She forced her mind back to the data on the screen. She had far too much work to sit and daydream, and she rubbed her bleary eyes and focused on her display. Her nightmares would still be there when she had time for them.
“Colonel Linden?” She was reading through the case reports when her assistant’s voice came through the com. “There is a visitor for you. She’s at the outer gate. She doesn’t have credentials, so the guards won’t let her through.”
Sarah looked up from her screen, wondering who could be looking for her at this hour. Everyone she knew was in the Corps or the navy, and they’d have been admitted without a problem. “I’m swamped here, Kim.” Her tone was tense; she was annoyed at the distraction. “See what it’s about and take care of it.”
There was a brief pause. “Umm…I think you might want to handle this yourself, colonel.”
Sarah exhaled hard, her impatience growing. “I’m busy here, captain.” She almost cut the line, but she paused. Captain Quinn wasn’t one to waste her time, especially when she had a hospital full of wounded to deal with. “What is it all about?”
“Well, colonel…your visitor’s name is Alex. Alex Linden.” Another pause. “She says she’s your sister.”
Chapter 18
Vance was sore. Every square centimeter of his body hurt. Man wasn’t supposed to endure crushing acceleration and deceleration without a break. But it had been essential for him to get back to the Sol system and to do it as quickly as possible. This wasn’t just a problem the Alliance was facing – it was a threat to all mankind.
He’d left Garret and Holm and the rest of the Alliance military leaders believing there was probably something to Hofstader’s theory, but he himself had no uncertainty…he was absolutely convinced the German scientist had figured it out. Mankind had achieved first contact with another intelligent race, and it had turned out to be a disaster as bad as anything depicted in an old science fiction vid. They hadn’t taken the conversation to its full extent during the conference on Lexington, but Vance had done it in his own mind…mankind faced the very real possibility of extinction.
He had never been happier he’d committed the resources to develop the Torch. They were small ships, with almost no armor or defensive systems, but they were fast…faster than anything else built by man. The ships represented a breakthrough in nanotech systemization and reached a new level of thrust to mass ratios. And Vance had pushed it to the max the entire trip, thrusting over 40g most of the way.
The Torch’s force dampening chambers were a step above a normal acceleration couch. They kept the crew alive, even at 40g, but it wasn’t a lot of fun floating in ectoplasmic goo, with a hose snaked down your throat forcing air into your lungs. Especially not for days on end. A lot of people couldn’t handle it, and half the crew had needed a heavy dose of anti-psychotics to bring them back to reality.
He’d left the Alliance officers one of the ultrafast speeders for their own use. It was a major breech of national security to leave a top secret advanced system in the hands of another power, but Vance knew it was no time for such considerations. Who cared if the Alliance stole some tech when they all faced destruction from outside? If the Superpowers couldn’t learn to work together, man’s worlds were likely to become graveyards, the wind whipping through the haunted ruins of lifeless cities.
Vance was unemotional and straightforward…not all at susceptible to periods of introspection and self-doubt as most of those he met were. But he couldn’t help wonder how he’d ended up in the forefront of all this. His family had been one of the first to settle on Mars. His great-grandfather had led the second colonization expedition, and his grandfather had been a hero of the independence movement. As a young man, the spoiled heir to a wealthy family, his plans had been limited to managing the family’s far-flung business interests. But when his father died suddenly it fell to him to take his place – both as a Council member and the head of Martian Security.
The Martian Confederation, while it had some features of a republic, was, for all intents and purposes, an oligarchy ruled by the oldest and most important families operating through the High Council. And that council had always included a Vance. Roderick hadn’t wanted the responsibility, but it was his duty to the family as well as the Confederation, and he accepted it without question.
That had been three decades past, and now Vance was part of the council’s leadership, one of the three or four individuals who effectively governed the Confederation. He’d first taken a leading role when he launched the effort to aid the Alliance colonies during the rebellions, and the enormous success of that endeavor had cemented his role as the most trusted member of the Council. Now he’d sent a report with the most momentous and dangerous news in human history, and the other oligarchs had reacted by voting him extraordinary powers to deal with the crisis. For all practical purposes, Roderick Vance was the temporary dictator of the Martian Confederation.
He’d already issued a blizzard of orders, sending a battlefleet and a heavy regiment of Marines to support the Alliance forces. Now he had to convince the representatives of the Superpowers to put aside their disputes and join to together to face the new enemy. He expected it to be the most difficult task he’d ever attempted…and the most vital.
He stood at the entry to the Hall, clad in the dress uniform of the Martian Guards. He was the ceremonial unit’s honorary colonel and, as such, he was entitled to wear the spectacular dress reds at diplomatic affairs. He had called the meeting, and though the Powers would be equally represented, Vance was the host. He would greet each of the diplomats himself, his nearly-eidetic memory packed full of personal details on each. With enough prep work, even charm could be manufactured. He hoped it would be enough.
Vance was very methodical, prepared to wait as long as it took to achieve his goal. But his legendary patience had been sorely tested at the summit. For three days he’d listened to pompous gasbags recite tired old grievances. He was grateful, at least, to have escaped some of the legendary problems of past diplomatic congresses. He’d managed to sidestep such foolishness as arguing over table length or seating arrangements – though he had the feeling the escape had been a close one. The politicians and diplomats never seemed to tire of their own voices, he thought, though Vance himself certainly did.
“Ladies and gentlemen, with all due respect, we have discussed many matters not germane to the topic at hand.” Vance was trying to cling to his patience and civility. He had to suppress a momentary grin when he imagined how Erik Cain or Augustus Garret would handle the crowd. He was pretty sure Cain’s solution would involve a crack platoon delivering a fairly blunt message. “I understand profoundly the importance of these pre-existing issues, but we are now faced with a grievous threat to all of humanity. The time for conflicts among ourselves is past. We must join together, and we must do so immediately and without reservation, lest we all be destroyed.”
Vance could hear the diplomats still arguing among themselves. He’d gone over the transmissions sent from the destroyed Alliance ships and colonies, and he had listed and explained the enormous technological advantages of the enemy. They had listened, and he’d seen fear in their reactions, but he’d been unable to get the agreement he needed. Finally, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small controller. With a click he activated the room’s giant viewscreen. He’d saved one last bit of evidence…video sent back by Teller’s troops on Cornwall, footage of the advance of the massive battle robots the Marines called “Reapers.”