Friday Fiction: A World for the Taking

This Fiction Friday is a little bit different. It isn't a short story, not an excerpt from one of my published novels, but rather something new. It's the first installment, maybe the only installment, of a new novel I'm working on. I won't explain it. Just read. I think you'll catch the gist of it. If not, ask questions in the comments section. I look forward to hearing from you. 

A World for the Taking

Chapter One

April, 2015

Captain Robert Black studied the light gray asphalt of Highway 29. Below and three quarters of a mile distant from Black, the road ran south from Charlottesville, Virginia toward Greensboro, and eventually Charlotte, North Carolina. It was spring in Virginia. The pink and white dogwoods speckled the slopes below him, maples, oaks, and poplars all shaded the hills with their own, unique hue of green.

It was the best of times.

It was the worst of times.

Black pulled the binoculars from his eyes. Rubbing his forehead beneath his CVC helmet, he sighed. No amount of spring would replace the sleep that he and his men needed, no collection of flowers would replace the hope they had lost.

"Contact."

The voice hissed in his ear.

"Spotrep," he replied. He switched to his company frequency "Standby"

Eighty meters to his right, Sergeant Hugh Matt, or Hazmat  as his crew called him, glanced back to his commander before pulling the charging handle on the turret-mounted .50 cal on his M1A1 Abrams tank. Nothing else remained to be done, the men and weapons of Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 116th Infantry Regiment, had been on standby since they positioned themselves two hours previously. Dotting his hill were five, well- camouflaged M1A1 Abrams tanks, across the way, two TOW teams sighted on the very same road, and at the spread in the handful of houses closer to the road his infantry waited patiently, their M60 machine guns, LAW rocket launchers and M4 assault rifles at the ready. An impressive force, but Black knew that his men were no more than flies waiting for the swatter.

Once again the cracking in his ear. He knew it would be Corporal Alberto Diaz, the soldier in charge of the listening team, positioned a kilometer north of the company. The man who had notified him of the initial contact.

"Spot rep to follow. Three rollers, three transports, and..." The voice hesitated.

There was no time for hesitation. "Spill it, Diaz," Black commanded.

"Yes, sir," Diaz responded, his voice strident, close to panic. "And sir, they have a Walker."

Black's stomach tightened. He could feel sweat under his CVC despite the coolness of the April day.

"Roger, he responded. Lay low." Diaz, and the other soldier with him, a chubby boy from Staunton, had done their job. Anything more would be suicide.

A kilometer north of his company's positions the road curved east, ducking between a pair of hills, it was from this curve that Black saw his first alien.

Earlier

Pharon Eckter Mnansui regarded the bustle of the space port through the window of his office. Directly below, dun-colored cargo containers sat in even rows, waiting their turn aboard the orbital lifters. Each held a portion of the critical supplies his fleet would need to survive, would need to fight. Food, medicine, portable weapons; ammunition for those that needed such. Lifts, driven by either young males or those not suitable for colonization, methodically moved the containers from this staging area to the hulking lifters waiting ten rods distant.

The second sun hung low in the sky, it's yellow light bathing the scene in gold, glinting off the windshields of the light transports awaiting embarkation, washing out the mottled gray camouflage of the troopers resting beside.  The red sun had set an hour past, not that it's feeble red rays did much to light Mowet.

And that was the problem, wasn't it, Mnansui chided himself. It had been the problem for all of his life, and for many generations previously. Mowet was dying, or to be more precise, the suns it orbited were dying, and with their death life would end on Mowet.

Behind him the door to his office hissed. Mnansui turned, knowing before sight that an unannounced entry could only be one of two: Genald Rasou his clerical assistant or the mowman who had indeed strode into his office, General of the Military Bensur Ramet. 

A tall mowman, Ramet easily stood three poles tall, hair black, cut short, military, face strong, almost bronze, with a strong chin and piercing black eyes. He covered the distance from door to work station in three strides, and drew himself to full height, placing his palm on stomach, inclining his head, he spoke, his voice deep.

"Pharon. I live to serve."

Mnansui laughed. "That's not true at all, Bensur. You live to make my life miserable. Osirit himself would be a better companion."

Ramet relaxed, answering the jibe with a deep laugh. " I only tell you the things that you need to hear, Pharon. Unlike others who tell you what they feel will make you happy, or further their own desires."

Mnansui rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the lines of age. "Too true, my old friend. Only too true." He turned back to the window, gesturing for Ramet to join him. For a moment they both gazed at the immense spaceport. A squadron of Pharettes stomped across the staging area, as tall as any four mowman, their weapon mounts bristling with a variety of lethality.  Their cockpit canopies glistening gold in the evening sun. The Pharettes passed a remen of Raptons, the newest Mowetan fighting vehicle. The wheeled tanks were ordered by squadrons in five rows of three. Their sleek, low lines, the viper-like turret, and the long, slender Gauss rifle swelled Mnansui's heart with pride, but it was a tainted pride. The Rapton represented a microcosm of Mowet's problems. No doubt the tank was technologically advanced, a fine work of engineering, but it was also cheap, lacking in protective armor, and propelled by wheels instead of tracks. Mnansui shook his head. When he was a boy, he'd stand at this very spaceport, watching uncounted tanks, tracked, and even hover, lifting to the waiting invasion fleets. Now?

"You are troubled." Ramet's sentence wasn't a question.

Mnansui nodded without turning. He gestured to the assembly area below. "Remember when we were children? You and I used to play sticks on the edge of that field, bear witness as fleets that dwarfed ours set off to colonize."

Ramet chuckled. "I remember that you were not very good at sticks." 

Now Mnansui turned, smiling at Ramet. "Will it be enough?"

Ramet walked to the window. "This army is no match for the armies of the past. I cannot argue that. We are a poor people now, our resources drained by our need to birth and equip a never ending parade of colonization fleets. By our need to escape this husk of a planet. Mowet's resources are mined almost dry, our ability to feed our population, even this diminished population, strained. But I know two things."

He pivoted, regarding Mnansui evenly. Ramet held up a single finger. "First, this fleet does not have to fight the fleets of the past, it needs only conquer the target colony world. And second," he held up a second finger. "I never saw you quit a game of sticks, no matter how tough it became."

Chapter Two

February, 2015.

 The chill felt good against Junie Locker's face. The coat was warm against her skin, the hood pulled up and over her short, dark hair.  The winter air smelled clean, the night quite. Across Smith Mountain lake an occasional dock light glimmered on the peaceful water, but otherwise the night was majestically dark. Not many of the million-plus dollar homes housed families in the winter. In fact not many of the homes housed families in the summer. Despite the dwellings' beauty they were most always second homes for the rich, and only visited a handful of times each year. Not so for Junie and her family. Her mother birthed her in the Franklin Memorial Hospital, twenty-some miles away in Rocky Mount, and Junie had lived her fourteen years in this house, on the lake. She loved it.  

A hand on her shoulder. She could feel it through the coat. Its warmth, its strength. "Let's get sighted in, June Bug."

That's what Dad called her, June Bug. She didn't mind, especially when it was just the two of them. In public? She'd rather he didn't.

The 'thing' he referred to was a Astro-Physics 130 EDT, one of the best hobby telescopes in the world. Junie had been into telescopes, stars, science fiction, as long as she could remember. She liked gazing into the adjacent vacant wooded lot from her upstairs bedroom window, imagining a Wookie walking among the trees, imagining what a spectacular world that would be. But she wasn't looking for a Wookie tonight, she was looking for Jupiter. The Internet said it the best time to view was 11:00, and she was ready; Dad by her side. She wasn't sure if he loved stars, or just loved her. Either one was okay with her.

She nodded as she bent to the scope, swinging it to align with the bright star that they knew wasn't a star, but rather Jupiter. After aligning, she sighted along the smaller aiming scope, banded to the barrel of the larger. With a lower magnification, it was easier to find what you were looking for, and then switch to the more powerful scope. She found Jupiter without any problem. Muttering, "I've got it," as she shifted her eye to the cup on the telescope proper.

"There you are," she whispered.  Viewed through the 130 EDT, Jupiter was a white orb, appearing to shake erratically, the movement due to minute vibrations in the telescope. Golden lines striped the orb, particle clouds orbiting the huge planet. Junie could feel the smile spreading on her lips. The view was simply amazing, the view was...

What? She blinked, pulled her face from the cup and re-sighted.

"Shit!"

"Junie! What did you say?" Her Father's reaction was immediate, expected, but she was past caring. Without another word she stepped aside and gestured at the eye cup.

Her Dad gave her a questioning look, obviously still angry about her profane outbreak.

Nervously she licked her lips, and once again gestured at the cup. "Go ahead, look."

He bent to the cup, adjusted the focus, and then let out a long, slow, breath. "Shit."

Junie shrugged. "Yeah, I know."

Her Dad stepped away from the scope, wiping a hand over his weathered face. Junie once again bent, hoping against hope not to see what she had seen previously. But she did.

There, moving across the Saturn's face were hundreds, if not thousands, of specks, and what looked like a speck at 742,849,260 miles could only be a mile-long asteroid, unless...

White House

"Accelerating?" Spoken in the dead quiet of the oval office, the word rung with significance. President Jencks Sauterman massaged his temples, a habit he had picked up in the previous year's campaign. An attractive man, Sauterman stood slightly over six feet tall, coal-black hair, turning white on  the edges, contrasting with his caramel-colored skin.  He was seated on one of the two, cream-colored couches in the office.  Beside him sat Charles Stoddard, before them hot beverages and doughnuts were laid on the low coffee table, across from them both, on the facing couch, Secretary of State, Lisa South leaned forward, tension etched on her face. The focus of the three was a slight man in wire-framed glasses, sitting at the end of the coffee table, an untouched cup of tea before him, a sheaf of papers sitting beside.

The director of the Office of Science and Technology Policy (OSTP), Doctor Edward Holdren swallowed, the action bobbing his Adam's apple. A graduate of MIT, former director of NASA, and by all accounts a brilliant man, the Director was no politician and obviously nervous. He shuffled the papers, and nodded his head. "Yes, Mister President. We've tracked the objects for slightly over sixteen hours. During that period of time their speed as steadily increased to .16% of light speed."

Sauterman held up a halting hand.  "Doctor Holdren, I understand that we have discovered a swarm of objects, presumably asteroids, in the vicinity of Jupiter."

Holdren nodded, "Yes, sir."

The President continued. "I also understand that these objects," Sauterman raised his hands to form quotation marks bracketing the word "objects," and then continued "have changed course since sighted and are now on a potential collision course with Earth." Sauterman shook his head. "What I don't understand is how an inanimate object, meteor, or whatever, can change course."

Holdren looked at the President, his Adam's apple bobbing furiously now. "It can't."

Chapter Three

Rocky Mount, Virginia

March, 2015

Robert Black stared at the words on the screen, striving to concentrate. This was a big story. One of the biggest since he had become the sports editor of the Franklin News Post. He had time to write it, lots of time compared to the deadlines he faced at the Philadelphia Inquirer.

Philadelphia was 24/7/365, and the paper fed on the city's pace. By the same token the Post matched the pace of its city, Rocky Mount, Virginia, county seat, population 4, 812. The Post published Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, rain or shine, news or no news. But this was big news.

The Franklin County Eagles soccer team had defeated Salem the night before, 2-1. Salem was a powerhouse, Franklin County not so much. But the not-so-much had beaten the powerhouse, beaten them on a last second goal by a mid-fielder playing his first varsity season.

Black had been in the office since 8:00 AM. He had risen at 7:00 AM, showered, dressed and headed in. Yeah, it was a Saturday, but working Saturday just went with the territory when you covered Friday night, high school soccer. He stopped at Sheetz for a cup of their Serious Dark Roast, and a chance to chat with Heather. She worked the early morning shift, sort of like Black, and she was divorced, exactly like Black.

He booted his computer, a Dell, at 8:05, watching the occasional car, and the less occasional truck, cruise main street from his office window. He opened a new document and began typing.  Across the street, the sun bathed the statue of Jubal Early in the courthouse's front lawn. The phone rang at 8:15.

Black picked up. "Post."

"We have a call up, Bob."

Rocky Mount natives rarely identified themselves on the phone. It was just assumed that you knew who was calling. Often Black didn't, in this case he did. The voice belonged to Thaddeus Banning. Thad was the manager of the local Wendy's, but Thad was also the operations officer of the 1st Battalion, 116th Infantry Regiment, Virginia National Guard.

Black laughed, without humor. "You're kidding, right?"

Black could hear Banning sigh, long and slow. "Bob, I'm not kidding, it's not a joke. It's the entire battalion, at headquarters by noon."

"What's up?" Black asked. The unit hadn't executed an unannounced call up since Iraq, the second war in Iraq, and even then they had a warning order. This wasn't normal.

Black glanced at a white pickup stopped at the light outside his office.  Sun glinted off the windshield. Crazy normal.

"You saw the story on the meteors?" Banning's voice was clipped, tense.

"Sure," Black replied.

"Well, they aren't."

Rocky Mount, Virginia (Later)

"And without any type of communications, their intentions are unclear. "  Banning stood at the front of the conference room, staring at the assembled officers. His rumpled uniform looked a quarter size too small, but then again, none of them were as physically fit as their active duty, U.S. Army counterparts, thought Black. On the flip side of the fitness coin, none of their active duty counterpart also had to hold down a job as a sports editor, or Wendy's manager.

The white-faced, black-handed clock above Banning's head read 12:37. Just a little over four hours since Black had first spoken with Banning. The time had flown by. Four hours stuffed with packing, and frantic phone calls to his Mom and Dad, Yes, Mom, it had something to do with the meteors. No Dad, he didn't know exactly what.  Another call to his sister who lived just north of Rocky Mount, in Bedford, Virginia. Can you keep Flakey for a couple of weeks?

It took the better part of an hour and a half to run, Flakey, his six-year old Sheppard up to his sister. Black walked through the doors of the reserve center at 11:53, ten minutes later the meeting started, and now ended.

Tonya Fitzpatrick, the company's administrative officer raised her hand. Slim-figured, with red hair and a freckled face, Tonya looked more like a high school freshman, than the college graduate that she was. With a degree in engineering from Virginia Tech, she worked as a design engineer at the General Electric plant in nearby Salem.

"Okay, acceleration isn't impossible for an inanimate object, in fact it's probable as an object closes on the sun..."

"We know that, Tonya," replied Banning.

Tonya held up a hand. "Let me work through this, okay Tad?"

Black was one of the few  officers in the company who had served with the active duty Army. The familiarity of the Guard officers always surprised him.

"But these objects, have changed course. Several times, and that's the key, correct?"

Banning simply nodded. Black knew Fitzpatrick was a smart woman, but she was struggling with the enormity of the information. Movies, TV, novels, and conspiracy theorists rants were one thing, but the reality of alien intelligent life was a tough pill to swallow.

She shook her head. "And no contact?"

Banning mirrored the gesture. "None"

Fitzpatrick spread her hands." Does that make them hostile?"

Banning pursed his lips.

"I'll take this" From the front row, the voice stood. A middle aged man, large, not fat, not muscle-bound, but powerful, Colonel Robert Taylor, one of the few others that Black knew had active duty service. He now served as the Chief of Police for Rocky Mount, and the battalion commander of the 1st Battalion, 116th Infantry Regiment. A fair man, Taylor had no problem with putting a subordinate in his or her place, but never did so without justification, and rarely in public.

"Lieutenant Fitzpatrick," he hesitated, and then smiled, "Tonya. I understand your concerns. I think that we all have them. But whether these objects are intelligent, let alone hostile, is a decision that has been made far above our pay grades."

Taylor turned to face the assembled officers. "People, I don't know much more than you. We have been told that there is almost no chance that the approaching objects are inanimate. The objects are being driven," he shrugged, "piloted, whatever". He spread his hands before continuing. "Are they hostile? Who knows, but I'm sure that we would all agree that it's better to be safe than sorry, and the plan Tad Banning has laid out seems the best way to mitigate damage if they are. It's the same plan that's been put down to every military formation countrywide. Hell, as far as I know, worldwide."

Taylor scratched the side of his face. "Does anyone have any questions?"

Across the room, Captain Eugene Anglin, commander of Bravo Company,  raised his hand.

Taylor nodded in acknowledgement. The other eighteen men and woman who formed the battalion's command cadre were silent.

Anglin cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. When do we start."

Taylor smiled, "Yesterday, if we could."