Hammerhead Resurrection (7 page)

As the launch vehicle finished its orbital burn and came into an intercept path with the U.S. Navy Space Station Elysium, acceleration let off, and Jeffrey went weightless, which came as a blissfully welcome and familiar sensation.

Cantwell took out a buzzing handset and held it up to his ear.

“This is Cantwell. Yes… Good… Connect me to the recovery team.” He waited in silence.

Jeffrey watched him intently.

“This is Admiral Sam Cantwell. I need to speak with your O.C.” He fell silent for a time before asking, “Commander?” A pause. “Do you have the survivors?”

Jeffrey held his hope close. In his impatience, he shoved his thumbnail at some loose paint on his armrest.

Cantwell asked, “Are identities confirmed?”

Jeffrey laced his hands together, the fingers going white.

“How is he?”

Jeffrey did his best to hold back a rush of assumption.

‘He’. No mention of ‘she’. Sarah…

Despite his attempt to keep his mind quiet, the truth shoved its way in. The woman he’d been so glad Leif had found was gone. Sarah had been wonderful—sincere, honest, beautiful, and intelligent. Everything a father would want for his son, and they’d been good together—really good.

“Understood…” Cantwell said.

Jeffrey thought how empty his heart had been after his own wife’s passing, how empty it still was.

“Tell your team they’ve done well,” Cantwell said. “Contact me immediately if any changes occur.”

Jeffrey watched Cantwell’s expression, but the old military man never let much show.

“Understood. Thank you Commander.” Cantwell ended the call. He looked at Jeffrey and said simply, as a man used to loss in war will, “Leif’s fine, but Leif and another young man were the only survivors.”

The relief Jeffrey felt at the survival of his son was overshadowed by the loss of Sarah.

Giving a quick nod, he asked, to give himself something else to think about, “What’s next?”

Cantwell let his tablet drift to Jeffrey. “We have an hour or so until we dock with Elysium. During that time, I have some files I want you to review.”

“Files?”

“Pilots. Once you’ve been over the files and the summaries, I’ll talk to you about what our next steps might be. I need you in a leadership role here Holt. I know you’d rather be blood and guts flying, but I need your experience. There are others who have
ideas
about how to deal with this situation, ideas I think you’ll share my opinion on.”

“I assume that opinion involves foul language.”

Another rare smile passed over Cantwell’s face. “The president and secretary of defense want to focus our fight with drones. Meanwhile the vice president,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder where Samantha Delaney sat, “while still seeming to be doubtful this isn’t another conspiracy on our part, has been vocal that an accord to peace must be found.”

“She’s in for an awakening.”

Cantwell offered a matter-of-fact grunt in response.

“…and drones won’t work.”

“I had a feeling you’d take that position,” Cantwell said. “That’s why I needed you back. We’ll talk more on that point later.” He pointed at the tablet in Jeffrey’s hands. “Right now you need to review those files.”

“To what end?” Jeffrey asked, already knowing the answer. In his gut, he felt a wicked thrill mixed with dread. He was going to get to do what he was born to, what he’d been engineered to do. Most of the men and women whose files were in the tablet he held would be dead in six months. Maybe this time he’d be spared the pain of surviving them.

“We need to resurrect the Hammerhead program Jeffrey, and I need you to head it.”

“I’m just a pilot.”

“No,” Cantwell said, anger tingeing his words, “get that humble-warrior bullshit out of your system. It’s time for you step up and lead.”

“I’ve never seen myself as a leader.”

“Which is exactly the kind of leader I need.”

Shrugging the comment aside, Jeffrey looked at the first name on the tablet, a Lieutenant Sebastian Grimstad from Norway. He tapped the name and looked over the stats, service record, and psyche profile, which while impressive, did not give everything he needed to know. Not until he’d met and worked with the man, would he come to understand him.

Stacy had been in the U.S.S. Rhadamanthus’ sick bay checking on Adanna, who’d regained consciousness but could remember nothing from the mission. Stacy cut her from the team without making much of a scene. Adanna would be transferred to another Special Warfare unit when she’d been given medical clearance.

Disconnecting her mag-boots from the deck, Stacy floated up the steep staircase-like ladder. As she locked her boots to the next deck and walked on, she felt dizzy and angry. Despite the convenience of the boots, who’s carbon fiber calf supports allowed her to walk fairly naturally, the weightlessness still made her feel out of sorts. Her anger, of course, was directed at Adanna and Horace. Their reckless selfishness had fractured her team. Between the two, Adanna had to go. Their current situation required a healthy team
now
, and Adanna needed time to heal. Her injury had simplified the decision, but still it burned in Stacy’s mind. Adanna had offered a strangely easy apology when Stacy told her she was out. Stacy kept her anger to herself as venting it on Adanna would have served no purpose. She’d save it for Horace.

With no personnel nearby to collide into, she released her boots and, pulling on the railing, glided down the empty corridor. She understood she should enjoy the easy movements as long as she could. Soon the Rhadamanthus would be under acceleration, and Stacy would find herself under heavy G’s wherever she went. Orders had come in: all destroyers would gather at the outer edge of the asteroid belt. Stacy had heard several countries were committing ships. Jeffrey’s stories of the aliens from fifty years before caused her to worry about the tactics the higher command would commit the
destroyers to. According to Jeffrey, all large-scale engagements with alien destroyers had ended badly. Allied advances in the war had come solely through close-in fighting, which negated the aliens’ more powerful weapons. The only close-in battles won had been fought by the Hammerheads.

Coming through a hatch, she found the sleeping decks busier with personnel, so she locked her boots down and, walking past her own cabin hatch, moved five hatches further down, coming to C-01-154. She knocked quietly enough that if the occupant was sleeping he would be able to remain asleep. A muffled reply came from the inside.

Pushing on the handle, which moved easily on freshly greased surfaces, she shoved the reinforced hatch inward. As she stepped into the dim interior, a switch clicked. LED lights over the bunk came on, glowing across Leif, who lay in a white T-shirt, his rack’s sleeping sack zipped to his chest and zero-G straps over his thighs and chest. He had dark swaths under his eyes, the look of someone who wanted sleep but couldn’t find it.

“How are you?” She asked him.

“Fine,” he said, shrugging. He rubbed the palm of his hand with his fingers.

Stacy moved to the corner of the small quarters, near his feet. “I’m sorry Leif, sorry you lost her.”

Leif kept his attention on his hands.

Stacy said, “I want you to know you can talk to me. I’ve been there. With my father.”

Leif nodded as his face tightened, but he let out a deep breath, and his expression returned to blankness. Despite his defenses though, tears welled and filled his eyes in the weightlessness. He shoved them away with the back of his wrist. Stacy found it strange to see someone cry like that, no reaction of the face, only tears. After a moment, he said in a quiet voice, “I need to tell you something.”

When he remained silent, she said, “I’m listening Leif.”

He sighed again, “I need to tell
someone
anyway.”

“You know you can talk to me, your dad too if—“

“No,” Leif’s voice became angry. “Promise me what I’m about to tell you will never be repeated to him. Understood?”

Stacy nodded but felt unsure of the bargain.

“I’m serious about this.”

“Okay. It’ll stay between you and me.” She touched his blanket-draped knee. “You can trust me okay?”

A resigned expression tinted with relief came to his face.

“The morning she died, yesterday morning… God how could it have been only twenty-four hours ago? That morning she told me that she was…” He fell silent again, and fresh tears formed. He shoved them away and drew an unsteady breath. “…pregnant.”

Not a lot could shock Stacy. She’d been through tough times and had the thick skin to show for it. Now, though, she found herself having to brace herself to avoid physically showing the impact of what he’d said. He would carry the scars of a lost wife forever, but to lose their child as well… Stacy could think of no words to face such a thing, so she sat in silence, her hand still on his knee.

“You can’t tell my dad,” he said, his voice falling to a whisper. “He’s lost too much. To lose a grandchild…”

Leif’s selflessness, protecting his father even through his own grief, caused tears to well in Stacy’s eyes also. She bit her tongue to quell them.

After a long pause, she let out a small, heartless laugh, and said, “It’s unfortunate life has to come with so much scar tissue.”

He nodded. They sat in silence for some time before he pushed her hand aside and said, “Thanks for checking on me.”

“I’m here for you Leif.”

Leif released his straps, unzipped the sleeping sack, and floated free of the bed. As he put on his mag-boots, locking them to the deck, his shoulders trembled slightly. Stacy wasn’t sure if he was crying or not, but she let him have his time. After a moment, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

Standing, he asked, “You hungry?”

She’d eaten thirty minutes before she’d cut Adanna. “Yeah, I’ll eat with you.”

Jeffrey stood, or rather had the electromagnetic plates in his duty boots locked to the floor, as he surveyed the U.S.S. Lacedaemon’s bridge in awe at how much Navy destroyers had advanced in fifty years. In his time the destroyers’ bridges had been low steel-lined spaces with narrow windows… hard to see the stars. Here on the Lacedaemon, a lattice of carbon-wrapped titanium fitted with glass panels arced over the bridge. The structure seemed impossibly gossamer for the purposes of a warship. That latticed
ceiling
was, in fact, the nose of the huge destroyer, as the Lacedaemon’s decks had been set perpendicular to its length, like the slices in a loaf of bread. When the main thrusters fired, the acceleration would create an artificial gravity as the floor panels pushed into the occupants’ feet, rather than slamming everyone into the rear wall.

In the center of the broad space lay a shin-high disk with the appearance of mirrored, black obsidian—a Nav-Con imager ten feet across. A three-dimensional hologram of the fleet hovered above it. The ships at the edges of the disk were cut off in a sharp curve where the disk ended.

Walking to it, Jeffrey looked over the nearest ships. With finely detailed 3D resolution, each small ship appeared to be solid metal. The Nav-Con’s of his day had shown ships in wire-frame outlines.

Behind him, Cantwell said, “The light transference and resolution has been greatly improved,”

“Incredible.”

Cantwell moved to the Nav-Con’s oval control panel. As he slid his fingers across its surface, the ships rushed closer, growing
until only the Lacedaemon remained, hovering nose to thrusters over the entirety of the disk.

“The system uses drone cameras and solar positioning systems to monitor fleet status. These images are real-time. Critical for understanding positioning, battle damage, and so on.”

Jeffrey sank his finger into the seemingly solid side of the ship.

With a sweep of his hand, Cantwell turned the image of the Lacedaemon until it’s latticed nose, which reminded Jeffrey of a Victorian glass house, hovered before him. Leaning in, Jeffrey saw himself looking over the small disk in the center of the bridge where a small Lacedaemon floated.

Jeffrey looked to Cantwell. “A lot has changed.”

“Not all for the better,” Cantwell said pointing to the lattice. “It’s a beautiful view but bad for war.”

“There’s no armor to it.”

“None. That’s what happens when lack of experience meets the desire for warships to look and feel fancy.”

Cantwell swept his fingers across the control panel. The Lacedaemon slid away. The surface of Europa took its place, a curved arc blanketing the surface of the Nav-Con. The three destroyers, the size of pocket knives, continued to cut a three-clawed canyon into its surface.

Jeffrey hadn’t seen one in fifty years, but he knew every detail from memory.

He said through his teeth, “Sthenos...”

“Yes,” Cantwell said. “Some suggest that if we don’t engage, they’ll leave when they’re done mining ice.”

“These the same folks who said the war never happened?” Jeffrey asked, already knowing the answer. “They’re not ice miners.”

A woman’s voice, efficient and direct, came from Jeffrey’s right, “If you disagree, what is your assessment?”

Jeffrey turned and found himself facing Vice President Samantha Delaney, standing with her two Marine guards and the bald man wearing small, wire-framed glasses from the launch shuttle. She seemed to have adapted easily to the weightlessness and magnetic boots. Standing face-to-face with her, what struck him about her most was her height. Her blond hair caught the shine of the bridge lights as she gave Jeffrey a practice-perfect smile. Her beauty, which was much more intense in person, made Jeffrey feel defensive. Her gunmetal gray pant-suit opalesced as she held out her hand to him.

“Mr. Holt I presume.”

“Captain Holt,” Cantwell said.

She gave Cantwell a natural smile. “Forgive me,” she said, “
Captain
Holt.”

As he shook her hand, his eyes scanned her face, measuring her, and found her somewhat unreadable. Yet, he felt drawn into the delicate copper fans laced into her dark-amber eyes.

Tipping his head to her, he said in a reserved tone, “Vice president.”

“The admiral warned me,” she said as though cutting directly into his mind, “that you don’t care much for my kind.” She stepped closer and leaned in as if what she said next should be confidential. “I’ll do what I can to not be a typical politician if you also agree to not be a typical meat head.”

Jeffrey exhaled slowly through his nostrils.

“It would seem,” she continued in a casual tone, “I was mistaken in the existence of these folks.” She laughed easily. “Who knew?”

Cantwell’s ability to remain expressionless gave Jeffrey the strength to keep from speaking his mind.

Delaney turned to the Nav-Con. “I need to understand as quickly as possible what we’re dealing with here.”

Something in her manner told Jeffrey that she’d already made up her mind on what she was dealing with. Her asking for his opinion was only showmanship.

“Ma’am,” Jeffrey said, not willing to let her get away with using such a light tone, “imagine the worst thing you can, and you’re only getting started.”

The vice president’s eyebrow lifted. “Interesting.” She held her open palm up as if presenting Cantwell to Holt. “When the president asked the admiral to come out of retirement, he agreed on the condition that you be brought in as well. That makes a strong impression on me.”

“Ma’am,” Jeffrey said, “I don’t want to be disrespectful, and I appreciate the compliment, but I don’t have time nor use for it.” He pointed to the Nav-Con. “This should bother everyone here.”

“I would assume,” Delaney said, “You don’t mean the obvious.”

Jeffrey shook his head. “No… not their presence… their
casual
presence.”

As Delaney’s eyes narrowed, Jeffrey’s attention settled on the faint freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.

She asked, “What about their demeanor troubles you?”

Pulling his eyes from her, he scowled at himself as he said, “They don’t appear to care they have their backs exposed, but they
should
.” He pointed at the ships. “This behavior doesn’t add up. Fifty years ago, the first time they engaged us, we forced their local population to extinction. That should send a strong message to future visitors, but now they come calmly strolling back in? That makes no sense.”

“They don’t appear to care that we killed them,” Delaney said in a matter of fact tone.

“Exactly. It would only make sense under three circumstances. One, they don’t care about losing lives. I’m not buying that. Two, they’re stupid—don’t learn. That’s invalid based on how dangerous they are.”

“The alternative,” Cantwell said, “is they’re laying out a trap.”

Jeffrey felt electrified in a way he hadn’t since his conflict with Maxine King. “Exactly, and I’ll bet my right eye that it’s going to burn us if we don’t figure it out fast.”

“Perhaps,” Delaney said as she turned to the balding man, whose face had flushed more and more as Jeffrey spoke, “they simply do not understand the impact they had on us.”

As the man, his hands behind his back and broad shoulders set, stepped forward, he lifted his chin with an air of arrogance. His advanced baldness contrasted with his youthful face. In the dark eyes and thick torso, Jeffrey saw a man used to getting his way, be it through argument or intimidation.

We’ll see how that works out for you today.

“Schodt,” Delaney asked him, “what can you offer on these ships?”

The man coughed and tugged on the half-inch collar of his shirt, which encircled his neck somewhat tightly, before lifting onto the balls of his feet, settling down, and saying, “Madam Vice President, the alien race we encountered fifty years ago was classified as XTLF-A, or ExtraTerrestrial Life Form Alpha—the first we have encountered. While there are some subtle structural differences, analysis of these ships and their weaponry signatures suggests this is also XTLF-A; however, it is possible this is a different life form with similar technology. This life form must, of course, be classed in the
Eukarya biological domain, and again assumed to be part of the Animalia phylum—”

“Excuse me,” Jeffrey asked, “who are you?”

The man’s thin lips pressed to nothing as his right eye twitched once.

“Oh, forgive me,” Delaney said, “this is Gerard Schodt, the foremost expert on the alien race.”

Schodt’s lips curved downward as if his presence were a magnanimous gift bestowed upon Jeffrey.

“I don’t wish to be disrespectful,” Jeffrey said, “but I don’t believe anyone can claim to be an expert on the Sthenos.”

Schodt’s expression went flat. “Captain Holt, I understand your attitude is to
kill ‘em all
as it were. My intention is conversely to understand these beings as a species and a society.”

Jeffrey said, “I think I understand them well enough.”

“I would argue,” Schodt said, rubbing his fingertips together as if testing their cleanliness, “your view is… bigoted.” He offered Jeffrey a slight smile. “If you’ll forgive me for being so direct. I do not believe we know enough to draw a conclusion of inherent hostility. It is possible the previous conflict erupted from a misunderstanding.”

“Excuse me?” Jeffrey’s anger sparked and crackled like gunpowder tossed over flames.

“I did not speak unclearly,” Schodt said. “People like you, who call them
Sthenos
, create a barrier between worlds. The moniker Exteris Ignotum is far more—”

“Calling them ‘extraterrestrial unknowns’,” Jeffrey said, his pulse rising in his neck, “is equivalent to mistaking a pride of lions for house cats.”

“Exteris Ignotum has been scientifically approved for the long-term health of our perception—”

“Please don’t tell me,” Jeffrey said to Cantwell, “that you’re going to make me work with…” he held out his hand to Schodt and found himself at a loss, “…this.” He squared on Schodt. “I know everything I need to know about the
Sthenos
—We kill them, or we die.”

Schodt adjusted his glasses on his broad face. “That view is not acceptable to me,
Captain
Holt.”

“Nor is it to me,” Vice President Delaney said.

“Mr. Schodt, vice president,” Jeffrey said, “if you live long enough, it will be.”

Cantwell took hold of the back of Jeffrey’s arm.

“To call this race Exteris Sthenos,” Schodt said as his face bloomed fully red, “to equate it with Medusa’s deranged, murderous sister, casts them permanently in a neg—”

Jeffrey held up his hand as he let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry. I believe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” In the shocked silence that followed, he drew another breath, letting go of the anger he felt toward this
expert,
who’d been born at least a decade after the war had ended and said, “Mr. Schodt, you and I are not going to be effective in this vein. I suggest we move beyond it.”

Schodt glared at him.

“I’m going to make you a commitment.”

The man’s eyebrow lifted.

“I’ll listen to what you have to say if you do the same for me.”

Schodt turned his head and pulled at his collar as if the concept stuck in his throat.

Jeffrey said, “I am sure…” another deep breath, “there are many things I can learn from you and am willing to admit my view of the Sthenos is… biased.”

Schodt held up a stubby index finger as he opened his mouth to speak.

“But,” Jeffrey said, cutting him off, “I will also ask you to accept that, in many areas, I will have more experience. If we begin there, I think we’ll find ourselves on higher ground.”

Schodt’s mouth turned down. He looked to those around him. While the narrowness of his eyes suggested he wished to argue the point, he gave a curt nod.

Vice President Delaney was looking at Jeffrey with what appeared to be slight surprise. She asked Schodt, “What is your assessment of the situation?”

Schodt pulled a tablet from his back pocket, looked it over, and said, “My guess, due to the mining we are seeing, is they have come for resources,” he looked at Jeffrey over the rims of his glasses, “not war.”

Jeffrey’s anger flickered. The need for resources was the most common cause of war.
Schodt continued, “Because their weapons are so advanced, it is my assessment they do not perceive us as a threat. They attack us in the local area only to keep that area secure, and as long as we give them room to operate, it is possible we will have no further conflict.”

Delaney looked to Cantwell. “What is your recommendation?”

Cantwell remained silent for a moment as if weighing his words before he spoke. “Rebuilding the Hammerheads is paramount.” He pointed to the ships on the Nav-Con. “We should move the fleet to a position between Jupiter and Earth. We’ll let them do what they want to Europa. If they move sunward, we engage.”