Steven Kent - The Clone Alliance

“On a transport? That would never work. You would not have had enough power,” Brocius said.

“Ah.” Yamashiro nodded. “Maybe even if you generated enough power, the metal hull of a transport would not be well suited for the electrical discharge.” It was a cultural thing. What he meant was, There’s more than enough power, asshole, but you would blow up your ship .

“Really?” Brocius asked. “I have long wondered why our engineers have never retrofitted transports for broadcast. Now I guess I know.” He pointed to the furniture. “Have a seat. Harris, I know you’re probably well lubed after a night with the boys, but can I fix you a drink?”

Yamashiro’s whiskey on the rocks looked good, but I decided to play it politic. “No thank you, sir,” I said. Had it just been Yamashiro and I, I would have been on my third drink by this time.

We took our seats.

“I’m betting that Admiral Brallier is giving his boys a briefing as we speak. I apologize for not getting to you sooner, Harris. You deserve to be in the loop.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

“We’ve compared the video record you took on the derelict to what we’ve found on the captured ship. Any guesses on the differences between the two ships?”

“The second broadcast engine,” I said.

“You’re halfway there, Harris,” Brocius said. “They changed the entire engine room. They also changed the shields.”

“The ship you brought back has changed very little since my engineers renovated it two years ago,” Yamashiro said. “The broadcast engine is untouched.”

“From what we can tell, the Mogats placed components for two additional shield systems on the battleship Porter sank. One of the shields came with its own generator. It was designed to protect the secondary broadcast engine. As you probably noticed, both the shield and the broadcast engine are still running.

“The Mogats stripped out the ship’s original shield system and replaced it with something new.

“Whatever they have, it’s powerful. Porter hit that battleship with lasers, particle beams, and torpedoes before it went down. We’ve gone over that battle from every angle. Until the fatal shot, nothing came close to penetrating its shields.”

Brocius sat silently for a moment. He sipped his Scotch and considered what to say next. Finally, he placed his drink on an end table, and said, “You know what our engineers are saying? They think the damn shields eat energy. No kidding. They absorb energy out of lasers and particle beams and use it to recharge their batteries. Hell, they think that shield can even strip the kinetic energy out of explosions.

“Of course, that’s all conjecture. We won’t know anything until we see one of the shields on this ship up and running.”

“What about the shields on the battleship—”

“The one you captured?” Brocius interrupted. “We found the shield system but not the shield generator.”

“Maybe they used the generator from the original shield system,” I suggested.

“We do not think that is the case,” Yamashiro said. He finished his whiskey and went to the bar to fix another.

“While we were dissecting their ship, we found a signal receiver hooked into the weapons systems. This is all theory, of course, but it looks like the Mogats are broadcasting the shields as some kind of signal to their ships. The problem is, the only way to test that theory is to fly the ship into Mogat territory,” Brocius said. “I suppose we could take the ship back to where we found it.”

“Maybe not just there,” Yamashiro called from behind the bar. “My engineers estimate that there will be a hundred-million-mile radius in which you can receive that signal.

“You remember when I told you that I thought the Mogats wanted to create a broadcast network? I thought they would use it for communications. After seeing this shield system, I have changed my mind. Now I believe they are using their network to broadcast their shield signal.” He filled his tumbler four fingers full and rejoined us.

“What happens if we shut the signal down?” I asked.

“The Mogats have disabled the original shields on their ships,” Yamashiro said, a wicked smile on his lips. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, then blew the smoke out through his nostrils. “If they lose their shield signal, they will be completely unprotected. I would enjoy seeing that battle.”

“I heard the Mogats lost four ships in the Orion Arm,” I said. “What if they are using those ships as broadcast stations for their shield signal?”

“They probably are. Fortunately, they don’t seem interested in placing a station near Earth.”

I thought about my last conversation with Freeman and realized that they already had a broadcast station in place.

Brocius had a tall Scotch which he would likely nurse all night. He seldom touched it. When he did pick it up, he swirled the ice around the glass and took short sips.

“You remember Ray Freeman?” I asked.

“Of course,” Brocius said. I did not even bother looking for a nod from Yamashiro. He would remember Freeman vividly.

“He found a Mogat base,” I said.

“On Earth? Impossible,” Brocius said. “We would have known about it. Where did he say it was located, somewhere near Antarctica?”

“Washington, DC, sir,” I said.

“And you believe him?” Brocius asked.

“Freeman? If he says it is there, it’s there.”

Yamashiro listened without offering any information. He lit a new cigarette and enjoyed the smoke. I got the feeling that he agreed with me about trusting Freeman.

“So you think the Mogats have a secret base on Earth, somewhere near Washington, DC?” Brocius said. “Rubbish. That’s just pure…fantasy.”

“After the Galactic Central War, we went forty years without seeing a single Mogat ship,” I said. “The battle in Outer Perseus was our first sighting in months. Now, over the last two weeks, they’re all over the place. Each engagement ends the same way—they lose one ship and run away.”

“It does seem like they are ramping up.” Brocius forgot himself and took a long pull of his Scotch.

“If they have a working base on Earth, they may be ready to attack,” Yamashiro said.

“Admiral Brallier wants to send his SEALs out to disband their network. He wants to send them out in demolition teams to blow up the Mogat wrecks,” Brocius said.

“I’m not sure that would work, sir,” I said.

“I know,” Brocius agreed. “Waste of time. We might be able to blow up the ships, but with those shields, we can’t touch the broadcast gear. It’s a specking nightmare. It’s like having a damned tumor and not being able to cut it out.”

“Our only choice is to strike first,” I said.

“Take out their shields at the source?” Brocius asked. “It does seem like the only alternative, assuming we are not too late.” He thought for a moment, “Assuming Freeman is right about that base, and we’re not too late.”

Clearly shaken by the news that the Mogats had landed on Earth, Brocius drained the Scotch I had expected him to hold all night. “I’m glad we talked,” he said, and he stood, signaling both Yamashiro and me that our meeting had ended. As we rose to our feet, Brocius added, “You know what frustrates the hell out of me? It’s the feeling like we’ve won every damned battle, but we’re still losing the war.”

Admiral Brocius paused to think about what he had just said. “Listen to me. I’m swearing like a specking Marine.”

We had breakfast in a cafeteria meant for dry-dock employees. They fed us whatever we wanted. I grabbed a tray and ordered a four-egg scramble, five strips of bacon, a double order of potatoes, two slices of toast, and two cups of orange juice. The food felt heavy on my tray.