Invasion (Contact Book 1) Page 7

  “Exactly. I met with most of them, during the campaign. Even the Spartans–”

  “You did not meet with the Spartans.”

  Alison was right to be astonished. Hess tried not to let his enjoyment show. He enjoyed dropping bombs and he stroked his smooth chin.

  “I can assure you, my dear, that I did. They’re very angry with our Senate.”

  “You’re...” The gravity of the conversation dawned on Alison. “You’re basically admitting to treason right now? This is a test, isn’t it? To see if I report you? I don’t believe you. If you met the Spartans, they’d have you executed.”

  “Strung up, the old-fashioned way.” Hess nodded. He hadn’t spoken this freely in decades.

  “Their senators don’t even take their seats.” Alison’s exasperation was audible. “Saito said… said he was going to crush them, I think. It was a massive part of his campaign.”

  “Oh, they loved that. No wonder they were so responsive.”

  “I don’t believe you. You wouldn’t risk it.”

  The girl tiptoed along a fine line between fascination and cynicism, a balancing act Hess relished.

  “Believe what you want.” He waved his hand. “But every vote counts.”

  The last words tasted particularly bitter. The vote hadn’t even been close.

  “But we can use these people, their anger.” Hess moved the conversation along. “We can wield it like a Fleet.”

  “How, if you’re working for Saito?”

  Hess rested his chin on his knuckle. This was the difficult question.

  “I trust you, Alison, even if my instincts say I shouldn’t. But I’m not going to reveal my plan in its entirety to you, just hours after we first meet.”

  She rolled her eyes. Hess sipped at the liquor again, watching her face. Her eyebrows signaled exasperation, sure, but the quick shiver of her top lip told him that she wanted to speak, that she wanted to know more.

  “I find you to be incredibly insightful, Alison Yotam,” he admitted and watched for a reaction.

  The girl sat very still and waited.

  “I’d like to offer you a job. Not so much a job, in fact, but a vocation. An ambition. I want you to help me.”

  “Help you how?”

  This time her eyes stayed still, no more incredulous rolls. If anything, Hess thought, she reacted too little. She tried too hard to give nothing away. This told him everything: she was exactly what he needed.

  “I want you to help me break this entire system down into pieces, then build it back up again.”

  Hess let her sit in silence. A nervous-yet-hopeful light glinted in Alison’s eyes.

  “How do I know you’re not lying? You could be one of those Federation plants.”

  He couldn’t help but smile.

  “You don’t,” he said. “But I could ask the same of you.”

  Before the meeting, Hess had searched the Federation databases to discover the unimportance of Alison Yotam. He had even checked through the documents held in the basement, collected together by the nameless men who came and went from the Alcázar and seemed to know everything. She was nothing – and that was very appealing.

  Laughing, Hess leaned forward across the desk.

  “Alison, less than an hour ago, you were accusing me of treason. And then I admit that you’re right and suddenly you’re suspicious?”

  Alison sat remarkably still. Hess found it hard to get a read on her. For a moment, just for a fearful second, he thought she might be a spy. The files might be wrong; there might be a reason there was nothing there. And Acton Hess might now be very dead. Alison smiled.

  “You don’t seem like you need my help.”

  Hess knew he was arrogant. Even as an inconsequential kid growing up on an inconsequential colony, born to inconsequential parents, he’d always known that he would do something. Be someone. And he had tried. And then he had failed. But buried deep inside him on an atomic level was the absolute knowledge that he was important.

  “The world needs change,” he told her, lashing his silver tongue. “Not just this world. All of them. But the root evil, all the universe and all her problems, the whole scope and tenor of the rotten arrangement is that we are bound too dutifully to this wretched planet.”

  “Earth.” Alison nodded.

  “You were an orphan, Alison, and then adopted by a rich man.”

  She nodded uncertainly.

  “I was not. I knew my parents. I knew my father. He worked for a terraforming company. We were one of the first families on Easter. It was a nothing colony and we were nothing people. They worked him every day, pushed him harder and harder. They ground down his back and broke him and bullied him and snapped his spirit in two. The man who owned the company lived a million miles away, here on Earth. He never knew my father’s name. He had employees to remember details like that.”

  “My father–”

  “Your father owns Yotam Planetary Terraforming,” Hess cut across her. “I know. He profited from the labor of men like my father. We lived on Easter before being bounced around and chewed up and spat out. Just like every other colony. We imported the birds and the plants to try and make it like home. I pitied my father every day of his life.”

  Alison reached for her drink. She sipped and bunched up her lips like a fist.

  “You’re an orphan,” Hess continued. “Adopted by a rich man. I don’t expect you to know what it is to pity and, eventually, to loathe your father. It makes you angry. It makes you determined. It makes you want to change things. Drastically.”

  “You ran for president because of your father?” Alison laid down her drink. “That seems… dramatic.”

  For the first time since meeting Alison, Hess spoke sincerely. “The universe does not revolve around this planet, Alison. But too many people think it does. I’m here to change opinions. There is no one else who can achieve that. No one.”

  He truly believed it. He was arrogant, he knew. Only the most arrogant man could believe himself capable of smashing an entire empire into individual pieces, only to put it back together again. Only the most arrogant man could convince himself that he was doing it for altruistic reasons.

  Hess didn’t just believe in himself. It went beyond that. Cold, dead-eyed certainty that he was the hero in the story of every alienated colony inhabitant. They just didn’t know it yet.

  “I’m going to change everything, Alison, and I think you can help me.”

  She flicked her fingernail against the crystal glass.

  “I’ve got nothing to offer you,” she said, her smile unfurling. “Maybe that’s why I’m important.”

  The riot reached a peak. The guards opened fire. Alison jumped up from her chair and ran to the window. Emboldened shouts shriveled into blood-thinning screams.

  “I thought Saito needed some theater,” he said. “But this is all just so much noise.”

  Her face pressed up against the window. Hess began composing a message to the president.

  “Alison,” he said. “You’re going to work for me. We’re going to make Saito an offer. We’re going to give him everything he wants.”

  The sound of gunfire echoed around the courtyard. Hess leaned back in his chair.

  Well, he thought. Almost everything.

  8

  Loreto

  Failure was a sharp blade. It pressed into the heart and chased Loreto’s soul out into the coldest reaches of space. He could only stare while the universe continued around him. The crushing agony of his own inadequacy hurt like nothing he’d ever known.

  “Fletcher’s almost here, sir,” Hertz muttered.

  Did that actually happen? Loreto leaned against a cold wall and interrogated himself. Or did I dream it?

  The interior of the Vela had been beautiful once. Loreto still remembered stepping aboard for the first time, hounding the crew to keep the dirt and dust and rust free from every surface. Welcoming his wife aboard, full of pride. He returned triumphantly into orbit above
Earth whenever his missions dictated, docking at the station, seeing her smiling face waiting for him. Together, they toured the decks and talked of children and the future.

  But, slowly, things fell apart. Bolts sheared and needed replacing. Pipes leaked water and oxidized the metal platforms above the engines. The constant flex and bowing of travel bent the panels of the ship out of shape and altered the contours of the Vela's internal organs, as well as the relationships of everyone onboard. Returning home less frequently, Loreto saw his wife’s face fall further every time he told her how close to the Pale he would have to travel next, how much longer he would be away from her.

  Loreto loved this ship like nothing else. He had nothing else left to love. She had to survive, she had to stay healthy. He kept the lights low to hide her flaws, he chastised any crewman who dared dirty her hallways. He made sure she flew, even as she aged out of usefulness and he aged with her. To do anything less would be to admit defeat, to confess that his life had been wasted on a series of broken oaths.

  Whenever he needed to clear his mind, he walked through the claustrophobic corridors and listened to the hum of the engines, laying his ear against the walls, running a finger gently over each loose rivet and promising himself that he would mend it all. Grim and dark, the Vela heralded from another age, an age he never wanted to leave behind. He had made his choices, picked his sacrifices.

  Now he had everything left to lose. Fifty years wasted in the space of a solar day. There were no sunsets out here. Time just stretched out and they chopped it up as best as their bodies knew. But waste was waste. A life spent adhering to an oath, only to break it on the first attempt? That was a wasted life.

  God, I need to sleep.

  Loreto knew it wasn’t a dream. He had no time to sleep and the pain was all too real. A wound this deep would never heal. Shuffling from one foot to the other, Hertz waited to be heard. The man was a mess.

  “I said, sir”—a nervous finger tugged at his beard—“that Fletcher’s arriving soon. We don’t know what to tell him.”

  Loreto hauled his eyes up from the floor and turned to his friend. The brightness of the bridge reflected back off the tarnished surfaces. No wonder I like her better in the dark.

  “I said, sir–”

  “I heard you, Hertz.” Loreto felt the stabbing shame again.

  “So, what we do?”

  Loreto started to speak and then stopped. I don’t know. He imagined the words fluttering out of his mouth into a world where he couldn’t control them, spreading panic around the ship. His crew needed him.

  “I ordered you to make contact. How’s that going?” he asked.

  Both men turned to the holo-plate. The pinprick projectors conjured a sallow image of the colossal ship. Loreto felt so small.

  The giant ships lurked out beyond the Pale. All except one, which sat before the First Fleet, demanding nothing and receiving their undivided attention. The Sirens surrounded it and, as much as they screeched and sang, the invaders gave nothing away. Loreto felt like he was bargaining with the tides, standing on the beachhead of human civilization, demanding an explanation for why the alien waters edged ever closer.

  “We’ve had some success with algebra, sir.”

  “You’re sending it math?”

  Loreto didn’t like the ship; it reminded him of his failure. He didn’t want to think about the fighters that had flown past the Vela and were now lost in the nearest system.

  “We tried galactic basic. Even a few of the older languages. Thought maybe it was a ship from an ancient human civilization. Time travel, maybe. Got nothing. Tried music, too. Encyclopedias. And colors and shapes. Even sent our own goddamn regulations code. Thought they might recognize something.”

  “Good theories.” Loreto doled out rare praise. “Didn’t work?”

  “No, sir. But Cele and one of the kids in the comms department tried binary and a few physics problems. We’ve been using the Sirens to send coded formulas, trying to see if anything sticks.”

  “And?”

  “They responded.”

  “That so?” He slapped his captain on the shoulder. “You just conducted the first human interaction with an alien species, Hertz. Congratulations.”

  The man’s face was a mixture of pride and trepidation as his forehead flushed red.

  “But you’re going to tell me something went wrong?”

  “Not wrong as such, sir.” Hertz dabbed at his forehead with a damp handkerchief. “Only, the messages that came back…”

  “More math?”

  “Possibly, sir.” Hertz slipped the sodden cloth back into his breast pocket. “See, the messages they sent back. They’re… err… they’re complicated, sir. Either really advanced – too advanced – or, well… they’re just noise, sir.”

  “Right.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Thank you, Hertz. As you were.”

  The man threw a clammy salute and departed.

  Loreto walked to a console and examined the First Fleet. Four Wisps shot down by the darts and the swarm had taken out ten more. The supply ships and the battleships survived and he saw a blinking cloud of green marks on the screen, moving toward them. That meant Fletcher. The man had made short work of the journey. It was amazing that he’d come at all. He’d hated Loreto for years and the feeling was more than mutual.

  With the prickly peace of the Federation, no one had much use for expensive wars anymore. They didn’t need relics like Loreto, warning them of aging machinery and tired doctrines. But that didn’t halt the military’s moneymaking machine. They built new ships and commissioned new weapons, lining pockets throughout the Federation. And when the Senate wanted advice on how best to spend the money, they asked the admirals.

  Every admiral wanted their name emblazoned down the side of a new ship. Loreto had his plans, full of savvy details and incremental innovations. But Fletcher succeeded in selling his expensive ideas to the Senate, men who owned stock in the companies which built the Fleets.

  Loreto had sat in a meeting and laughed at the obvious flaws in the flagship’s design, and the stone-faced glare on Fletcher’s face had sealed his fate. From that moment on, Fletcher was determined to grind Loreto into irrelevance, sending him out near the edge of space, wasting his time on nothingness. All because of a poorly shielded exhaust port.

  Fletcher’s final goodbye was scuttling the entire First Fleet. Acid in the eyes of Loreto’s achievements. He’d heard the rumors and he had almost stopped caring.

  Loreto stalked through his ship and his knee ached. He’d sent the medics away to treat the crew. They’ve got careers after me to think about. No one had ever expected to find non-human life. It had been centuries since the Federation concluded that humanity was alone. Now, he was stuck between alien invaders on one side and Fletcher on the other. He knew which foe he’d rather face. Loreto gathered his officers and led them to the bridge, awaiting the new arrival.

  They waited as the shuttle landed in the docks and Fletcher’s people made their way up through the ship. Eventually, the doors opened with a hiss and there they were, immaculately presented in their uniforms, with their weapons worn like medals. Loreto never encouraged his crew to carry weapons. They were on a spaceship, he reasoned. If they met anything dangerous face-to-face, it was already too late.

  Fletcher thought people needed to know who was in charge. His methods of dealing with inter-planetary squabbles mostly included extravagant displays of military might. He might not fire a shot, but he reminded everyone who held all the weapons.

  Menels slouched and muttered.

  “Could have shot them and blamed it on the aliens.”

  “We’ve declared war once today, Menels,” Loreto replied. “Let’s not make a habit of it.”

  The thin man laughed and caught the attention of Fletcher. The commander marched up and clacked his heels as Menels fell into a rank-and-file hush.

  “Loreto.” That sneering snake voice was worse in person. �
�Full report. Now.”

  Even with the guilt dragging across his mind, Loreto found time to hate Fletcher.

  “We were running a pilot test. Eddie–”

  “Don’t trouble me with names. That ship, Red Hand. What the hell is that ship out there?”

  Fletcher traipsed to the projection and thrust a finger toward the alien ship. Eddie Pale, Loreto thought. It’s the least I can do to keep his name alive.

  “That isn’t our worry right now.” Loreto reserved an emotionless tone especially for Fletcher.

  “Why on Earth not, man?” Fletcher bristled, enjoying his audience. “Seems to me like a pretty big problem, no? Perhaps you weren’t lying after all, Loreto.”

  “No.” A flat, boring syllable. “But they’re not alone.”

  “I see that,” snapped Fletcher. “These over here, too. Seems like an invasion force.”

  “Them. And the others. We lost a squadron, maybe a hundred fighters. Burst right past us into a known system. We’ve been trying–”

  “Past you!” Fletcher’s spittle flew across the bridge. “A squadron went past you? Oh, Loreto. I will take great pleasure in retiring you, my boy.”

  The whole damn crew was watching. There was a reason Loreto took these calls in his quarters.

  “Yes.” Loreto had left ‘sir’ behind long ago. “We’ve sent scouts after them but they’re inside the Pale. This ship, we’ve been following protocol, attempting to make initial contact and–”

  Fletcher silenced Loreto with a dismissive wave.

  “Ready my shuttle.” His fingers snapped. “Quick. Take me there.”

  The clattering of boots on the floor boomed through the bridge.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  The voice cut through the crowd and stopped Fletcher dead. A lowly, unimportant person had dared speak up when the commanding officer of the entire military was present. Loreto hoped Fletcher would simply erase the words from existence, choosing to believe that they could not possibly have been said. But it happened again.

  “Excuse me, sir. Only…”

  Every eye turned toward a young girl from the comms department. A rookie, barely on the ship ten minutes. Tanned skin and hair cut in a bob, she still had the slits cut into her eyebrows, a hazing hangover from boot camp.