He’d gone alone because he wanted to leave a small footprint and keep Mel safe. At least, that’s what he told himself. Maybe he had a bit of a death wish—he wasn’t sure. Maybe there were parts of him that wished he’d died at Nagalu or on the Dream of Mars or at a hundred other points so that he didn’t have to live through what he was doing now.

  I have a mission. I need to focus. He turned his playlist back on and kept his eyes on the road.

  A few minutes earlier

  “I’m gonna getcha.” Alice smiled as she walked after the toddler with her arms up. Elodie’s new younger brother, Jean, waddled away from the little girl as fast as his fat legs could carry him, hands pressed against his gut, leaning forward and cackling the whole way.

  “Whoa buddy,” said Tristan Knight, Oliver’s oldest at sixteen, as he lay down in the toddler’s path. “You can’t pass here.”

  His younger brother Gary, aged ten, hopped over him.

  “Now I’m going to getcha!” the younger boy said.

  Jean had the time of his life, squealing with laughter and waddling away.

  “Be careful with the little guy, boys,” Oliver said from the grill. “He’s not solid like you.” He cast a watchful eye over the cohort playing in his living room and smiled. It’s good to be home.

  “Thanks for having her over,” Zhou said as she sat at the bar next to Elodie. “She was hurt she couldn’t live with Jim.”

  Oliver shook his head.

  “I love the guy, but he’s not in the headspace to be taking care of himself, let alone a kid,” he replied. “Hell, I wouldn’t be either if my wife didn’t kick so much ass.”

  “Ollie!” Theresa said from the fridge. Dark curls framed her face, and his wife was one of the few people who could look him in the eye. “Watch your mouth around the kids!” She playful swatted him on the arm before kissing him. Ollie grinned as he worked the grill, ensuring he had just the right amount of time on the patties. “Remember: under thirteen, no pink, hon.”

  “I know what I’m doing, babe,” he chuckled. “El, how’s it feel to be a big sister?”

  “It’s great so far,” she said. “I thought my parents would have been too old for that, but apparently not.” She shrugged. “Still, I think they’re enjoying their date night right now, and I’m glad to give it to them.”

  Oliver turned over another patty and would have commented, but an urgent knock at the door interrupted him.

  “Who could that be at this hour?” he asked. Handing his spatula off to Theresa, he stalked over to the door and was surprised to find Baker waiting for him. Alone. Immediately he felt his stomach drop.

  “What happened to Jim?” he asked.

  “Inside,” the medic replied. Oliver let her in and shut the door. “Some Space Force guy showed up at our door, said some shady people were going to try and murder Miles Davis and his family in their home. Jim went off by himself to try and stop them.”

  Oliver sucked in a breath and pulled out his phone. A quick text to Jim confirmed what the man most likely believed. Exhaling, he walked back into the kitchen with Baker in tow.

  “Z, do you feel like living dangerously for a few hours?” he asked quietly.

  “What’s going on, hon?” Theresa asked.

  Oliver pulled the adults into a huddle and explained the situation.

  “He’s right to ask you to stay back,” Oliver said to Baker. “But he should have come and grabbed one of us: AJ, Prince, Jun—hell, even fucking Gregor—to go back him up.” He growled. “The Force spent so much money taking care of all the Constellation’s crew, we might as well do something with them, agreements with Russia be damned.”

  “Are you alright, honey?” Theresa asked.

  “Oh, I’m livid,” Oliver replied. “And Jim’s going to get an earful, after we pull his ass out of the fire. If someone’s sending professionals to go clean the CEO and founder of Pinnacle, they can sure as hell fend off a guy with his rifle.”

  “I’ll go,” Zhou said, “but I don’t have a rifle. Owning guns isn’t popular back home.”

  “I’ve got something that suits your talents,” Oliver replied.

  “Oh, and I have a plate carrier that fits you,” Theresa said. “It’ll need some adjusting, but it will work.”

  Oliver laid one of his massive hands on hers.

  “Alright, let’s go save our dumbass friend.”

  THREE

  Jim found the Davis ranch no problem. The land stretched for miles, and he switched off his headlights as he turned onto the access road. He clicked on the cheap night vision that he’d picked up for training almost a decade ago and was amazed when a hazy green picture greeted him. So it does still work. He adjusted the straps on his head to keep the device secure and stopped just shy of a laser he spotted in the road thanks to the NOD.

  Pretty good security if it was just some thugs, but assuming they have NODS too, they can get around his laser. Exiting his truck and carefully stepping over the tripwire, he proceeded down the dirt access road and turned into some tall grass. He kept himself low and moved deliberately, disturbing the grass as little and subtly as possible. To a distant observer, he’d look more like a coyote stalking the property than a man with a rifle.

  After almost an hour of stalking and crawling, he spotted the lights of the ranch house. It was like an exaggerated version of the houses he remembered from his childhood, a converted stable that now served as home to one of the most influential men in America. Influential enough that he had people trying to kill him.

  A distant buzzing caught his attention. Drone. He froze, hoping the drone wouldn’t spot him if he was still. Unless they have thermals—then I’m boned. His mind raced to a thousand possibilities, none of them good. What if it was a Gray Eagle III or similar and armed? Were the OPFOR willing to use a bomb or missile just to guarantee that Miles Davis died? What about the collateral or plausible deniability? Who had even orchestrated the hit?

  Jim realized he should have asked a lot more questions before he came out here. Then another thought occurred to him. Were the drones Davis’s? Did he have drones just watch his property for intruders? How was the enemy supposed to infil, let alone kill him? Hell, had Jim been set up? Was he supposed to be the fall guy?

  Then a voice ahead of him whispered, and he heard the squawk of a radio.

  “Shot-caller, this is Alpha-three. I’ve got eyes on the home,” the voice said. “I’m not moving again until these drones get taken care of.” He heard a garbled reply before the voice ahead of him chuckled. “Man, these comms are encrypted—ain’t no way someone’s listening to our net.”

  Jim had no idea how the guy had allowed Jim to get so close and hadn’t noticed him, but he had an opportunity. Moving slowly and carefully, his mind raced back years to his army days. JRTC 2027.

  He and Oliver had crawled slowly all night to get to the OPFOR’s TOC. Geronimo had a classic triangle setup for outer security, but with Ma Deuces instead of two-forties. Moving very slowly in the wee hours of the night, they’d crept up on the young private falling asleep on the weapon and slapped him with a safety kill. Even as big as a fifty-cal with its ammo box and tripod were, it was an easy feat for Oliver to turn it around, and Jim unloaded on Geranimo’s TOC, wiping out the OPFOR command team halfway through the rotation. They’d gotten coins for that.

  Same as before, he crawled until he got behind the guy, then he crawled over him like he was a team leader.

  “Bill, what are you—” The guy’s question was cut off by Jim grabbing the back of his head and chin and breaking his neck with one swift motion.

  Well, now I got a radio and some intel. Hopefully I can stop them before the hit. He looked down, noting this scrub had top-of-the-line gear. Either he was a gear fanatic, or he was really well-paid or well-supplied to do this. Jim paused his check of the man’s corpse when he noticed a tattoo on his neck. Adjusting his NODS to make out details up close, his eyes went wide when he spotted the scroll on his neck. This guy was a ranger. Shit.

  “Drones are being spoofed,” someone cackled on the radio. “Security personnel on site are leaving as instructed. Alpha-one, move to your blocking position on the road. Alpha-two, prepare to engage the target.” Engage, as if the man, who was likely sitting down to dinner or to watch TV with his family, was going to shoot back once they broke into his home.

  Jim spotted them through his rifle’s sight lined up with the NOD. He didn’t want to use the laser because it would broadcast his position to the enemy.

  The enemy. In his own backyard.

  Never in his life had Jim imagined drawing a bead on someone inside his own country, but that’s what he did as he watched four men stack up on the door nearest to his position. He called it two-fifty meters and pulled the trigger.

  Mile Davis shot up from his chair as soon as he heard the gunshots and something smacked against the side of his house. More gunshots followed, and they sounded uncomfortably close to the back door.

  “To the safe room, now,” he said as fear and anger dueled inside him.

  His wife, son, and daughter didn’t waste time. They fled immediately to the basement and opened the bookcase, and Miles turned to watch their back if anyone came down. He wasn’t armed . . . currently. His guns were kept in the safe room, but if someone came down the stairs, he was going to shield his family with his body.

  “Honey, the code isn’t working!” his wife Emma cried. Panic had entered her voice, and Miles realized their security had been compromised.

  Without taking his eyes off the basement steps, he squeezed Lanna’s shoulder.

  “Enter access code, 20160303,” he said. “It’s the LEO override for the door the company had to backdoor into there.” He heard his daughter move even as the gunshots reached a fever pitch upstairs. It could have been his imagination, but it sounded like a gunbattle was raging upstairs and outside. Did security see something and fail to tell me?

  “Dad, that didn’t work either,” Lanna cried.

  “Then enter 20241008,” he said. “It’s an override I had backdoored in there.”

  With a hiss, the safe room door swung open. Miles Davis pushed his family inside and slammed the door behind him.

  “The cameras,” he muttered as he approached a wall of monitors. He narrowed his eyes as the back porch camera and drone footage lied to him. He knew there were people outside—he could hear the gunfire. “It’s old footage on a loop.” He restarted the computer controlling the cameras and drones, and after a startup sequence that seemed eternal, he had footage. This wasn’t meant for me—this was meant for the authorities to look at later.

  “I can’t get through to 911,” Emma said.

  “Cell service here is excellent,” Miles muttered, unless the towers were blacked out. The kitchen and basement stairs cameras made his blood run cold when two armed men walked down the stairs with an ease and precision that told him they’d done this a hundred times before.

  They weren’t wearing uniforms but older-style fatigues, aftermarket body armor, and masks over their faces. They walked right up to the bookcase that hid his family and pulled it aside to reveal the safe room door behind. Miles initiated an admin lockout, freezing even the LEO backdoor, and he watched as they entered codes and grew frustrated. Then one shook his head and removed something from his bag. Miles couldn’t see what it was, but they began taping it to the door.

  “I believe the time is right,” the Figurehead said. As his name implied, he sat at the head of the table. Sid Friedman sat to his immediate right hand, his hands templed. “With Sid’s presidential campaign underway, I think we’re finally in a position to ensure continuous prosperity for the human race.”

  “The Constellation gives us the opportunity to expand our resource gathering to other systems,” Sid Friedman said. “As our extrasolar capabilities increase, expect funding for Space Conservation projects to dry up.”

  They knew what he meant. No more money and weapons for the Space Liberation Corps. Sid figured they’d let the terror group persist on its own for a few years before they dropped the hammer and wiped them out. They were already in position to tie up several loose ends related to that.

  “There is the issue of the Constellation’s survivors,” another member of the board said. “And their warning about hostile extraterrestrials in the future.”

  Sid sighed.

  “We need to keep the news of any extraterrestrials—future ones or the two they had contact with—under wraps,” he said. “The so-called Quads can be an excellent labor force as we expand into the stars, more adaptable than machines, yet more suited for the environment than desperate laborers we could dig up on Earth.”

  “If this threat from the so-called Creeps is credible, then we need to see to it that the Leviathan Group’s ships are at least on-par with Constellation,” the Figurehead said. “Their fleet needs to be honed into a finer weapon than anything either version of history has ever seen before.”

  “We don’t have the manpower to match the numbers we got from Constellation,” Melinda Sykes said. “Decades of population decline have made it harder for most countries to raise armies or even maintain the militaries they have.”

  “We can re-task currently serving personnel,” Sid said. “All of those troops on the ground won’t be needed once we can secure trade routes and security stability from orbit.”

  All the heads around them bobbed, and Sid smiled.

  “Our agenda in the future will focus even more on orbital and space assets,” the Figurehead continued. “Particularly with integrating advancements given to us from Constellation. That is why I’d like to introduce the newest member to the Board of the Global Prosperity Fund, though I think he needs no introduction.”

  Marcus Wu entered the room and took a seat at the edge of the table, farthest from the Figurehead. Sid smiled and applauded with the rest. He’d known this was coming, ever since the CEO of Metro United Banking died in his sleep. Marcus Wu was the next logical choice, and after the moves made tonight, the man would have an open field to do whatever he wanted. Because as of right now, Miles Davis should cease to be a problem.

  FOUR

  In High Orbit

  Constellation hung over the Earth like a celestial fortress. Her moonstone-hued hull basked in the glow of the planet below, and General Nellis smiled at the view even though he’d seen it a million times. Earth—the planet he was sworn to safeguard and home to people he would lay down his life to protect.

  “Minerva,” he began, “what you have accomplished is nothing short of miraculous. You have a lot to be proud of.”

  The ship’s AI, originally a librarian, materialized near him. She wore many different outfits, but she always manifested as a brunette with round glasses and freckles, appearing in her early to mid-twenties and always around the same height. He wondered if it was a quirk of how she was programmed, a personal choice, or just how she imagined herself, but her appearance was always remarkably consistent.

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied. “But it wasn’t just me. A lot of people gave their lives for us to be here, and I wouldn’t want to belittle that.”

  General Nellis nodded.

  “Yes, the admiral and Miss Alice’s parents,” he said. “I wish I could do more for that young lady—she’s a hero as much as the rest of Constellation’s crew are.”

  “The crew, sir?” Minerva asked.

  Nellis smiled and turned to face the AI.

  “Yes, once some promotions go through, Captain Yang will take command of this ship’s Espatier complement, which will feature the surviving Esaptiers. If we can get some foreign cooperation, I’d like to return Zhou, the Euronauts, and even the KDV to this ship.” He shook his head. “The threat posed by the Creeps, as well as the Quads, is too great for petty tribal differences. You’d think in the face of that, we’d get our act together.”

  “I would hope so,” Minerva replied. “It’s why we took a one-way ticket to the past.”

  “But people are still people,” General Nellis replied. “Flawed, petty, selfish, small-minded, vindictive.” He chuckled. “And now I sound like a God-forsaken SLiC. The fact is, Minerva, you’ve arrived at an interesting time. On Earth, things are consolidated. No major wars but far too many “low-intensity” conflicts.” He paused.

  “There are people who would rather escape all of that,” he said. “Things being consolidated but not stewarded. We live in an age of wagon trains to the stars, a new age of expansion.”

  Minerva nodded, but Nellis noticed she was fidgeting with her hands. Would an AI fidget? Is it a program subroutine? Or an innate tic?

  Whatever it was, it tickled some part of Nelli’s brain that made him uncomfortable, and he cleared his throat.

  “Is something the matter? he asked.

  “He’s not an alien, but Mister Wendleton isn’t a normal cat from your world,” the librarian AI said. “Was it wise to let him go to Earth with Alice?”

  Nellis nodded. “Wendleton knows his stuff, he’s smart, and he’s not going to go around talking to whoever.” He looked back to Earth. “Besides, he’s the only anchor point that little girl has; it would have been cruel not to send him with her. To both of them.”

  Looking to change the subject, he glanced down at the Constellation’s bow. Reports said the ship had taken several hits from UV lasers while returning to Earth.

  “How have repairs gone?” he asked.

  “They’ve gone well,” she said. “Thanks to the efforts of your volunteers, the hull has been restored to one hundred percent integrity.” She put her hands on her hips. “Playing tour guide for all these scientists and dignitaries has actually been quite refreshing. I haven’t⁠—”

 

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