The weapon, p.2
The Weapon, page 2
part #1 of Star Fighters Series
Philips took a few steps forward and while he couldn’t see who he was talking to, he replied “reporting as ordered, sir.”
A moment later a tall man in military fatigues stepped out of a shadow in the adjacent room and into the brightly lit area Philips was standing at attention in.
“At ease, captain,” said the main. “Please, have a seat” he said, gesturing to a set of chairs in the center of the room.
The captain saluted and walked to one of the chairs, waited for the other main to sit down first, and then sat down as well.
“Captain. You probably don’t know me. My name is Wesley Graham. I am responsible for the defense of this sector of human space.”
The five stars on Graham’s collar indicated that he was a Fleet Admiral, a rank only used during wartime, which technically was correct, as the military had never officially declared the Xanthu-Human war over.
“You are probably wondering why I’ve requested your presence,” said Graham.
The thought had crossed captain Philips’s mind more than once during his trip to Foothold and the Citadel.
“Yes Admiral,” replied Philips. “I can only imagine you have some special assignment in mind for me.”
“That I do,” said Graham.
The admiral ran his fingers over the surface of a small tablet in his right palm, causing a three-dimensional image to float between them.
“This, captain, is why I’ve called you here.”
Captain Philips looked up at the image, stood up and circled around the 3D rendering, trying to get a better angle from which to make sense of what he was seeing.
From a seated position, the image appeared to show a swirling mass of multicolored gasses dancing around a hot spinning core. Standing up, the image looked more like a liquid ocean, waves stirred up by a raging storm; off to one side, it appeared like a giant pillar of rock with boulders, dust and other objects racing up and down its length in tightly wound spirals.
“Sir, I have no idea what I’m looking at,” said Philips.
“No one really does,” replied the admiral.
“Have the eggs in the Science Directorate looked at this?” asked Philips, using the friendly but slightly derogatory “eggs” to denote the scientists employed by the Directorate.
The admiral nodded. “Dozens of eggs, I’m afraid,” said the Admiral, “and none have made heads or tails of it.”
“Scrambled eggs,” said Philips.
Graham raised his eyebrows.
“Pardon the pun, sir, but that image scrambled. It’s doesn’t make any sense.”
“The eggs have quite a few theories about it,” said Graham. “None of them substantiated and none of them testable. And so here we are.”
“I see,” replied Philips, indicating he understood but didn’t really. He had never seen anything like that before, and the more he looked at it the more confusing it became. A slight adjustment in perspective rendered an entirely different image, although all of them thus far represented very energetic, very hostile looking environments. None he’d willingly want to visit, anyway.
“Captain Philips,” said Graham. “I have a special mission for you.”
Philips had a bad feeling about this.
“You are to locate this object, obtain certain data sets, and if possible, retrieve the device for local study.”
Philips gulped, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing.
“Don’t worry,” said Graham. “I’m not sending you alone. You will be going with two others.”
“May I ask their identities?”
“That’s entirely up to you,” replied the admiral. “You can hand select your teammates. Just be sure that they can handle themselves in a fifth generation Star Fighter. We’re sending you out with state-of-the art craft. You’re going to need them.”
“Understood sir.”
“Now, any questions captain?” asked Graham. “You and your team will be given detailed briefs, of course, but now is your chance to ask me anything that you may not want to leave until your official mission briefing.”
Captain Philips liked the Admiral’s directness and openness. It was clear to him that Graham had come up the ranks and knew what it was like to be given an assignment out of the blue with no reasoning, rationale or information to help the warfighter better understand what he was getting himself into.
“I do, sir,” replied Philips. “First, you mentioned that I am to retrieve that device. Are you saying that those images swirling around in this projection are being created by some kind of machine? Are they real places or optical renderings?”
“Good question,” replied Graham. “As far as we can tell, those environments are as real as you and me. However, we believe they exist as a result of an external driver – a device if you will – rather than being natural occurrences.”
“So there’s a device out there that can create environments like that?,” asked Philips
“Create environments like that,” repeated the captain, “or open portals into environments like that.”
“That’s a big difference,” said Philips.
“Yes, but it doesn’t make a big different to your mission objectives,” said Graham. “The bottom line is we want to secure any device that is capable of either creating such environments or opening portals into such environments. Either possibility is a threat to us.”
“Sir, may I ask another question?”
“By all means son,” replied Graham.
“If the Science Directorate doesn’t really know what we are dealing with here, how do we even know what we’ve already talked about.”
“Field intelligence,” answered the admiral matter of factly. “We have operatives in our employ that have gotten close to this thing. They all swear there is a bona fide device, a machine…call it what you will, that can do whatever we are seeing in these 3D images.
“That would make one hell of a weapon,” said Philips.
“Precisely,” replied Graham. “And that’s why this is such a high priority mission.”
“Why not send in a fleet,” asked Philips. “Or larger assets than a handful of Star Fighters.”
“Optics. Politics. Tactics,” said Graham. “Pick one.”
Philips nodded.
“You want to keep this low profile.”
“As low as you can manage,” replied the admiral. “But if securing that device means blowing up a few things, by all means, son, blow up whatever needs blowing up.”
Philips smiled. “Understood sir. I’ll begin assembling my team at once.”
“Another thing I want you to keep in mind,” said Graham, “is time. We don’t have a lot of time to get this done. Intelligence thinks we have perhaps a few weeks tops before things begin going bad for us.”
“How so sir?” asked Philips.
Philips saw Graham’s expression change somehow, a look of deep concern playing across the Admiral’s face for the first time during this meeting. “Captain, our operatives have reason to believe that there are other powers out there, attempting to retrieve this device, this weapon. And they are getting close.”
“Other powers?” asked Philips. “Like who?”
“The Xanthu, son,” replied Graham. “Be careful. And Godspeed!
Captain Philips exited through the massive doors and sighed. The Admiral had just put him on the clock – one week to retrieve an unknown device while potentially dodging Xanthu agents.
He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, but at least he wouldn’t be facing this alone. The Admiral had authorized him to form a team consisting of himself and three others.
Philips smiled, as he thought about how Timothy and Leah would react as soon as they find out that they were going to have to come out of military retirement and get their asses back on the active duty roster.
Chapter 2
Master Sergeant Timothy Wheeler had been a Marine for his entire adult life. He was without question the best soldier captain Philips had ever known, and a natural leader who easily gained the respect of his colleagues, regardless of their rank.
He had been severely wounded at the Battle of Sanctum 9, the last major armed conflict between the Central Government of the Inner Worlds and the Insurrectionist, who claimed political autonomy on the basis of their distance from the Capital.
Military medical facilities were top notch and without rival among civilian institutions, and despite the severity of the Master Sergeant’s wounds, he had recovered completely and been returned to active duty. However, disillusionment had quickly set in. Wheeler questioned the moral rightness of waging armed conflict against other humans who simply disagreed on who should be making decisions for them. And they did have a point – the Capital was many light years away from Sanctum 9 – what right did the Central Government really have in calling the shots from so far away.
On the other hand, the Central Government was Humanity’s only organization capable of fielding a force with the size, reach, organizational planning and resources to fight the Xanthu. Now, it was true that the Xanthu had not been heard from for over fifty years, but the possibility remained that they would return. Could a lone planet like Sanctum 9 realistically defend itself against an enemy like the Xanthu?
The Master Sergeant’s opinion on that question was an emphatic no! There was simply no way that any single planet could put up a credible defense against a full Xanthu assault. So, for all its faults, the Central Government was vital to the continued existence of Humanity.
On the other hand, the Central Government’s existence was assured as long as the Xanthu could, even theoretically, return to menace the human worlds again.
That was the Master Sergeant’s existential dilemma. On the one hand, he supported the right to independence governance that Sanctum 9 and others like it argued for. On the other hand, he firmly believed that the Central Government was vital to Humanity’s future. No longer being willing to take sides in an armed conflict (should one erupt again), he decided that the best he could do is retire from his former combat role and settle into a nice teaching career, where he could teach the next generation of Marines how to fight the enemy, while not specifically identifying who the enemy was. In parallel, taking on an “inside” government role allowed him to exert at least a little influence over the political decisions of the Central Government…and this he felt was the best he could do. Unwilling to fight for one side against the other, and unwilling to ignore both to their probable detriment, he decided he could help both sides by accepting a post as Professor of Military Philosophy and Tactics.
Captain Philips stopped the air taxi at Cedar Downs, a swanky part of town just outside the Citadel’s military exclusion zone, popular with the academics and administrators who worked inside the fortress’ walls.
Wheeler’s home was small, compact and boxy looking. It had a front lawn and a descent sized yard, all covered in a flat carpet of neatly cropped grass. A lone tree stood out in the front, adjacent to the front door.
Philips imagined that the Master Sergeant had selected this exact layout for tactical reasons. While there was not much standing between the house and a would-be ground assault, which was simply due to local zoning laws, the open field of grass surrounding the home allowed for clean lines of sight in all directions. The lone tree, which was thick and stout, could be used as cover in an outdoor firefight.
Yes – he definitely needed the Master Sergeant on this mission.
Captain Philips deliberately walked the path from the public street to the door, imagining that Wheeler probably identified him the moment he stepped out of the air taxi, and was now possibly deactivating whatever devices he had hidden around the perimeter of his home that could cause the captain harm.
If anything was true about Wheeler, it was that he was paranoid and fanatically devoted to personal safety measures. He believed a man’s home was not just his castle, but his heavily fortified, synth-steel-reinforced peacetime bunker.
With just three feet to go before Philips was within arm’s reach of Wheelers doorbell, the front door swung widely open and outstepped the heavily built Master Sergeant, a pistol holstered on his hip and a portable retractable shield device mounted on his left forearm.
Philips nodded to the pistol and shield and said, “I see you’ve been expecting me.” Raising both his hands up in a goal post position, he added “I come in peace.”
The Master Sergeant laughed and said “yeah, I saw that movie. They were lying.”
“Don’t worry,” replied Philips. “Unlike the aliens in that movie, I have no ulterior motive. I really do come in peace.”
Wheeler reached out and put his arm around Philips shoulders and said, “come on in man, it’s been a long time. I know you come in peace. You always do.”
Once inside, Wheeler gestured to a set of chairs squarely positioned around a heavy mahogany dining table and said, “have a seat.”
“Thank you,” replied Philips. “Got any coffee?”
Wheeler nodded. “What kind you like? I’ve got black, black and oh yes, I’ve got black.”
“Black it’ll be then,” replied Philips.
“Good choice!”
Philips laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Old soldiers like me have a knack for staying the same. We don’t like change.”
“I guess not,” Philips said. “That’s good. Keeps you consistent.”
“It can be a liability sometimes,” replied Wheeler. “Makes us predictable.”
“Yeah, but when you are predictably the toughest soldier around, no one is going to bother picking a fight with you,” said Philips.
“Unless they’ve got something to prove,” said Wheeler. “Then they always gun for the biggest guy.”
“You win professor,” said Philips, feigning a sigh of hopeless surrender. “Tell me Tim, how have you been? How’s the professorship working out for you?”
“It’s been great,” said Wheeler. “I make my own hours. I get to positively influence our students. I have the ear of some of the top military brass. I think I’m making a difference.”
“Don’t you ever miss the field ops?” asked Philips. “Kicking ass and taking names?”
Wheeler laughed so loud Philips was sure the echo caused the walls to shake.
“Sometimes I do. But I get a chance to do that kind of stuff on my down time, in the sims. If anything, I think those simulated missions have made me a better soldier. That’s experience and knowledge I can offer up to my students.”
Philips nodded. “So, if you had a chance to go on another mission, a real mission, you would decline?”
“Probably would,” said Wheeler.
“And if that hypothetical mission was so important that only four people with ranks below Fleet Admiral Wesley Graham are authorized to know anything about it, would you still decline?”
Wheeler thought about that for a moment. “Yeah, probably.”
“OK,” said Philips, taking a sip of coffee as he straightened in his chair, “and what if the mission was critical to the survival of Humanity and you only have a couple of weeks to get it done, would you still say no?”
Wheeler pounded his fist on the table, causing his coffee cup to rattle and the liquid inside to splash into the saucer. He looked carefully at Philips and said, “don’t tell me that the Xanthu have been spotted somewhere?”
Philips shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then?”
“I had a meeting with Wesley Graham earlier today,” explained Philips, “he laid it out for me like this – there’s a device out there, maybe it’s a weapon, that can do some really strange shit. It looks dangerous and Naval Intelligence thinks there are other forces, possibly hostile, that are also trying to get their hands on it. They want us to get it first and bring it back so the eggs can study it.”
Wheeler didn’t look surprised. “That does sound like Graham. That man does manage to get himself involved in the strangest of shit.”
“He’s responsible for the defense of this entire sector of space,” said Philips. “I guess that’s part of the job description.”
Wheeler grinned. “That’s some job. How much are you getting paid to go on this mission?”
“Paid?” asked Philips, a puzzled look on this face. “My pay grade is enhanced O-2, we didn’t talk money.”
“No bonus?” asked Wheeler. “As a professor I make a lot more than I did on my old Master Sergeant’s salary.”
Philips shrugged. “I don’t think this is about the money.”
“No, no, of course not,” said Wheeler. “But it is about leverage. If they are asking you to go on this mission, it’s because they don’t have anyone else to go.”
Philips frowned. “Well thanks for the compliment! I didn’t realize they were scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
“No, you dummy,” said Wheeler, “what I mean is that they think you are the best man for the job. Maybe the only person that can pull this off. So, you’ve got leverage.”
“I see. OK. So, what are you suggesting,” asked Philips. “I asked the admiral for a raise?”
“No,” replied Wheeler. “Look. You’ve told me enough. I know that you want me to go on this mission with you. I’m in.”
“Excellent!” replied Philips. “I knew I could count on you. Cancel your plans for tonight and start packing – lightly. We are to rendezvous with the Resolute at 1800 hours. Can you meet me at the Lighthouse at 1500? We’ll take the space elevator up together. I still have to visit a couple of other people to round out my team.”
“Hold on a second,” said Wheeler. “Yeah, that’s all fine. But I want you to take a message back to Admiral Graham when you report back on your team readiness.”
“Sure. What’s the message?”
“Tell him that I want to have a personal meeting with him, when this mission is over. I want a full three hours. No interruptions. OK?”
Philips nodded. “Not a problem. What have you got in mind?”
“I want to change the curriculum a bit,” said Wheeler. “And I want to start a student exchange program with the University on Sanctum 9. They only have one University there but it’s top notch.”
