. Start off by telling me where the hell Admiral Crow is.”

I didn’t like his tone, but I tried to keep the flash of anger I felt off my face. It wouldn’t help anything now.

“I don’t know where Crow is. But the Macros have gone. We’ve negotiated a peace.”

“So I understand. What are the terms?” he asked, putting his butt against the pool table computer and crossing his arms.

“The Macros will be back in one year. We’re to give them tribute.”

“Tribute?” asked the General, with a sneering sound to his voice. I could tell already, he was gearing up to chew me out. I was the moron who had screwed the big, galactic pooch in the sky, and he was going to point it out to the world. I could see it in his eyes.

Sokolov took three steps closer to me. I tried not to twitch. If I did that, I might accidentally reach out and kill him.

“Here’s the deal—” I began, but he cut me off.

“Colonel? Have you been consuming alcohol?”

I glanced at him. I looked guilty for a second, and he smirked. I hated him even more than usual.

“I had a few beers after the Macros retreated.”

Sokolov nodded, as if confirming a natural suspicion. He waved thick fingers in my direction. “Continue. Let’s hear about this tribute. What did you promise these monsters to appease them?”

I blinked, then went on. I glanced at the other two Generals. They both wore stern expressions, but it seemed to me that they wanted to smile. They thought General Sokolov was toying with me, and they were enjoying it. They didn’t like me—the upstart, amateur-hour Colonel. Maybe, in their fantasies, now that Crow was gone, they were in command. Perhaps they believed they would soon be rid of me as well. That thought, and the surprises I knew they had coming in their immediate futures, relaxed me.

I smiled back at General Sokolov. “Let me show you something, sir,” I said, calling him ‘sir’ for the first time. “I think I can make our new political realities abundantly clear to you.”

I walked away slowly toward the door and the front window. The window was big and clean. It consisted of a single sheet of glass that looked out upon the white sands, green trees and sparkling blue Caribbean.

Sokolov hesitated, but followed me after a moment. I pointed upward at the Alamo, which still hovered, waiting overhead.

“You see that, sir? That’s the last ship we have in the fleet. The rest have gone.”

“Gone where?”

“They’re leaving the Solar System, along with our pilots. We’ve ended the war with the Macros, at least for now. Unfortunately, our success ended our arrangements with the Nanos. They were only here until we won or lost. Now that the war against Earth has halted, they’ve decided to pull out and head for the next world.”

The General frowned, nodding his head. “We’d kind of figured that out. What about this tribute? What did you give away?”

“Us,” I said.

“What?”

“You and me. Marines full of nanites and carrying heavy beamers. They want to pick up sixty-five thousand tons of troops and gear one year from now. They’ll be back to collect.”

Sokolov’s jaw dropped. It sagged even lower as he searched my face and realized I was serious.

“You promised them thousands of tons… of troops?”

“Well, most of that weight will be supplies, including air and water, etc.”

“I don’t care about that!” he boomed. “How could you unilaterally promise them troops?”

“We were the only thing the Macros wanted. We were the only thing this star system has that’s better than just raw materials. We’re better, in fact, than their own ground forces, pound-for-pound.”

Sokolov stared, getting his mind wrapped around the idea. I took the time to step back from the window. I took one step. Then a second.

Another of the Generals spoke up then, from behind me. “You can’t do that! You can’t just promise an enemy we’ll give them our troops!”

I shrugged. “Why not? Think of them as mercenaries. That’s what we’ve just become. The best around, apparently. Check your Swiss history. They kept their independence for many centuries in just such a fashion.”

“You, sir,” said General Sokolov, lifting a single, accusatory finger that shook with rage. “You are what Americans would call a ‘fuck-up’. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you. In a single day, you lost our fleet, our Admiral and—and your bloody mind. You are relieved of duty, until such time as we can convene a Court Martial. I have never—”

That was all the time Sokolov was given to sputter and shout at me. His face was red, enraged. His eyes were all but popping out of their sockets and his bushy, black brows were squished together into a furry mass on his forehead. I’ll always remember him that way.

The Alamo used the window. I knew she would—she’d always seemed to prefer windows, even though I’m sure her hand could’ve smashed right through the roof like tissue paper. Maybe she liked using windows for our sake—so her chosen specimen didn’t get too damaged on the way back out.

Whatever the reason, the Alamo smashed in the big window and reached inside with her three-fingered hand of black, snaking cables. She grabbed the first thing she could. That happened to be General Sokolov, naturally. After all, I’d left him standing there.

I think she’d been planning to grab me. If she had wanted just anyone, I supposed the easiest thing would have been to snatch up one of the marines that stood posted outside the door. That would have set Earth’s forces back by one enhanced marine, but maybe she didn’t care or hadn’t thought about that. I knew that all she wanted was a fresh meat-bag for testing purposes on her new mission.

In any case, she reached inside and grabbed the good General Sokolov around his puffy midsection. Like a groping cat’s paw that’s snagged prey, the hand snatched him back out the window. He vanished mid-sentence. I didn’t mind that part, not having been too keen on hearing the rest of his little tirade.

I stepped forward, placed my thick-skinned hands on the smashed-out glass shards, and leaned out to watch. The look on Sokolov’s face was one I’d seen too many times. Shock, horror, disbelief. Eyes bulging, mouth gaping open like a beached fish. He wasn’t screaming, or shouting. Instead, he was making a moaning sound, as if he was trying out for the part of a haunted-house ghost.

Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, I thought to myself. It wasn’t a polite thought, I know. It’s just what came to my mind. Sometimes, my dark side comes out in moments like this.

As Sokolov rose up higher, his face, gazing down into mine, took on an even more pitiful cast. I grunted and felt a bite of remorse. Sometimes, it sucks to have a conscience. I hopped out the window after him. My boots crunched on broken glass.

“What should we do, Colonel?” asked the guards. Their beamers were out. I wondered if they might be able to cut that arm off. Maybe, I thought, but it would leave everyone in the vicinity blinded by the intense beams, including me.

“I’ll handle it,” I said. I stepped out onto the white sands and tilted my head back. I stood in the deep shade cast by the Alamo’s black, ovoid hull. I cupped my hands and shouted up at Sokolov.

“Don’t eat too much!” I shouted. “You might be flying for a very long time!”

That’s all the advice I had time to give him. His hands made grasping motions in the air and then he vanished into the Alamo’s maw like a mouse sucked up by a vacuum. Maybe he’d gotten the message, maybe not. I shrugged. At least I’d tried.

Call it my good deed for the day.