We all have that thing we desire. You know what it is. It's probably the same as mine. However, that's unlikely.

It's your obsession. Your delight when you experience it, your loathing that you shouldn't have, your one vice, your... sin.

You're desperate for it. I know I am.

Yes it's that thing which blinds you to everything else. Perhaps it's a substance. A person. An object. A place. A feeling.

And don't tell me coffee, you pendantic bastard.

You're obsessed with it. You can't live without it. Well, you can you just tell yourself that you can't.

That desperatation for the sweet release of caffiene into your blood to wake you up. Or heroine to take the edge off. Or nicotine to stop that incessant trembling in your hands.

The obsession with the embrace of that special someone - or maybe anyone who's convenient? You, being there with them. Inside them. Maybe they're in you?

The precious bauble of your great-great-somebody's... what's it? You know the thing I'm talking about. The book, or photo album, or record they had from when they were not so ancient in your cobweb addled memory.

It's that beauty of Fiji, the family connection to your ancestor's farm, the destructive sight of a volcano. The beach where you can be blissfully ignorant of being ogled while you stalk that special someone you love (or hate?) on Facebook.

That rivetting feeling you get when someone touches your heart in just the right way. Or that rush you get of being abused which drives you to the edge of sanity, teetering on the abyss.

Oh yes, you are desperate for it. You might even shame a dear friend to please yourself.

Oh yes, you are obsessed with it. You might even debase yourself to please someone else.

But I'm curious... what is yours, specifically?

You see... I'm desperately obsessed with knowing.

UNEXPLORED CAVE SYSTEM

12 KILOMETERS SOUTHEAST OF BREVITY COLONY

July 24, 2186

The Power Assault Frame worn by the Infantrymen has multi-spectral imaging which allowed the human soldiers to see in the stony environment which had possibly never seen the light of a sun. The four-man squad was several hundred meters into the caves now, their radios having cut out a couple hundred meters back. There wasn’t anything to be done about it now. They had a civilian to find.

Besides the boot there had been other evidence that the man had been brought back down this way. A torn piece of fabric, probably from a shirt or pants, had been found about 50 meters back. The cave system was obviously used as there had been signs of animal carcasses in here before from days not too long in the past. Whatever had grabbed Anthony Drake wasn’t an herbivore.

Lesniski was behind the point man, 1st Private Brown, who was moving at a cautious but not leisurely pace. The man had kept his rifle up, the group clearing corners with proper discipline. There had, thankfully, not been too many tight spaces to squeeze through. Whatever kind animal used this cave wasn’t small.

“Sergeant, look there,” Brown called over the radio. He illuminated his helmet lights and pointed at the carcass of a one of the so-called “space cows.” The animal had been ripped apart, violently, by something. It was recognizable because its head and thick neck were intact. Not much else though: the bones of the thick legs were exposed; its ribcage had the flesh and muscle mostly torn clean off.

“Drakes are cattle ranchers,” Lesniski said. He looked at the carcass which was, obviously, still pretty fresh. The blood from its center stomach area having been torn open was still wet.

“Whatever did this wasn’t some small animal, Sergeant. You sure about this?” Asked Private Kristoff.

Lesniski wasn’t sure but he said, “Looks like we’re moving the right way. Stay frosty. Move up.”

Brown did so. Lesniski followed, taking the right-hand side of the tunnel so the pair were side by side. After several more twists and turns Brown slowed down and stopped. He said, “Listen to the audio sensors.”

Lesniski adjusted his helmet’s HUD to look at the wave signs. There was a repetitive tapping sound, at a nearly consistent interval.

“Keep moving, might be our man tapping on the wall or something – maybe he can’t call for help,” Lesniski ordered.

Just a couple minutes more and the fireteam stepped into a larger opening. It wasn’t the end of the cave tunnel, but it was a stretch that could have all four Infatrymen stand shoulder-to-shoulder. It dipped down a bit into a pit where the source of the tapping sound was made apparent. It wasn’t tapping at all. It was a slurping or licking sound being made by some hairy, four-legged creature as it sucked on the bones of another one of the cows which had been abducted.

“Sergeant, there’s our man to the right,” Corporal Xinx called. Lesniski looked over to see the man bound up in some shell made of… well God knew what the hell it was made of. His feet were sticking out along with his head. Several of the cows were in here too, some awake, some not. Those that were awake were thrashing their heads and tails about wildly, occasionally snorting in distress, but their efforts were wasted as they too were encased in the strange resin-like cocoon. Thanks to the spectral sensors the Infantry could see Drake was awake and stressed. He knew something was going on in the cave but couldn’t tell what.

Lesniski motioned for Xinx and Kristoff to go get him and said over the radio, “Be quiet about it. I don’t want this little monster hearing us if we can avoid it.”

The creature’s legs stuck out from its body like a spider, had fur like a bear, and was elongated like a dog. He couldn’t see its face as its hindquarters was facing them. It had a long head though, buried deep into the eviscerated guts of a space cow. Lesniski kept his weapon trained on the feasting animal while his Infantry went to work.

Xinx leaned over the cocooned man while Kristoff circled to the other side. They were just going to pick him up, maybe carry him out a way. Trying to break off whatever that crap on him was would only alert the little monster to their presence.

Brown said into the radio, “Sir, there’s no way something that little grabbed Drake and a dozen cows. There has to be a lot of them.”

“Or one that’s really big,” Lesniski said.

“I’m not sure which idea is worse,” Brown said.

The two Infantry moving the immobile Drake lifted his cocooned form up. The man was trying his best not to scream while also half-mumbling, seemingly as he began to hyperventilate. Lesniski didn’t have a way of letting the man know that he was being carried by Infantry without also letting the other animal know they were here.

He didn’t get a choice as the hardened cocoon scraped on some extruding piece or stone. It made an overly loud clawing sound for a half second. The previously occupied animal jerked its head free from the cow’s belly and turned its head to face the direction of the two Infantry and Drake. It could obviously see them in pitch-black cave. Lesniski cocked his head to sight in on the animal and it turned to look at him too. Outnumbered, four to one, it climbed spider-like over the cow’s corpse and began bellowing this an odd warbling screech. Drake was shouting at the sudden deafening gunshot in the confined cave. His adrenaline was maxed out right now and he was helpless, terror was overcoming him. It was possible he was about to go into shock.

Lesniski fired a single shot and splatted the pseudo-spider's brains and green-blooded skull all over the wall, “Damn that thing was ugly.”

He then switched to his external speaker, “Mr. Drake, I’m Sergeant Lesniski with the Infatry. We’re glad we found you.”

“Oh my God! Help me! I can’t move!” the man was now screeching.

“Calm down, Mr. Drake. You’re wrapped up in some kind of cocoon. I’m going to see if we can cut you free,” Lesniski said. He went on to his Infantry, “Brown: cover that other tunnel. Xinx, Kristoff: see if you can tear that shit off him and get him moving.”

Brown stepped over to the shot animal. Its face had four front-facing eyes, the bullet entering the top of the elongated head. Brown mused, “Looks kinda like a dog and kinda like a spider. It's got a dog’s head, at least. Mostly. Not as cute though.”

“Stow it, Brown. Watch that damn tunnel,” Lesniski said as he backed up into the tunnel they’d come from. He didn’t know if there was some other passage the little monsters could use to flank them, so he wanted to keep an eye on their only known exit route.

There was a cracking and rending sound as Xinx and Kristoff were tearing off chunks of what looked like hardened sap. It sort-of sounded like wood being torn off in strips. The two Infantry were making good progress, having him halfway free, when Brown spoke up again.

“We got incoming!” he shouted and ran back into the larger room. Slipping and sliding through with four abnormally long legs was a much, much larger dog-spider thing. This one had curved horns, like that of an Earth ram, coming out the sides of its head.

“Holy shit,” Lesniski said unintentionally. It got free from the tunnel and stood up on its rear legs, the front legs having 4 or 5 inch long claws. The thing was bigger than a brown bear but just as shaggy. It bellowed a mighty roar, pissed off to see the intruders.

“Open fire!” Lesniski shouted. For several seconds fully automatic fire from two rifles sent armor-piercing rounds into the animal. It roared in agony and fury as it backed up under the rapturous onslaught. The creature couldn’t handle the withering fire for long and collapsed onto the ground thrashing in pain.

Brown took another couple of steps back. The bear-dog-spider was coughing up blood and crying angrily at the offending Infantry as it died. The Sergeant said, “Put it out of its misery, Brown. No need to let it suffer.”

Brown fired a single additional shot into the monster’s head to silence it. It was eerily quiet then. All the Infantry had stopped moving to listen to the environment.

“Sub-sonics are picking up more noise; something else is moving in the tunnels,” Xinx said.

“He’s going into shock!” Kristoff said. Lesniski looked at the civilian who was wide-eyed, starting to shake, and was turning pale.

“External lights on, let’s get clear of this place. Fireman carry his ass out of here, Brown you bring up the rear!” Lesniski said. He took point during their egress through the cave tunnels.

Along the way Brown and Xinx had stopped to open fire on some pursuing monster. The pair could quickly catch back up to them once the immediate threat had been neutralized. A couple times the men had needed to squeeze the half de-cocooned Drake through a tight spot but managed to get him through without any additional major injuries.

Lesniski had been calling out to Pharaoh along the way, “Dropship One do you copy?”

On his fourth or fifth try, when they were close enough back to the surface he finally got a reply, “I’ve got you, Sergeant. What the hell happened; you’ve stirred up the locals really bad.”

“We need emergency dust-off. We have our man. Be ready as soon as we bust loose from this cave!” Lesniski said.

“If I can land, these critters are everywhere,” she said, “Started coming out of the other cave entrances a few minutes ago, almost swarmed my dropship.”

“Shoot to kill, Pharaoh! They are extremely hostile!” Lesniski called.

“Copy that, I’ll be ready for you.” the collected voice of the female pilot said.

Before much longer Lesniski could hear the thundering sounds of the Dropship’s Kyu-class anti-ship laser and anti-personnel Gatling gun thundering away in controlled bursts. Back on even ground, but not quite to the entrance, he could see another one of the animals blocking the exit. It had its back to Lesniski who took full advantage and shot the animal several times. It jerked and danced out of the entrance.

“We’re here, Pharaoh!” Lesniski called, “Twenty meters to the cave mouth!”

As Lesniski got closer, his Infantry and the carried civilian behind him, he could see the second dropship had come in. The pilot of that craft, “Grayhawk” as he was called, was holding position and unloading the Gatling gun towards the cave entrances off to his left. Pharaoh brought her bird down just a few meters from the entrance, not even touching the ground. The side personnel door slid open and Lesniski helped Kristoff load the now-unconscious man inside the aircraft. Xinx and Brown bounded up into the vessel and Lesniski was the last one in.

“We’re in, let’s go,” he hollered up. The dropship pilot gunned the thrusters.

He heard her call over the radio, “Dropship Two we’re clear. Quit wasting ammo.”

“Dropship Two is breaking off,” returned the male pilot’s voice. Flight Lieutenant First Class Tristan Rosario was the pilot’s real name.

Lesniski checked on the civilian who was now in a state of shock. The man’s eyes were rolled up into his head, his arms splayed out wide as Xinx administered first aid. The corporal said out loud, “Pharaoh call ahead to base: we need a medical team immediately. This man’s in shock.”

“Copy that,” Pharaoh said and then changed the radio frequency. She could still be heard from the cockpit as she said, “Air Control this is Pharaoh. We have our VIP but he’s in shock. Need immediate medical attention. ETA seven minutes.”

“Copy that, Dropship One. Medical teams are standing by. Any other injuries?” the detached voice at the other end said.

“Negative. No wounded,” she replied.

“Understood. Lights are on and the gate is open. See you soon,” said Air Control’s operator.

The image used was found after doing an online search for “sci-fi infantry.” Image hosted on https://futurewarstories.blogspot.com/2013/04/fws-topics-10-most-common-themes-in.html, provided to that site by iStock Photo (attributed to used enot-poloskun). I do not own any copyright thereto, nor is the work being produced for profit. The image is solely the property of the aforementioned groups.

BREVITY SCIENCE LAB 2

July 24, 2186

The scientific lab unit was a similar design to the other pre-fab units which had come down from the Brevity once orbit had been established. The mostly white and steel gray boxy unit provided a reasonable amount of space for the various science teams to operate. Not all of them were happy and it was fairly crowded compared to some of the larger corporate or government labs on Earth. Physical space restraints limited those luxuries. Nevertheless the science teams had made due and, in Ying Oum’s opinion, had done very well on the tasks needed within the colony.

She was now meeting with Dr. Moreau and Dr. Heying in the post-lunch hour to discuss this new development regarding the cross-breeding of the genetics of Earth and Nile species. For the most part the science of the work was well above her head. She was more concerned with the implications of said work and less of the processes it involved.

Dr. Heying had begun speaking again when the loud roar of dropship engines echoed from the other end of the colony cut her off. She sighed and started again, “Unrelated to this topic perhaps you could ask the military to fly a different route in and out of the colony? They’re being especially obnoxious today.”

The Advisor nodded, “They do seem to be going on a lot of flights today.” She reminded herself to ask the Major about it later.

Heying continued, “So with the obvious similarities of the Earth DNA, namely cenocytes, and the Nile DNA – what we’re terming ‘xenocytes’ - can be cross-bred. They require a host, however, and that’s part of the concern. I’ve already grown a number of the crossbreeds and I think people would be understanding if we asked for volunteers.”

“Human volunteers? To host alien parasites?” Oum asked incredulously.

“What? No, no I mean on some of the Earth livestock. We are far removed from human trials. And I’m working towards breeding a potential means of removing local pathogens. I’ve designed what amounts to a type of leech that is eager to absorb native fungal spores from the blood stream of its host but also seems to ignore anything laced with Earth-based DNA. The mice and rats we’ve experimented with so far have had no side effects at this time. We haven’t gone public for obvious reasons,” Heying explained.

“The concern over xenophobia? Humans are already predisposed against alien life due to the ongoing war with the Kamikaze. With the news of these new aliens reaching us from Earth the fear of the people may be at an all-time high. There’s potentially real benefits to this research, but if it will cause unrest in the colony then I’d rather not make it public. Instead we’d focus our resources elsewhere,” Dr. Moreau added.

Ying nodded in understanding. Truth be told she didn’t like the idea of crossbreeding Earth-Nile hybrids. To her mind it wouldn’t be too long before discussions of crossbreeding humans with alien DNA started. That was something she did not want be responsible for.

“I’ll give it some consideration but my natural inclination is to side with Dr. Moreau on this one. I’m afraid, being so close to the revelation about new potentially hostile aliens, I don’t want there to be any kind of xenophobic fears being worsened. For now, Dr. Heying, I’d like to ask that you don’t pursue this line of work,” Oum stated.

The female scientist was unhappy about the Advisor’s decision, “Advisor please reconsider-”

Ying held up a hand to forestall the incoming protest, “I’m not saying that we’ll never look into it. All I’m saying is that, for now, I want the colony’s tensions to die down a bit. Your research has promise and it wouldn’t surprise me if your research will be needed at some point in the future. But for now, I have to be cognizant of the peoples' emotions regarding a sensitive subject.”

“This is preposterous. We are the aliens here!” Heying protested.

“Yes, we are. Unfortunately we’re here as a matter of survival. I am more concerned with keeping this very young and fragile colony in a stable state. And we don’t yet know how much damage we can do to the native ecosystem just by being here. The hydro-electric dam is going to cause enough damage to the local ecology without adding to it by unleashing leeches which kill the native bacteria. I want this process to move slowly, I want the general populace to be on board with the idea, and when we decide to implement it I want it to be successful,” Ying said calmly but firmly. She put down her hand, “Now Dr. Heying, preserve your data and if you can keep any of your leeches alive do so. I don’t want your hard work destroyed or removed from history. This is a deferment of your research, not an abortion of it.”

Heying seemed to relax at hearing Oum say that and nodded several times shallowly in understanding. She was not at all grateful sounding when she spoke, “I understand, Advisor. I’ll work towards other endeavors.”

“Thank you, doctors. Is there anything else which requires my attention?” she asked. They both agreed there was not. Ying bid them farewell and left the science lab.

As soon as she exited the single-story fab unit she was greeted outside by a pair of Infantry being held at bay by Ilarion. He was gently holding out his arms to dissuade the pair from passing, but was not forcibly restraining them. She recognized both Infantrymen but only knew one. The first, a young man named Rogers, was a private. The second was an older middle-aged soldier named Smith; he was one of the sergeants in the Infantry.

“Advisor Oum,” spoke Sergeant Smith, “Major Decatur has been trying to contact you all morning. You weren’t at the admin building and your comm has been off. Mr. Chuvnik wouldn’t let us interrupt your meeting, but there’s a situation that requires your attention.”

She stepped up to the group, “What situation?”

“We’ve got a missing colonist, a man named Anthony Drake,” Smith advised. “We’ve been running sorties all morning with both dropships trying to find him.”

“That’s what all the commotion is about. Why wasn’t I informed sooner?” she asked.

“As stated: your comm was off, no one knew where you were. It seems it wasn’t noted on the admin calendar. Secondly, when we found Mr. Chuvnik, he wouldn’t let us pass,” Smith stated.

Ying looked at Ilarion, “This is important, why did you hold up these men?”

“Everything is important to the military. They didn’t care to tell me what was so important,” the Russian accented man replied.

Ying pulled free her comm and was powering it on while shaking her head in frustration. “We need to work on our communications,” she addressed the entire group. She then spoke to Smith, “Did you walk here sergeant?”

“No ma’am, we took a car from HQ,” he said.

“Then take me to the Major,” she said as she pulled up the short-range radio wave assigned to Major Decatur’s direct line.

He picked up almost immediately, “Advisor Oum, we have a situation.”

“I’m aware, Sergeant Smith and Private Rogers have found me. They’re bringing me to you now.”

“Very good, ma’am,” he acknowledged.

“What’s the latest? I was told Anthony Drake is missing?” she inquired.

“That’s correct. He’s the husband of one of my people, Specialist Ashley Drake. She said he went out last night to check on their livestock and didn’t return. There are also several missing cattle, as well. We’ve checked the local area, their closest friends don’t have any idea where Mr. Drake has gone. He’s not at the mining site, nor with the team investigating the worm carcass,” Decatur explained.

“We still have people out there?”

“A couple scientists do a run out there every couple days to investigate the decomposition progress of the creature,” he explained flatly. Ying assumed they were trying to find out how the breakdown of the body by local wildlife, parasites, insects, and other natural processes differed from Earth’s. She wasn’t sure what they’d discover but science sometimes had amazing discoveries by accident.

“I see. Anything more?” she inquired.

“Not at present. Air searches have come up with nothing so far. There’s no fires, no signal flares – I don’t believe Mr. Drake went out on his own. We’re operating under the assumption he’s been taken, we assume by something native since the cows were taken too,” Decatur voice said through her comm.

“What about Mrs. Drake?” Ying asked.

“I’ve ordered her home to be with her sons, along with one of my people as escort. Counselor Elloway is with her as well. I thought that might be best in case she needed some emotional or mental support. She’s pretty distraught,” he detailed to her.

“I’m sure. I’ll go by after I meet with you to let her know that we’re doing all we can for her,” Ying said as Smith drove the vehicle along the path to the military HQ. “I’ll be to you presently. You can explain more at that time.”

“Understood, Advisor,” Decatur said and ended the comm.

BREVITY MILITARY HQ

July 24, 2186

17 minutes later

Ying got to the command room in short order. “Any update?” she asked not expecting there to be any.

Major Decatur had some headphones on listening to something, and then flipped a switch to play it on the external speaker. The voice of Flight Lieutenant 1st Class Alisha Ledger, who went by the callsign “Pharaoh,” came belting through the machine. She was part-way through whatever she was saying.

“-caves to the southeast. I’ve dropped off Sergeant Lesniski and his fireteam. They were exploring the area when Corporal Ortega found a boot. Does Specialist Drake’s husband wear a size 10?”

“I don’t think there’s too many boots lying around Nile, Pharaoh. Where’s Sergeant Lesniski now?” Decatur asked.

“He moved into the cave system, sir. I’m standing by for RTB to get more people, if needed. My bird is parked outside these caves in case our Infantrymen come out guns blazing,” Pharaoh replied.

“Copy that. Hold position, Pharaoh. I’ll have Grayhawk RTB and pick up medical staff. Update me immediately when your situation changes,” Decatur instructed.

“Copy that, over and out,” she answered. Decatur took off the headset then.

“Advisor, good to see you aren’t missing as well,” Decatur said.

The verbal jab angered her, “I’m sorry that I can’t be at your beck and call, Major. I wasn’t aware I needed to be.”

Decatur gave her a sidelong look before replying, “You aren’t. I was only trying to communicate with you so I could update you on this situation.”

“Yes, our communication is a topic I need to discuss. But not right now. Are your people entering this cave system to search for Anthony Drake?” she asked for verification.

“That’s correct,” he said.

“Are you sure that’s wise? We never got around to sending a team out there to look at that formation,” Ying asked.

“I’m not sure that it is, no. However, speed is important right now. If he’s alive he’ll be dehydrated and scared,” he justified.

“Major you are aware that the life on this planet – much like Earth’s – uses caves for shelter. You don’t know what your men are walking into. You’re endangering more peoples’ lives with this action,” she said. She wasn’t really protesting so much as trying to urge caution.

Decatur walked over to the doorway to the command room and motioned her over with him. Just outside the door he said to her calmly, but with a very firm voice, “Advisor Oum I know you mean well, but I can’t have you questioning my orders in front of my people in my own command room. I’m aware there is risk with the actions my Infantry are taking - but that is our job. In addition this is what they volunteered for. And they’re all veterans – we’ve all seen combat agains the Kamikaze. I think they can handle the local wildlife. Add to that, Sergeant Lesniski was with the Special Rescue Infantry – life-saving actions in hostile territory are his specialty. Furthermore, if we aren’t putting our best foot forward with trying to find the first missing colonist here, it’s going to look poorly for us in the peoples’ eyes. I’m trying to save a man’s life, to save the life of a husband, and father. Add to that I might save this from being a public relations issue for you as well.”

Oum was annoyed by his words and was going to counter his argument, yet she knew he was right. She was concerned too. The man needed to be found, and quickly. She decided she’d be best to let the Major do his job, “I understand, Major. If you’ll allow it I’d like to remain here to monitor the situation.”

“That’s not a problem, ma’am,” Decatur said, visibly relaxing. He turned to enter the command room again. She followed right behind him.

Oum wasn’t happy about the breakdown in communications, which was partly her own fault, but they’d agreed to keep military and civilian command structures separate. Questioning him in the middle of his own command center wasn’t good for anyone. For now, it was up to the Infantry to handle the missing Mr. Drake.

"Colonized city by Min-Nguen on DeviantArt"

I do not own nor claim any copyright to this image, it is the property of the creator. I found the image under "free to use and share" via an online search.

It was late evening on Decemeber 24 when two satellite operators deep within the NORAD command in Wyoming had encountered a strange anomaly at the Lagrange 4 point between Earth and the moon. There was a sudden, and short, spike of gamma radiation that pefectly matched an x-ray at the same time and intensity. For some hours the two men checked and double checked the measurements and finally had been about to reposition another satellite to run checks of L4 from a new position.

That's when a transmission came through. It was a microwave transmission to one of the orbital satellites. The satellite relayed its transmission back to Earth where the two two men were able to collect what appeared to be a raw binary data packet. Once running the machine code through a translator a simple message was displayed: WHAT ARE THESE HOLIDAYS?

And that is when the fighting started.

"I don't give a single damn about policy, I am not going to try to explain what very well may be the most important holiday of the western world without discussing the religious implications behind it," said Jameson.

"Oh come off of it," Harper countered. "Policy states it right here: 'culture and society may be discussed just without going into any of the relgious aspects.' I'm not going to argue this with you. If they want to know, we should tell them. Just be particular."

"How are we supposed to explain any of these holidays, especially Christmas, without actually getting into any of the religious traditions?" Jameson said frustratedly.

"I don't know. Tell them about shopping and family," Harper suggested.

"Oh great, on the eve of the Christmas we should tell the aliens about the bastardized retail holiday it's become. That sounds fantastic," Jameson soured.

Harper sighed heavily, "You know they don't come around here often."

"I'm not doing it. I mean seriously, if we can't have an honest conversation about the significance of these holidays with each other how are we supposed to tell them?" Jameson huffed as he grabbed the bottle of whiskey he kept poorly hidden away in the filing cabinet. The whiskey was, fittingly, the Jameson Irish Whiskey brand.

Harper sighed again, as he reached over and deleted the transmission logs. He also sent the signal for the satellite to do the same - occasionaly civilians used them after all, they didn't need some intrepid stargazer learning about the extra-terrestrials yet.

As Jameson partially filled one of the two whiskey tumblers with the amber liquid he said sarcastically, "Who knows? Maybe next time they'll come around on Valentine's Day or Chinese New Year. Then we won't have to worry about it."

Jameson slid the glass over to Harper who gently picked it up. Just as the progress bar finished on his console to confirm the deletions, Harper replied, "Maybe so. Maybe they'll show up at Easter. Best to let people think NORAD is only tracking satellites and Santa Claus."

"Merry Christmas," Jameson said and drank.

BREVITY COLONY SQUARE

July 23, 2186

All too recently this same podium had been set up in the colony’s central square. The foot paths were the same as they had been weeks before, the benches still looking nearly pristine, and the people present were gathered to listen to the colony’s leader update them on the situation. Whereas over 600 had gathered at her last called meeting this time it barely half that number. Many were occupied with their ongoing colony work and others still were assisting in with the new supply rocket which had come from Earth.

“Good morning and thank you again for attending, Brevity colony,” Oum started. “I know many of you have already picked up the data stores from our incoming probe, I know I’ve enjoyed listening to some of the new music coming out of Old China. This has been a refreshing and welcome gift from Earth.”

Oum paused briefly before continuing, “It has also brought some additional news from the central governments back home. Shortly after we left from Earth it came to the attention of AWDI and PAC commands that there are other alien intelligences in the galaxy, not the Kamikaze. Earth informed myself and Major Decatur in an encrypted transmission from our supply ship. We weren’t given much in regards to detail except that at least two additional non-human intelligences engaged in combat with the Kamikaze at some point in the past. In light of this, Earth has sent us some defensive weapon systems to help protect our colony here. Major Decatur and his people will be working to deploy it in the near future should the need arise. While this is surprising, perhaps even shocking news, there is no immediate threat to us. This information was discovered years ago several months after we left Earth. So far as we know these other intelligent species have not made contact with Earth or any colony.”

Oum paused again to let the crowd think on the information. Several groups were murmuring among the crowd, worry and concern evident in their inflections. “As always, I make myself available to you for any concerns you might have. We’re all in this together and we need every one of us feeling confident in our endeavors within the colony. Major Decatur has agreed to answer questions as well. Does anyone have any questions now? I’ll tell you anything I have knowledge of.”

Several people raised their hands among the crowd. Oum pointed to a woman near the front, “Yes, ma’am, you in the green shirt?”

“Did Earth Command ask you to keep this information secret from us?” she asked.

“They advised that we handle the information dissemination as we saw fit. The Major and I didn’t want there to be secrets among us, hence why we’re telling you now,” Oum replied.

She added, “Will you make this data file available to the public?”

Oum nodded, “Before coming out this morning I had it copied to the colony’s public network share. It is available for everyone to view at their discretion.”

The woman sat down and Oum invited another man to speak, “What kind of weapon system?”

Oum motioned to Decatur who stepped up to the podium, “It’s an automated defensive missile system. Coordinated with our satellites we can use it to shoot down any hostile craft that enters the colony’s airspace up to about 2,500 kilometers.”

Another man stood, not waiting to be called on, “Are we inviting the Kamikaze to attack us? I mean, are we giving them reason to target this colony?” A ripple of anxious concerned voices rolled through the group.

Decatur shook his head, “No, we are not. We don’t have a HyperCOM here so the quantum entanglement method that the Kamikaze has used to track other colonies down is still not a factor. Our orbital satellites have not registered any strange activity within the Nile system. We are as safe as we’ve ever been, now perhaps more so.”

“Well what about these other aliens? Do we know if they’re coming to find us? Was it in a nearby star system?” the first man asked, now on the track of seeking information about the aliens.

“I’m afraid Earth didn’t tell us what star system they found this wreckage in. As for the other species themselves: we have no idea. Anything we assume about them are just that: assumptions and speculation. Earth did not provide us with a technical readout of the alien vessels they found. Everything we know is on the network share and that’s all we’ve got I’m afraid,” Decatur replied to the man.

“Do we know if our new missiles are even going to work against these new aliens?” the man continued.

“No, we do not know,” Decatur said flatly. The man grumbled as he sat back down, shaking his head.

Oum returned to the podium to continue answering the next set of questions as best she could. Over the course of the next half-hour a couple dozen questions were answered – or at least acknowledged since no one on Brevity knew much about the new aliens. For all she knew Earth had made contact with them and there was a grand alliance against the Kamikaze. Thankfully, before long, the questions changed back over to ones she could answer. Namely those about the colony’s current business: the supplies from Earth, someone floated an idea about creating a preservation museum for items from Earth, a few questions were asked about the plans for the new hydro-electric damn, and the like.

After the majority of concerns were allayed she stepped down from the podium where the Major leaned in to whisper in her ear, “This turned into a real town hall. They took things better than I expected.”

“Indeed. I’m not sure we could’ve had better colonists. I’m starting to think our best people didn’t go the Fanrong or the other early colonies,” she commented with a wry smile.

“No kidding,” Decatur said resuming a more upright position.

As the crowd dispersed a younger man, a scientist by the name of Garner Moreau, if Oum recalled, approached her. Illarion stepped before her and held up a hand, though he did so rather gently and not in the forceful manner he would’ve when this colony was first founded. The man stopped, looking past Illarion as if his muscular bulk wasn’t there. He called out, “Madam Advisor. May I have a few minutes of your time?”

She nodded and approached the scientist. He was one of their dual-subject specialists, a biologist and geneticist. Decatur shadowed her out of curiosity. “Yes, please.”

“I’ve got a situation developing in my lab that I feel you should be made aware of,” he stated.

“Is someone in danger?” Decatur asked.

“No, there’s no physical threat posed to anyone. This is more of an ethical concern I felt I needed a higher authority for as it will, eventually, effect the whole colony one way or another,” Dr. Moreau stated.

Decatur nodded, “Then if this isn’t a security concern I’ll leave you to it, Advisor Oum. Doctor, if you’ll excuse me.” The Major disappeared behind Oum’s peripheral vision. Oum nodded at the scientist to continue.

“Over the last couple weeks we’ve made significant progress in combining Earth DNA with the DNA local here to Nile. They are remarkably similar - though Nile’s species are rather hearty as you’ve seen with our farming attempts,” Moreau explained. Oum nodded in acknowledgement. He continued, “We have successfully created a new species with our genetics work, a Earth-Nile hybrid species. With the ongoing concern over alien species – such as the Kamikaze and now these newer unknown extraterrestrials – I thought I should approach you about how to handle this situation.”

“You’re concerned that crossbreeding would be seen in a poor light?”

“Precisely. There’s the ethical dilemma of ‘just because we can does it mean we should’ that, as a scientist, I don’t consider often. We merely look at a problem and decide on if the potential outcomes are worth investing resources into investigating. The potential political fallout of such decisions are well within your realm authority. My most senior subordinate, Dr. Heying, is the one spearheading this research and is in favor of pushing forward with it. I, on the other hand, didn’t want to exceed my realm of authority given the potential fallout,” Moreau detailed.

“I see,” Oum mused. She had rightly suspected that Dr. Moreau didn’t want to deal with the fallout of his decision making. If things went badly he would prefer to avoid the wildfire of vitriol that would come this way. In such a small community as Brevity that would indeed be damaging. Oum, however, was the woman in charge. If she ok’d this course of action then it would be on her shoulders. She was fine with that, of course, the PAC had entrusted her to make these decisions. “I’ll need to consider it. Could you and Dr. Heying agree to meet with me at a later time? We can do so in my office or at the lab. I’d simply prefer to have you both with me to weigh the pros and cons of our options.”

Moreau didn’t seem to think Oum would say that. He nodded, “I uh, of course. Yes, that’s quite fine. I will talk with Dr. Heying and we will contact you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Oum said. The two bid farewell and she hung around the colony square for a while more.

She had found herself more frequently, though still perhaps not often enough, occasionally speaking with several of the colonists. Sometimes the colonists made small talk and they discussed any number of ongoing topics: their children, health concerns, perhaps starting a local mercantile economy (instead of the largely communist planning and execution they’d done so far), interests in setting up civilian emergency services instead of the military one overseen by Major Decatur, and other topics. A couple times she’d been approached by a farmer about having elections for leadership. The colony was so small that Oum flatly refused. She’d been given full executive and legislative control of this mission. And until such time as she saw fit it would remain that way.

In the not-so-distant past Earth had referred to the totalitarian rule of smaller nations by a single authority as “tin pot dictators.” Oum wondered if she was one such dictator. She wasn’t too authoritarian, she didn’t believe. The people trusted her and came to her with concerns, as Dr. Moreau had. They heeded her council more often than not. There was no crime on Brevity, there had been no mobs or protests, morale was high, the community was tight-nit… Oum settled on the idea that if she was a dictator she was a benevolent one. She also believed it was merely out of necessity.

When would this necessity end? When the Kamikaze are defeated? When Brevity expands to a second and third city? It eventually will and you know it, her inner voice said to her.

Sighing outwardly as she returned to her office in the Administrative Building, Ying Oum knew that one day – sooner or later – she’d need to set forth a specific governing policy. Earth Command had given her overall authority of the colony mission. However, as that mission turned into a new nation in earnest, her authority had to be continually ratified by the people. Even Old China had riots and issues it needed to reign in from the local people, despite the then-Communist Party’s absolutist rule.

Ying looked at the time, it was only a little after 1300 hours. The day stretched out before her as her schedule looked filled into the early evening. Fortunately tomorrow’s afternoon schedule was fairly open. No doubt an hour or two would be taken up with Dr. Moreau’s concerns. That would be for tomorrow, however.

BREVITY COLONY OUTSKIRTS

July 23, 2186

Early nightfall

Anthony Drake, one of the colony’s ranchers and general handy-man, stepped out from the back door of his hab unit. His was slightly larger than those closer to the colony’s center since he was responsible for looking after the so-called “space cows” here on Nile. The scientific name of the local life was called “bovine niloticus” - the Nile Cow. The animals were remarkably similar to the cattle he had rustled on Earth in his past life. He lamented that his old family home had been more decorative than this one, yet he had little to complain about otherwise. His wife and two sons were with him – that’s all he needed: his family, his God, and his job as a rancher. The planet and climate didn’t bother him much as all that could be adapted to.

Walking barefoot into the remarkably Earth-like green grass he looked up at the alien night sky. Guess it’s not fair to call it alien since this home? Besides, I’m the alien here. The sky was clear, no clouds, and no moons this time.

One of the cows in pen bayed loudly. Then several more calls went out. Anthony didn’t register it at first, but when the staccato reached a higher frequency – one he’d associate with panic if this had been Earth – he decided to investigate. He grabbed a light from inside the back door and shouted to his wife in another room, “Honey I’m checking on the cows. They’re being whiny tonight.” She shouted some acknowledgement back to him.

Anthony stepped back outside and walked over to the cow pen. The animals were definitely upset about something. The wood-poled fences were enough to keep the creatures inside. About thirty of the animals were loose and running along the far fence in serious distress. He swung the flashlight around looking for the source of the problem but couldn’t see anything. Smelling anything through the festering cow dung was impossible so he had to rely on his sight.

“Damned cows, stop yellin’ for a minute,” he said snappily to the distressed animals. Not that they’d listen to him. He wanted to listen to see if anything was making any odd noises. The alien cattle could’ve been set off by the power grid in the barn snapping off, they seemed especially sensitive to electrical currents in the air.

About that moment he could hear a loud clattering – almost a snapping sound – coming from the barn. He hopped over the wooden fencing to get closer and look inside. A few meters from the unpainted brown open double-doors he stopped. Looking inside with the light something moved. He didn’t get a good look but it sure didn’t look like a cow. Anthony’s fight or flight instinct kicked in, and since he didn’t have a weapon, he turned to run.

Making it just a couple steps, his right leg was pulled out from under him. Landing harshly on his left side and left arm he lost his breath, having it forced from his body. As he was pulled across the slick night grass all he could hear was incessant clattering like the snapping of jaws.

Ashley Drake called her husband’s name again as she approached the back door, “Anthony!” No reply, as before. “I swear if you’re playing some stupid jump-scare trick on me again we’ll have cold rations for a week. I won’t cook a damned thing!” She hadn’t been too concerned, he’d only been gone twenty minutes or so. These cows were stubborn as a mule when they got “whiny,” as her husband called it.

Stepping outside now she shouted as best she could manage, “Anthony! Where are you?!”

Silence was her only reply. She began walking somewhat more cautiously toward the cow pen, that’s where he said he was going after all. In the distance she could barely make out a flickering light on the ground. Getting closer she realized it was the flashlight that her husband had pulled from the magnetic anchor at the back door. It wasn’t really flickering so much as the cows’ feet were crossing on front of the beam.

Approaching the fence and looking over she called again with more concern now, “Anthony! Where are you? Are you in there?” Still no reply.

In the moment Ashley realized that the cows were milling about aimlessly. The dots connected in her head, Wait a minute: didn’t Anthony say the cows were whining? Why are they calm now?

Her instincts kicked in and she turned to run back towards the hab, as fast as her legs could carry her. The denim of her jeans made a furious fipp noise as her legs propelled her forward with every step. Rushing in the back door and slapping the lock controls she moved to gun locker in her room.

Moving quickly she entered the code into the gun locker's panel. She pulled free the IAR-9 used by the Mobile Infantry – the Infantry that she was a part of.

"Milky Way above Shenandoah National Park. Photo by William McIntosh"

I do not own nor claim copyright of the image. It was found using an online search under the Public Domain license.

Whatever had possessed Brad Hudson to agree to this job was lost on him now. The dreams of an exciting life at sea, being out on your own, the only IT guy on a big tanker - saving the ship from a cyberattack! Or some other grandiose tech fantasy - had disappeared in a puff of smoke after the first three days at sea. It took 34 days to go from Miami, around the Cape of Good Hope, and up into the Gulf of Aden. And now, after being on land and loading oil for four days, the return trip had started. Endlessly, the numbing blue sea of the western Indian Ocean stretched on.

Brad stretched his arms up in a yawn, attempting not to fall asleep at the starboard railing. When he’d read all the propoganda about companies needing to guard their ships at sea due to increased pirate threats he assumed that once the massive tanker had got around the Cape of Good Hope he’d be popping off warning shots every few hours. Or at least once a day. So far the most exciting thing had been some practice shots with the other private security aboard the Delilah Blue.

Brad had applied for, and been offered a job by, the Global Maritime Security Firm. The GMSF mainly provided private protection against piracy on the high seas, along with other bodyguard and protective services. He’d been assigned as IT support for the ship. Despite that, he still needed to know how to fight. So after his hiring he’d trained with the Black Swamp Securities company. After three months there and a week-long training voyage at sea GMSF assigned him as a contractor to the oil tanker Delilah Blue.

It didn’t help that he didn’t fit in so well with the other 7 men assigned with him from GMSF. All of them had been prior military, mostly Marines and two Army guys - one of whom had been a US Army Ranger. Now they spent most of their days playing cards, watching movies, running the decks to stay in shape & stave off boredom, and once in a while launching a bright orange target bouy off the sides of the huge ship to take practice shots with their weapons.

All. Very. Mundane. Brad thought as he guessed at what time it was. He’d given up wearing a watch, there was no point out here. When the sun went down, he slept - unless he had a night watch. When it rose, he ate - or whenever he was hungry. And the computer equipment all ran fine. Generally the problems occured when one of the hired hands did something wrong which a little instruction and some mouse clicking could fix.

“How’s it going, kid?” came the gruff voice of Abner Clairemont.

Brad shrugged, “Same as every other day: boring.”

“Us Marines aren’t enough fun for you?” Abner asked.

“No no, not that. I just expected a little excitement on this cruise, is all. We haven’t even had a radar blip save for that one Navy cruiser who was patrolling the area. I thought these were pirate infested waters?” Brad replied.

“Only someone who hasn’t been shot at would want to get shot at,” Abner chided.

“Well, the ads for this kind of job promised adventure,” Brad explained.

Abner nodded, “So do the Marines’ ads. A lot of Marines - a lot of every military branch - get stuck in some dead-end boring ass place for months on end. I knew a guy who got snowed in at a South Korean outpost for three months. They lived off one MRE a day until the area around them thawed enough to get supplies in. No, I think I’ll take the high seas any day.”

“Fair enough. Maybe I shouldn’t complain so much,” Brad sighed.

Abner clapped him on the shoulder, “Don’t stress it, kid. You’re a civilian. You’re supposed to complain.”

“Hm,” Brad moaned ruefully. Remembering something then, something he’d been researching when the shitty satellite internet on the ship worked. Pulling up the M4 carbine he carried he pulled free the magazine to show it to the former active-duty Marine. “Tell me something, Ab: why don’t we have armor-piercing rounds? Aren’t these solid brass rounds just standard training rounds?”

Abner took the bullet magazine from the younger man and grinned, “Yea, what of it? We’re civilians. Only military can have armor-piercing rounds.”

“What if we get attacked by some pirates with body armor, or thick hulls these rounds can’t go through?” Brad asked.

Abner laughed outloud, “Kid, you don’t need armor piercing rounds against skinnies. Trust me: none of them have body armor. And the boats they’re using are barely held together as it is, they don’t have the resources to add extra armor.”

“Skinnies” had been the term used to refer to the Somali-based pirates, or any Somali, for decades. The general malnutrition of the people in the country made it a technically-accurate statement, if not an alltogether very rude one.

Abner handed back the magazine, “Trust me: if any are stupid enough to attack this boat the weapons we have will be plenty fine to fend them off.”

“Right. Your first escort cruiser out, right? A couple of their skiffs came in?”

“Right. Maybe twenty guys packed in tight on those two boats. They got close enough to open up with their AKs and my team opened fire,” Abner said shaking his head as his eyes lost their focus, looking back in time to that incident. “That kind of shit isn’t fighting, it’s a massacre. We outright killed at least half of them before they even got close enough to attempt boarding. Someone knocked off the driver of the first boat and it went out of control, narrowly missing the rear of the tanker I was on before getting lost out in the sunset. The other wised up enough to haul ass before getting any closer. Between the eight men protecting our ship we must’ve put three hundred rounds in the water. They maybe fired back fifty or so.”

“I guess that doesn’t sound so adventurous, after all,” Brad admitted.

Abner shook his head again, “It wasn’t. That kind of thing doesn’t get on the nightly news. No YouTube or Parascope live streams here either. It just happens, and the world keeps spinning.”

Abner stood and more gently patted his shoulder this time, “Just wanted to check on you, kid. Keep watching the seas. Maybe some whales will swim by and jump for you.”

***

Gu Xi Zhao counted the large-denomination Somali Shillings out in his hands before placing them on the makeshift desk which sat atop of the pirate lord’s deck. The boat was just about 12 meters long; 40-feet in the traditional American measurements. Strapped to its sides were a pair of 20-foot skiffs. Each mounted with a pair of high-octane motors. In total the Chinese captain had paid out 10,000 shillings to the elderly, gray-bearded, dark-skinned man. That wasn’t even 120 Chinese Yuan; a pittance of a payment that wouldn’t even pass for an accounting error in China. In the dirt-poor land of Somalia it was a small fortune.

The pirate lord, The Elder as he was simply called, eyed Zhao suspiciously. No one paid pirates this well. Even when a pirate did manage to capture an oil tanker successfully to raid its stores they couldn’t make this much money selling it on their black market. The Elder was considering if this deal was worth the trouble. But the money was far too tempting. His greed won out. He scooped up the money and jibbered something to his aid.

The young boy, who was maybe 12, spoke in terrible broken Chinese but it was good enough to understand, “Elder says we’ll find this US ship: the Delilah Blue. We’ll hunt her down for you, Mister Yoshi.”

Zhao nodded at his fake Japanese alias and also found some irony in the fact that the boy didn't know he using a Japanese name while speaking Chinese. He responded to the boy, “Good. It is five days out of port now. Make haste and report back to me. If you can break the engines, shoot holes in her hull so the oil spills out, I can pay you more. But it must be an absolute catastrophe for the Americans. No witnesses, no prisoners.”

The boy told this to The Elder, who in turn warbled at the boy again who translated, “The Elder will do this. You will hear from us in two days.”

Zhao nodded, turned and left with his two armed escorts aboard one of the pirate’s skiffs. The Eagle Soldiers didn’t wear their uniforms when dealing with the pirate lord, and had let their beards grow out to show some stubble. They also didn’t carry their typical QBZ-95 rifles either but had them aboard their stealth boat which sat no further than 10 meters away. Standing guard along the stealth boat’s sides were the remaining five Eagle Soldiers, their driver was inside the enclosed cabin preparing to have them depart.

Back aboard the Project 041 ship one of the soldiers asked Zhao, “Sir, are we to follow them?”

Zhao replied, “No. Let them go for now. Once their mission is complete we’ll kill their entire crew and sink that ugly boat.”

“And if they don’t succeed?”

“Then we’ll kill them, anyway. Take us away from here,” Zhao said as he went below decks.

***

“Starboard side! Here they come!” shouted Abner, “Hold fire!”

Brad stood six or seven feet away from Abner as the small skiff came thundering in on a pair of powerful outboard engines. It had to be at least a half-mile out still. In short order it’d be coming in real close; close enough to engage with their rifles. And “small” was a relative term. In comparison to the massive tanker it was small, dainty even, yet it was a good 20 or 25 feel long.

“Maru,” Adbner called on the radio to the team’s former US Army Ranger, “give them a warning shot once they’re in range. Just one.”

“Copy that, standing by on warning shot,” the sniper returned. A handful of moments passed, “Firing.” The long-barreled rifle the man was using roared thunder as he fired at the approaching pirate skiff.

From the distance Brad was viewing from the splash of the bullet’s impact in front of the approaching pirates was almost impossible to notice. The gaggle of pirates aboard the skiff probably didn’t notice either with how much that small boat was bouncing around the uneven water.

“Hold fire,” Abner called again, “I’m going let the get a little closer and fire another warning shot.”

“Boss, I can see them with AKs through my scope,” Maru said.

“Understood, hold fire,” Abner confirmed. The main squared the rifle up on his shoulder. The skiff was maybe 150 or so yards away. He fired a single round again in an attempt to ward off the pirates.

This time the pirates did notice, and began firing their AKs wildly at the large vessel. Brad’s heart had escalated to fight mode, hammering like a rapid war drum in his chest and ears. Brass rounds were clanking deafeningly loud off the hull, one pinging away at the hardened steel half-wall in front of him.

“Return fire!” Abner shouted as he began pulling the trigger on his M4-style carbine mercilessly. A hellish cacohony of thunder rose to piercing levels. Brad wasn’t aiming particularly well down his barrel, the adrenaline in his system throwing off his steady hand and aim. Nonetheless he fired at the pirate vessel. Or at least in its general direction. The 5.56mm NATO rounds travelled nearly instantly to their target at such a short range.

Then his weapon quit firing. He looked at it dumb founded for a second, unsure why it had stopped.

“Reload, Hudson!” Abner shouted at him.

Ah yea, no shit! Brad realized, dropping the spent magazine from the rifle.

“And get your fucking head down!” Abner shouted again.

Brad had just been standing straight up and not taking cover behind his barrier. Now crouching he inserted a new magazine and slapped the charging handle to snap the first round of the new magazine into place. Standing up to look again now, the skiff was less than fifty yards away in terms of literal distance, but was coming up along side the tanker vessel. Brad leaned over and began pulling back hard on the trigger for all it was worth.

He didn’t quite conciously register the fact until his next magazine was dry, but the pirates were all dead or grievously injured. None, except the man controlling the engine was moving. Even he was hunched over, clutching his left side as a generous amount of blood was emptying from his body.

The skiff plowed into, and then bounced off of, the tanker from the actuce angle it had been approaching from. As it roared away back into the deep blue, the pirates’ attack apparently halted, Brad subconciously re-locked the trigger safety on his rifle.

“Cease fire, cease fire,” Abner called over the radio.

Brad turned to face Abner, his own heart still hammering wildly. He removed the magazine from his rifle and tucked it into a pouch on his waist. The former Marine walked over to him calmly, as he conversed with the other 4-man fireteam leader through the radio. Brad absently listened to their conversation.

After a moment the Marine grabbed Brad but his left bicep, “You ok, kid?”

“You weren’t kidding. That kind of thing is a massacre,” Brad said looking down at the deck, but only seeing the crushingly thin bodies of the bullet-riddled pirates in his mind.

“No, I wasn’t kidding. And see: we didn’t need armor piercing rounds. These kill well enough,” Abner said.

Brad nodded. “Yeah... yeah I think I need to go think on some things. I’m not sure who, but I’m pretty sure I just killed at least one person today.”

“It’s easier said than done, but I’ll tell you this: once you do it, it’s not so hard the next time. Especially if that son of a bitch is trying to kill you.”

“And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been fixed, in order that those who would pass from here to you may not be able, and none may cross from there to us.”

- Abraham to the rich man

The lost soul stumbled forward again, tripping over his own two ethereal feet. The bridge beyond wasn’t too far now. Just a hundred feet or so. Beyond – far in the distance beyond that bridge – was salvation. A beacon of hope and life. Another chance to get it right this time. He just had to walk towards it, shielding his face from the ceaseless burning wind that battered his face.

The lost man hadn’t chosen this, had he? Not really. There had been no proof of this shithole existing after all. Those religious fuckers had lied and weaseled their way into such power back home. Now here he was, here he suffered – and for what? Because he’d been enjoying the one life he’d been given? Maybe he’d been a little hedonistic in sleeping with his wife’s two sisters. … And her brother but that wasn’t the damned point.

He was here now, stumbling toward his salvation. It wasn’t too late now. There was still plenty of time. Not that time existed in this place.

God he was thirsty, and hungry, and hot, and exhausted. It was too much. It was overbearing.

No, he needed to get home. He needed to fix things. Make it all right with his in-laws and his father. The poor bastard was on his deathbed.

The other… “people” of this place walked past him. All were nude but none had any distinguishing features. Their bodies were a transparent ghoulish, ephemeral shape. One leg would soundlessly pound the ground and they’d walk by. How could they walk faster? They were passing him by?

The collapse finally came, the exhaustion, and his dry mouth wearing on him too much. Craning his neck was torture but he could see it: the light. The salvation, far beyond, at the end of the bridge.

Somehow standing once again he walked, plodding and endless, towards that light. The others… these fools. They were walking away from the light now, away from the bridge!

No matter! Their failings were not his!

Amongst the hazy, cloudy faces, and dry wind still trying to break him he saw his father’s face.

“My son? Is that you?”

“Father! Why are you here?!”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“I was coming back for you, to make it right! You can’t be here! You can’t be dead!”

“But I had no will to live. Without you I…” the man’s face took on a glazed ashen look. His body, which had appeared sturdy and real just before, was now turning cloudy and transparent. His face somehow still remained as he got a brief spark of life back into his eyes. He looked disgusted, “Who are you?! Where is my son?! YOU TELL ME!”

“Father! I-"

The man was thrown down by his father, “No! Lies! I will find my son!”

His father began walking the road to the bridge, in the wrong direction.

“Father!”

Father? Did he have a father? What exactly was a father?

The man turned away, back toward the bridge to… to where? Wasn’t the bridge to salvation behind him?

Then what was that before him? There was a light there, too? Or was it the only light? Other walked by him still. But a few - obviously the smarter of these lost souls - walked with him toward this new light.

Or was it shadow? It was hard to tell.

It didn’t matter. The walk mattered. The next step mattered. Oblivion mattered. Annihilation mattered.

The orange light cut vertical across my sight. All blackness, bisected perfectly in the middle by a sharp needle which then stretched to the edge of my vision. I tried opening my eyes more but the light was too glaring. It burned like a blowtorch. I snapped them back shut, turned my head away.

Coming around to what was – hopefully – away from the light I opened my left eye ever so slightly: the light wasn’t so painful now, just glaring. It light of the local star – Alcyone – was shining through the one porthole of my vessel giving barely enough illumination for me to make out the interior consoles. All systems dead.

I rolled over – fuck, I rolled over – and felt the damning pull of gravity. That wasn’t good. It meant my station, or rather what had been my station, wasn’t in orbit any more. It was now on a surface of a planet. No power meant that the section I was inhabiting was now cut off from the main power supply. Probably meant the battery backups were offline too.

What the hell had happened?

Aside from the difficult pull of gravity, to which my space legs hadn’t experienced in almost a year, I didn’t seem to be in rough shape. No choice but to assess and react.

First things first: physical condition checks out as ok. My suit’s internals were showing yellow statuses, save for my adrenaline, norepinephrine, and cortisol levels; those were high showing red. I did some basic movements & didn’t feel any pain. Likely I was intact.

Second: mental status. Stressed but aware. No vertigo or dizziness. Colors appear correct, nothing is swimming in my vision. I can identify the various consoles in front of me. That means my cognitive processes are working.

Third: power status. Main power & backups offline, suit status showing 87% which meant I was likely sitting here unconscious for a little over 8 hours. Plenty of time to rig something together & save myself.

I decided to spend a while exploring my wreck. It was just one of the outboard pods from the main station. Some meteor storm? Perhaps an electrical fire which caused an oxygen tank to explode? No way to know.

I pulled some panels from the rear of the wreck open. Thank God or the Celestials or my ancestors – whomever – that the Silicon-Lithium-Polymer batteries were still in place. I disconnected them, tossed them on the deck of this low-gravity world. They thudded in place. I moved and lost my grip, fell down beside the batteries.

I heard a groan. A sickening tearing of metal. The wreck moved then, rocking to the side. The batteries of course fell atop of me. They didn’t weigh much in the low gravity of this world yet to my zero-G atrophied muscles & bones they felt like a ton.

“Son of a bitch,” I groaned. I foisted the offenders off me. Is this wreck on a cliff? Did the ground just shift?

Moving as fast as I could, but still painfully slowly, I go back to the single porthole in what was now my capsule. I looked out at the world since I could see it now. If I was on a cliff it was behind me, the porthole was parallel to the ground. Endless light gray stuck out, lit by the slightly orange tinge of the local star.

Which presented another problem: Alcyone was a blue star. And this was an orange star. Now I am lost and no idea where I am.

So what knocked over this capsule onto its side? If I’m on a lifeless moon… I suppose it could be tectonically active? Unlikely but not impossible.

That wasn’t it though, as I’d suddenly become keenly aware. What I could only describe as a sharp-talon claw slapped up against the clear window. It had two front talons and a third rear talon, and it stretched the entire 13 inch diameter of the porthole.

“Son of a bitch,” I swore quietly as I fell backward. It was painfully slow and didn’t end nearly soon enough. My body ached in protest of the sudden movement, my muscles trying not to tear themselves and my bones apart.

When I’d arrested my fall I looked back up at the window. The… animal? Creature? Whatever it was – its face had appeared in the window. It was elongated, sharper at the front like a beak. There were a series of cavities in the sides of its face. No eyes were present – there couldn’t be if this thing survived in dead vacuum. Perhaps a type of infra-red or electro-magnetic detection?

It moved away from the porthole. I scrambled to the batteries. It was outside and I was inside. Whether it say via IR or EM wasn’t important right now, either way this wrecked capsule would look like a damn bonfire against the cold void.

My only hope was to pull up the Solar Positioning System and broadcast a distress call.

It took some doing, and the animal had made a couple attempts at breaking open my tin can, but not with much success. It sheered some long slices in the outer hull, however.

I pulled the emergency SPS out from under the front console. They were kept in key locations through a space station for just this reason. The system had a rudimentary but reliable quantum entanglement system that would report my location back to the main station. Assuming it still existed.

It didn’t take much effort to get the SiLiPoly connected to the SPS & power it up. I didn’t know what system I was in, but someone else would know soon enough. Hopefully.

Being uncomfortably close to the porthole I could see the creature had moved away now, sitting just a few meters away, perfectly enclosed by the porthole. I dare say it was staring at me, waiting for patiently for a dinner delivery.

BREVITY ADMINISTRATION BUILDING

Former Landing Zone command building

July 17, 2186

“As you can see, Advisor, the effort and diversion of equipment to construct a road leading to the hydro-electric plant along the Green River will make a more efficient energy delivery system,” said Esteban Tarifa, the lead civil engineer of the colony. “Once the road is laid down, power lines can easily be added using the metals we’ve been exhuming from the mine.”

“Why not more solar panels to power our habs?” Oum asked.

“Because we’re running very low on them, ma’am. Lower than I’d like to admit, really. I would prefer to keep the ones we have for replacements if our current panels we’re using get damaged. At this point we haven’t found any materials we can use to manufacture new panels. We may never, and having and endless supply of power - if not as efficient a supply - from the hydro-electric would reduce our dependency on the panels. Meaning they’ll wear out more slowly,” Tarifa explained.

The man had proven him as competent and an effective leader here on Nile. Oum knew he wasn’t exactly favored by the Brazilian Hegemony on Earth and had her concerns about his character when setting out on this expedition. Despite this, the last two years had proven he operated better when not under the thumb of whatever rulers he had back on Earth. While Oum made demands of him she had given him more unilateral authority in civil engineering matters than the Hegemony had. As such, he had excelled. Indeed the man had found his calling, she felt.

At least there haven’t been food riots, said the voice of Decatur in her mind. She had to admit that was largely due to the efficiency and guidance of Tarifa’s planning for farms, ranches, processing stations, power plants, and housing fabrications.

“Very well, Esteban. Draw up some more specific plans on how you’d like to route the road from the plant. I do want to be careful about where we place it. I don’t want to have us plant a road down right in the middle of some place where the local wildlife can destroy it and we sink more resources into maintaining the road than utilizing it,” she added.

“I agree. That’s why I was hoping to use one of the dropships to make survey flights between here and the hydro plant,” he explained.

“I see. That’s entirely the major’s decision, but I’ll set up a meeting with him,” she said then reconsidered. You don’t have to be the middle-man for everything. “Unless you’d just like to seek him out yourself and let me know what you two decide.”

“Um,” he seemed a little caught off guard by the offer, “Certainly, Advisor. I can do that.”

“Very good then. There was another-” Oum started to say when the comm on her desk began beeping with a red light. It was an emergency priority alert from the listening tower.

She tapped it on, “Oum here.”

“Advisor, we’ve got incoming communications from deep space, coming out near the hyperspace point. It’s an automated signal citing it’s from Earth Command, requesting a response,” said the person at the other end.

“I’m on my way, get Major Decatur,” she said and ended the call. “I’m afraid the road project will have to wait for a little bit, Esteban. I’ll get back with you as soon as I can.”

“Of course! What’s a message from Earth mean, ma’am?” he inquired.

“I’ve got no idea, though I’m sure we’ll know soon,” she said.

BREVITY LISTENING TOWER

July 17, 2186

“What’s the word, Specialist?” Oum heard Decatur ask as she cleared the last steps into the control room.

“It’s an automated repeating signal. It’s awaiting confirmation of receipt and is sending valid clearance codes, sir,” Hope Irizarri explained.

Decatur saw Oum enter and nodded at her, “Advisor.”

“Do we know anything else?” Oum asked as she nodded at Decatur.

“Yes, ma’am. The signal contains a schematic detailing the vessel. It’s identified as a Charon-XLS rocket, meaning ‘extended length supply.’ If the transmission is to be believed,” she added.

“Any reason to think it’s not legitimate?” Oum asked.

“No ma’am. The signal is on expected Earth Command frequencies. It has a text message as well stating it’s addressed to ‘Nile-colony command staff or colonial government’ adding that it’s an automated re-supply vessel from Earth Command,” Irizarri stated.

Decatur looked questioningly at Oum, “Might as well send a response.”

“You’re not concerned about the Kamikaze adapting new strategies - that this could be some kind of trick?” Oum asked him.

“It could be. But just a couple weeks ago we had a probe from Earth - maybe it was meant to establish itself as a homing beacon for this ship. Or maybe it carried a message telling us to expect this one. With how paranoid Earth Command is then they might send in this ship with a coded set of commands to expect a transmission from us. If it doesn’t receive one then maybe it hypers out back to Earth or another colony. Our window for operation here could be very tight, Advisor,” Decatur suggested.

“Indeed. If we’re just getting this message now then this vessel is probably 6 days away, assuming it hypered in at the same spot Brevity did. At light speed we’re talking a few hours - so sending a signal right now we’d be waiting the better part of a day to hear any reply from it,” she said.

“Very true. I say we do it. This doesn’t fit with the Kamikaze at prior tactics at all. They prefer to come in on a stealth trajectory and surprise attack undefended colonies using as few resources as possible. But they always attack, that’s been their M.O. for decades,” Decatur said.

“Very well then. I suppose being cautious to the point of paralysis is just as dangerous as acting reckless,” Oum agreed. She turned to Specialist Irizarri, “Send a reply, Specialist.” Decatur nodded at her.

“Yes, ma’am. Standard acknowledgment signal sent. It’ll be quite a number of hours before we hear a response. I’ll alert you you immediately as soon as we hear more,” Irizarri stated.

“Thank you. In the mean time,” Oum said turning back to Decatur, “Civil Engineer Tarifa would like to discuss using a dropship.”

BREVITY ADMINISTRATION BUILDING

Former Landing Zone command building

July 17, 2186

It was late evening now. Oum’s comm beeped at her again, the red light flashing. She pressed the acceptance key, “Oum here.”

“Listening Tower ma’am, Specialist Irizarri here. We have a reply from the incoming ship. It’s got a data dump that it sent, including a couple video files addressed to you or the governing body. It also stated that it’s set a course to enter orbit and will arrive in approximately 5 days and 19 hours.”

“Very good, Specialist. Thank you. Can you save the video files to the network so I can access them?” Oum asked.

“Yes ma’am, give it about three minutes and they’ll be ready for you,” Irizarri said.

“Excellent, I’ll contact Major Decatur - no need for you to,” Oum added.

“Understood ma’am. I’ll keep you apprised of the situation,” Irizarri said before ending the communication.

Oum called Decatur and asked him to come over. Ilarion was the ever-present shadow, of course. Oum wasn’t... dissatisfied with him but she had started to see his presence as less necessary. Indeed she’d come to trust Major Scott Decatur and his Infantry implicitly. And the colony was, as a general term, in good spirits despite the minor incident at her public address after the Earth probe.

Decatur arrived and she pulled up the first video file which wasn’t encrypted. The image appeared and it was Admiral Bron, of the Allied Western Defense Initiative’s space navy. He was in his full dress uniform and he spoke in good spirits, “Greetings from Earth to our brothers and sisters on Nile. I sincerely hope this message and gift finds you in good health. Earth hopes that Nile is prospering and as a show of that hope we are sending a supply vessel with food, supplies, and parts. We have no way of knowing what you’ll need or how much of it - so we tried to anticipate the harder-to-come-by items such as spare parts for machinery or replacement parts for computers. Given Nile’s ecosystem we don’t believe you’ll have found it difficult to grow your own food but we included that as well. We also have a data dump of news from around Earth and the other colonies.”

Oum smiled at this and looked at Decatur, her spirits greatly lifted. The Major offered a smile as well as he nodded. Even Ilarion offered a smirk.

“This vessel is a one-way courier for you. Typically we have our supply ships run both directions, so they be reused. Given the necessity of the secrecy for our mission this specific vessel will crash itself into the Nile star once the cargo has been unloaded to the colony. The basic process for this is as follows: the vessel will enter orbit and send self-piloted landers loaded with supplies. You’ll call these down from the rocket at your discretion. Once the last one is unloaded the ship will then begin its self-destruct mission and leave orbit,” Bron continued. “There is a second message stored as well which is classified Top Secret under the Earth Command security protocol. I advise opening it in private but the decision is yours. Earth Command isn’t giving an order on that particular topic.

“Good fortune from Earth. And God speed to you one and all. Admiral Bron on behalf of Earth Command, over and out.” The video showed the Earth Command emblem and ended.

“Always good to get gifts from home,” Decatur couldn’t hide his smile.

“Very true,” Oum added. “It’s a relief. But I’m sure there’s less-than-good news on the second file.”

“It wouldn’t be Top Secret for news on a victory parade. I’m afraid the war with the Kamikaze is going badly,” Decatur confessed.

“Let’s find out,” Oum said as she opened the file. It prompted for her secret clearance code which had been sent with her from Earth Command. It wasn’t written down anywhere or stored on a computer - it was completely recalled from her memory.

The code was accepted and the video file opened after a short delay for the decryption. Admiral Bron’s image reappeared. “Governing body of the Nile colony. This message is classified as Top Secret by Earth Command. However, since we can’t exercise any authority over you it is your prerogative to keep this message that way.”

The video continued, “Several months after the Brevity left Earth one of our long-range scouting missions came across a system which contained a habitable world. However, it had already been decimated by the Kamikaze. Further investigating found that a large space conflict had occurred between a Kamikaze fleet and another force. A force that was not human in origin. With this news we know there is at least one other intelligent species among the stars. Closer inspection seems to indicate that there is at least two other intelligent species. The wreckage we could recover suggests two very different styles of design practice for these warships. And given the debris pattern we believe the two were allied against the Kamikaze in their confrontation.

“The habitable world did, at one time, have some kind of colony on it. It appeared there were three major settlement zones which were subsequently completely destroyed by the Kamikaze when the other alien space fleets were destroyed.

“This news comes as a mix of potential good and potential bad. Whether or not these aliens would be friendly towards us is unknown. They very well may be as equally xenophobic as the Kamikaze are. There’s no point to this information other than to let you know. Earth Command doesn’t like to keep its colonies too much in the dark except when it’s absolutely necessary. However, as it stands this is not known to the vast majority of other colonies. We wanted you to be aware.”

Bron continued, “As such we have an additional module on the Charon rocket we’ve sent to you. It contains a new prototype missile-defense system that will remain in orbit and is solar powered. You can call this module down to the surface with you if you prefer and use it as a land-based defense platform. If not, then before the Charon collides with the local star it will drop the defense platforms in a sustainable orbit. The choice is yours. God speed, Nile. Admiral Bron, over and out.”

Again the message the same as the other. Oum leaned back to look at her military commander. “Thoughts?”

“None good. Without more information I’d just as well take this as all bad news. Not one but two more alien species out there? Also fighting our enemy – which it sounds like they lost? I don’t think that bodes well for humanity,” Decatur said candidly.

“Indeed. So this new missile system: keep it in orbit or bring it down here?” she asked.

“Well...” Decatur paused, “I don’t know how to fight a space battle. Even so I don’t think one missile platform is going to do us any good. Hypothetically, if we were attacked by the Kamikaze - or another species in light of this news – they’d see the platform in orbit long before they arrived. A couple kinetic strikes from the deep solar system would blow it away before the missiles would do any appreciable damage. Hell, maybe before they could even return fire. I say bring it down here so we can deploy it how and where we want. And it gives us the option of maybe reverse-engineering those missiles to make more. We’ve found a lot of natural resources here and have a decent manufacturing hub: might be possible.”

“Seems like a sound idea to me,” Oum replied. She leaned back in her chair a bit, steepling her fingers, “Now what do we tell the people? Do we tell the people?”

Decatur put up his hands defensively, “I’m staying out of that one. If you want the Infantry on-hand to do crowd control I’ll order it. But if we should tell them now? I don’t know. I might wait a little bit. Let the supplies come down, get everyone in good spirits again before delivering the bad news – that way they’ll have their minds on something: news from home, maybe distant relatives sent mail, eating a favorite food we don’t have here, reading new stories, or playing new music: whatever.”

“Maybe you should be running this colony. Do you want to deliver this bad news as well?” Oum laughed, only half joking.

“A solid ‘no’ on both options,” Decatur said standing up. “You should tell the people we’re expecting resupply within the week. Carry on, business as usual in the mean time.”

Oum nodded, “Thank you, Major. I think I’ll take your advice.”

Image originally hosted on Pixabay at https://pixabay.com/en/science-fiction-starry-sky-space-1412096/ I am not the original artist nor do I own the image showed. The image used after being located under the Creative Commons license.

“Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait for oil. If we were agricultural he couldn’t come near us. To him, it was simple greed. And we thought, as Kuwaitis, that once Saddam did the invasion, that all the other countries would come to our rescue. And this was the sad awakening: they didn’t. As a matter of fact, some of them took sides with Saddam. The alternative was to go to a superpower. The United States was the alternative.”

⁃ Jassim Qabazard. Kuwait, Civil Engineer. The World Without US documentary, 2011.

“South Sudan became independent from the rest of Sudan by referendum in 2011, and its strongest foreign partner is China. That country buys 82% of South Sudan’s oil exports and provides infrastructural development investments. Indeed, China was a major player in securing the peaceful partition of Sudan last decade, as the largest trading partner of both states.”

⁃ Bill Humphrey, The Globalist, December 19, 2013

“In conclusion I believe that the Chinese involvement in Somalia, however small it may be, is a sign that that the non-interventionist approaches adopted by China since the end of the Cold War is now clashing with its increased interests in other areas of the world, particularly in Africa.”

⁃ Luke Butcher, E-International Relations Students, June 15, 2011

***

Deep inside the halls of a secret meeting room, secretly connected via underground tunnel to the Peoples Great Hall, met a number of significantly ranked officials of the Central Committee of the Communist Part of China. Li Chunhua, an Alternate Member with aspirations of finding his way to Full Member, listened intently to one of the Vice-Admirals of the Chinese Navy’s West Fleet. Vice Admiral Hongqi Yuan was detailing the specifics of anti-piracy operations in the Gulf of Aden. As a permanent member of the UN Security Council, what was to be discussed here would be a breach of numerous international laws. Some might say it was treason to the UN. But how could it be treason if it wasn’t a nation? Especially if it was a nation you were not a part of.

Yuan finished his words, ”... to which the West Fleet concludes operations along the coast of South Africa. We are, without question, publicly in compliance with all UN laws.”

“This means, Vice Admiral, that any efforts to disrupt’s the West’s oil shipments must be done in the most clandestine of measures. The Americans will be trouble enough if they find out about us and conflict ensues. The entire West? All of NATO? That would be too much for us. China cannot be seen as an aggressor here,” spoke one of the Full Members, Chen He. He was the Deputy Chief of the Central Military Commission Joint Staff.

“Correct. We have a plan that involves using a formerly disgraced Captain of the Jinan Military Region Special Forces Unit: Captain Gu Xi Zhao,” Yuan stated.

Li recognized that name. Zhao was a disgraced officer and “sidelined” - to use an American term - for his failure to push back a raiding force across the China-India border. Officially speaking the raiders were simple terrorists, attacking beyond China’s red line to sow discontent. In reality, which everyone in this room knew to be true despite the lack of evidence, was that the Indian Army had sent a small team across the border to test China’s resolve. To see just how far they could push the line. Zhao, who had been Captain of the local regional forces, had failed to capture or kill a single invader. It was disgraceful and disgusting. It had made China look like fools. Every single opportunity to show resilience in the public eye had to be capitalized on, else it could erode China’s credibility on the world stage.

“Capitalized” - the word ran through Li’s mind. He mentally shuddered at the word. How very... American. But the word fit the point, so he didn’t dwell on it.

Li spoke up, “I know of Captain Zhao. I was the one who sat on the Regional Party Judicial Council when he was brought to trial. Why do we choose him? Have his past failures not been enough?”

Yuan nodded in acknowledgement, “Those failures are precisely why we’re picking him. He is disgraced and we can make the documentation to confirm it. That should only be necessary if he’s captured, however. That is an unlikely outcome as he won’t be directly involved in the raids on the American oil tankers.”

“This is indeed an plan of subterfuge. What is the general plan?” Li asked.

“Using one of the new Type 41 small-crew stealth boats Captain Zhao will head up an operation to hire or otherwise enlist local Somali pirate lords to stage a raid upon an American tanker. It doesn’t matter which one so long as it has oil aboard. The plan is to have the pirates raid the vessel, kill the entire crew, and damage it so that it leaks the crude oil into the Gulf of Aden. This will make American crews look incompetent, the resulting natural damage will be blamed on the American company, and by extension, America itself. The West Fleet will come in to assist in humanitarian efforts and to clean up the resultant oil spill. Sanctions, tarrifs, or some other financial punishment shall be placed on American shipping interests in the area. It is a win-win scenario for China,” Yuan said.

“And yet there is great danger. The West Fleets will not be directly involved?” Li asked.

“Correct. West Fleet will treat any pirate vessels it encounters under UN international law. That includes Captain Zhao as during this operation he’ll be treated as a rogue element: a man disgraced from the military, viewed dishonorably among his peers, but yet remains loyal to China. He’ll be seen as a vigilante, if capture. There will be no ties to China nor the Party,” Yuan explained.

“Then how would he explain the Type 41 stealth boat?”

“He won’t have to. Aside from not being directly involved, unless absolutely necessary, the boat can be scuttled and her main navigation computer destroyed. No one will know the vessel even exists,” Yuan said confidently.

Li wasn’t so sure. Yet he was sure that if the Americans continued to receive oil form the Middle East - oil better suited to serving China’s interests - then when the day came for open war it would be easier to have the Middle East leaders side with China. Li looked to Chen He. The older man nodded.

“Do what must be done,” Chen He told the Vice Admiral. “May I ask: what happens if Zhao isn’t successful and is able to avoid capture?”

“Zhao will be given special orders that any Chinese captain on any Chinese naval ship will understand. He will be returned home after he’s able to securely communicate with the Party,” Yuan explained, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“So be it. Li, you will go to the Jinan training base and provide Captain Zhao his orders. It would be suspicious for a Full Member to be noted as meeting with a Special Forces officers. We can’t send one of the local leaders as they aren’t yet in a position of absolute trust among the Party,” Chen He spoke.

Li inclined his head, “I understand and will obey.”

***

Captain Gu Xi Zhao was in a secure room at his training station for the Jinan Military Region Special Forces Unit - known as the “Eagle Soldiers” for the masses due to the propoganda systems. Zhao was looking over the orders for his new assignment.

Finally. The Party has decided to give favor to me, again. Zhao’s mind raced silently as he read the orders.

The mission was clandestine, dangerous, and one of many highly secret operations being carried out by the PLA’s Special Operations Forces groups. The goal was simple: arm local dissidents and hinder American oil exports. Outwardly it would appear to be piracy. The truth was closer to open warfare.

As he read the forms in front of him, a member of the Party watched him. A lower member named Li Chunhua had delivered the orders. A politician who undoubtedly was on the rise within the Party. It was not lost on Zhao that this mission was designed to be one in which China could denounce him as a loose cannon, a rogue, who was displeased with the Party’s punishment of him given his failures.

This was partly true: the Party had punished him for failure to stop Indian raiders from crossing the border. Zhao, however, accepted his dishonorable conduct. He hadn’t been zealous enough, he hadn’t been fast enough, and he hadn’t been strong enough to defeat China’s long time friend-and-enemy to which they shared a border. Since the Party couldn’t make China look weak the truth was never reported to the outside world. Nonetheless, the commander of China’s defensive unit - Gu Xi Zhao - would still need some punitive action taken against him. And so Zhao had been relegated to commanding the training brigade in the Jinan Region.

But Zhao was relegated no longer. He had another chance. He was exactly the tool China needed for the Party’s aims - and he would not fail this time. Zhao would intercept and annihilate his enemy. The fallout from the loss of enough cargo would make America a laughing stock in the UN, paving the road for greater Chinese involvement.

Upon finishing the reading of his orders Zhao placed the papers onto the small desk in the room. He saluted the Party member vigorously, “I accept my orders and will succeed!”

Li Chunhua, not being in the military, didn’t salute the Captain back. He stood and nodded, “China needs you more than ever, Captain Zhao. China also needs there to be no evidence of our involvement. See that you do not fail us.”

“I will succeed, for the glory of China,” Zhao confirmed with less volume but no less dedication.