Extremis (3 page)

“Commander”—it was Major (now First Lieutenant) Peters, who had been the senior Reservist of activation age—“are you at liberty to reveal
how
you got this message?”

“A long story, Tibor, but you asked for it. When the aliens approached Bellerophon on their generation ships, two professors at Philomena University—Doctors Gerard and Duane—detected the exhaust flares of their reaction drives.” Van Felsen’s voice dropped half a register into a more conspiratorial tone. “However, I have it on good authority that the catch was actually made by our very own Toshi Springer, who was one of the first Reservists we reactivated.”

“
Marines lead the way
,” solemnized a voice in the front row, invoking the service motto.

“Yes, indeed.” Van Felsen smiled. “Although the Baldies then blasted every single one of our orbital arrays, it seems that there was an old ground-based optical telescope that the faculty had built into a roof dome, and that the Astronomy Department also had an old radio-telescope array in storage. So we ordered Lieutenant Springer to return to her duties at the university, teaching a class in the methodological history of astonomy. Using that cover, she surreptitiously organized a small but skilled group to get both instruments operational and to observe our system’s warp points on a 24/7 rotation. I’m pleased to report that they’ve been plenty busy.”

“So the amateur astronomers
did
see something,” breathed Danilenko.

“Yes, Igor. Since the Baldies occupied Bellerophon, there have been at least two major fleet clashes at the warp point leading into the Astria system. Lieutenant Springer and her team detected multiple antimatter-warhead detonations that blotted out all other radiant energy coming to Bellerophon along those vectors. Both events have been fairly brief—which leads us to conclude that they were either probing or aborted attacks. Had a pitched battle taken place, the energy intensities would have been higher, more saturated, and far longer in duration.

“During both engagements, there were also sustained bursts of coded broadband radio transmissions. The Baldies did their best to jam it, but every single ham operator here on Bellerophon heard and recognized it as a signal of some kind—but whose, and what it meant, were a mystery to them.

“But once we had been alerted by the astrophysical fireworks, and had a full record of the radio emissions, our coding protocols told us how to do the rest. I can’t detail how we sifted the necessary data out of the transmissions. I can tell you it was broken into chunks that had to be pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle. Different languages were used, as were variations in transfer rate, prearranged trapdoor codes, and, in some cases, segments of the signals were transmitted in reverse. When we were done extracting, decoding, sorting, and recombining all the pieces, this is what we came up with.” Van Felsen nodded at the holo operators.

Ian Trevayne’s stationary face became mobile, the pensive expression transforming into a grave smile.

“To all our brothers in arms in the Bellerophon system: our daily thoughts are upon your safety, your health, and your resistance against an invader that came—quite literally—out of the depths of space. And although there is no precedent for a sublight-driven interstellar invasion, I must begin by apologizing to each and every one of you. The collected militaries, commanders, and nations of civilized space failed you. It does not matter that we had no reason to envision interstellar travel that did not rely upon warp points, nor that we lacked the means to detect the invaders’ approach. It is a commander’s job to think the unthinkable, to foresee the unforeseeable, to imagine the unimaginable. For this, for our failure in foresight and imagination, we offer you our most sincere apologies and confess our bitter shame.

“Because of the passive sensors we left buried in asteroids before we withdrew, and the automated tightbeam updates they send to any of our ships that enter the Bellerophon system, we know something of your sacrifice and losses.

“We know, for instance, of the widespread dislocation and privation of many urban residents, particularly around the city of Melantho. We learned—with horror—of the pitiless killing of parents who were only trying to control their children’s terrified reaction to the invaders, as well as the execution of several who simply attempted to prevent the summary immolation of their child’s corpse. But most of all, we were filled with a terrible resolve when we discovered that, in reprisal for a similar incident, the invaders mercilessly and mutely incinerated the entirety of the town in which this act of defiance occurred.

“In consolation of all you have suffered, I can only say: look to the sky, for we are coming. And when the combined forces of the Rim Federation, the Terran Republic, and the Pan-Sentient Union return, be ready to rise up with us and drive the invaders from your land, your seas, your skies.”

McGee almost missed Trevayne’s next sentence over the glad noises elicited by the news that the Rim’s nominal adversary—the one-time “rebels” of the Terran Republic—had joined their cause. The further news that this unprecedented alliance would be buttressed by the enormous (if sadly distant) industrial power of the Pan-Sentient Union was better still.

However, Trevayne’s next words engendered frowns of confusion on at least half the faces in the audience. “On a related note, we presume that those of you who were involved in the highly secretive creation of modular hull sections for a classified warcraft have now been compelled to reveal this participation under intensive interrogation or other forms of duress. For any of you who might still be resisting the invaders’ attempts to extract details on your activities in that program, or for those of you who may have elected to go into hiding to avoid just such interrogation, I implore you: please do not endanger yourselves by trying to keep this information a secret any longer. We have determined that the enemy has independently deduced that these hull modules were actually designated for our construction of a string of megafortresses of unprecedented size and firepower. Based upon the marked operational caution of the invaders, we must presume that they have learned about the existence of these impregnable battle stations and have adjusted their strategy accordingly.”

“What the hell?” muttered Maotulu, a third-generation Marine legacy. “I did space construction in six systems, and I never—”

But Danilenko let out a surprised bark of laughter and evidently slipped back into his family’s traditional language. “Maotulu, don’t you get it? Is all disinformation—and
bozhemoi
, is
horosho
!”

“You mean…?” whispered Battisti uncertainly.

“All theater for the Baldies,” McGee hissed sideways. “Just to make ’em wonder if we’ve got these megafortresses or not. The Baldies aren’t interrogating anyone as far as I’ve heard, but if they believe Trevayne doesn’t know that…”

“Then they will believe that his warning is genuine.” Battisti finished the thought.

“Or they might still suspect that it’s a ruse. But then again, if they guess wrong…”

Li nodded. “Head games.”

McGee strained to hear again, having missed a few general exhortations. “…which means that our forces are growing daily. So remember. Although you are hundreds of parsecs—and a year’s worth of warp transits—away from the planet that gave birth to humanity, Earth has not forgotten you. Earth abides, but she does not abide passively.”

“Here we go.” Peters folded his arms with a smile. “The stirring wrap-up.”

“Eh?” inquired Maotulu.

“Just like De Gaulle to the French. MacArthur to the Filipinos.”

“Who the hell is—?”

“Not to worry, Matto. Like me, those stories are ancient history—literally,” said Peters.

Holographic Trevayne took no notice of Peters’s abortive history lesson. “…meaning that, at this key moment, all the forces of humanity and her allies are united as never before. So look to the skies. All the races of the Pan-Sentient Union—and most particularly, our war brothers the Orions—have demonstrated their solidarity not only by producing needed ships and supplies, but by sending units to the front. We can say nothing more without also furnishing our enemies with strategic intelligence. But you may rest assured of this—just one warp point away, humanity and its many allies wait to both avenge your dead and be rejoined with you.

“And when we arrive, it will be at the head of the greatest armada of ships that has ever been witnessed by any race, in any war, in the long history of the known precincts of this galaxy. Yet that strength in numbers pales beside our strength of purpose, for these many fleets of many races are united in one cause—to liberate you. Brave men and women of Bellerophon, you have our solemn pledge: we are coming. So, each day, every day, remember that pledge…and look to the sky.”

Trevayne concluded on a smile that was a promise of rescue to humans…and death to the Baldies. There was a moment of utter silence—

—and then bedlam. Men and women, having lived for months without any message from beyond the immense prison camp of the Bellerophon system, had heard words of deliverance from one of the greatest heroes of their era—or, more properly, from the era just before their own. Ian Trevayne himself had risen up at their hour of need, like the ancient British myth of the Pendragon, who would ever and again return to save the Green and Pleasant Land in its darkest hour.

McGee watched the happy tumult seethe around him, wanted to join in—but a face rose up and stilled any joy he might have felt: Jennifer. His dear, sweet Jennifer. Who he had pushed away for months before the bastard Baldies had taken her. Pushed her away to save her. Save her from the knowledge that he was conducting unauthorized bombing attacks against the Baldies in Melantho. Save her from the fear that he’d be killed on those missions. Save her from the faintest connection with his activities so that, even if they came for him, they would pass over her. But in some mad reversal of anything vaguely like a sensible unfolding of events, the Baldies had come and taken her for no apparent reason—and left him, bleeding and unconscious, on the doorstep of Melantho General Hospital. Unable to move. Unable to find her. Unable to rescue her. Or to hold her. Jennifer. Jennifer. Jennifer—

Who was suddenly Van Felsen. Who was looking up at him, literally waving in his face. “Hello, McGee? Command to McGee—are you reading me?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am…I mean, sir. I heard you loud and clear, sir.”

“Sure you did, McGee.” Van Felsen quirked the left corner of her mouth at his flustered return to the here and now. “Walk with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

With Falco in tow, and two others in uniform blacks—signifying they had been on active duty when the invaders had arrived—Van Felsen led him out of the cafeteria and back into the six-acre warehouse. The five of them walked for a while. No one spoke. Grit and sand rasped underfoot.

“Recovered from the aliens’ little visit to your house, McGee?”

“Yes, sir. And in fighting shape, sir.”

Van Felsen smiled; so did the others—except the thin, reedy one who looked more like a bookkeeper than a Marine.

“Glad to hear it,” Van Felsen said with a nod. “I’m sorry about having to send you back to the noncom ranks, McGee, I really am.”

“Not any concern to me, sir. I’m ready to—”

“McGee, my regret isn’t about any damage done to your delicate ego. It’s about sheer practicality. You’ve got double the logged training time of any Reservist. You’ve even managed to squeak in a few exercises with the active-duty forces. I can hardly spare you out of the officer cadre—but, damn it, I can’t make an exception. Not until you do something that would warrant a promotion. Then I can reinstate your commission.”

“Sir, I am fully ready to—”

“Steady, McGee. This is not an encouragement to go off half-cocked on some kind of personal vendetta or renegade bombing spree.”

McGee gulped and tried not to look like the kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar: a half-cocked renegade bombing spree was exactly how he had been bringing his private and wholly unauthorized war to the Baldies.

But if Van Felsen knew anything about it, she didn’t pin him down or give any other intimation that it was her intent to criticize him. On the other hand, perhaps she
did
know—and this was her way of warning him off further attacks. But why?

“McGee, we’re finally getting to the stage where we can think about larger operations, something bigger than the intermittent sniping we use to keep the Baldies off guard. So what I need from every Marine now are disciplined, by-the-book operations, and no lamebrained screwups. You read me?”

“Louder and clearer still, Commander.”

Van Felsen looked at him; McGee had the distinct impression that she was trying very hard not to smile. She almost looked like she wanted to pat him on the head. “Glad to hear it” was all she said and then resumed walking, hands folded behind her rather generous posterior.

“You know, McGee, we’d have invited you up here a long time ago if it wasn’t for…for…” Van Felsen trailed off.

“For my personal situation. I know, sir.”

Van Felsen sighed, evidently relieved that McGee had made it possible for her to avoid naming his missing, pregnant girlfriend. “Now, because of what’s happened to your—family—we have need of your special assistance.”

“Anything, sir. Just name it. I’m your man.”

Van Felsen stopped and turned to look up—way up—at him. “I know that, Alessandro. More than you can guess. So here’s what I need. I need to come for a visit.”

“A-a visit, sir?”

“Yes, son, a visit. Me and the rest of the joint forces command. Well, all but two of us. We can’t put all the cadre’s eggs in one basket, no matter how quiescent the Baldies have been to date. But the rest of us need to get on-site in Melantho, have some specialists look at your house, study where your—where Jennifer worked, socialized, shopped.”

“To figure out why they disappeared her, you mean?”

“Well, yes—but
disappearing
often has the context of a permanent disappearance. As in an undisclosed execution.”