The Cresperian Alliance (5 page)

He gave her his full attention for a moment and answered bluntly. “Frankly, Sandra, I'm rather pleased at the timing. I agree with General Salter. We've known something was wrong for a long time. The Crispies are STILL in their original forms. And it surely doesn't take two years for them to morph into humans, so they're either dragging their feet, too exhausted to make their own changes, or maybe just don't WANT to become human, given intel reports on how they've been treated. The current British government no longer has my confidence or that of my military advisors. Besides, they're there almost constantly now, getting the Crispies to work on them, so it would be next to impossible to find a time when they were NOT there. I only asked you to be present here so that you would be aware of the timing in case we have to make explanations for civilian casualties."

"But Mr. President, this is no way to... at least give some kind of warning!"

"Sandra, the decision has already been made. We shall NOT warn them in advance and give away the lives of many brave soldiers. IS THAT CLEAR?” He thought he had to be absolutely certain she understood; he wouldn't put it past her going straight to the British ambassador with the news otherwise, then claiming it was a “diplomatic necessity.” It was hard to see how she packed such a large ego into such a small frame, with the brain to go with it. Then again, he wondered sardonically, how much brain did she really need? Based on his experience, everything in it already seemed to be hard coded.

Fellowes tightened her lips and nodded reluctantly.

"Fine. Just so you understand. Now we have another subject to discuss. It is also one which you should be aware of if the necessity for diplomatic relations with extraterrestrials becomes necessary."

"ETs! We've found some more? Oh, how wonderful!” Fellowes fairly lilted.

President Waterman flinched, although not visibly. He could practically see into her mind and know she was visualizing the kindly creature of ET, the extraterrestrial from the old movie, a newer version of which had just been released in response to all of the “aliens on Earth” rumors.

"No, it's not wonderful. Their first reaction so far is to shoot as soon as they see us and they are in possession of very big guns, and we assume, many starships."

"But surely it must have been a mistake. Aliens advanced enough to have star travel would obviously be peaceful."

The president saw General Salter roll his eyes. He almost did the same while wondering how she came into the “obvious” knowledge that aliens would be non-warlike.

"Ms. Fellowes, I hate to disillusion you, but the general in command of our starship has already relayed records of the encounters even though they haven't landed yet. The Snappers—"

"Snappers?” Fellowes reiterated, confused.

"The new, hostile aliens. We don't know their species name, but the name derives from their apparent speech. The Snappers obviously shot first and showed not the slightest desire for peaceful relations. On the contrary, they demonstrated an almost maniacal glee in the superiority of their weapons. They took prisoners and refused to negotiate until, very fortunately, our second ship found them and was able to effect a positive outcome to the standoff."

"Standoff?"

"You can look at the recordings yourself. “

"I most certainly shall. I just can't believe beings as advanced as you are claiming these to be aren't peaceful."

"We aren't peaceful, Sandra,” Waterman said and sighed.

"It's the military. If we didn't have militaries, we wouldn't fight. Is that all, sir?” Fellowes dismissed the comment out of hand.

You've gotta be kidding me. She didn't just say that. Somebody please tell me she didn't just say that. What planet is SHE from? Yes, please God, let that be all.
Waterman mentally shook his head. “Yes. I believe that's all for now. Thank you for coming."

She departed, much to his relief and to that of Salter and Martin Singletary, unless he missed his guess.

"Sorry, gentlemen,” he apologized. “Politics sometimes makes strange bedfellows—excuse the pun. Now then, we have another problem. My political advisors tell me that Congress will approve more starships, and armaments for them, but nothing close to what you want."

"Sir, finding two of the, uh, Snappers’ colonies implies interstellar capability of long standing. The fact that they are hostile should indicate the necessity for a crash program."

"Sorry, General. What is, is. Do your best with what you get. Also I want you to keep it secret how much exploring we intend to do. Just as sure as some of the members of Congress hear we're sending out ships on a routine basis, they'll start hollering for us to stay home lest we run into the Snappers and provoke more hostilities. At this point, if we're going to encounter ‘em, I'd a lot rather it be ‘out there’ than right over our heads. Which is sure to happen if we dawdle long enough."

Salter nodded, along with Singletary, but he could see that neither was very happy. He decided there was no sense in prolonging the meeting. “Gentlemen, we'll meet again no later than next week. By that time perhaps public sentiment will become clearer. Thank you for coming."

After they were gone he held off any more appointments for fifteen minutes, which he spent simply thinking. The universe had become much bigger and more threatening in the last couple of years, on his watch of course, and he didn't like it. He thought that was likely to be the public reaction, too. He didn't know what to do about it except to prepare as well as he could and as far as he could push a reluctant Congress. In the meantime there was White Horse to deal with. There was bound to be fireworks over that one.

Sgt. Bangler leaned forward to pay closer attention to the news announcer: Something about a starship returning. The government was finally admitting that there were such ships. At the same time there was also an explanation of that huge explosion that had destroyed the Chinese space facilities a while back. The starship they had been building was poorly constructed and blew up on the launching pad. The Chinese denied it, of course. They claimed that a rogue nation sneaked an H bomb into the facilities, and that had been what had blown up. They didn't bother to explain away the total lack of radioactivity at the remains of the facility.

He found all the news fascinating as hell but it was hard to keep his mind on it. He kept returning to the maps and pictures relating to White Horse. How in the hell were less than fifty men supposed to parachute into an armed country, fight their way into a defended compound, and rescue the aliens? Let alone following up with traveling what looked like five klicks through boulder strewn country and out into a wave tossed ocean to paddle out to a submarine—without getting them all killed? And possibly by their own forces? If they actually managed to pull it off, it would create one hell of a story to tell recruits. Then it occurred to him that if they DIDN'T pull it off, he wouldn't be telling anybody anything.

"What do you think, Sarge?” Wersky asked. “Will this make it harder or easier?"

"Harder,” he declared, looking at the big man. “They'll be keeping a closer eye on their aliens.” He admitted to himself that he really didn't know. It was just something to say. Anyhow, maybe it would keep his heavy machine gunner more alert.

"More work for me,” Nunez sighed. She was the team medic.

"You can work on me anytime,” Wersky said with a smirk.

"You're too big to kill, so don't worry,” she replied bluntly. “Listen to what the president said."

Bangler had heard it.

Dawn of a new age... both threat and opportunity... should mean closer cooperation here on Earth...

Yeah. Closer cooperation while we're getting ready to raid our ally and steal their aliens. Some cooperation.

"We've seen enough of this stuff,” he said, disgusted and mildly nauseated. “Let's go meet with Lieutenant Anderson and see how we're going to work this."

"Come on in, Bang, and bring your people with you,” Anderson said when he pushed open the door of the room where they had agreed to meet. “It is Bang, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir,” he sighed resignedly. “That's what most of the men call me, off duty, anyway."

"Okay,” Anderson said as he looked around the room.

The other eleven men and women of Bang's squad were there. He still had to look at name tags to know most of them. Wersky was no problem; he stood out. Diane was the only woman except the Crispy, Sira; Anderson, the only officer. Tomlinson he knew simply because he was Sira's lover.

"Sergeant Tomlinson and I have already been going over this, but we'd like your opinion. Bang, once we're down, what do you think about the break-in?” Anderson asked.

Bang leaned over the conference table to study the diagram. “How accurate is this, sir?"

The officer shrugged. “It's probably pretty close to right. We've had satellites covering the area ever since the lifeboat landed and they began keeping people away from the area. It may go down two levels but the bet is for only one story underground, with possibly two or three rooms dug in deeper. If so, that's probably where the Crispies will be. Unfortunately, according to our intelligence agent—who, please to note, didn't make it home except in a box—the underground parts are, and I quote, ‘a regular warren.’”

"Shit. Go in as far as it goes and fight all the way out,” Peggy noted. “Assuming we can FIND our way in and out."

"That'd be my guess, Nunez,” Bangler agreed.

"That's what we figured, too, dammit. Any ideas where those deeper rooms might be?” Anderson wondered, directing the question at his most educated staff sergeant.

Bangler pursed his lips to one side in thought, continuing to study the plans. He realized that Anderson was looking to him to confirm his own thoughts, so he pondered a bit before answering.

"I'm thinking either here, or here,” he put his index finger on two different areas of the diagram, then moved back to the first area. “Here, because it's farthest from the stairs of the house, and here,” he moved his finger to the second location, “because it's under the partial second story."

"Hence buried deeper,” Anderson verified.

"Right."

"That will NOT make our job any simpler."

"No sir."

"Which unit are we?” Wersky asked.

"Let's just say,” Anderson replied, “that we're gonna get plenty of interaction with Crispies."

"Uh boy,” Nunez muttered.

"You got a problem with the Crispies, Nunez?” Anderson asked sharply.

"No sir,” she replied calmly. “Just thinking about the magnitude of the task. And wondering how to patch up a Crispy."

"They patch up their own, from what I understand, Sergeant,” Anderson said in a more relaxed tone. “And may even be able to help you patch up any wounded on our team."

"Wow.” Nunez’ eyes grew big with excitement.

"Now, we have an all hands call in one hour back in the auditorium. Video downlink, I have it to understand. Simo feed to us and to the Cabinet."

"Whoa,” Wersky said. “Sounds important."

"It is,” Anderson said soberly. “It's the formal report from the
Zeng Wu
."

"Good or bad?” Bangler wondered. “Any preliminary summaries?"

Anderson drew a deep breath, but Bangler didn't think it calmed him any. He also decided he had his answer regarding preliminary summaries. “You'll see when you watch the video,” Anderson remarked cryptically.

[Back to Table of Contents]

The President's Cabinet gathered in the Oval Office. In a niche to one side of his desk, a video screen had been erected. In front of it were seats sufficient for selected members of the Cabinet only; no aides were permitted at this time. Gradually the various members filed in and took seats. President Waterman winced as Fellowes minced in excitedly and took a seat in the front row.

A special seat in the front was reserved for Admiral Wayne Terhune, commanding officer of the U. S. Space Fleet. He entered, but remained standing. Waterman sat down at his desk, cue for everyone else to sit.

Waterman nodded at Terhune. “Admiral, you may begin."

"Yes, Mr. President."

Everyone who could manage to wangle orders was present in the Enclave auditorium for the all hands. The all hands had originally been intended for just the members of the extraction teams, but as rumor had spread, other important members of the underground facility had wormed in. By the top of the hour all seats were filled and there was a substantial cluster of personnel around the walls.

The voice of the Space Fleet's commanding officer was heard over audio. “Terhune to
USSS Zeng Wu
. Do you copy?"

"
Zeng Wu
to Admiral Terhune. We copy. How do you read?” a crisp voice answered, as the screen in the Oval Office began flickering.

"We read you five by five, Captain Haley,” Terhune replied. “How far out are you?"

"About an hour and a half, Wayne,” Haley responded, as the encrypted video came to life and displayed a haggard man in an Army general's uniform. “We'll be dropping out of unreality drive in an hour."

"Copy that, Sam,” Terhune answered softly. “We're all here, and listening. You can begin your debrief."

Haley drew a deep breath. “First off, you'll notice I'm here and not Captain Bronson. Bronson was killed—as were well over half the crew of the
Zeng Wu
and a significant number of the
Galactic
's crew—by an inimical species we discovered. We have no idea what they call themselves, as they proved completely uninterested in communication. Therefore we dubbed them Snappers, after the sound of what appears to be their speech."

He punched a button, and glanced at the transmission screen nearby. His own image disappeared from the screen to be replaced by video of a fierce battle planetside. In the foreground of the image, Captain Bronson stood, issuing orders as advancing armored vehicles with laser turrets swept swaths through the defending space marines. The clacking and snapping of the aliens’ speech was clearly audible even over the sounds of battle. A sudden flash of red reflected into the camera's field of view, and Bronson was decapitated by a powerful laser beam, his body slumping to the ramp where it stood, as his head rolled and bounced away.