Steven Kent - The Clone Redemption

“The end of the week?” I asked.

“It will happen within the next three days judging by the Tachyon D levels,” Breeze said.

Tachyon D was the harbinger of disaster. From what we could tell, the Avatari built their technology around the manipulation of tachyons—subatomic particles that moved faster than the speed of light. Before the Avatari invaded the galaxy, scientists considered tachyons a “theoretical probability.”

Once the aliens moved in on us, tachyons moved from “theoretical possibility” to “lethal reality.” With Sweetwater and Breeze spearheading the work, U.A. physicists not only learned how to detect tachyons, but apparently they’d now figured out how to classify them.

“To be honest, the Joint Chiefs haven’t shown much interest in any planet since we discovered Tachyon D levels in Earth’s atmosphere,” said Breeze.

“You found Tachyon D in Earth’s atmosphere?” I asked. I expected the aliens would work their way to Earth, but this was too fast.

“We’ve found traces of it on every habitable planet,” Sweetwater said. “The gears are definitely in motion.”

We were out of options. We were out of answers, and we were still at war with ourselves.

I had given Admiral Steve Jolly command of the Navy, but I kept Sweetwater and Breeze to myself. I did not have much of a choice in the matter. Freeman owned our only portal for reaching the scientists, and he wasn’t about to turn the device over to a fool like Jolly.

For what it was worth, I agreed with Freeman. Real or virtual, I felt a deep obligation toward the scientists. I’d served with them on New Copenhagen and seen them die with honor. In the Marine Corps, we took death, debts, and honor seriously.

We took the chain of command seriously, too. Leaving out the source of my information, I notified Admiral Jolly about the pending attack on Gobi.

“How did you come upon this information?” asked Jolly. He was on the Windsor , a fighter carrier in the Perseus Arm.

“Stray intel,” I said, hoping it would make the question go away.

“Stray intelligence?” he repeated.

“Yes, sir.”

“What exactly does that mean, Harris?” He gave me a hard look, a surveying look, maybe trying to decide whether or not to trust me.

I said, “It means that I am not willing to divulge my source.” I sat placid, relaxed, returning his inspection with a calm gaze.

A more self-confident officer would have pushed the issue. Jolly simply said, “Your stray intelligence just happens to match my findings. It turns out Gobi was the first planet we took after Terraneau. From what we know, that should make it the aliens’ next target.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“You said something about hiding underground on Terraneau. Can we do that on Gobi?”

Fat and old and something of a coward, Admiral Jolly was the quintessential survivor. He’d probably never gone a day without brushing his teeth. The idea of saving lives without risking ships and personnel appealed to officers of his kind.

“Have you ever visited Gobi, Admiral?” I asked.

“Yes, and you were there at the same time,” he said. “I attended Warshaw’s summit with Admiral Huxley.” I had not known the late Admiral Huxley. He was one of the victims of the Olympus Kri Massacre.

“I hid in a tunnel under a lake on Terraneau,” I said. “As far as I know, Gobi doesn’t have tunnels or lakes.”

Jolly said, “If I am not mistaken, Gobi Station has underground levels.” Gobi Station was the base that the late Admiral Warshaw had used as his Pentagon. “What if we evacuated people to the base?” he asked.

I considered the idea and dismissed it. “We might be able to stash a few hundred people there, but I’m not sure we’d be able to get them out after the attack. Gobi Station is made out of plastic and metal. It’s going to melt when things get hot.”

“Melt?”

“The atmospheres of Terraneau and Olympus Kri hit nine thousand degrees. Everything made out of glass, steel, or plastic ended up in a puddle,” I said.

“Nine thousand degrees?” Jolly had some idea about how the aliens operated, but he did not know the specifics. “That doesn’t sound possible. Nine thousand degrees …how do you heat a planet to nine thousand degrees?”

“If we knew how the bastards did it, we’d do it to them,” I said.

Jolly massaged his brow with a pudgy thumb and sausageshaped pointer finger, sitting silently as he considered his options. “How are we supposed to evacuate an entire planet?” he asked.

“Gobi’s only the first. We’ll need to evacuate all of our planets,” I pointed out. “At least we’re starting light. The population of Gobi is less than a million.”

“Do you know how many ships we’d need to transport a million civilians?”

“Four,” I said.

“You’re planning on stealing the Unifieds’ barges,” Jolly said. He sounded impressed.

“The word ‘stealing’ has such a negative connotation,” I said. “Let’s just say I plan on commandeering the barges. We’ll give them back once the emergency passes.”

“Do you even know where the barges are moored?” Jolly asked.

“Last I heard, they were orbiting Mars.”

“It sounds like you have it all worked out, General. Is that just bluster, or do you really believe you can hijack those barges?”

I laughed. “Oh, I’ll get them. The Unifieds aren’t going to shoot at us once we board the barges. They need those scows as much as we do.”

“Then what?” asked Jolly.

That question took me by surprise. I asked, “Then what …what?”

“If I understand what you are saying, you and a small team of operatives plan to sneak behind enemy lines and board twenty-five ships that are not self-broadcasting and have no defenses. Your only protection is that the Unifieds probably won’t risk shooting at the ships, but you’re still trapped in Unified Authority space,” Jolly pointed out. “General, you haven’t thought this through.”

“The Unifieds have a temporary broadcast station orbiting Mars. They used it to broadcast the barges to Olympus Kri.”

“Are you sure it’s still there?” asked Liotta.

“Yes,” I said. In truth, I had no idea.

“And you believe it is still operational?” asked Jolly.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you can access it? Please tell me that you are not simply planning to sail into a broadcast station without knowing where it will send you.”

Actually, I was, but I had an answer. “I have engineers who can hack into the satellite’s computers.”

It was true, too. I’d asked Lieutenant Mars if he had any way of hijacking a U.A. broadcast satellite. He smiled, and said, “Sure. No problem. It’s a U.A. installation; my guys know how to get past their security codes. We can even make it play ‘Nearer My God to Thee’ on its sound system.”

I laughed, and said, “I’m not up on my hymns.”

Admiral Jolly cleared his throat, and his drooping jowls wobbled. He said, “Assuming you are able to locate the barges and assuming you are able to spirit them away to Gobi, what are you planning to do with the refugees you rescue?”

“Evacuate them,” I said.

“And where are you going to put them?” Not looking so jolly, the admiral growled as he asked this question and squinted at me. Multiple chins bounced below his jaw.

“Oh,” I said. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

That was a moment when salvation came from an unexpected source. Admiral Liotta said, “We have facilities on Providence Kri. There’s empty housing. Hell, we have entire cities that are sitting empty.”

“Yes,” I said. “We can ferry them to Providence Kri.”