It was Hopper. His voice was static-filled and phasing in and out, but it was most definitely him. “Sam, what the hell are you doing on the naval emergency channel?”
She didn’t have time for a back and forth. For all she knew the aliens were detecting the transmission. Plus the horizon was beginning to redden—the sun would be coming up soon, making her feel even more exposed. Without even acknowledging him by name, she got right down to business. “Three items. One: these things are here and their immediate goal is the satellite array on Makapu’u Head above the watershed, near Saddle Ridge. Two: at 10:30 a deep-space satellite will orbit by, which they’ll use to slingshot a message home. And you can guess what that means.”
His voice was still laced with static, but at least she understood him. “Millions of ’em. Everywhere. What’s the third?”
She paused, and for the first time, she allowed emotion to fill her voice. “You better stop ’em, because we’re getting married and they’re not invited.”
“Sam! Sam, get out of there! You’ve got to get out of there! I love—!”
The static overwhelmed the clarity of the transmission, and Sam winced from the feedback as she removed the headset. “He’s gone.”
“I know,” said Mick, “we could pretty much hear his side of it leaking out of the headset. We better get gone, too.”
They rose to their feet. The spectrum analyzer having served its purpose, they left it behind. As they moved quickly away from it, Mick said, “By the way, I’m pretty sure that the last word he was going to say was ‘you.’”
“Pretty sure?”
“Well, it might’ve been ‘pizza.’ Or ‘baseball.’ Or maybe ‘being a semi-fiancé and we shouldn’t make it any more serious than th—’”
“Shut up,” she said as they disappeared into the rain forest.
USS REAGAN
Seated behind his desk with a phone to his ear—which was where he felt like it’d been forever—Admiral Shane was starting to have trouble recalling a time when he didn’t think he was losing his mind.
I’ve had meals with this man. Hell, I’ve golfed with this man. He seemed sane and reasonable all those times. When did he turn into such a flaming asshole? Guess it takes an alien invasion to bring out one’s true character.
As Shane’s aide, Ensign Chavez, came in with a cup of coffee, Shane tried a different approach. “I’m asking you to reconsider, Mr. Secretary…”
“And I’m asking you,” came back the Secretary of Defense’s voice over the phone, “to keep following orders, something I’d think I shouldn’t have to ask. Your orders were to continue trying to find a way through that water obstruction they’ve tossed up.”
“We’ve already lost two planes and a fully manned attack sub trying to do just that—”
“And we’re willing to lose more if we must.”
Shane’s voice was low and flat, an unmistakable tone of screw you in his response that not only could he not hide, but he wasn’t even trying to. “Are we.”
There was a pause on the other end. Message sent. Message received. Message rejected. “Just scramble the jets, Admiral,” said the Secretary in a way that drew the divide between them in stark relief. “Circle that barrier. Find a hole in it. We need to get in there—”
“We need to get in there?” Calm. Stay calm. He’s not one of us, he can’t understand, he answers to the President, don’t say what you’re thinking. His mind split down the middle, one side listening to the very solid advice being presented by the other side. After listening, the other half of his mind completely ignored the first, and Shane said what he was thinking. “While you sit six thousand miles away, I’m on the enemy front line, with four hundred of my men and my only daughter trapped inside that dome! I am far more aware than you of the need to get inside there, but wasting lives will not help.” He paused, and heard the Secretary inhaling on the other end, about to speak, but the admiral steamrolled right over him. “You want me to send up another plane? I’ll do it the second you come up here and sit your ass in the copilot seat!”
He slammed down the phone, killing the uplink. Waves of anger radiated from him, and it was that moment he realized that Chavez was still standing there, waiting to hand him the coffee. In a fit of uncontrolled rage, he snatched the mug from Chavez’s hand and threw it with all his strength. It shattered against the wall.
Chavez stared at the mess in shock. Shane looked directly at him, his eyes like twin thunderstorms. Chavez gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I… I’ll get you another cup.”
He got out of there as quickly as he could.
USS JOHN PAUL JONES
“Dammit,” muttered Hopper as he watched the seemingly random, unpredictable movements of the remaining target.
He was still having trouble processing that somehow Sam had managed to get in touch with him. He’d always known she was resourceful, but this was beyond anything he would have thought she could have cooked up. There had to be someone there with her, out on Saddle Ridge. Maybe someone military. He hoped so. It made him feel a little better knowing that perhaps there was an experienced soldier or Navy man by her side, working to get her the hell out of there…
I wonder who it is? Should I be jealous?
Then he pushed such dead-end thoughts out of his mind. This sure as hell wasn’t the time for them.
Nagata was right next to him, seeing the same thing that Hopper was when it came to the alien vessel. “They’re learning from their mistakes.”
Hopper nodded. “We can’t hit him. Can’t lock a missile on his movement.”
“They’re smart.”
“Yeah, well we’re not exactly a bunch of dummies ourselves. If nothing else, we bloodied them up pretty good, so that bought us some time. They’re not going to come right after us.”
“Too bad,” said Nagata. “Recklessness on their part could have worked in our favor.”
Hopper hated to admit it, but Nagata was right. Can’t be helped now, though. No sense dwelling on it. We need to focus on what’s next, not what was. “We know a few things,” said Hopper. He ticked them off on his fingers. “If you hit them, they come after you. They value their own. So if you kill them, they seem to resent that. Agree?”
“Agree,” said Nagata.
“We also know they don’t handle light very well, and their ships are not bulletproof. They are hittable.”
“Yes, agree.”
Hopper considered all of it a moment and then picked up the radio. “CIC to engineering. Beast, give me good news.”
“We’ve shored up the port engine,” Beast’s voice came back. That alone was enough to prompt a sigh of relief from Hopper. Beast continued, “I can give you 10 knots now and 20 in ten minutes.” Then Beast’s voice suddenly became fainter and Hopper realized Beast was facing away from the radio on his end, speaking to someone else softly, thinking his voice wasn’t being heard. He was saying, “Hiroki, can you give me twenty in ten?” A second later he came back on and said, “Yeah. Definitely twenty in ten.”
Hopper smiled at that, but he didn’t let his amusement sound in his voice as he said, “I’m holding you to that.”
He clicked off the radio and glanced at the monitor. The stinger was showing no sign of slowing its movements.