“And if that’s the case, they must have a plan to deal with the current government,” the President said slowly. “They haven’t attempted to talk to us at all?”
Paul shook his head. It was the point he found most ominous. The attacks on the planet showed a frightening lack of concern for civilian causalities; he had the nasty feeling that Washington had been spared only because it wasn’t a military target, rather than any concern for the preservation of human life. Human rules of engagement might be very different to alien rules of engagement; for all he knew, any human with a weapon was a legitimate target. Humans had come up with a whole mixture of rules of war, some practical, some the work of dreamers… but the aliens might have a whole different attitude. They might regard genocide as a practical and moral solution to a problem, rather than a horrific crime to be avoided at all costs.
“No, Mr President,” he said. “If they can talk to us, they’re not interested in talking.”
“Maybe they’re talking to their prisoners,” Spencer said, hopefully. “Ambassador Prachthauser could tell them how to communicate with the government, couldn’t he?”
“If they’re interested,” Paul said. “They might be being sucked dry of everything they know about us.”
The President rubbed his eyes. “Major Neilson, tell me about the civilian population? How are they coping with the… war?”
Neilson, one of the military officers Paul didn’t know, leaned forward. “It’s really too early to tell, Mr President,” he said. “The vast majority of citizens stocked up on food, drink and emergency supplies during the week before the predicted arrival date and should be fine, those who remained in the cities. Hundreds of thousands set out of the cities and are scattered all over the countryside. Civilian morale is hard to measure at the moment, but people are scared; we’ve already had riots in a dozen cities and an upsurge in looting and other crimes. Those who are without electric power are actually taking it worst; there seems to be a belief that the entire country is coming to an end and they’re taking it out on everything. Some lit fires which started to get out of control. The lucky ones with power are coping better, but that might change…”
He paused. “You have to talk to them, sir,” he added. “The country hasn’t been shocked like this since Pearl Harbour. 9/11 was a pinprick compared to this and… well, there’s a lot of speculation out on the internet, some of it pretty accurate. If they get the idea we’re losing the war…”
General Hastings fixed him with a look. “That’s another issue, son,” he said, not unkindly. “What about the damaged bases and facilities?”
“The death toll near the bases and the other targeted facilities was pretty high,” Neilson said. “FEMA reports that the destroyed harbours and dams caused massive flash floods. The survivors are being helped as best as we can, but our resources are badly overstretched and we can’t help everyone.”
The President’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that we’re going to abandon American citizens?”
Neilson looked terrified. “No, Mr President,” he said, “but I must caution you that we’re not going to be able to save everyone. We were never allowed to raise a stockpile of disaster recovery equipment in every state and the equipment we do have is often in the wrong place to be helpful. We daren’t launch aircraft, even helicopters, and some of the roads have been bashed up. The response from the locals has been very good, but they don’t have the right equipment, and in some cases they have even tried to refuse to allow us to use it.”
“Seize it,” Deborah suggested, angrily. “I cannot believe that anyone would be so selfish while the country is under attack. We need that gear, so take it off them and put it to use saving lives!”
“We have done,” Neilson admitted. “In a few days, we should know just how bad it is all over the United States, but at the moment, the best we can really do is accept the fact that local command has devolved down to the state level or lower and let them get on with it. Once we have a full and accurate report of the state of the nation, we can begin shuttling equipment around the country, although it will be years before we can recover from this.”
“It’s probably worse everywhere else,” General Hastings said dryly. “I took part in a study of the Russian infrastructure and if the aliens destroyed only a handful of vital points, they’re going to be completely fucked.”
The President gave him a reproving glance. “We might need the Russians,” he said. Paul knew that he was right. “What are the aliens going to do to take advantage of the chaos they’ve caused?”
Paul yawned and desperately tried to cover it. “I don’t know,” he said, tiredly. He really needed a few hours sleep and a shower. He probably wouldn’t get them anytime soon. “I think, however, that the choice about what happens next isn’t ours, but theirs. The aliens will decide the next move.”
Chapter Eleven
I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do because I notice it always coincides with their own desires.
The massive hanger bay normally carried the spaceplanes that would be used to carry the believers down to the surface of their new world. Now, the craft had been moved back to the rear section of the Guiding Star, allowing the space to be used for the remains of the human space station and the handful of captured satellites. The space station had fallen easily, almost without a shot being fired, and enough of it had been captured to allow the researchers to study the remains. The other researchers would examine the human captives, but for Researcher Femala, there was nothing quite like examining the human technology. It promised to be the most interesting — and productive — line of investigation.
The space station, after a few cycles of study, had been… puzzling. It hadn’t been hard to locate and identify most of the components and there was nothing really new in its design, but some of the technology was more advanced than she had expected. A race that had a space program was a rarity, as far as they knew, but those that had had a space program had pushed it to the limit. This race seemed to combine advanced computers and technology with a space program that was barely enough to maintain twelve people in orbit. The spacecraft that had, however futilely, opposed them in orbit had been junk, primitive junk… and yet some of the tech she was looking at was more advanced than any she’d seen before. Were it not the foulest blasphemy, she would have wondered if it were more advanced than that of the Takaina.
Or maybe it’s a gift, she thought, with a certain amount of wry amusement. The Takaina had never encountered a race more advanced than their own, but if they were to locate one, it was well that they had located one that had never bothered to actually use what it had developed. It was a certain sign of carelessness and, perhaps, a warning that the Takaina themselves were falling behind what was expected of them. The human race, given a relatively few cycles of warning, might have been able to really hurt the expedition; she’d watched in horror as several of the parasite vessels had been blown out of space by their weapons. They’d suffered worse, of course, but…
“Researcher,” a voice said, from behind her. Femala twisted in space to see the High Priest, floating behind her, watching as her people swarmed over the alien wreckage. She twisted her head into the closest one could come to a full genuflection in zero-gravity, wondering why the High Priest had chosen to come talk to her in person. He rarely had anything to do with anyone below the level of a Priest, apart from the military officers. “What can you tell me about our new friends?”