Raikes, in the CIC, watched in satisfaction as she lined up the crosshairs of the bow deck’s 5-inch gun squarely on the back of the alien’s head. Since the dumb-ass monster had been generous enough to stand still so she could draw a bead on it, she felt that thanking it for doing so would be only polite, even though it couldn’t hear her.
“Mahalo, motherfucker.”
She fired.
The alien was just starting to turn in the direction of the gun when the projectile punched through its head, in through the already cracked faceplate and out through the back. The now headless alien actually continued to stand there for a moment, its arms out to either side. Then it slumped backward and tumbled over the railing.
“Just in the Nearly Headless Nick of time,” said Raikes, whose deepest, darkest secret was that she was a fan of Harry Potter.
Nagata had lowered a rope down to Hopper and now he was climbing it hand by hand, back up to the bow deck. He made it all the way up to the railing, but then almost lost his hold on the rope. Nagata reached over and gripped him by the wrist, hauling him to the deck with an impressive display of strength. Hopper had a huge bruise on the side of his head where the alien had struck him. “You all right?” asked Nagata.
Hopper managed a nod and then looked at Nagata levelly. “Thank you,” he said.
Nagata shrugged as if it were no big deal.
Suddenly bright light illuminated them both. Oh God, what now? Hopper looked up and saw that another of those weird alien airships had risen up and was now shining light upon him. Or maybe it was the same one as before; there was no way for him to genuinely be sure.
It’s going to blow us to hell and gone. After all that.
The ship instead did nothing. It just hung there, seeming to…
“It’s studying us,” Nagata said softly. “And I don’t think it’s done yet.”
As if it had heard him, the ship pivoted in midair, and then hurtled away through the skies, heading toward the setting sun.
Darkness fell upon the John Paul Jones.
SADDLE RIDGE
It had taken long minutes for the three of them to get the Jeep that was on its side down onto all four wheels. Sam, Mick, and Cal had to rock it back and forth repeatedly until they finally succeeded in tipping it over. Unfortunately it had fallen straight toward Sam, and she had nearly wound up getting herself pinned under it. Luckily she had thrown herself backwards and the Jeep thudded to the ground, bouncing a few times before settling down. Sam had then clambered into the driver’s seat, Mick riding shotgun—literally—and Cal crouched in the backseat, looking around nervously as if sure that something was going to leap out at him any minute.
Sam was driving as carefully as possible, given that it was night, the road was uncertain, and she was worried that attackers might be hiding anywhere in the darkness around them. And the nature of the potential attackers? Unwilling to accept what her common sense was telling her—because it just seemed too nonsensical to be “common” sense—or what Cal had just “explained,” Sam asked softly, “Are they Chinese? Hopper always said if we go to war, it’s going to be with the Chinese.”
Cal Zapata stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “They’re not Chinese.”
“What are they?” she screamed. When both Cal and Mick lunged toward her frantically, desperate to get her to shut up, not to mention that in her franticness she could crash the Jeep, she put up one hand to indicate that she had regained her composure. Very quietly, she repeated, “What are they?”
Sounding both portentous and pretentious, Cal said, “I think it’s safe to say we have successfully made contact with a life form from another world.”
“Yeah. Some success.” Mick looked at him with disdain. “I hope you guys threw yourselves a big end-of-the-world party.”
The Jeep jostled Sam as she fought to compose herself. Dad would have no patience with me freaking out. He’d be disappointed in me. He’d tell me to assess the situation, keep a cool head, try to understand the enemy…
“What are they doing?” said Sam over her shoulder to Cal.
“I don’t know for sure…”
“Best guess.”
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “they’ve sampled soil, vegetation—and I’m guessing they like what they see.”
“That would be just our luck,” said Mick. “That being the case: what are we looking at?”
“Well, we’re talking colonization,” said Cal. He sounded astoundingly matter-of-fact about it, as if he were discussing someone else’s problem. There was apparently a lot to be said for scientific detachment. “Look at history: explorers become invaders and if any indigenous people live, they’ll be servants, slaves, or museum pieces.”
“Thanks, Mick,” said Sam, making no effort to hide her annoyance.
“Me? What did I do?”
“You asked him. I actually would have been perfectly happy not knowing.” She sighed. “Why the hell couldn’t it have been the Chinese?”
“Yeah,” Mick said. “You get invaded by the Chinese and a half hour later, it’s like you didn’t get invaded at all.”
Sam stared at him. Then, shaking her head, she turned back to Cal. “So… what, exactly, are they doing up there?”
“Everyone in my field knows that spectrum isn’t the problem with inter-stellar messaging,” said Cal.
“Was that remotely an answer to my question?”
“All I’m saying is that we all have a shot at open sky. Frequency boost power is what dictates how fast and how far your message travels.”
To Sam’s surprise, she actually understood the implications of what he was saying. “So those things they were flying in… I mean, bringing in up there…”
He nodded, actually looking proud that she was picking up on it so fast. “Power cells.”
“Like giant batteries?”
He nodded again.
Mick turned in his seat, looking at Cal suspiciously. “And what is it you do up on this mountain?”
“Send and monitor deep space for messages. Why?”
“Well,” said Mick, and his voice slowly became filled with a vague dread, as he understood what was happening and clearly wished he didn’t. “When I was on Ops behind lines, first thing I did was try to make comms. Could they be…?”
“Using our gear to communicate with wherever they came from? Seems likely to me. I’m guessing reinforcements. Occupational forces.” Cal was way ahead of him. It made Sam wonder if the scientist had actually figured out everything the invaders were up to and was simply letting the two of them catch up at their own speed so they’d have an easier time both understanding and accepting it.
“Oh, so ET wants to phone home,” said Sam. “Except they need something a little more sophisticated than a Speak & Spell.” She looked at the bewilderment on Cal’s face. “What?” she said impatiently.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about. Is that a cultural reference? Because I don’t really do well with—”
Her mouth moved but words failed to materialize. “Forget it,” she said finally.
“We can’t let that happen,” said Mick firmly. “Stop the car.” When she failed to do so, he raised his voice and repeated with fierce determination, “Stop the damned car.”
The Jeep skidded to a halt, the tires churning up dirt under them.
“No! Are you crazy? We shouldn’t stop,” said Cal. He pointed toward the darkness ahead of them. “Drive straight for the Marine base, maybe they can—”
“There’s no more Marine base,” said Mick. He started checking the rounds in not only the rifle, which he was cradling, but the other weapons he’d managed to extract from the crumbled Jeep.