Sullivan Saga 3: Sullivan's Watch (9 page)

That was well enough. If he had any hopes of protecting the people above, he would have to draw the attention of any more aliens who came up the stairs.

Adams pulled a metal desk from one of the offices and pushed it onto its side. It wouldn’t provide much protection, but it would keep the aliens from getting a clear shot at him. From his angle, he could see the stairs leading down. He’d be able to spot the heads of the tall aliens as they rounded the bend.

He didn’t have to wait long. He fired off a shot as the helmet of an alien came into view. It fell backward down the stairs but was soon replaced by another who moved quickly, hugging the wall and disappearing into the blind corner just below the last flight.

Adams trained his gun on the spot where the alien would have to come into view if it moved farther up the stairs. Something did come into view, but it wasn’t the head of the alien. A black cylinder with a flashing red light on it flew through the air, struck the doorframe and bounced into the hallway.

Adams saw the alien dive down into the other section of stairs for cover, and he did the same, dropping to the floor behind the desk and crawling as far away as possible.

It took him only a second after the explosion to realize that he was injured. The metal desk was mangled beyond recognition, and bits of shrapnel were imbedded in his legs and backside.

Adams flipped over onto his back despite the pain and brought his energy rifle up. He fired a round into the stairwell as he saw movement. Using one arm and his legs, he pushed himself along the floor, toward the recessed doorway he’d taken refuge in before. A trail of blood stained the tile floor of the hallway as he dragged his nearly useless legs around the side of the wall with his arm then readjusted his position so he was on his side and could bring his rifle up to his shoulder.

Adams poked his head—and his rifle—around the corner and fired at the alien that had just stepped through from the stairwell. He hit it in the region of the knee, severing the alien’s leg as the blast of energy blew part of it away. The alien fell but was quickly replaced by one of its comrades. This one fired several rounds toward Adams, forcing him to retreat back into the alcove.

He heard a beeping sound and, before he had time to wonder, knew what was causing it. Another of the alien grenades landed in front of him. Adrenaline powered through the pain in his legs, and he jumped up and through the door into the office. He kicked the door shut with his foot and dove to one side as the grenade went off, splintering the door and shattering the glass in the window opposite.

Adams limped to the window and looked down. He was too high to escape that way, but he noticed a dozen alien soldiers standing outside, guarding the entrance to the command center.

He only had seconds to act. The aliens inside the building would be preparing to storm into the room, but he knew he could still do some damage to the enemy. He raised his rifle and took aim at the aliens below. He dropped three of them then spun around at the sound of movement at the doorway. He didn’t have a chance to fire. The alien soldier already had his rifle raised and aimed at Adams’s chest.

General William Adams nodded, closed his eyes and took his last breath.

A KNOCK CAME at the door of his quarters, and Commander David Pickett got up from him bunk. He opened the door and was greeted by Lieutenant James Kern. Pickett returned Kern’s salute then shook his hand.

“How are you, Jim?”

“Could be better.” Kern pulled the chair out from the desk as Pickett sat back down on his bunk.

“Yeah… me, too,” said Pickett. “So where were you when the alien ship exploded?”

“I’d ejected, like you. My ship was hit early in the battle, and I had reached a safe distance before it blew.”

“You know no one else made it, right?”

“Yes.”

Pickett picked up the tablet sitting on his bed. “A few others ejected successfully but were killed before their chairs got them to safety.”

“I saw one of them. It was Underwood, I think. I saw him eject, but the alien fighter that had hit him just retargeted the chair and fired a missile at him. He was out of the fight, Dave, and they killed him anyway.”

Pickett nodded. “This battle… I feel like it was a test, you know? Like they wanted to see what we could do, gather as much information as possible. That’s why they let our first few salvos just hit their shield.”

“I thought they already did that with Mars.”

“But we didn’t have a carrier around Mars at that time. Whatever information they got from that attack was apparently incomplete. Maybe they were just trying to see if we had any defensive shielding around our cities like the ones protecting their ships.”

“So you think they could have done more damage here?”

“If they’d hit us hard right when they showed up, before the
Valiant
got into range? Yes. And I think that’s what the next one is going to do.”

“You heard what’s going on down on the surface?”

“Yes.”

“Actual alien soldiers now, not just those weird creatures.”

Pickett sighed. “Jim, I just got out of a briefing with Admiral Long. General Adams’s headquarters were overrun. The general is believed to be dead. They’re targeting the command structure on the ground. Units are being cut off from one another, and the aliens keep moving the locations of the wormholes. There’s no way to predict where they’ll show up. They can even appear behind defensive lines if they want. This isn’t going our way, either up here or down there.”

Kern nodded. “Yeah.”

“Anyway, the admiral told me the
Izumo
is coming back from search and rescue operations on Mars, and the
Oberon
will be leaving orbit around Jupiter. They’ve both been called to defend Earth.”

“They’re small ships. Smaller than the
Artemis
and the
Europa
, and look what happened to them.”

“I know. But I need to ask you something. If—when—another alien ship arrives, the admiral is going to throw everything at it, try to weaken its shield as quickly as possible. We fully expect them to have some sort of defensive capabilities we haven’t yet seen, and we’re to make sure the big missiles hit that shield to weaken it. Then, hopefully, there will be enough of us to punch a hole through the shield like before.”

“I get what you’re saying, Dave. It’ll be a suicide mission.”

“Probably.”

Kern nodded. “But I don’t get why they’d send a big ship like that just to be destroyed. Why not attack in force from the start?”

“What if they had and we’d outmatched them? They’d have had much greater casualties. This way they know exactly what to send at us the next time.”

“Send from where? Has anyone figured out where they’re coming from?”

“No. We don’t really know how wormholes work. Until this attack, we didn’t even know if they existed. They could be a thousand light years away or a million. I don’t suppose that matters right now.”

“So they attack Mars then disappear. Then they attack Earth, both up here and on the ground. Why? What do they want?”

“I don’t suppose that matters, either. But they’re going to kill all of us in order to get it.”

“Well, there’s no way I’m going to make it easy for them.”

Pickett smiled. “Neither am I. No matter what happens on the ground, we have a job to do up here. There are people studying the footage of the battle right now. They’re going to be setting up a simulator program with the information we know about the enemy fighters—how they move, the range of their weapons, things like that. I’m told it’ll be ready by eighteen hundred. Will you be ready for a practice run with me at that time?”

Kern stood and saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Pickett saluted back. “I’ll see you then, Lieutenant.”

PETER AND MARCO moved quickly but cautiously, staying a good distance off the road as they made their way to the town where Marco’s family lived.

Peter had used the time of his incarceration for study, and the history of Italy was a particular topic he’d delved into with great interest. Three hundred years earlier, the area they were now walking in had been a sprawling suburb of Rome. But it was around that time many of the major cities of Earth began to shrink, to let the countryside return to a more rural state in the interests of quality of life. Sprawling metropolises came to be seen as an eyesore and, as people moved to the new planets that were being discovered thanks to hyperspace travel, many cities began to reverse their outward sprawl and pull back to a downtown area and a few smaller suburbs. After all, to work in Rome or Paris or New York, one no longer had to live near the city. Many preferred a quieter life in smaller cities or even towns or villages of only a few thousand people.

Throughout much of the world, the past one hundred and fifty years had seen a return to “traditional” architecture. The world was now unified politically, but people still wanted to hold on to some aspects of their heritage. There was no more immediate way to connect with one’s roots than to live in a home whose design predated the homogenization of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.

As they walked, Peter noticed that the trend was in full force in this part of Italy. In the distance, a kilometer or two off the main road, Peter could see small villages that, aside from the vehicles on the streets and a few other modern details, could have existed in the nineteenth or early twentieth centuries. Some structures harkened back even further, to the late Medieval or Renaissance periods, in an attempt to give the villages a sense of antiquity.

In between the villages and the road were fields of corn, wheat and other grains. At one point, they passed a fledgling vineyard. These were small hobby farms; most of the world’s food was grown on industrial farms located in Argentina, Eastern Europe, India, China and North America’s Midwest.

Peter didn’t doubt that the operations of these small farms were mostly automated. In fact, with the proper technology, there was no need for human hands to ever touch a plant, from seed to harvest. The automation of nearly all industries meant that worldwide, there was a great reduction in the demand for labor. During the early days of globalization and automation, this had led to high levels of unemployment across the world, particularly in America and Europe as manufacturing jobs moved to developing countries. Eventually, however, the workers in those countries also began to demand a living wage, and by the time the first truly global government was put in place, every human on the planet was guaranteed to be provided with the necessities of life. Some still fell through the cracks due to drug abuse, mental illness—if they were unwilling to seek treatment—or for other reasons, but the number of homeless or those living in poverty was less than two percent worldwide. Even so, those still living on Earth knew that life on some other planets was much worse, and more than one social commentator had noted that Earth and the other Stellar Assembly planets had essentially become the “first world,” and the “third world” had been shunted off to the more distant and less developed planets.

But Peter knew that was all about to change. This invasion, from what he had seen and heard, had a very real possibility of destroying the Earth’s infrastructure, even if they ultimately defeated the aliens. When much of the planet’s population was used to working twenty hours a week in non-labor-intensive jobs, would there be the physical will to rebuild after such an event?

Marco pulled Peter from his thoughts by nudging him and pointing at a sign next to the road. “My village. Three kilometers.”

Peter nodded. “How big is it?”

“Two thousand people only. The aliens won’t bother.” He grinned and clapped Peter on the shoulder.

“I hope you’re right.”

Marco waved his hand dismissively. “Rome is too big. And there are so many other big cities. Why would they come here?”

“I don’t know. I’m just saying don’t be too complacent. When we get to your family’s house, we need to gather food, water, supplies, try to make it defensible….”

Marco grinned again. “Don’t worry, Peter.”

Peter walked on in silence, watching the back of Marco’s head. The man put on a good act, but by the way he kept swiveling his head, searching the fields beside the road, Peter knew he was nervous.

A kilometer down the road, a small forest took over the fields.

“I played here when I was a boy,” Marco said. “There are good trees here, old trees. Just before I went to prison, I helped my nephew build a tree house. If you’re worried, you can hide there.” He laughed and pointed up the road. “You see the exit? We follow that road another kilometer and a half, and we will be there.”

“Good.” Peter glanced at his watch. There were about two hours of daylight left, and he didn’t want to be caught out in the open come nightfall.

They reached the turnoff and took it toward the village. To the right, the forest stretched off into the distance, but there was more farmland to the left. As they approached the village, Peter began to make out the details. It was in the style of the others he had seen and was dominated by a tall brick bell tower at the center of town.

Marco led him into the town and through a series of mazelike streets before arriving at a house and knocking on the door. Curtains fluttered in the window, and a moment later the door was thrown open and Marco was pulled into the arms of an older woman. From the conversation, Peter knew that she was Marco’s mother.

After nearly a minute of hugging and chatting excitedly in Italian, the woman turned to look at Peter. Marco began explaining, and the woman nodded curtly then let them inside.

They were shown into a living room where they sat as Marco’s mother busied herself in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

“She recognizes you,” Marco said.

Peter let out a breath. “I should go, then.”

“No,” Marco said. “I will explain it to her. I will make it right. But first you must tell me something. You said during your trial that you were—what, possessed?—when you killed Pope Pius.”