United States Starship

Christopher G. Nuttall

Blurb:  Captain Cozort had been honoured to have been chosen as the commander of the third American starship to have been built, in a world where America is the dominant power, the ruler of the world.  Planting an American colony at Tau Ceti should have been easy, right?

What he never expected was for his entire starship to have been blown across the dimensions to an alternate history, where America struggles with terrorists and suffers for a dependence on oil, where there has never been a serious space program – and where the USS Enterprise is a treasure beyond price…

In an unfamiliar world, Captain Cozort must save his ship, and his nation, even in spite of its own government…

Acknowledgements

For everyone who knows a writer, never underestimate the power of your encouragement.  A kind word can bring inspiration; a harsh word can bring improvements.  No comments can ruin a writer’s ego, as in nothing being said at all – and cause the book to expire stillborn.  S M Stirling and Travis Taylor provided much-needed encouragement.  Razwhana, who was accidentally responsible for the conception, deserves a round of thanks.

Numerous Baen Barflies were very helpful; including, but not limited to…

Mark Chapman

Joshua Wachter

Mickey zvi Maor

Antonio Vicente O. Carlos

Martin Bonham

Jessie McDonald 

Tucker Dwynn

Dan Neely

William Wagner

Eric Manders

Virgil ?

Marty McKenzie

Marcello Rickmann

Kevin Stall

James Boatner

If I’ve forgotten anyone, I can only extend my apologies and confirm that you were helpful.

Thanks guys

Christopher Nuttall

Foreword
Every event in history presents a question... 
What if things had turned out differently?  

Roughly seven years ago, I was introduced to alternate history though reading – accidentally – ‘Tilting the Balance’ by Harry Turtledove.  Once I read, I was hooked; I devoured the remainder of the series and moved on through the rest of Harry’s works until I’d read them all.  He is a master of alternate history; his flaws do not diminish his work.  Other alternative history followed, both written and Internet, until I did the only thing I could.  I started an online alternate history group.

There is a particular kind of alternate history that is referred to in the community as the ‘Alien Space Bats’.  In ASB, it represents the use of unusual events; time travel, magic and changes to the solar system, as plot devices.  In 2002, for example, I watched the film of The Final Countdown, where the USS Enterprise was sent back to Pearl Harbour in 1941 – just before the Japanese bombed it.  When it came to writing my first real Alternate History novel, I decided that time travel would play some part in it.

But then what?  Another idea came to me, from the Salaam universe I’d been working on, on and off, for the last few months (Baen barflies will know what I mean).  Part of the history of Salaam included a starship from Salaam’s era being sent back to the war with Thule (a joke based on S M Stirling’s ‘Draka’) and averting the genocide that began the war.  For several reasons, I put that on one side while writing Empire, and then I had the idea of tossing a starship back to the present day.  To make matters more interesting, I wanted a starship from an alternative timeline.

So I had the bare bones of an idea.  What next?  Designing the alternative timeline, of course.  Nazi timelines have been done to death, but what about a different America?  Scott Palter had written two (Dark America and Paney War – Google them) and I asked him if I could borrow the basic idea.  There are some changes – see if you can spot them.  One major change is in the attitude the two timelines take to foreign affairs.

The US, to quote Scott (again), is not the political and ideological virgin it likes to think of itself as.  However, it has, for the last twenty years, fought battles that were badly planned and won victories that have never been acknowledged by the opponents.  From 1949 until recently, the US never tried to overthrow a hostile government by direct force – something that has gained it a reputation for weakness.  Osama Bin Laden reportedly joked that all the US would do in response to 9/11 was file a lawsuit.

And yet people complain.  It was ludicrous to believe that Iraq would be peaceful and flourishing the minute Saddam was removed, but some people seem to have thought just that.  When a minor incident of abusing prisoners occurred, people claimed that the US was evil, even though Saddam had looted, raped and tortured an entire people.  Due to a skilful propaganda campaign, the US is increasingly seen as the villain – the global bully.

Needless to say, I do not agree with that assessment.  In United States Starship, I try to show what a semi-fascist US might be like, and how it might treat its enemies…

Enjoy!

Christopher G. Nuttall

Prologue

From:  American Contradictions.  Horner, Jack.  University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, 2004.

The disparity in power between the United States of America and the rest of the world is quite literally staggering, even when one considers the many practical difficulties that face American leaders in bringing that might to bear.  America possesses the world’s largest navy, most advanced airforce, most capable army and an economic base that dwarfs any other nation on Earth.

Further, America possesses many other advantages that are not immediately apparent.  To the north, Canada sits, a friendly ally and one whose military is mainly under American influence, if not outright control.  To the south, Mexico, which poses no threat beyond illegal immigration and border raids.  In the Caribbean, small dictatorships that have no ability to resist American might, should the sleeping giant chose to deploy it.

Against the rest of the world, the US brings a massive navy with the world’s only global transport net.  Supercarriers, each more powerful than most nations’ entire air forces, dominate the waves.  That superiority, like the British Empire of days gone by, allows them to transport their armies to wherever their might be needed, while a skilled marine force allows them to land wherever and whenever they want.  The superiority of the United States Navy prevents any hostile landing on the Continental United States – indeed the last time that border was successfully challenged was 1812.

Finally, the US dominates space, with the ability to collect intelligence from the entire globe.  Despite the inherent limitations of orbital surveillance, it is extremely difficult to hide from the unblinking eyes of spy satellites, providing US commanders with detailed intelligence that eliminated the fog of war.  The handful of casualties suffered in the recent war [Iraq 2003/2nd Gulf War/War on Saddam – ed] was a direct result of this intelligence and its use by commanders.

Therefore, it is clear that the US dominates the world in practice, but recent events have shown that such dominance is hardly recognised by far too many people.  We must ask, therefore, why this is so.

The answer appears to lie in the American psyche.  The Americans are not hostile towards the world, nor are they blessed with the determination – President Bush’s rhetoric aside – to spread democracy around the planet.  The American attitude, in the words of Scott Palter, “is best summed up by Will Smith’s character in ID4 (Independence Day – The Movie).  He is beating the alien senseless after out-cheating it in a dogfight.  What patriotic words is he screaming?  “You ruined my weekend.  I could have been at a barbeque!!!”  Our national totem should be the grizzly bear.  If left alone, we are quite capable of ignoring the rest of the planet most of the time.  When annoyed we can reach as far as Afghanistan to make our annoyance felt.”

It is clear that America does not have to tolerate the existence of regimes that are openly hostile (North Korea, China), covertly hostile (Saudi Arabia, Iran) or overtly nationalistic (France, Japan, Russia).  American superiority means, to paraphrase Winston Churchill, that the ‘Americans face the Saudis, the Chinese, the Russians and the Rest – the Americans can beat the lot.’  America vs. the world would be brutal and harsh, but it would have only one outcome.  Careful preparation could neutralise any threat posed by nuclear weapons – the one sure deterrent to the casualty-scared American government.

It remains – thankfully – a matter of speculation of what could have happened if the Americans had been inclined to use their tremendous power and position of superiority to remake the world in their image right from the moment that they knew that they possessed such power…

Chapter One:  A Brave New World

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
23rd March 2098 (Time Line B)

From fifty thousand kilometres away, the orbital tower was only a strip of metal reaching down towards its base in what was once Mexico, looking as if it had no strength or power at all.  It was impossible to tell that nearly twenty thousand people came up the tower to the orbital installations each day, or that thousands of tons of refined asteroid metal and manufactured components were sent back down to Earth.  The vast majority of Earth’s industry – the American industry at least – was now in space, safe from charges of causing pollution and Wrecker attacks.

Fleet Captain Dale Cozort had no eyes for the tower, or the orbital installations that formed a ring around the planet.  His eyes were focused ahead on the starship that was now growing larger and larger as the shuttle approached.  A massive semicircular disc-shape formed the prow, where the crew would live, tailed by a vast rectangular section that held a formidable industrial base.  Four massive nacelles were positioned at the end of the starship, two on each side, providing the power to drive the starship though normal space and into hyperspace.  They glowed with shimmering energy as the engineers tested the Thornleigh Drives that pushed the ship in normal space.  Ever since the Stirling Bloc had invented the Thornleigh Drive, there had been a number of accidents when the power had unbalanced.

A chatter of communication from the engineers ran though the communications net.  As the shuttle performed its final approach, Cozort heard it though his communications implant.  The drive was working perfectly, it seemed, a good portent for the journey ahead.  He stared out of the shuttle’s cockpit as the Enterprise’s shuttle bay loomed ahead, and then there was a slight bump as the shuttle landed.

“Bay pressurising,” Cozort heard the pilot say.  Training held him in his seat as the air flowed in, but desire tried to propel him out into his new ship.  “Pressurising complete,” the pilot said.  In theory, a shuttle could pass through a force field, but if there was the slightest danger of Wrecker attacks…

The shuttle’s hatch opened and Cozort stepped out, noting how the artificial gravity was subtly different from natural gravity.  The scientists who’d invented it claimed that there was no difference, but all the space colonists swore blind that it felt different.  He stared out of the shuttle bay, into the chamber beyond, and saw the some of the crewmembers lined up to meet him.

They have to have a reception committee, he thought.  He’d hoped to have avoided the traditional welcome to a new captain, but the captain of the fleet’s third starship was someone special.  He had to have a reception committee, or else his superiors might think that he was unpopular.  On a normal spacecraft, that hardly mattered, but on the new starships, it was important that the captain lead, rather than just dictate.

The ensign blew a whistle as Cozort stepped into the chapter.  Seven people, four men, three women, were lined up to greet him.  “Attention,” the ensign said.  “Captain, arriving!”

In perfect unison, the seven officers saluted.  Cozort nodded as they stood rigid; the procedure was known to all captains.  Slowly, carefully, he pulled a small slip of paper from his breast pocket and started to read in a clear voice.

“From Admiral Rittenhouse, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, to Captain Dale Cozort, United States Space Force.  You are hereby directed to take command of United States Starship Enterprise, as of 23rd March 2098.   You will exercise the rights and responsibilities of a commanding officer until relived or death.”

Something like a sigh came from the assembled officers.  Cozort turned, running his eyes over the officers until he found the executive officer, and he saluted him.  “Mr Exec, I assume command,” he said.

“I stand relived,” the exec said.  His voice held a note of humour; Cozort relaxed slightly.  First officers sometimes resented the arrival of captains who took much of the credit for their work.

“I thank you,” Cozort said.  The ritual was over.  The first officer held out a hand for him to shake.  Cozort studied him while shaking; his short black hair made him seem oddly sinister.  His lapel badge included a golden eagle, signifying membership of the Unity Party.

“First Officer Commander Travis Taylor, at your service,” he said.  “Allow me to introduce you to some of your officers,” he continued.  “Lieutenant Olivia Simpson, your helm officer.”  The red-haired beauty shook hands firmly.  “Lieutenant Michael Terns, your tactical officer.”

Terns bowed as he shook hands.  “Just call me Mike,” he said.  Cozort suppressed a smile; tactical officers prided themselves on their informality.

“Doctor Elspeth Romeo,” Taylor said, indicating an older woman who smiled at him.  “Lieutenant-Commander Peter Smith, the civilian liaison officer.  Lieutenant-Commander Jill Stirling, engineering officer.  Finally, Ensign Miguel Dominga Sanchez.”

A young Hispanic man smiled shyly at his new captain.  Cozort nodded to him – no captain shook a lowly ensign’s hand – while his mind worked furiously.  If Sanchez was on the starship, it suggested that Fleet Security was very certain that he was not a Wrecker.  Mexicans made up a sizable percentage of Wreckers, particularly in the Mexican Security Zone.  On his trip to the orbital tower, Cozort had seen scenes of devastation where Mexican bandits had attempted to attack the tower.  His escort had been dismissive – ever since the crushing defeat of Soviet Russia in 1970, everyone knew what happened to those who challenged the might of America.

“Ensign Sanchez is basically your assistant,” Taylor said.  Cozort nodded again.  A Mexican might just be trusted as a personal assistant, where his capability to do harm was limited, while he would provide valuable genetic material for the new colony.  

“I’m sure you’ll do well at it,” Cozort said, before turning back to the assembled officers.  “Gentlemen and ladies, I need to spend an hour getting used to my new office and this ship.  Sometime today, just before the conference call tonight with Admiral Rittenhouse, I hope to see each and every one of you for a quick discussion about the ship and our mission.  Dismissed!”

“Thank you, sir,” came back the chorus. 

“I’d like to see you for a quick tour,” Cozort said to Taylor, as the other officers returned to their duty.  There was no time for socialising when the mission was about to begin.

“No problem,” Taylor said.  Cozort smiled openly – few officers would refuse to take the captain on a tour.  “Shall we take the tube?”

Cozort mentally kicked himself for forgetting the sheer size of Enterprise.  The starship was five kilometres in length.  “Yes,” he said.

“Right this way, sir,” Taylor said.

***
“And finally, this is the bridge,” Taylor said, as the tube-life reached an annex.  “We keep the tube access point here, so that the possibility of an accident is minimised.”  He led the way into the bridge proper.  “This is the bridge,” he said again.  “You’ll notice that there are two command chairs, of which one belongs to you and the other for the duty officer.  Both chairs have consoles that can access any display on the ship, as well as direct neural links if necessary.  No one, but you, is allowed the Captain’s chair.

“Coming down, we have the helm and the tactical (one) station.  Tactical (two) is behind the command chairs, along with engineering, science and navigation.  Under normal cruising routine, as worked out by the America, science and navigation are just slaved to the departments on deck ten.  If they’re needed, the officers will man those stations on the bridge.”

Cozort walked over to his chair and sat down, noticing that it faced towards the prow of the ship.  “What’s our status?”  He asked finally.

Taylor grinned – his enthusiasm showing through.  “We could leave tomorrow,” he said.  “The engines, the equipment, all are loaded onboard.  All we need is the crew, but the last shore leave rota could be cancelled without any problems.”

Cozort shook his head.  “We’re going to be away from Earth for a very long time,” he said.  “Let them see their families one last time.”

“Yes, sir,” Taylor said.  “Meanwhile, do you know where we’re going?”

“Yes,” Cozort said.  “Tau Ceti seems to be our current destination, as probes revealed an Earth-like planet in orbit.  We’ll land the colonists, start building the industry, and then start a survey of the new system.”

“Oh nuts,” Taylor said.  He chuckled.  “I bet on Wolf 359.”

Cozort grinned.  “It’s not as if you’ll be able to spend your winnings,” he said.  Enterprise would be away from anywhere that money meant anything for a long time.  

“But compound interest, untouched for years,” Taylor whined, ginning hugely.

“Anyway,” Cozort said, as his wrist communicator bleeped, “I need to go chat to one of the joint chiefs, so hold the fort till I get back.”

“Yes, sir,” Taylor said.

***
Admiral Rittenhouse stood on the holographic projector, giving the impression that he was standing in Cozort’s ready room instead of in his office on the orbital tower reserved for the USSF.  He stroked his beard as he talked, pacing around his office, although the holographic image hardly moved.  Face-to-face meetings had been dangerous during the Wrecker War and had gone out of fashion.

“Ah, Cozort,” Rittenhouse said.  “What do you think of your new command?”

“I’m impressed,” Cozort said.  “I’d seen the records, but it’s very different to see it in the flesh.”

“I know,” Rittenhouse said.  The Admiral had come up through the ranks, commanding bases on Mars, Europa and Pluto, not to mention command of USS Roosevelt, in which he had fought the final space battle of the Wrecker War.  “Still, you will be independent in a way that few other captains have been since the eighteenth century.”

“I’m looking forward to it, sir,” Cozort said.

Rittenhouse laughed.  “I’m sure you are,” he said.  “It is, after all, the dream of captains to follow in the footsteps of Armstrong or Collins.  Now, however, formal mission orders.  You are to transport five thousand colonists – all with excellent American pedigrees – to Tau Ceti V.  Once there, you are to survey the system, start an orbital industry and then explore further if you find it desirable.”

Cozort smiled.  “And what should we do for an encore?”

Rittenhouse ignored the sally.  “On a political basis, you are to make sure – by any means necessary – that the Unity Party is firmly established on Terra Nova.”

Cozort nodded again.  The Unity Party had dominated American – and hence the world – politics since 1946, when it had been formalised.  Most of the time it was very competent, even given its exclusive control.  Membership of the party was required for any political post, Cozort was surprised that he’d been appointed commander of the Enterprise – which was hardly a normal post – even though membership was not required for anything else.  The few Americans who disagreed with the Unity Party tended to gravitate towards the Black Colonies, or the few remaining independent countries.

“It is considered extremely important that the Unity Party continues to guide America towards its manifest destiny,” Rittenhouse said, as his words sank in.  “You have a responsibility that you must honour.”

“I won’t fail,” Cozort assured him.  Failure to ensure that the party that had given America the stars survived would earn him powerful enemies, even ones outside the ranks of the party members.  A lot of people could not be bothered becoming involved in politics, but they followed them with interest and concern.

“Excellent,” Rittenhouse said.  “Now, I understand that your ship is nearly ready to go?”

Cozort felt a flicker of excitement.  “We’re ready,” he said.  “All we need to do is load the passengers and finish the shore leave rota.”  He grinned.  “I’ve been assured that we could leave tomorrow, should you so order.”

“Good,” Rittenhouse said.  “Now, I have one other matter to discuss with you: Ensign Sanchez.”

“I had wondered about him,” Cozort said.

“Indeed?”  Rittenhouse asked, nodding slowly.  “He was instrumental in preventing a Wrecker attack on the orbital tower, which was intended to bring it down over the United States.”

Cozort gasped.  “Is that even possible?”  The orbital towers, triumphs of brute-force engineering, were supposed to be as strong as a mountain.

“They thought so,” Rittenhouse said.  “Under the circumstances, it was not a risk we felt like taking.  Now, Sanchez requested protection from his enemies, who don’t know for sure who he was, but suspect.  In exchange for his help, we sent him through the training centre and assigned him to your crew.  Several light years should be adequate protection, don’t you think?”

Cozort nodded.  The United States was the only power that built starships and the rumoured handful of remaining Wrecker ships might just be able to intercept Enterprise while she was running for the hyper-limit, but they’d never win a battle with her.

“Do you think that there’s any truth to the rumoured Wrecker colonies in interstellar space?” Cozort asked finally.  Rumours of STL – slower than light – colonising efforts had spread through the USSF, despite official denials.  

“I don’t think so,” Rittenhouse said.  “Naval Intelligence is certain that we would detect a quantum tap unless it was over two light years away, while hyperdrive ships can be tracked at long distance.  If they exist, they have to be close enough to the sun to collect power, so they have to have only very limited resources.  If they were emitting energy, we’d stumble across them.”

He smiled.  “So I don’t think that young Sanchez will be in any danger.”

“Thank you,” Cozort said.  “Have they fixed a departure date?”

“April 1st,” Rittenhouse said.  “No, it’s not a joke.  That’s when they want you gone.”

“Yes, sir,” Cozort said.  “Anyone would think they wanted rid of me.”

Rittenhouse shrugged.  “This is your last chance to back out,” he said.

“Hell no,” Cozort said.  “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Unheard Bar
Mexican Security Zone
27th March 2098 (Time Line B)

When the orbital tower had been constructed, the Americans who had ordered it had also ordered the Mexicans living in the security zone to depart.  They provided some compensation, but nothing of the single commodity that the Mexicans wanted – respect.  The ten thousand Mexicans who lived there had been forced out without any choice in the matter, none at all.  It was death, to be a Mexican in the security zone without permission.  Elite commandos patrolled the ten kilometre-wide circle drawn around the orbital tower, shooting to kill any intruders.

Just outside the security zone, a large shantytown had grown up.  American contractors had built several dozen buildings for their crews, which had then been surrounded by shanties and shacks as the thousands of Mexicans strove to eke out a living near their oppressors.  Prostitutes and criminals lived outside the American zone, coming to serve each day until they died or were caught by American security.  An American’s complaint meant death for a Mexican.

The Unheard Bar was different.  It had been built, like the rest of the thousands of Unheard Bars, during the unrest of 2050, when the national security state began to weaken.  Unheard Bars were secured by the most advanced security systems that could be provided – defeating the listening devices of the three internal security agencies and concealing the names of its customers.  Darkfields and smoke clouds hid people from view, while the security staff were very capable of ejecting unwanted intruders, even members of the feared American Security Department.

The entire chain of bars was a feature of the American puzzlement – slight befuddlement – over the contradiction between their world and the security measures needed to keep them safe.  It was illegal to build one within a security zone, but one could always be found just outside.

Ensign Sanchez stepped in through the smoke and drew back his hood, revealing his face to the security guard.  The guard nodded, recognising Sanchez, and led him through the darkened corridors to a small private room.  They passed Mexican whores, looking for American soldiers out for a night’s fun, and Sanchez shuddered.  One noticed his look and leant forward, exposing her breasts.  

“We will bring you both beers,” the guard said, as they reached the private room.

“Thank you,” Sanchez said, as the guard left.  As soon as the heavy door slammed shut, he pulled a fleet-issue security field generator out of his pocket and placed it on the table.  No hostile listening devices or scanners were detected.  “Herman,” Sanchez said.  “It’s good to see you again.”

Herman pulled himself out of the darkness into the light.  “Sanchez,” he said.  “Have you got your timing?”

“It seems that the ship departs in four days,” Sanchez said.  “Is there enough time?”

Herman pulled out a datachip and passed it over to Sanchez.  “There’s the reprogramming,” he said.  “You do understand the cost of this mission?”

“Oh yes,” Sanchez said.  “I do understand.”

“I’m sure that your mother and father are waiting for you in heaven,” Herman said.  They’d been killed on an American kill-sweep of the Mexican highlands.  “And your sister sends her regards.”

“I don’t want anything to do with that whore,” Sanchez snapped.  His sister had taken up with an American officer, who’d then dumped her.  The last time Sanchez had seen her, she’d been living on the streets.  Clearly Herman had found a use for her.  His mind scuttled away from what that use might have been.

“She is your sister,” Herman said.  “You won’t see her again after a week.”

Because I’ll be dead, Sanchez thought coldly.  “The programming?”

“As the Gringos know, you can’t use a hyperdrive inside a gravity well, but we think that if the drive is triggered in a particular pattern, the ship will become energy.”

“And the blast will wipe out most of the American industry,” Sanchez said aloud.

“We hope so, yes,” Herman said.  “We don’t have access to American-level computers, so its hard to be certain.  And then there’s the other part of the plan…”

“Which is?”

“You don’t need to know,” Herman said.  “Suffice it to say that it might just defeat the Americans once and for all.”

“May it be so,” Sanchez said, who doubted it.  There had been a time when American security was a joke; that time was no longer.  “Now, are you certain that the security is complete?  That no American knows anything about this?”

“Yes,” Herman said.  “If it were not, this entire exercise would be worse than useless.”

“Now,” Sanchez said, as the guard came back with two mugs of beer.  “Let us drink.”

Chapter Two: Disaster

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
1st April 2098 (Time Line B)

It was a regular mistake, by the politicians coming to visit the Enterprise on the day of her departure, to assume that Gilbert Rollins and Roberta Cozort were a married couple.  The conclusion was incorrect.  Roberta Cozort was the wife of the starship’s captain.  Roberta and Rollins were close friends and experienced companions since their days at university.  Despite juicy rumours, they had never been lovers.

A tall black woman, she wore spectacles as an affection, for she felt that a librarian should wear them.  She was also the colony historian, a task that promised to be simple for the first few years.  There would be very little for her to record beyond crop successes and failures, and the exploration of the resources in the Tau Ceti star system.

“This is exciting,” she said sarcastically to Gilbert Rollins, as they shook the hands of yet another politician.  Ernest Kilpatrick had every intention of being elected senator for Ireland and had pressed the flesh with as many of Enterprise’s crew as he could.

Rollins smiled.  A short black man, he had refused a post as vice-president of the United States for the post of Colony Governor.  “They won’t see us again,” he said.  “You have to let them say goodbye.”

Roberta snorted.  “I don’t know half of these people,” she said.  “They just want to know me.”  She sipped her drink; a fine champagne.  

Rollins gazed around the starship’s shuttle bay.  All, but one of the shuttles had been moved into their hangers, allowing nearly five hundred people to crowd into the ship.  Security was at an all-time high, but he knew that Cozort had been worried about the prospect of someone smuggling a bomb on board the ship.

“Maybe,” he said, “but they want to pretend that they know you.  We’re the new heroes, you know.”

“That’s Dale’s job,” Roberta protested.  “I’m just a simple librarian.”

“A simple librarian who happens to be married to one of the most dashing starship captains in existence,” Rollins said.  “Do you know how many captains have managed to use their fame to political advantage?”  Roberta shook her head.  “Seven,” Rollins said.  “Your husband will be expected to try to become president or something.”

“God forbid,” Roberta said.  “I think I’d rather he had an honest career.”

Rollins laughed.  “A good point,” he said.  “Look, Admiral Rittenhouse is beginning his speech.”

Roberta looked over to the small podium, perched on top of a shuttle.  A man stood on the shuttle.  She smiled; his beard looked like a dagger pointing down.  “That’s him?”

“Yes,” Rollins said.  “One of the heroes of the Wrecker War.”

“Citizens of the United States of America,” Rittenhouse began.  There was a rustle as the admiral committed a small faux pas: ever since the Amalgamation, ‘America’ had been quietly dropped from the title.  “We have come a long way, from Thirteen Colonies isolated from the world, to a continent-spanning empire, to the greatest empire ever to be seen on the surface of the world…and now reaching across the light years.

“In my life, I have seen many things, from the Wrecker War to the construction of the first orbital tower, but this is truly the greatest achievement.  We can now travel at many times the speed of light.  The survival of humanity is assured, my friends, even now we are building many starships, to seed human life across the stars.”

He indicated towards Captain Cozort, who was standing at one corner.  “Dale, you are the luckiest person on Earth,” he said.  “I wish I was going with you.”

“We wish you were coming too,” Cozort called out, to general amusement.

“No you don’t,” Rittenhouse said, and then continued.  “These brave colonists, three thousand of the bravest humans on Earth, will build a new America, out among the stars.  We wish them luck and I lift my glass to them.”  He lifted the small glass of sherry he was carrying.  “Ladies and gentlemen, the colonists!”

“The colonists,” rumbled back from almost all of the people on the hanger deck.

Cozort stepped forward and borrowed the microphone Rittenhouse had had clipped to his collar.  “We will be leaving in two hours,” he said.  There were cheers from the colonists in the hanger.  “Everyone not part of the ship’s crew, or the colonists, please make your way to the hanger edge so we can allow the shuttles to land.  If you’re not off the ship by 1500hrs, you’re coming with us.”

There were chuckles.  Taylor led a small crew to clear away the tables so that the first shuttle, hovering just outside the bay’s force field, could land.  Cozort nodded politely to him, then slipped away to the bridge.  He had thousands of little tasks to perform before departure.

***
One person who was too busy to watch history being made was Ensign Miguel Dominga Sanchez.  Armed with authorisation from Cozort that would have shocked the captain, had he known that it existed, Sanchez walked into the main computer room on the giant starship.  He stared around at the room; the massive cylinder housing the records computer ahead, the three smaller computers for navigation, control and, it was popularly believed, the rules and regulations of the USSF.  

Sanchez located a small console and sat down.  The console was connected directly to the navigation computer, linking it with the computers and the distributed intelligence controlling the hyperdrive.  Activating the console, a prompt appeared:

ACCESS CODE?

Sanchez frowned, then located and inserted the datachip that Herman had given to him.  The computer did nothing for several seconds, not even a louder humming, and then:

INSTRUCTIONS LOADED.  ACTIVATE?  Y/N.

Sanchez sighed in relief and tapped ‘Y’.  Quickly, he deactivated the computer, knowing that one of the programs on the chip would wipe any proof of his presence from the system.  

“One hour to departure,” the intercom boomed, as he exited the computer room.  Sanchez nodded to himself, and headed towards his station.  His place was on the bridge, next to his captain.  If the irony of that position struck him, he never showed it.

***
“We’ve managed to evict those reporters,” Lieutenant-Commander Joshua Wachter reported.  Cozort nodded.  “They hid out in the hanger bay, under the platforms.”  He paused, significantly.  “Fortunately for them, the platform was never lowered onto them.”

Cozort allowed himself to imagine the possibilities of squashed reporters for a moment, then turned to the communications officer.  “Lieutenant Archie, please inform Orbit One of their presence onboard the ship and the gross danger they put my personnel in.”

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Nancy Archie said.  Once the USSF had finished filing chargers of endangering lives, breach of security and gross stupidity, they’d be very lucky if any news organisation hired them ever again.

“Any other problems, exec?”  Cozort asked.

“None,” Taylor said.  “We’ve offloaded all the guests and dignities to Orbit One and the escort craft.  The Manhattan and the Denver are standing by to escort us past the hyper-limit.”

Cozort rolled his eyes.  “I hope that Captains Glass and McKenzie will not boost too much of their ship’s high acceleration rates.”  Enterprise, far larger than the two cruisers, had a consequently lower rate of acceleration.

“I’m sure they won’t,” Taylor said diplomatically.  “Once we’re past the hyper-limit, we’ll leave them so far behind that we might crash into them before they re-cross the hyper-limit.”

Cozort laughed.  “Is my ship ready?”

Taylor felt a new feeling shimmer through the bridge crew.  After so long, building, selection, training, few had truly believed that this day would come, nor that they would witness it.  “Your ship is at your command,” he said, using the formal phasing.

They stared at each other for a long moment.  “Let’s go, then,” Cozort said.  Smiles showed on the faces of the bridge crew, breaking the tension.  Cozort tapped his communications console next to his command chair.

“Lieutenant-Commander Stirling, how does it look in engineering?”

“The drive is ready to be powered up at your command, captain,” Stirling said.  She sounded excited; the new design of hyperdrive was under her control.  Fully a fourth of the rear of the ship was taken up by the massive drive, that could create a field to ‘ripple’ normal space for them to ‘surf’ on, or warp their way into the higher dimension of hyperspace.  “We’re ready down here.”

“Communications, what about the other ships and the Joint Chiefs?”

“The President has just sent us a personal good luck message,” Archie said.  “Captains Glass and McKenzie have sent a similar one.  Orbit One has cleared us to depart at any time we like.”

“No time like the present,” Cozort said.  “Tactical?”

“No unidentified spacecraft anywhere within detection radius,” Terns said.  “We’re linked into the planetary defence net and we’re clear on our exit course.”

Cozort nodded.  The chances of accidentally colliding with another ship were extremely low, but it was hardly worth taking chances.  “Gilbert, is everything ready down there?”

“Yes, Dale,” Rollins said.  “We’re all ready for departure.  Quite impatient, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Cozort laughed; most of the colonists were in stasis, but a small number were not.  “Very well,” he said.  “Engineering, bring up the main drive.”

A subtle thrumming noise ran through the starship as power was fed into the main drive, creating a Thornleigh field.  Cozort gripped the sides of his chair as the power within the starship began to fold space all around them.

“Drive fields activated,” Simpson reported.  “The helm reports all systems go.”

Cozort nodded.  “Take us out,” he said.

***
Deep within the main computer of the Enterprise, a computer program began to activate, rewriting some lines in a very complex programming section.  Subtle changes began to occur, reaching through the system.  Without anyone being aware of it, the hyperdrive began to draw off power from the main circuits.  The Thornleigh field, generating gravity thrust for travel in normal space, began to flicker.

USS Manhattan
Earth Orbit
1st April 2098 (Time Line B)

The USS Manhattan, named for a city that had been destroyed during the Hot War, floated ten thousand kilometres away from the Enterprise.  Her captain, Captain Glass, watched the starship with envy.  His command, a massive cruiser, could pull 0.37C in normal space, but she could never enter hyperspace.  She was designed to respond to Wrecker attacks on American settlements, even if the Wreckers had never been heard of since the war.

Damn, Captain Glass thought, but that ship is a beauty.  Cozort is a lucky bastard.

“Captain,” his tactical officer said.

“Yes, Lieutenant Hawk?”  Glass said, pulling himself away from the scene on the display.  The concern in Hawk’s voice was profound.

“Sir, there’s something wrong with Enterprise.”

Glass jumped towards the tactical console.  “What?”

“Their drive is fluctuating,” Hawk said.  He checked his readouts.  “Hellfire,” he said in sudden alarm, “they’re powering up their hyperdrive.”

“What the hell are they playing at?”  Glass demanded in panic.  “You can’t use a hyperdrive inside the hyper-limit.”

“Their drive field is billowing outwards,” Hawk said.  “I don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Sound red alert,” Glass bellowed.  “All hands, secure for sudden acceleration!”

“All decks report battle stations,” Commander Trembath reported.

“Raise Cozort,” Glass commanded.  “Find out what’s happening.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
1st April 2098 (Time Line B)

Enterprise shook madly as her drive field started to billow.  Cozort felt his ship scream in pain as she plunged out of control.  Alarms started to ring across the ship’s entire interior.

“Jill, what the hell is going on down there?”  Cozort demanded.  The starship shook again, its drive field rippling back and forth.  Cozort could have sworn for a moment that he saw a ghostly image of the bridge in front of him.

“The hyperdrive has activated,” Stirling reported.  Her voice was shaky.  “We can’t stop it!”

“How!”  Cozort felt cold horror; every ship that had tried to use a hyperdrive inside the hyper-limit had disappeared and never been seen again.

“I don’t know,” Stirling said.  “The hyperdrive is drawing power from the Thornleigh drive.”

“Turn them both off,” Cozort ordered.  “Helm, bring us to full stop!”

Enterprise shook madly again, shaking enough that Cozort started to fear that the internal compensator would fail and the ship would explode.  “Bring us to full stop,” he repeated.

“I can’t,” Simpson said in horror.  “The drive field won’t deactivate, I can’t override!”

Sabotage, Cozort though grimly.  Who could do this to us?  “Communications, warn Admiral Rittenhouse that we can’t deactivate the drive.”

“We could evacuate through the escape pods,” Taylor suggested.

“The drive field would tear them apart,” Cozort said.  They shared a look and they realised that they’d come to the same conclusion.  “Communications, contact the escort ships.  Order them to shoot our drive section off.”

A shock ran round the bridge.  “But captain…”  Simpson began.

“We don’t have a choice,” Cozort shouted.  “Send the message!”

“Message sent,” Archie said.

The ship started to heel over and spin in space.  “Sir, the hyper-field and the Thornleigh field are starting to interact,” Simpson said in horror.  “It’s building to overload levels.  I can’t hold her…”

***
The technological breakthrough that had produced the Thornleigh Drive had – later – led to the hyperdrive.  In basic terms, the Thornleigh Drive did not so much negate gravity as redirect it, causing the generation of a thrust for the spacecraft to travel on.  A basic alteration of its function permitted the creation of a compensator field that prevented the crew from being killed by the high acceleration rates a Thornleigh Drive spacecraft could pull.

The hyperdrive, by contrast, folded space sufficiently to allow entry into a ‘wave’ of folded space between two destinations.  The endpoint was preordained by the amount of folding that the drive generated.  However, it soon became clear that large objects created their own folds in space, such as the Sun.

Herman’s computer experts had done their work well.  By activating the hyperdrive inside a region of space that was already folded, they hoped to destroy – or at least disappear – Enterprise.  However, they were unaware of the fluctuating shimmer of the Thornleigh Drive, which was warping space still further.  In a mad shower of exotic particles, the Enterprise found a path that led in a completely different direction, at right angles to the normal path of the hyperdrive – and vanished completely from its home universe.

***
Cozort held on desperately as his ship’s shuddering reached epic proportions.  A console exploded in a flash of light and the electronic systems started to flicker out.  His vision began to flicker as the strange feeling began to spread through his body, that of being torn from his normal place and time, and being cast heedlessly throughout the universe.  His stomach gave a final lurch and he closed his eyes…

…And he opened them, and yet he did not, seeing things that had never happened.  Before his horrified gaze, a starship, a primitive STL ship, fled the solar system once and for all, leaving behind creatures that looked human, but were not…

…And he closed them, or had them closed for him, and opened them again.  Massive explosions blanketed the Earth, as the Nazis fought it out with the Americans when their cold war came to an explosive end and there was nowhere else to go, but up…

…And he saw a world where its inhabitants had never developed space travel, just a united empire in an age where the gospel was taken as gospel.  They were helpless when an asteroid hit their world, for many of them had never even known what an asteroid was…

…And lizard-like creatures invaded the Earth and fought humans for their world…

…And…. Cozort felt a final blackness envelop him and he sank into unconscious gratefully.  Enterprise flew though the barriers between dimensions and times, uncontrolled and unguided.

USS Manhattan
Earth Orbit
1st April 2098 (Time Line B)

Enterprise’s drive field glowed brighter than the sun for one long moment, and then shrank to an event horizon, vanishing in a hail of exotic particles.  Glass brought his hand up to his face as the light blazed beyond the viewscreen, visible even at their distance.  Seconds afterwards, Manhattan shook as gravity waves impacted on her hull.

“She’s gone,” Hawk reported.  There was a long silence.

“Inform Admiral Rittenhouse that we’re moving to the last location of Enterprise,” Glass ordered.  “Helm, take us in.”

The ship moved forward slowly, her drive field thrusting them towards the last known location of the United States’ third starship.  Their weapons and defences hot and ready, they entered the space where Enterprise had departed their universe.

“Nothing, sir,” Hawk said.  “There’s no wreckage, no debris, no escape pods…”

“Nothing at all?”  Glass said.

“Sir, the Denver is moving up to support us,” the communications officer said.  “They’re reporting no sign of Enterprise either.”

“What the hell could have happened?”  Glass asked.

“Sir,” the communications officer said in alarm.  “Fleet Command is reporting a number of unidentified spacecraft, coming in at high speed.”

Trembath and Glass stared at each other.  Both of them had the same thought; Wreckers!

Freedom
Earth Orbit
1st April 2098 (Time Line B)

The original Wreckers had been people from many different nations, determined to fight the Americans who ruled the Earth.  Whenever America wanted something, they took, and they kept the fruits of the solar system for themselves and their British cousins.  Fully two-thirds of the human race lived in squalor, and they found it convenient to blame that on the Americans.  Many of them joined secret resistance armies; the most promising went to the Black Colonies.

The first Black Colony had been formed by a group of freethinkers, who’d refused to live under the Unity Party or any other government on Earth.  The American president had let them go, reasoning that it was not worth the effort of crushing them, and they’d colonised a large asteroid on an independent orbit.  The movement had grown until some of them had been formed by people who, for one reason or another, hated the US government.  When the Wrecker War began, they sent ships to fight in space.

They lost.  The Wreckers tended to hate each other almost as much as they hated Americans; Russian refugees hated Iranians, particularly since Iran was the fourth most powerful nation in the world and Russia was a radioactive wasteland.  Jews from what was once Palestine hated Africans who hated French who protected Jews, and so on.  When the Americans brutally crushed a single Wrecker cell, few came to the aid of their ‘allies’.  

Herman had been one of the few survivors from the original cells.  His plan had been to sabotage the Enterprise’s drives, so that it would explode and pump out a mighty electromagnetic pulse.  That, he reasoned, would weaken the defences around earth, allowing the few remaining Wrecker spacecraft to attack the American orbital installations and then blast America from orbit.

“Tom” – the Wreckers did not bother with honorific titles  – “we are approaching the outer boundaries of American defences.”

“Good,” Tom said.  “Scanners?”

“We’re being scanned,” the scanner officer – also his daughter – reported in horror.

Tom felt cold horror wrap round his heart.  If they were being scanned, that meant that…  “Get us out of here,” he commanded.

“Too late,” the scanner operator said.

USS Manhattan
Earth Orbit
1st April 2098 (Time Line B)

There were always thirty cruisers on permanent patrol above Earth, watching for possible threats.  A near miss in 2056 had convinced Fleet Command that having to replace drive compartments on a regular (and expansive) basis was better than the threat of an asteroid impact.  When the alert was sounded, ten of the cruisers – and the Denver and Manhattan – had been vectored towards the incoming targets.

Captain Glass watched as the Wrecker spacecraft grew on his display.  It was a long modular ship, a tribute to its thirty-year-old design, and it looked cumbersome.  There was nothing funny about its weapons, however, and Glass ordered a firing sequence to be prepared.

“Hail them,” Glass said.  “Demand their surrender.”

“No reply,” the communications officer said.

Glass stared at the ancient ships, blundering and helpless in the face of modern firepower.  Not a trace of pity stirred his soul.  You took my friend from me, bastards, he thought.  “Fire.”

Chapter Three: We Have Visitors

RAF Feltwell
United Kingdom
23rd March 2009 (Time Line A)

The comfortable darkness of the British mainland enveloped RAF Feltwell in a warm evening.  Spring was coming, warming the air, and owls could be heard floating through the trees.  The soft thrum of a car could be heard faintly, drowned out by an owl’s hunting call.

Colonel Joseph Singer, the base commander of RAF Feltwell, took a drag on his cigarette as he stared into the darkness.  The light of a patrolling sentry could be seen, but the sentry never looked back at his commanding officer.  Singer sighed; he’d spent most of his life in the National Security Agency, for which he’d been exiled to Britain.

Not that the work wasn’t important, he reminded himself.  The international climate had been growing steadily darker over the past two years, even with the election of President Felicity Jackson.  She – America’s first woman president – had been widely regarded as a moderate candidate, but the world was disbelieving.  Russia, India and China, all hereditary enemies, had signed a treaty of alliance against ‘any possible enemy’.  No one was in doubt as to the real enemy, particularly since Russia had begun repairing the vast damage to their nuclear arsenal.

Meanwhile, the United States was trying to fight the war on terror, with one hand tied behind its back.  Singer growled with rage; he’d attempted to propose a solution that would have been successful, but had been laughed at.  The terrorists had regrouped and launched small bomb attacks in American cities, causing anger, but without a valid target.

It’s a Wrecker War, Singer thought grimly.  One of the founders of Lidless Eye had coined that phase; the US faced a shifting coalition of flies trying to bring down its massive bulk.  When it found a target, it could bring utterly overwhelming firepower to bear, but the problem was locating the target…

With an oath, Singer threw the cigarette to the ground, stamped on it and thought bitter thoughts about the anti-smoking mafia.  Why should we not smoke?  He thought.  Who cares if we run the risk of killing ourselves?  Life’s not safe!

His radio buzzed.  “Yes,” he snapped.

“Colonel, this is Lieutenant Kittle,” the radio said.  “I think you’d better see this.”

Singer frowned.  RAF Feltwell was expecting no traffic; even the Soviet – no, Russian, he reminded himself – launches had been tailing off.  Their participation in the International Space Station had brought their space program an extra leave of life, one that they were using to – it was rumoured – give themselves a viable space warfare capability.  Not that those bastards at NASA are doing anything about it, he thought.  Brennen is the only one trying to, and look what they’re doing to him!

Sighing, he turned towards the door and walked inside.  If this is not important, I’ll demote the bastard, he thought.

***
RAF Feltwell, in its somewhat chequered past, had housed the American 5th Space Surveillance Squadron, which was responsible to monitoring a segment of the massive electronic fence that the United States had deployed to secure her own borders and those of her closest allies.  A massive combination of optical telescopes, powerful radars were coordinated into two passive space surveillance systems called the Deep Space Tracking System and Low Altitude Space Surveillance System, as well as a powerful active system.  In recent years, its abilities had been expanded with a network of communications and recon satellites, designed to track all space activity.

Lieutenant Steven Kittle did not glance up as the base commander swept in, for he disliked Colonel Singer.  A crew-cut military fanatic, despite not technically being in the military, Singer was totally inappropriate for the command of such a vital base.  Kittle himself, whose hair fell down to his shoulders, was the prime target of Singer’s sarcasm, which made what he’d found even more amusing.

No amount of military wannabes could have found this, Kittle thought with glee.  He made a mental bet as to Singer’s first words and promptly lost it.  Ah well, he thought.  I already owe myself more kebabs then are really good for me.

“Let’s have it,” Singer said, in his rough voice.  It grated on Kittle’s ears; part of his distaste for the commander was the suspicion that he did it on purpose.

Kittle tapped keys on the keyboard and brought up the near Earth orbit display.  It tracked every space object that was within range of RAF Feltwell’s systems, an amount of capability that would have given Russian and Chinese experts sleepless nights, had they known about it.  Many people dismissed RAF Feltwell because of the UFO rumours, ones that the NSA had spread carefully.

“About ten minutes ago,” Kittle said, “the nuclear-observation satellites, designed to detect signs of nuclear activity, started to pick up signs of nuclear energies, along with other signs that can’t be matched to any known source, and alerted me.  I started to trace them at once, because the computers had been unable to locate them, and I discovered that the source was from outside the normal parameters.”

“Outside the normal parameters?”  Singer asked.  He sounded bored, as if a thunderstorm was building under his skin, and puzzled.  The electronics were outside his area of expertise.

“Indeed,” Kittle said.  He put on his best computer geek imitation; his hero was Doctor Oken from Independence Day.  “The satellites detect nuclear explosions from their heat signatures and the energies they put out, ok?  Normally, they would triangulate on the source – assuming that for some reason it could not be located by sight – by tracking it from several satellites at once.  With me so far?”

“Like locating a radio transmitter,” Singer snarled.  It had been part of the basic NSA training.  “Carry on.”

“Yes, sir,” Kittle said.  “This source is at Lagrange One.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”  Singer demanded.  Inside, he was starting to be interested, but it would hardly do to let the computer geek see that.  

“The short explanation is that there are points between the Earth and the Moon where the gravitational force is precisely balanced.  A spacecraft without a velocity with respect to the Earth or the Moon could sit there and remain there without being pulled towards one or the other.”

“I see, I think,” Singer said.  He remembered that he was supposed to be obnoxious.  “So what have the Russians put up there?”

Kittle stared at him.  “The Russians cannot put anything up there without us noticing, sir,” he said.  “But that’s not the end of the matter.  Just after I triangulated the source of the energies, there was a much larger surge that lasted seven seconds long, composed of particles what we don’t have any names for, yet.”

Singer raised an eyebrow.  “I focused the telescopes on the source,” Kittle said, “and this is what I found.”  He displayed a picture on the screen.  It showed a tiny spacecraft of an utterly impossible design.

Singer stared at it.  “What the hell is that?”

“It’s an alien spacecraft,” Kittle said.  “This is so cool.”

“Aliens?”  Singer scoffed.  “What have you been drinking?  Or smoking, for that matter?”

Kittle rolled his eyes, turning back to gaze at the image to avoid being noticed.  “That ship, sir, is roughly five kilometres long.  It appeared there without us noticing.  Whoever built that ship is so far ahead of us that it would hardly be a contest, should they choose to fight us.”

Singer gripped the back of Kittle’s chair to keep from falling.  “How many others know about that ship?”  He asked.

Hardly a reasonable question, Kittle thought.  “Almost everyone,” he said, realising that he could at least give a partial answer.  “That ship released enough energies to be noticed by every sensing system, every particle capture tank, even ordinary radar.”  He grinned.  “There’s no way that shrub can cover this up.”

Singer stared at the display.  “We’d better inform the NSA and the President,” he said.  It said a lot about Singer’s view of the President that he put the NSA first.  “I’ll open the secured link; put your conclusions in the report and I’ll send it to Fort Meade.”  He stared at his young subordinate.  “And until I say so, not a word to anyone about this.”

Kittle started to protest, and then looked into Singer’s eyes.  He saw something there and it took him a moment to realise what he saw.  It was fear. 

The White House
America
23rd March 2009 (Time Line A)

There were times; President Felicity Jackson admitted to herself, that she felt that telling the Republican Party leadership exactly what she thought of their decision to nominate her for the presidential race.  She’d understood, at the time, the cold reasoning behind it, but the excitement of trailblazing the path as the first serious female contender for the presidency had smothered concern.  That, she thought now, had been a mistake.

She – or whoever the Republican Party put forward – had been a dead certain victor in the 2008 election.  Their rivals, the Democratic Party, had fractured badly after their defeat in 2004.  Although they’d not formally split into two separate parties, the differences between the social engineers and the real democrats (as the press referred to them), not to mention the True Believers and the Pragmatics, had torn the democratic campaign of 2008 apart.  Their candidate, a True Believer, had come across as wooden and weak to an electorate looking for strong leadership as the war on terror heated up again.

The Republican Party’s leadership, never shy of an opportunity to really put the boot into their rivals, had nominated a woman for their candidate.  Felicity Jackson, a forty-year-old widow, had convinced the nation, or at least sixty percent of the population, to vote for her.  Tall, with a dignified face and hair that was naturally red/gold, pulled into a tight bun, she remained everyone of their favourite teacher; the one that never took nonsense from naughty children.  She was clean, with no hidden past, and the only objection that anyone had managed to put forward was that of her sex, which was ignored.

One year into her term, Felicity Jackson would have given the entire post up if she could have.  The report in her hands was quite clear; attacks on the oil infrastructure in Iraq and Iran had limited production in their oil fields, yet again.  Iran’s brutal civil war continued to rage, with both sides selling oil to buy weapons.  Iraq was stable, just, but terrorist forces continued to raid isolated targets, trying to provoke the government into cracking down hard and staging a massacre.

Every time that happens, the world economy hiccups, Jackson thought grimly.  The dependence on oil had only increased, while the oil fields in Russia and the Caucasus had become part of the Russia-China-India alliance.  The three nations formed a strategic triangle that dominated their part of the world, increasing their power steadily.  Jackson knew just how close the world had come to World War Three when the ongoing dispute over Taiwan had erupted into an armed clash.  Chinese and Taiwanese forces had held a dogfight over the sea that, fortunately, had not expanded into open war.

And there was Saudi Arabia, she thought coldly, angry hatred curdling her breast.  The Saudis treatment of women would have been enough to earn her hatred, but their double-crossing treatment of America sealed it.  The Saudi message was simple; Support us, or else.  If you attempt to remove us, or to introduce democracy, we will wreak the global economy.  It had been unspoken, but bitterly overt; the Saudis had succeeded in holding off any attempt to root out the terrorists they funded.

“We should burn them out,” she said softly, almost sadly.  At least some of the smarter factions of the Saudi Princes had allied with the terrorists, picking off targets in the rival oil industries to prevent them from being marginalized.  They had provided some encouragement to Russia’s monopolising of its own oil fields, and funded one side of the Iranian Civil War.  The entire region was a powder keg, waiting to explode.

“Madam President,” her secretary said over the intercom.  “Are you all right?”

Jackson sighed inwardly.  Her staff, which had been with her for years, tended to take good care of her.  “Yes, thank you, Marlene,” she said.

“General Campbell and Mr Pope are here to see you,” Marlene White said.  “They say it’s urgent.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow.  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Director of the NSA hated each other.  “Send them in,” she ordered, “and please ask Wilma to send in coffee and muffins.”

***
Warren Campbell, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and Stanley Pope, Director of the NSA, presented a study in contrasts.  Campbell was a beefy general, with a round jolly face and a moustache that had survived the disapproval of almost all of his peers.  Pope, by contrast, was tall and thin, with long bony fingers.  He looked like a piano player, or a librarian, not an intelligence agent.  Campbell thought that Pope was a clever coffee-drinking liberal; Pope thought that Campbell was a rough unsophisticated brawler.  They did not get along.

“Gentlemen,” Jackson said, standing up to shake hands.  “What’s the matter?”

Campbell and Pope exchanged glances.  Pope took a deep breath.  “Madam President,” he said carefully, “we have something of a situation on our hands.”

Campbell nodded slowly; Jackson blinked.  If the two of them were in agreement, it must be serious.  “A situation?”

“Yes,” Pope said.  “Reports from RAF Feltwell,” he struggled to find words; “have indicated the presence of an alien spacecraft near Earth.”

Jackson gaped at him.  “An alien spacecraft?”

“Yes,” Pope said.  He seemed on firmer ground as soon as it appeared that the President was not going to laugh at him.  “It’s floating in one of the Lagrange points, between Earth and the Moon.”

Campbell nodded.  “The craft arrived two hours ago, we think,” he said.  “When it arrived, it emitted a collection of exotic particles that appeared on Feltwell’s radar screens, and on every other space surveillance system.”  He pulled open his briefcase and pulled out a laptop.  “With your permission?”

“The US Space Defence Operations Centre bounced several radar pulses off the ship, so we know that it’s real,” he said.  He flipped open the laptop and typed in a password.  “There was some strange distortion around the ship when the radar scanned it, some odd scatter that the radar expects think was caused by an energy absorbing field of some kind, but we got enough back to locate and measure it.  It’s roughly five kilometres long.”

He turned the laptop to face the President.  Jackson leaned down and peered at the image.  “This picture was taken by the orbital telescope that replaced Hubble,” Campbell said.  “As you can see, its quite impressive.”

Jackson stared at the image.  A small ship hung at the centre of the picture.  “It looked like a matchbox toy,” she said softly.

Campbell shrugged.  “It makes the space shuttle and that Brennen fellow’s craft look like a matchbox toy.”

“There are significant national security issues involved,” Pope said.  “That craft was made by a culture totally alien to us.  Whatever they want, we cannot be certain that they are friendly.”

“I see,” Jackson said.  “I’m going to call a meeting of the National Security Council.  I want you to get briefing people, for there’s no way that we can keep this a secret.”

“No,” Pope agreed.  “By now, scientists will be looking for the source of the interference with their satellites.  It won’t take them long to realise that the source was out in space, then they’ll find the spaceship.”

***
The National Security Council members, briefed by Pope, listened in silence to the White House Press Officer; Harry White.  White’s experience in manipulating the press had made him important to the Republican Party, and to the President.  A short chubby man, White was balding, but his mind remained as sharp as ever.

“The news is out,” he said bluntly.  The table reacted; White smiled at them.  “Various astronomical societies have detected the craft and are currently checking their results.  Its arrival disrupted a number of communications satellites, so their owners, the cable and satellite networks, have every incentive to go looking for the cause.”

“Is there any way we can prevent the news getting out?”  Bernard Stewart, the Director of Central Intelligence, asked.

“No,” White said bluntly.  “Too many groups are putting together the picture even as we speak.  It will be an hour or so, maybe less, before the news companies are tipped off.  Then they’ll try to verify it, and then run with it.”

“Bugger,” Pope said softly.  It was the only obscenity he ever used.  “Do we have any scenarios for this kind of thing?”

“Not really,” Adie McCalman, the National Security Advisor, said, who had looked them up.  “During the cold war, someone in the pentagon came up with a scenario for alien contact.  It basically ordered caution and attempts to obtain samples of the alien technology, or at least denying it to the Soviets.”

She shrugged.  “There’s also the SETI detection guidelines, although they’re not enshrined in law anywhere.  Those order scientists to confirm contact, inform other astronomers, inform national governments and finally inform the international community.  As you can tell, its not designed for this situation anyway.”

“That’s interesting,” President Jackson said, reminding herself that Presidents could not bite heads off.  “However, we need to do something about that ship.”

“We need to get someone up there,” Pope said.  “We can send messages with our good intentions, but so will every other radio transmitter in the world.”  His voice darkened.  “Some of them will be run by unscrupulous people.”

“You think that Al Qaeda might convince them to bombard us?”   McCalman asked sceptically.  “They might not have a religion.”

“We don’t know that,” Pope said.  “Yes, this thing does present a possible danger, particularly with their technological superiority.  We really need to get some independent observers on that ship.”

“Out of idle curiosity,” McCalman asked, “how do you plan to do that?  If they’re as powerful as you say, they don’t have to do a damned thing they don’t want to.”

Pope smiled.  “I’ve spent half an hour discussing the problem with NASA,” he said.  “The NASA staff who are aware of the situation are very enthusiastic; they’re already talking about how they can use it to get more funding.”  There were chuckles from the table.  “Director Lorain is certain that NASA can put together a team to visit the ship on a space shuttle.”

“How will they get in?”  Jackson asked thoughtfully.  “Why can’t they use the ISS?”

“We need to maintain exclusivity, as far as possible,” Pope said.

“The Russians and Chinese, not to mention the Frogs, are going to want in,” Andrew Bones, the Secretary of Defence, said gloomily.

“We can handle that if we act carefully,” Pope said.  Jackson raised an eyebrow.  “Neither the Russo-Chinese space program, nor the European Space Agency, have a hope of mounting a mission to the ship within a month.  They would be dependent on us for their information.”

Jackson nodded.  “I dare say that I’ll be getting a call on the hot line from President Lapotin,” she said.  “Stanley, please work with Warren to draw up a plan for sending a mission to that ship.  I also want a draft message for every government radio installation to send to the ship.”

“Yes, Madam President,” Pope said.

“Harry, I want you to draw up a short statement,” she continued.  “I’ll issue it when the news finally breaks.”

“Madam President,” Bones said, “should we mobilise?”

Jackson frowned.  “Should we?”  She asked the table at large.

“Yes,” Campbell said.  “Even if they’re not hostile, we need to be ready for someone taking advantage of this development.”

Jackson nodded.  “Andrew, coordinate a mobilisation of everything we’ll need for defence,” she said.  “Make what preparations you can for an attack from space; we might need it.”  They shared a long glance; acknowledging the technological gulf between Earth and that ship.  “God be with us all.”

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta
23rd March 2009 (Time Line A)

“Is this some kind of joke?”  Eva Zapata, the current producer of the CNN news service, was shocked and disbelieving.  Her Hispanic face, still beautiful at thirty-three, curled in distrust.  No one rose to the top of the media business without making thousands of enemies, who might wish to embarrass their rival.

“No,” Mohammed Ullah, Zapata’s personal computer expect and rover reporter, said.  “I found the information passing between two observatories, and then heard the reply.  There is an alien starship in orbit around the Earth.”

Zapata’s eyes narrowed.  “Is there any way of checking this independently?”

Ullah frowned.  “I made independent enquires at three different observatories,” he said.  “So far, there’s a lot of argument about how to disclose the information.”  He smiled.  “I made a deal with one of the independent observatories that use the new space telescope; in exchange for granting them the credit for the first sighting we can have their recordings.”

Zapata had to smile.  “Who did find it first?”

Ullah smiled back.  “Does it matter?”

Zapata shook her head.  “Contact our representatives in Washington,” she ordered her secretary.  “Tell them that we want comments from the President, Senate Leaders, military-types and anyone else who might be involved.  Mohammed, get your recordings down to Caroline Langdon.  We’ll interrupt the current program.”

***

Caroline Langdon was nineteen years old and already a news presenter at CNN.  Her looks – she reassembled a schoolgirl – attracted viewers to CNN, beating out their rivals.  She was, just incidentally, quite competent.

“Fighting continued today in Jordan,” she said, as pictures from the ongoing struggle displayed on the television.  “Forces loyal to the Jordanian King today rooted out a cell of Palestinian terrorists in Irbid, continuing the struggle between the large minority of disenfranchised Palestinians and the natives of the kingdom.  Israel has offered support to the Jordan government, as has Iraq.

“The apparent development of nuclear weapons by Japan,” she continued, “has altered the power balance in the region yet again.  The Russo-Chinese alliance has warned the Japanese that deployment of nuclear-armed missiles could constitute a ‘clear and present threat to the stability of the region’.”  Above the studio, seen only by her, the newsflash light started to blink.  Quickly, she finished off the small piece on Japan and the broadcast switched to a commercial.

“Is this serious?”  She demanded though her microphone, as soon as she’d read the short statement and seen the small video.

“Yes,” Zapata said.  “You’re on in five minutes.”

Langdon took a deep breath as the timer ticked away.  The red ‘on the air’ light started to shine.  “Astronomers at the Mauna Kea observatory in Hawaii, tracing the source of the disruption that affected global communications six hours ago have detected the source.  There appears to be a spacecraft of unknown origin in orbit around the Earth.”

The broadcast cut to the picture of the ship.  “The sheer size of the craft leaves no doubt as to its origins,” she said.  “It has to be from an alien civilisation.  We will bring you more news on this as it develops.”

Chapter Four: The Lost Ones

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
23rd March 2009 (Time Line A)

It had been called JEEVES by its creator, a semi-intelligent expert program that existed within the Enterprise’s computer network.  Dubbed a ‘distributed intelligence’ by the United States Space Force, it provided an emergency back-up system for the starship, should a real disaster strike and the crew be injured or killed.

JEEVES felt its awareness focus on the ship’s emergency systems, activating the life-sign monitors.  It shifted its focus until it had locked in on Captain Cozort, lying near his command chair.  JEEVES split its personality; one half flickered through the system to the emergency detection sensors, the other half to the computer node in the bridge.  It studied Cozort’s face through several sensors, trying to determine what was wrong.  Emergency protocols activated, checking the captain’s implant.

The reports were inconclusive.  JEEVES spent a hundredth of a second reviewing a possible course of action, then began the only one that made sense to it.  It began to attempt to revive the captain.

***
A strange light flickered though Cozort’s mind, a light that was somehow wrong, unreal.  Shimmering flickers dug deep into his soul, causing him to hurt deep inside.  Cozort would have screamed if he could have, but he could not move, trapped helplessly inside his own mind.  A strange piercing whine appeared in his mind; it seemed oddly familiar.  Suddenly realising what it was, Cozort saw his way back to his mind and in a second was conscious again.

He opened his eyes and immediately wished that he had not.  A splitting headache burnt behind his eyes; the bridge lights were flickering red, for Red Alert.  Alarm rushed though him, causing his head to throb.

“Captain?”  A cultured voice echoed through his head.

Cozort placed the voice after a long mental struggle.  “Jeeves?”

“Yes, Captain,” JEEVES said.  He made no other comment, reverting to subordinate status.

Cozort knew that it was a bad, possibly dangerous, idea, but he issued the order anyway.  “Jeeves, activate the emergency program in my nanites.”

“Captain, regulation fleet 657-4 requires me to point out that…”

“Do it,” Cozort snapped, and instantly regretted it as pain slashed through his head.  His nanites switched to direct production of pain-numbing products, dulling the pain.  Too much of that, he knew, would leave him in no state for anything.  For the moment, however, his head started to clear.

“Ship’s status?”  He asked, suddenly remembering what had happened.

“We appear to have survived the rogue hyper-field,” JEEVES said.  “However, there has been no response to my emergency distress call.”

“Where are we?”  Cozort asked, trying to think of the possibilities.  Was there any where in the solar system where they could not find help?

“We are currently at Lagrange One,” JEEVES said.  Cozort relaxed.  “I am unable to detect the Manhattan or the Denver,” he continued.  “USSF channels are silent.”

Destroyed?  “What’s the status of the crew?”  Cozort asked, and mentally cursed himself for not having thought of their welfare first.

“Life signs are inconclusive,” JEEVES said.

“Activate their monitoring implants,” Cozort said.  He massaged his temples for a long moment, trying to remember the security code.  “Authorisation Cozort alpha-gamma-theta-stigma.”

There was a long pause.  Cozort winced; the strict controls on the monitoring systems prevented their activation without a command officer authorising it, and under normal circumstances an officer who did so could expect to be asked some very hard questions.  The national security state, it was agreed by all, must not be abused and the penalties for doing so were harsh.  If the court martial found against him, Cozort would be lucky to be exiled to the Mars recovery project.

“Of the three thousand crewmembers and colonists,” JEEVES said finally, “two thousand, nine hundred and seventy are in a state of unconsciousness, similar to the state you were in.  Twenty-five crewmembers are in a state of near-catatonia and require urgent medical attention.  Five crewmembers are dead.  One hundred and seventy crewmembers have suffered various injuries requiring medical attention.  Crewmembers and colonists in stasis appear to have remained so without problems.”

“Oh hell,” Cozort said aloud.  “Jeeves, wake some of the crew.”

“Yes, Captain,” JEEVES said.  “Any particular members?”

“Umm,” Cozort said.  “Concentrate on the bridge crew, the medical staff and the engineering staff.”

“Working,” JEEVES said, splitting his attention into many myriad parts.  “Lieutenant Rodney Killen, engineering 3rd officer, is dead.  The others are beginning to waken.”

Cozort heard a groan from the other side of the bridge.  Pulling himself to his feet, he surveyed the damage; two consoles had exploded.  Taylor was pulling himself upright and failing.

“Don’t try to stand up,” Cozort whispered to him.  “Sit still.”  He thought for a moment.  “Jeeves, keep routing information from people’s implants to the medical staff until everyone has been tended to.”

“Yes, Captain,” Jeeves said.  His emergency protocols overrode the normal standing orders never to route such information anywhere without a very good reason.

Cozort felt movement behind him and saw Lieutenant-Commander Wachter pulling himself to his feet.  “Commander, how are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been punched silly,” Wachter growled.  He held his head in one hand.  Cozort stepped forward and tripped over a body.  Cursing, he stood up and saw Lieutenant Simpson lying at an odd angle.

“Her arm is broken,” Cozort realised.  “Commander, take the helm.  Find out where any rescue ships are.”

Wachter stepped forward as Cozort pulled Simpson into a sitting position.  Terns, Sanchez and Taylor were starting to get up as well.  “Ensign, go down to sickbay and bring up seven emergency medical packs,” Cozort ordered, pulling out the bridge’s only packs.

“Yes, sir,” Sanchez said, and headed for the access portal.  Cozort carefully splintered Simpson’s arm.

“That will hold it until it can be regenerated,” he told her.

“I’ll be fine,” Simpson said, smiling bravely at him.

“Good,” Cozort said.  “Commander Wachter, where’s our help?”

“Sir, I can’t find any spacecraft within detection range,” Wachter said.

“What?”  Cozort snapped.

“Captain,” Archie said, “I’m picking up a transmission of some kind.  It’s radio, not tuned lasers or neutrino pulses.”

Wreckers?  We don’t use radio that often these days, Cozort thought.  “Put it on.”

A hiss filled the bridge.  Voices could be heard faintly within the distortion.  “Spacecraft, we greet you…aliens…do you come…join us in our crusade…there is no…hear….”

“Cut it off,” Cozort snapped.  “What the hell was that?”

“I was mistaken,” Archie admitted.  She ran her hands over her console, splitting the signals into their component parts.  “We’re being bombarded with thousands of messages, all from Earth.”

A horrible suspicion was beginning to grow in Cozort’s mind.  “Commander Wachter, do a full graviton scan of the surrounding region.  I want to know everything that in space.”

“One moment,” Wachter said.  He activated the scanning system.  The results came in slowly.  “I’m reading several thousand satellites in orbit around Earth…”  His voice tailed off.

“Carry on,” Cozort said.  Cold fear was beginning to gnaw at his heart.

“Sir, I can’t find the orbital towers, or the asteroid habitats, or the orbital industries, or any other spacecraft.  The only habitable installation is a small space station…sir, I don’t understand.”

Cozort thought he did.  “We’ve fallen back in time,” he said grimly.

***
Doctor Elspeth Romeo was working desperately through a thick head, relaying on MEDIC and JEEVES to watch everything she did.  Most of the crew had recovered from temporal shock, as she would later term it, relatively well.  Some had not, and she was forced to order them placed into stasis.  The results from a brain scan had not been encouraging.  She did not want to operate in her current condition.

“Can I help?” 

Romeo turned round to see a tall black woman.  It took her a moment to recognise her through the haze as Roberta Cozort, the captain’s wife.  “Yes,” she said, remembering that Roberta had a nursing degree.  “Can you use a regenerator?”

“Yes,” Roberta said.  She picked one up and activated it.

“Good,” Romeo said.  “Please help the crowds of wounded.”

“Yes, madam,” Roberta said.  She quickly and efficiently tended to a young lieutenant, who was bleeding from a chest wound.  “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” Romeo said.  “JEEVES woke me up; Doctor Paulo is cationic.  Any help you can give would be welcome.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like this happening when the hyperdrive was activated,” Roberta said, helping a small girl fix her fingers.

“Me neither,” Romeo said.  “Transition shock causes mild nausea, not this…devastation.”

“I hope that Dale’s alright,” Roberta said to herself.  “He always has problems without me.”

***
Two hours after their recovery, the Enterprise was well back towards being a fully-functional ship again, with a few problems.  Cozort, once the immediate life-threatening problems had been solved, ordered his crew to identify where – or rather when – they were.  An hour after that, Cozort called a staff meeting.

“Doctor Romeo,” Cozort said, “how do we stand on medical issues?”

Romeo sighed tiredly.  Cozort made a mental note to send her to her cabin for at least nine hours sleep afterwards.  “Most of the crew is now awake and functioning,” she said.  “It turns out that injections of energy supplements can counteract the shock and we’ve distributed injections to all of the crew.  I’d recommend some sleep as well, but…”

Her voice darkened.  “We now have seven fatalities,” she said grimly.  “Peter Smith apparently tore his eyes out on deck twelve and bled to death.  Jack Witco was in the hydroponics section and fell into the waterbeds.  He drowned.  Both bodies have been placed in stasis for the present.”

“Thank you,” Cozort said.  “Engineering?”

Stirling frowned.  “The hyperdrive is fused,” she said.  “Even if we deploy all our fabricators, it will take us at least a year to build up to the point where we can build a new unit.”

“We can’t repair it?”  Taylor asked.

“No,” Stirling said.  She put up a display above the table.  “As you can see, the entire assembly is wreaked beyond repair.”  She frowned.  “The Thornleigh Drive is damaged, but repairable and we’ve started doing that now.

“Given the energy fields that the sensors recorded, we seem to have come through it remarkably well,” she concluded.  “We had a number of local power overloads and destruction, but the remainder of the ship is fine.  A full report has been logged in JEEVES.”

“Excellent,” Cozort said.  “That leaves two questions; how did we get here?”

All eyes turned to the science officer, Lieutenant Peter Davidson.  He frowned down at his display, and then spoke carefully.  “I don’t pretend to understand all that’s happened,” he said softly.  “I suspect that we went through a Thornleigh Hole.”

“A Thornleigh Hole?”  Stirling scoffed.  “That’s somewhat unlikely; they’re supposed to be impossible.”

“Go on,” Cozort said, holding up a hand.

“In theory,” Davidson said, glaring at Stirling, “a Thornleigh Hole would be created when a hyper-field bent space so far that it would start to force a curve in time itself.”  He spoke more confidently.  “It’s a mistake to think of space and time as separate entities, they’re linked together.  Time slows down slightly the faster an object moves, even in hyperspace.  It’s not been proven, but the evidence from the Truman suggests that time slows slightly when in hyperspace; the trip to Tau Ceti might be a week long in real space, but the ship takes only four days, for example.

“Thornleigh theorised that if a hyper-field could be made stable within a massive area of space-time curvature, such as exists inside the hyper-wall, it would start to generate a time-fold, rather than a spatial-fold.  However, the fact that any attempt to generate a field within the hyper-limit ended in the starship disappearing or being destroyed, it never got proven and is generally discounted.”

“Except here we are,” Taylor commented.

“I don’t suppose there’s any sign of the Pathfinder?”  Archie asked.  The Pathfinder, one of the first starships, had disappeared before the existence of the hyper-limit had been deduced.

“None,” Taylor said.  “No sign of any serious orbital activity.”

“So when are we?”  Cozort said.

Taylor took a deep breath.  “There seem to have been a few holes in that theory,” he said.  “As ordered, I attempted to place our era.  Right from the start, I knew that something was seriously wrong, as there is no record of any contact with a future starship in our records.

“So I started to run star checks,” he continued.  “We’re in 2009.”  He held up a hand to forestall comment.  “The stars match perfectly, but the level of activity does not.”  He frowned.  “By now, the Thornleigh Drive has been invented and there are thousands of people on the Moon and Mars, but here, there’s hardly any space activity.”

“What sort of idiots fail to advance into space?”  Stirling asked.  “If they can put up satellites, they must be able to put up men and habitats.”

“Good question,” Taylor said.  “JEEVES and Mrs Cozort are running through their communications, which are easy to detect and decrypt – those few that are encrypted – to attempt to build up a picture of their history.  However, look at this.”

He displayed an image of the alternate Earth.  “Notice how Earth turned round, exposing Eastern Europe?”  There were gasps.  “In 1980, we blasted the Russians and their slave states back to bedrock,” he said.  “Here…” the image turned below them, “Leningrad, Moscow, Stalingrad…all ruins in our world, even today…in our time, I mean.”

“Where are we?”  Rollins asked.  It was the first time that the colony governor had spoken.

“Mrs Cozort mentioned the concept of alternate realities,” Taylor said.  “Apparently, they are other worlds where history went differently; the Germans win the Battle of Britain, for example, or the Mexican Revolution of 1990 was successful.  This one, where we are, seems not to have had a Hot War, perhaps not even a Cold War.  Further research is needed.”

“Thank you,” Cozort said.  “This, however, leaves us with a problem.  Is there any way that we can get back to our own universe and time?”

There was a long pause.  “I don’t think so,” Davidson said reluctantly.  “The first problem is that the hyperdrive is gone, so our only method of warping space is gone as well.  The second problem is that we would be effectively jumping blind; we’d have no way to steer.”

“Assuming we made it into a Thornleigh Hole,” Stirling said.

“Yes,” Davidson agreed.  “We might end up far back in the past, or facing a civilisation of intelligent dinosaurs, or real aliens, or something.”

“And the crew might not be able to take repeated episodes of temporal shock,” Romeo warned.  She yawned.

Cozort smiled to himself.  “Doctor, go to your cabin and take some rest,” he ordered.  “At least nine hours in bed.”

“But I’ve still got to set bones and repair…”

“Your assistants can do that,” Cozort said.  “Now go sleep.  Doctor, heal thyself.”

“Yes, Captain,” Romeo said and left the room.

“Now,” Cozort said, as soon as the door closed behind her, “we’re stuck here, right?”

“It certainly seems that way,” Taylor said.  The first officer stared at nothing.  “There’s no way home.”

***
Captain Cozort would have shown his own despair and horror if he could have, screaming at fate for trapping them in this alien universe.  Thirty years of training and experience in the USSF, and the knowledge that everyone on the ship was depending on him, held him back from screaming aloud.  The table was silent, everyone lost in their own private thoughts.  Cozort heard a ‘pip’ and glanced up to see a tear falling from Archie’s eye.  Her husband was back across the dimensional divide.

He banged the table with his hand.  “We’re stuck here,” he repeated, “but we are still officers of the United States of America and we will survive and prosper in the great American tradition.”  He gazed round the table.  “What are our options?”

“We could contact America, assuming it exists in this timeline,” Taylor said.  “The Enterprise would be capable of supporting a space effort that would put this lot among the stars.”

“Do we want to have anything to do with people who don’t have a space program?”  Stirling said.

“They clearly have some kind of program,” Taylor said.

“Not a very good one,” Stirling snapped.

“Enough,” Cozort said softly.  “That’s option one.  Any others?”

“Our original purpose was to establish a colony,” Rollins said.  “We still have five thousand people prepared for that purpose, in stasis.  We could travel to Mars or Titan and set up base camp there, or among the asteroids.”

Terns nodded.  “Whatever the political divisions down there, they do know that we’re here,” he said.  “Radar pulses have been landing on our hull.”

“Can they reach us?”  Taylor asked.  

“Unknown,” Terns said.  “We don’t know enough about their capabilities to be certain.  However, there are no signs that they have the Thornleigh Drive – we would have ample warning if they send anything in our direction.”

Cozort nodded.  “Deploy the stealth drones,” he ordered.  “We’ll see how much we can find out before doing anything.  Any other ideas?”

“We can trade our technology for living space,” Stirling said.  “Setting up a colony on Titan would be difficult until we establish a proper technical base.”

“I don’t like that idea,” Wachter said.  “We know nothing about the humans on this planet.  They might be threatened by our ship and use our technology against us.”

Cozort frowned.  “We won’t share any technology until we know for sure what we’re dealing with,” he said.  “Any other options?”

“We could set out for Terra Nova in normal space,” Davidson said thoughtfully.  “At maximum speed, it would only take twenty years or so; we could all go into stasis until we arrive in the system.”

“I can’t guarantee that the Thornleigh Drive would last that long, not with the beating it took,” Stirling said.

Cozort shook his head.  “No,” he said, “that’s not an option.”  He sighed.  “Our first priority is to get back into perfect condition, or as good a condition as we can get.  Meanwhile, if Travis and Roberta continue to study the transmissions, hack their datanet and so on, we should be able to figure out what to do next.”

“Should we reply to their messages?”  Archie said.  “We’ve logged and recorded over ten thousand separate messages so far, and they’re still coming in.  A mixture of invitations, greetings, threats, promises and so forth.”

“Not yet,” Cozort said.  “Let’s find out what we’re dealing with first.  However, given their lack of a space program, their ability to threaten us would be practically non-existent.”

***
Ensign Miguel Dominga Sanchez, supposed hero and traitor, cursed his luck as he lay on his bunk.  The Captain’s Aide had the honour of his own cabin, even if it was merely a small five-meter by five-meter box.  Sanchez had put up a few posters, but it was still devoid of any real personality.

I expected to die, Sanchez thought to himself.  I planted the programs that should have crushed the ship in its own drive fields, but no, we had to end up here.  He scowled; if there was no EMP pulse, then the fleet would have been seen as it reached Earth orbit.  They must all be dead.

And here I am.  Sanchez had been quicker to see some of the potential implications of their arrival here and the lack of space activity than any of the other crew.  Growing up in Mexico, which was in constant turmoil, people learnt everything about the triumphant march of the United States American Empire.  The American success in space, they themselves had concluded, came from a long period where they were the foremost power in the world; able and willing to interfere whenever their interests were threatened.

“We don’t really care what you do,” he recited, “but if, by jingo, we do,
We have the ships, we have the men, and we have the nukes too.”  An American wag had crafted that little bit of doggerel to explain American success.

He stared across at the political map that hung from his wall.  The USA covered North America, Australia and Britain, with many small outposts across the globe.  But if America did not cover so much of the world…if it was not so utterly unbeatable…

Perhaps I can find allies here to prevent these Americans from becoming so powerful, Sanchez thought, and smiled.  Perhaps I can integrate myself with the captain’s wife.  She is the one trying to figure out the politics here…

Chapter Five: Meeting of Minds

Armstrong Airfield
United States of America
26th March 2009 (Time Line A)

Confirmation of the arrival of what was almost certainly an alien craft affected people in different ways.  In New York, San Francesco and London, crowds gathered to protest the governmental silence on the topic, believing that the governments were trying to cover-up contacts between the starship and themselves.  In the countryside, people were disbelieving, but fascinated despite themselves.  The media ran endless speculations on the intent and capabilities of the starship; running alien contact and alien invasion movies back to back.  Across America, people were buying guns and stockpiling food, just in case.  Others were preparing to welcome the space travellers.

The first report of contact came only twenty minutes after CNN broadcast the discovery.  A middle-aged ex-hippie claimed to have been visited by two small grey aliens, who invited him to have sex with a space female.  Despite an hour of global fame, he was unable to explain to anyone’s satisfaction why he’d refused their kind offer.  Other claims came in thick and fast, spreading confusion and disbelief across the world.  Religious fanatics of one kind or another claimed that it was the End Times, while others predicted the dawning of the Age of Aquarius.

Different nations reacted with different emotions.  The British, steadfast as always, decided to wait and see what happened.  The French urged a united front, while preparing under-the-table overtures to the aliens.  The more repressive governments, such as Russia and China, made no comment or actively denied the existence of the aliens.  Saudi Arabia only commented on an American space project.

In Red Brennan’s case, he celebrated the arrival of the starship by crossing the field from his office to the bar and getting roaring drunk, singing along to the jukebox.  It was so unfair, he thought, as he downed yet another beer, he’d been so close!

Brennan had been a wannabe astronaut, but he’d constantly failed NASA’s selection program.  Despite having years of experience in the air force, NASA’s declining budget and several disasters meant that their recruitment of astronauts fell sharply.  Like many others, Brennan had watched the increasing recruitment of bureaucrats, astronomers and theorists – all of whom increased the real achievements of the agency by not one iota – with dismay and bitter resentment.

He’d seen hope in the idea of the SSTO program, reasoning that he and a few friends could design a working SSTO for pocket change.  Rustling up the funding had been easy, even with the decline of interest in the space program, because his father had put forward the initial funds.  A public subscription had brought in additional funds, so he’d invested in a few of his fellow astronauts, a young astronaut-engineer and a few young materials experts.  In a year, the John Glenn was ready for flight-testing, following the other SSTO experiments over the past decade.

And then NASA had begun their counterattack.  Objections, legal actions and bureaucratic obstruction had slowed, hampered and nearly defeated Brennan.  NASA had worried about the ecology of Nevada, even though there was hardly anything to ruin, and about the safely of the new fuel that Brennen’s experts had devised.  It produced far more thrust than standard shuttle propellant, but it had a higher risk of catastrophic reactions.  Brennen, knowing that NASA was just waiting for him to run out of money, had watched his fortunes dwindle and the John Glenn wait patently, never having been flown more than a few miles in the air.

“Look,” he said, as the bartender presented him with yet another drink.  “They’ve come, haven’t they?”

The bartender nodded.  “Aliens from outer space,” he said in agreement.  He was well aware of how to handle a drunken Brennen – keep him talking.

“And everyone is praying that they won’t treat us like we treated the Indians, or the Japanese or whatever race was sinned-against of the year,” he slurred.  “But why should they not?  We’ve had the keys to space for fifty years, and what have we done?”

“Nothing,” the bartender said.  This promised to be a more interesting drunken discourse than the usual, which consisted of ‘why did he/she leave me?’  Armstrong had a small community nearby that came to drink at his bar.

“And look at that ship,” Brennen went on.  “Five kilometres long, if it’s a meter,” he proclaimed, pointing to the television.  Yet another picture of the starship was being displayed; one noted science-fiction writer was pontificating on how he thought that the starship was powered.  Beside the image, an image of the space shuttle and the relative dimensions of the two craft were displayed.  

“We can’t build anything like it, yet alone a space station worth shit,” Brennen continued.  “International space station my hairy ass, with Russians and Japs everywhere on the station.  Concentrating on Earth while we should be gazing at the stars.”

“Indeed,” the bartender said.  A dull noise, that of numerous helicopters, was heard faintly through the racket from the jukebox.  “What’s that?”

“Who cares?”  Brennan said.  “Fucking useless government, eh?  Dumbass presidents chasing skirt and ignoring space, letting the bloody bureaucrats run NASA instead of a real dreamer or engineer.  Do you know what they’re doing now?”

He went on without waiting for an answer.  “They’re researching the possibilities in a flight to Alpha-C or Wolf 359 or somewhere,” he said.  “How dumb is that?  We can’t get back to the godforsaken moon, let alone to Mars and another star!  It’s a waste of time, money and it makes them look like they’re doing something!

“They just don’t want to admit that NASA is a failure,” he ranted, but the bartender was no longer listening.  The noise of helicopters had risen to a crescendo, even behind the jukebox, and faded.  Peering through the windows, the bartender saw lights and men moving around.  Carefully, he checked the location of his shotgun; the last thing he needed was a raid.

The door swung open and a man stood there.  The bartender felt a shiver running though his body; the man was the perfect picture of Eliot Ness.  Tall, with frizzy red hair, dressed in a neat black suit, he was out of place in the slightly grimy bar.

The man looked around the bar and then strode over to the counter.  “I’m looking for Mr Brennen,” he said.

“Can I see some ID?”  The bartender asked.

“Marcel Darius, NSA,” the man said, holding up a card.  The bartender studied it, but had to admit that he would not recognise it from the National Institute of Clowning.  He pointed towards Brennen, who had slumped over his table.

“Mr Brennen?”  Darius asked.

“Who wants to know?”  Brennen said.  His voice was slurred, his breath stank of alcohol.  Darius pulled out his card again and waved it under his nose.  “NSA?”

“Yes,” Darius said.  “Mr Brennen, I’m from Washington.  The President would like to talk to you.”

“Bullshit,” Brennen said.  “The President wouldn’t want to talk to me; she’s too busy ignoring space in favour of terrorist women-beaters.”

“It’s true,” Darius said bluntly.  “My men and I have been asked to secure the John Glenn, and bring you to Washington.”

That penetrated Brennen’s drink-dulled mind.  “My ship?  You can’t have my ship!”

“We’re not taking it anywhere,” Darius assured him.  “The President wants to talk to you, however.”

Something clicked inside Brennen’s mind.  “The aliens,” he said.  “You want me to fly Glenn into outer space.”

“I believe so,” Darius said.  “Please, clean up and come with me.”

***
Ten minutes later, Brennen stepped out of the toilet a new man.  The bartender had sent his son to fetch Brennen’s best suit and had helped him to wash and shave.  Darius was privately amazed by the transformation, but resolved not to admit it.

“This way, please,” he said.  He passed the bartender two hundred dollars to pay for Brennen and another five hundred to feed the new guards, and led the way out into the cold night.  Brennen stopped and stared; seven CV-22 Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft sat on the airfield, with almost a hundred armed guards scattered around.

“The Secret Service quick reaction force,” Darius explained.  “There are some political complications, so securing the launch site was seen as a priority.”

“Warn them not to try to fly the ship without me,” Brennen said.  The cold air pushed back the haze that clouded his mind.  “I programmed the ship’s computer with command codes that are unbreakable; any attempt to fly it without those will cause it to become unserviceable.”

Darius frowned.  “Such algorithms are illegal,” he said dryly.  The NSA had waged war on commercial encryption since the entire system was invented.

“So what?  Even if I’d used a NSA sanctioned algorithm, you’d still need to get it right first time.”  Brennen grinned the grin of a crocodile, or of someone witnessing another person’s misfortune.

“True, true,” Darius said.  They reached the first CV-22, already powering up.  “Hop in,” Darius said, “and try to get some sleep.  It’s a long trip to Washington.”

The Kremlin
Russia
26th March 2009 (Time Line A)

The small council room had only three people sitting at its vast table.  Their discussions, those of men with power, ambition and unlimited distrust, were secret.  Outside their closest circles, only the NSA knew when and where they met, and it never knew the subjects under discussion.

The Russian President, the Chinese Primer and the Indian Prime Minster met every month to discuss the shaping of their alliance.  The strategic triangle they’d formed was delicate, particularly given the long-standing grievances that they shared with each other.  India had supported Taiwan from time to time.  China had border disputes with both Russia and India.  Russia suspected China of coveting the Siberian oil fields.

Despite their rivalries, the three powers saw considerable advantage in cooperating against a common enemy – America.  They shared a distrust of America, which they considered to be weak, imperialist and dedicated to destroying their governments.  In the two years since they’d begun their relationship, they’d mounted a joint space program, improved their aircraft, naval and missile arsenals and made significant leaps forward with their economy.

The Russian President, Joseph Lapotin, led off the discussion.  “By now,” he said, “You will be aware that our own astronomers have confirmed the presence of an alien spacecraft near the Earth.”

“Was there any response to the secret communications you sent to it?”  Chinese Primer Yang Tao asked.

“We agreed that there would be no individual messages sent to the alien ship,” Prime Minister Khan Homchoudhury of India said.  “Have you both broken that agreement?”

“So did you,” Lapotin said, with a sugar-sweet smile.

“I know,” Homchoudhury said.  They stared at each other for a moment; acknowledging their shared mistrust.  “We received nothing,” Homchoudhury said finally.  “Anyone else?”

“No,” Lapotin said, and Tao shook his head.  “Anyway, every radio station not under our direct control across the globe is broadcasting messages anyway, so that particular cat is out of the bag.”

“Has there been any progress with the UN?”  Homchoudhury asked.  India’s lack of a seat on the Security Council limited its power within the global bureaucracy.

“The Secretary-General has appealed for the world powers to cooperate with each other, or more specifically himself,” Lapotin said.  They smiled; long used to manipulating the increasingly irrelevant United Nations.  “America and Britain have not responded; France and Germany have agreed to support Secretary-General Legrand, but I suspect that the French are trying to make their own contacts as well.

“Other than that, the smaller powers are demanding that all information and technology be shared,” he continued.  “If the aliens communicate with America, for example, and leave the rest of us alone, we will have sufficient excuse to press the Americans hard, politically, economically and, as a last resort, military action.”

“We should leave military action to supporting the anti-American groups,” Homchoudhury said.  India, alone in the group, had good relations with America.

“Or perhaps we could act to recover Chinese Taipei,” Tao put forward.

“Which might bring us into conflict with Japan,” Lapotin said.  “On the other hand, if the Americans freeze Japan out of any technology, which is not impossible given the current tension over nuclear weapons, they might agree to stand aside.”

“Perhaps,” Homchoudhury said.  “However, I believe that there is another consideration; what if the aliens are hostile?”

“Then we fight them, alone or in collaboration with the Americans,” Tao said.

“Can we beat them?”  Homchoudhury asked.  “Can we even reach them?”

“I spoke to Director Baranidze about that,” Lapotin said.  “The short answer is no; not for another month at least.  We’re concentrating on simple Big Dumb Boosters to lift our payloads and crews, at least until we get the spaceplane working properly, and we won’t have a crewed one ready for a month.”

“Then I suggest that we make that our highest priority,” Tao said.  Homchoudhury nodded.

“Agreed,” Lapotin said.  “Until then, we need to work to convince the Americans to share information, for they can launch a shuttle mission.”

The White House
America
27th March 2009 (Time Line A)

“Madam President,” Lapotin said.  “It is a pleasure to talk to you again.”

“Thank you,” Jackson said.  She was tired and stressed; she suspected that Lapotin had called her purposely at this time.  Long-standing tradition dictated that calls on the Washington-Moscow hotline were taken at once, but she’d thought that that had fallen into disuse when the Soviet Union collapsed.

To hear Lapotin talk, it hadn’t.  He spoke as if Russia was still an equal to the United States, not just one part of an alliance designed to limit American power.  Jackson knew that some of the communist old guard found Russia’s current position intolerable, working to restore Russia to the old glories and sufferings of the Stalin era.  She also knew that economic stresses threatened to tear Russia apart; her advisors were worried about another ‘short victorious war’.

“Might I enquire as to the position of the United States over the alien craft?”  Lapotin asked.

“We’re waiting to learn more before we commit ourselves,” Jackson said.  “And your position?”

“Ah,” Lapotin said.  “I have had interesting news from Sergei Baranidze, the Director of the Russo-Chinese-Indian space program.  He thinks that you are preparing a mission to the alien craft.”

Jackson had been expecting that statement; NASA’s security measures left a lot to be desired.  “I can neither confirm or deny,” she said, “but we are keeping our options open.”

Lapotin ignored her.  “If you launch a shuttle to visit the aliens, we want a representative on that ship.”

Jackson shook her head, then realised that it was foolish; Lapotin couldn’t see her.  “No,” she said flatly.  “The only way we can reach the craft can only take a few people.”

“Then we want full access to the information,” Lapotin snapped.

“We’ll share everything once we get it,” Jackson lied.  She knew that her cabinet would want to keep the information under strict control, assuming that the aliens gave them the opportunity to do so.

“See that you do,” Lapotin growled, and broke the connection.  Jackson sighed; does he think that his alliance can match the US?

“Madam President, General Campbell is here to see you,” Marlene said.

“Send him in,” Jackson ordered.  The door opened and Campbell stepped though.

“Talking to the Russians?”  He asked;  “I recognise the signs.”

“He seems to be even more arrogant than usual,” Jackson said.  “He knows that we’re going to send a mission to the aliens.”

“That’s interesting,” Campbell said.  “I wonder how he found out.”

“The question is; does he know how we plan to reach Lagrange One?”  Jackson scowled.  “Can you arrange for Brennen’s craft to be given extra security?”

“Yes, Madam President,” Campbell said.

“Now, what about the military preparations?”  Jackson asked.

“We’ve called up the reserves and made what preparations we can for conflict,” Campbell said.  “Our forces in Iraq, Saudi and Afghanistan have gone to force-protection status; if events explode we will need to pull them out fast.  We’ve deployed anti-aircraft teams at every airport, warned the National Guard, and ordered twenty-four hour air cover.”

He smiled wryly.  “I’ve no idea how much good those preparations will do, you know,” he said.

“I know,” Jackson said.  “We have to take what precautions we can.”

“Madam President,” Marlene said, “Mr Brennen and Mr Darius are here for their appointment; Mr Lorain will be here in two minutes.”

“Thank you,” Jackson said.  “Send them in when he arrives.”

***
“If all the money that went into this room was spent on the space program,” Brennen said, “we’d be on Mars by now.”

Darius shrugged.  “Perhaps,” he said.  “Still, people are convinced that space is less important…”

“You mean the politicians want a place that looks good and suits their inflated egos,” Brennen snapped.

“Washington himself designed this building,” Darius said.  It was a common myth.

Brennen laughed.  “The original government building was burnt down in 1812,” he said.  “They built the White House as a replacement; it looks like a bloody palace for fucks sake.”

Darius smiled inwardly.  Brennen was a foul-mouthed man, but he was surprisingly convincing.  No wonder that he was able to raise funds from private subscriptions.  He looked up as a faceless grey bureaucrat entered the room.  Beside him, he felt Brennen tense.

“Lorain,” Brennen snapped.

“Mr Brennen,” Lorain said.  “I cannot pretend that it is a pleasure to be working with you again, but I shall try to control my feelings.”

“Your feelings?”  Brennen snapped, standing up in one quick moment.  “You’re nothing better than a traitor to the entire United States!”

“You two know each other?”  Darius asked.  He grinned openly at the confrontation.

“Excuse me,” Marlene said.  “The President is waiting.”

“This way,” Darius said, and led the way into the Oval Office.  Brennen gazed at the most famous room in America and recognised the President sitting behind the desk.  Four chairs faced her, upon one of which an army general was sitting.

“Please be seated,” Jackson said.  She leaned over the table to shake Brennen’s hand.  “It’s a pleasure to speak to you at last,” she said.

Brennen considered her; she reminded him of his old math teacher.  “A pleasure to meet you too,” he said, and wondered if he’d been truly honest.

“As you have no doubt summarised,” Jackson began, “this is about the alien craft orbiting near the Earth.  So far, despite thousands of signals, the aliens have not responded at all, at least as far as we can tell.  Every report of contact has turned out to be a hoax, or misidentification, or both.

“Obviously, we’d like to know just what’s up there,” Jackson continued.  “Director Lorain’s people have worked out a plan for getting a few people up there next week or so.  However, we need your cooperation.”

She nodded to Lorain, who pulled out briefing papers from his briefcase, handing them round.  “The main problem is that the alien craft is at Lagrange One, beyond the reach of the space shuttle.”

Brennen shrugged.  “Makes you wish you’d built the Manned Manoeuvring Vehicle instead of funding research into FTL travel, eh?”

Lorain glared at him.  “However, if we combine the space shuttle Atlantis with your craft, we can get your craft to Lagrange One.”

“I confess to curiosity,” Brennen said.  “John Glenn cannot reach Lagrange One either.  We’d run out of fuel; even if we use the fuel you won’t let us use for some bureaucratic nonsense.”

“It has not been proven safe,” Lorain began.

“So what?”  Brennen sneered.  “Life is not safe!  Every one of my pilots, and even your space shuttle pilots, know and accept the risk.  Yes, it’s a tragedy when we lose someone, but we need to press on!”

“Enough,” Jackson said.  “Carry on, Mr Lorain.”

“We are aware of the limitations of the SSTO design,” Lorain said.  “However, if the space shuttle carries a fuel tank in its cargo bay, it will be possible to transfer enough fuel from the tank to the John Glenn.  Then you enter a boost orbit for Lagrange One.”

“Very clever,” Brennen said.  It was clever, he thought; I’ll have to run the figures myself first.  “Might I ask what my role in this is?”

“We would like to borrow your craft,” Jackson said.

“Nothing doing,” Brennen said grimly.  “If it flies at last, it flies with me; without my command codes it can’t be flown.”

Jackson locked eyes with Brennen for a long moment.  “You are aware that this might be very dangerous?”

“Yes,” Brennen said.  “Madam President, I have spent most of my life trying to get my ship in the air.  I am not going to let it go without me.”

“Very well,” Jackson said finally.  “On your own head be it.”

“I have a few more demands,” Brennen said.  He knew that it was rude, but there was no way that he’d give up this chance.  “First, I want all the bureaucratic rubbish cleared out of the way of my company; I want to launch whenever and wherever I want to from.”

“Agreed,” Jackson said, “provided that you let us inspect any cargo from overseas.”

“Second, I want some funding from the government, without strings attached, to replace what I lost fighting NASA,” Brennen said.  Jackson nodded.  “Finally, I want to be free of liability legislation and the possibility of being sued if someone has a heart attack, even though we warned him in advance.”

“Very well,” Jackson said.  “Is that all?”

Her tone suggested that it better had be all.  “Yes, Madam President,” Brennen said.

“Good,” Jackson said.  “Mr Darius will be coordinating the preparation of the SSTO and the shuttle, so you’ll be working together.  Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you,” Brennen said, and led the way outside.  Jackson watched them go, leaving only Campbell in the room with her.

“Was that wise?”  Campbell asked, “giving him such rewards for this mission?”

“If he succeeds,” Jackson said, “he deserves them.  Some of our laws, particularly the liability laws, do need to be rewritten.  And, much as I hate to admit it, he has a point; NASA has stalled badly.”

“True, true,” Campbell said.  “I notice you didn’t mention the other point.”

“You mean that if they’re hostile, there’s a fair chance they won’t be coming back to claim their rewards?”  Jackson asked.  She gave a smile that chilled Campbell’s blood.  “Yes, should they be hostile, the astronauts will be the first to know, giving us some warning.

“Of course, the warning will probably be useless,” she said, “but we might just be able to get our THAADS off if we have a few minutes warning.”

Interlude 

From: Geopolitics in the twenty-first century.  Hester, Jack.  University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, 2004

Facing America, for want of a better term, are two distinct ‘alliances’ of nations.  These are not formal alliances, but they can and do cooperate.  In general terms, they may be referred to as the Party of Heaven and the Party of Hell, terms coined by Walter Russell Mead.

The Party of Heaven consists of the nations who wish to move to a limited global government, in which collective security and action are paramount.  Typically, these are nations that have no imperialist ambitions of their own, or have learnt the folly of such ambitions.  Canada and Germany are the prime members, choosing to place their faith in the UN rather than any more limited organisation.

The Party of Hell consists of the nations that wish to return to a world of multi-polar power blocs.  They cannot stand the thought of a world that is policed indefinitely by the US, preferring instead to attempt to balance the US with coalitions of their own.  France, for example, counts for little in a world dominated by the US, but if there were to be a return to pre-1914 conditions France would suddenly become a lot more important.  Apart from France, Russia, China and to some extent Japan are members of this group.

It is important to understand that both groups are seriously flawed.  The Party of Heaven is dependent on American military support to survive, while they place their faith in the goodwill of nations – more accurately, their leaders – that have no incentive to cooperate.  Ten years of sanctions against Saddam, supported by the Party of Heaven, failed to remove the dictator or to end the suffering of his people.

The Party of Hell, on the other hand, would see any peacekeeping efforts lost forever.  Without a strong central power, the French would seek dominance in Africa, provoking a bitter war to break out.  If the US no longer enforced the NPT, all the brakes on the development of nuclear weapons would come off; we would almost certainly see the deployment of a nuclear device in ten years, possibly less.

To add to the general confusion, it is quite likely that there will be a semi-alliance between the powers that have a strong interest in curbing US power.  Both Russia and China, for example, have such an interest.  Should they overcome their differences, which are relatively minor, the world will be forever changed…

Chapter Six: Mirror Image

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
27th March 2009 (Time Line A)

There was an alternate America here!

Sanchez grinned in the semi-darkness of the communications room, his eyes studying the political map that he’d managed to find on the ‘internet’.  For what was clearly the worlds most powerful county, even in this alternate universe, the native Americans took a surprisingly lax attitude to security.  Their communications satellites beamed massive quantities of information all over the world, often without encryption.  The few that were encrypted were easy for the Enterprise’s computers to break, but most of them tended to be banking information.

Sanchez had to laugh; even in the original 2009, it would have been hard for the crew to have found anything useful on the datanet.  If they’d been detected, as a spacecraft of unknown origin, the Internal Security agency would have shut down everything, but tight-beam lasers, denying the newcomers any clues as to what the natives were doing.

Here, Sanchez’s problem was not in gathering the data, but in understanding and digesting it.  Stealth drones inserted electronic queries into computer systems that were completely open to hackers, the replies coming back faster than Sanchez could process them.  Fortunately, the Americans did so much to make it easy; Sanchez could have identified thousands of potential targets, had he commanded the Enterprise.

One particularly interesting website contained tactical and strategic information.  It seemed that America was distrusted, if not hated, by many other nations.  Sanchez was amused to discover that neglect could cause more hatred than active oppression, even though his Americans had acted to punish nations that took a strong anti-American stance.  However, America did not dominate to the degree that it had in his timeline.

I can use that, he thought to himself.  The main problem would be the Enterprise itself.  Given the lack of a native space program, introducing the technology to build Thornleigh Drives should be easy; America certainly had enough enemies with the required expertise.  Lasers, directed-energy weapons and even antimatter could all be created, if the required technical specifications were discovered.

Or delivered, Sanchez thought.  All I have to do is find a way to get specifications into the hands of America’s enemies.

***
As benefited his status as a Fleet Captain and commander of the third starship built, Captain Cozort had the honour of the largest and most luxurious suite on the ship.  One main room, one bedroom and one of only twenty baths, it was carefully decorated to match Roberta’s taste in furnishing.  Even before they’d skipped time tracks, they knew that they would be spending most of their lives on the starship.

Cozort entered and slumped down in a comfortable green armchair.  Alone of all the objects in the cabin, it was clearly old and well used.  Cozort had loved the chair from when it had belonged to his father and he’d insisted on bringing it along, even if it did look out of place against Roberta’s sophisticated decorating skills.

“Hard day at the office, lover?”  Roberta said, coming out of the bathroom.  She walked over and stood beside him, gently massaging his neck.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Cozort said tiredly, relaxing into her gentle pressure.  She reached down to hold her husband.  “We’ve got the normal-space drive working, but its starting to become obvious that there’s no way home.”

“Are people taking it badly?”  Roberta asked, massaging his temple.

“Yes,” Cozort said grimly.  “Two young ensigns killed themselves; they had the universe to explore, but they always thought that they’d be home one day.”

“I’m sorry,” Roberta said.  “You won’t do anything stupid like that, will you?”

“Too many people depending on me,” Cozort said.  He changed the subject.  “How much have you found out about the world below?”

“They’re not our ancestors,” Roberta said.  “They don’t pay any serious attention to security, even though they’re fighting something comparable to the Wrecker War.  We can read their signals, access their datanet – they call it the Internet, by the way – and read the contents of every one of their data storage systems.”

Cozort had to laugh.  “First things first,” he said.  “How much do they know about us?”

“Nothing beyond the fact that we’re here and we’re nothing to do with their political groupings,” Roberta said.  “They seem to think that we’re aliens.”  Cozort laughed.  “Some of their heavily encrypted communications details an attempt to send a spacecraft to visit us, from America.”

“America?”  Cozort had to smile.  “I take it that its not the America we grew up in?”

“No,” Roberta said grimly.  “We built up a picture of their history without much difficulty; they seem to take an unholy delight in putting anything on their Internet.”  She decided not to mention the pornographic sites, something that would have shocked her mother, hell, she’d been shocked.  “We now know where things diverged from the original.

“It seems that in 1940 President Roosevelt appointed Henry Wallace as vice president, rather than Truman,” she said.

“You mean Wallace, as in Wallace of the Progressive Party?”  Cozort had not studied history at college, but he’d picked up more than he’d ever wanted to from his wife.

“Yes,” Roberta said.  “So it seems that neither the War Production Effort nor the Speer Machine ever came into existence; Germany was weaker and far less capable in this timeline.  Instead of trying to take Moscow again in 1942, they seem to have gone for Stalingrad instead.”

Cozort nodded.  In their timeline, Stalingrad had been bombed by the Germans, been a major production plant and military base for the Soviet Iranian Republic…and had been blasted off the face of the planet during the Hot War.  Even in their time, it was still a no-go area.

“When they reached the city, Hitler sent them into the city instead of surrounding it, bleeding the Germans white,” Roberta continued.  “The Germans were broken and they were driven back to Berlin, while the western allies invaded in 1944.  Germany was defeated in 1945, without the use of nuclear weapons.  The Japanese surrendered after they lost two cities.”

“This bunch of screw-ups beat Hitler quicker than we did?”  Cozort demanded.  “What happened to the space program?  The nuclear monopoly?  Did their Unity Party really go off the rails?”

“They don’t have a Unity Party,” Roberta said.  “This is a very alien world.”

“Good God,” Cozort said.  “What do they have?”

“I’m not quite sure I’ve understood all the politics here,” Roberta said.  “They seem to delight in slandering and blasting parties and politicians – there does not seem to be any equivalent of our votes of confidence.  Basically, they have the Republican and the Democratic Parties.

“If I’m correct, the Republicans stand for less government regulation, a tougher foreign policy and less social support.  The Democrats stand for a welfare state, isolation and limited technological development.  The Democrats seem to have at least some Luddites in their party.  It’s hard to draw any form of unbiased conclusions.”

“What a mess,” Cozort said.  “So they’re preventing the development of space, when the resources of space could solve their problems?”

Roberta nodded.  “Things get really different during the Cold War.  Stalin seems to have been treated as a real ally and got control of Eastern Europe, although here he does not annex the nations and destroy them.  America seems to have fought a number of small wars against communists, which were either draws or defeats, but the war never became hot.  The Soviet Union built nukes and ballistic missiles, but neither power took a serious interest in space.  They made it to the moon to visit, but that was a one-off.”

“A one-off?”

“They sent several missions, but stopped altogether after that,” Robert explained.

“I see,” Cozort said coldly.  “What’s the situation like now?”

“It’s hard to be certain,” Roberta said.  “Russia, China (which went communist as a united state) and India seem to have formed an alliance against America.  Japan seems to be an independent power in fact, but an ally to America in name.  Europe is trying to unite into a single nation…”

“No Stirling Bloc?”

“The British Empire collapsed after the war,” Roberta said.  “India is a united nation; all they lost was the largely Muslim area of Pakistan and later Bangladesh.  They hate each other, for some reason.”

Cozort laughed darkly.  “If they knew about the chaos in India in our time line, even today…”

“They’d be relieved to know how much chaos they missed out on,” Roberta agreed.  She frowned; even in their time India was a brutal place of warlords and constant warfare as the Hindu caste system broke down violently.  The people who lived there in this reality clearly had no idea how lucky they were.

“Australia, New Zealand and Canada are independent states,” she said.  “South Africa is nothing like as big and powerful as it was in our time; Britain itself is poised between Europe and America.”

“So, in general terms, the world is a mess of competing power blocs,” Cozort summarised.  Roberta nodded.  “Will we have anything in common with the other Americans?”

“I don’t know,” Roberta said.  She reached down and kissed him gently on the head.  He stood up and pulled her to him, kissing her back, and then pulling her towards the bedroom.

***
The tactical control centre sat in the centre of the hull, protected by armour and the most extreme security measures that the United States Space Force had been able to cream up.  Only senior staff and the tactical crew were allowed to enter; all normal restrictions on the use of monitoring implants stopped at the massive airlocks that provided the only way into the centre.

A massive hologram of Earth hung in the centre of the room, covered with tactical icons.  Red, yellow and green dots floated around it, representing satellites, while the constant downloads from the Earth’s communications systems were analysed to try to put names to military forces that had no counterpart on the other side of the looking glass.

Unlike Cozort, who’d served on and commanded the civilian spaceships, Commander Travis Taylor was only a military officer.  He’d been lucky enough to avoid a period serving on a civilian ship, such as the Bridge Ships, serving only on military spacecraft.  The USSF had a policy of moving their best commanders between military and civilian ships; Taylor had never been sure if his avoiding that policy was luck or his superiors deciding that he was not in line for further promotion.  His assignment to Enterprise suggested that it was luck.

He nodded to Terns and Wachter, who’d been working to build up the tactical picture of the alternate Earth.  The planet was now surrounded by stealth drones with abilities and capabilities that would have given the Internal Security Agency of their timeline’s 2009 a collective heart attack, let alone the security agencies on the surface.  They almost had to be more competent than the ISA, given the far more intense competition on their world, and if they knew…

Not that they did, of course.  The drones were undetectable; their drive fields absorbing radar pulses and optical sensors with ease.  They opened up every communication that was routed though radio and television, recording and transmitting the collected information back to Enterprise.  Their optical sensors could pick up the words on newspapers and documents, count the people on the planet and track every movement of the dozens of militaries on the surface.

“Have you tracked and classified all their satellites?”  He said finally.  It was of the utmost importance to know if there was any threat to Enterprise itself.

“Yes, Commander,” Terns said.  He indicated the display.  “There are something like twenty thousand satellites in orbit; dead and active.  A number of them are actually more sophisticated than our own designs of 2009; we used brute force solutions while they use advanced electronics.  However, only a few of them are anti- satellite designs, filling a niche we never needed to fill.

“Seriously, I don’t think that they can pose more than a minor threat,” he concluded, pointing to the ASAT satellites on the display.  “They mainly launch pellets at very high speed, which will just glance off our armour.”

“I see,” Taylor said.  “What about their missiles?”

Terns expanded the display, marking several nations.  “Russia, China, India, France and Japan possess the capability to launch nuclear warheads into orbit.”  He shrugged.  “Unless they get very lucky, we’re in no danger from them.”

Taylor sighed.  As the senior representative of the Unity Party on board, it was his task to worry about the political implications of their contact.  “What about the Americans here?”

“What about them?”  Terns asked.  “Why would they fire on us?”

“They’re not the people we know,” Taylor said.  Some of the radio and television intercepts had been … disturbing.  “We’re from a different time line with different attitudes.  They might not like us that much.”

Terns altered the display.  “America has a large number of ballistic missiles, but they’d still face the same limitations in deploying them against us.  If they chose to fire them at us, they’d go ballistic just after leaving atmosphere.  They won’t hit us, let along hurt us through the shield.”

Taylor nodded.  “So we have a military advantage,” he said slowly.

“Sort of,” Wachter said.  “We’re not a proper battleship; we’d need to adapt some of the tenders before we could use them to fight.  Of course, there’s no reason why we can’t just retreat into the outer solar system, to Wells or Titan…”

“They don’t exist here,” Terns said, referring to the massive settlements on Earth and Titan that the United States had built in their timeline.  Wachter looked abashed.

“I forgot,” he confessed.

“This is a whole new world,” Terns said.  “Perhaps we could change it.”

“Go on,” Taylor said.  Wachter looked interested.

“I did a strategic analysis of the politics on this world,” Terns said, expanding the display.  “They’re going to have a major war in ten years, at a bet.  Tensions seem to have built up without any attempt to deflate or defuse them…what were our counterparts doing for the last fifteen years?”

“We’ll have to ask them,” Taylor said.  “Go on.”

“They’re in desperate need of some of our technology,” Terns said.  “We could give it to them.”

“To Russia?  To China?”  Wachter enquired.

“To the Americans here,” Terns said.  “Think what they could do with fusion power!  They could escape entirely this ridiculous dependency on oil; hell, they seem to be remarkably willing to follow the Westphalia conventions, which we junked in 1943 and never looked back.”

“I’ll bring that to the captain’s attention,” Taylor promised.  “Now, I want you two to prepare a plan to greet the spacecraft we think they’re preparing to send to us.”

“Yes, sir,” Wachter said.

***
Lieutenant Theresa Wiggins stared at the projection of the Earth, floating near the wall of her small cabin, and felt yet another tear fall down her face.  Her career had seemed assured!

She’d been assigned – although she’d been offered the chance to refuse without prejudice – to the starship’s hydroponics section.  Despite the massive need for her speciality, there were few hydroponics experts, particularly ones that were unnecessary elsewhere.  The ongoing project for terraforming Mars absorbed many of their related disciplines, as did the lunar farms and the food supplies for the orbital asteroids.

The USSF had made her a very good offer indeed, perhaps the best offer made to anyone on the starship.  If she gave them ten years of her life, on the Enterprise and its daughter industrial facilities that were going to be set up, she’d be provided with transport back to the Solar System, back to her fiancée and her family.  She altered the display, staring once again at her sisters; their dark mousy hair so similar to hers.  

She felt dark despair rise up within her, the Earth so near and yet so far.  If she had a counterpart on the other world, would she be happy with John?  It’s not fair, she raged inside; I never signed up for this!

Others on the crew had been fascinated to learn of an alternate Earth, one with an entirely different society.  Some had been shocked by the profusion of independent nation-states, some had been interested enough to assist the official team with their studies.  It was a very different world; more interested in entertainment than in practicalities, with far better movies and videos than their own.  Independence Day, broadcast by a TV station worried about a possible invasion, had been a big hit.  Apart from Disney, there were few major entertainment producers in their time line.

Unbidden, images of her planned husband, a strong and capable army officer, rose in front of her eyes.  Tears dripping from her eyes, she reached for the knife on the table, stared blankly at it, and slashed her wrists.  Screaming in pain, she collapsed onto the floor.  I don’t want to die!

Ten seconds after the blood started to flow; her medical implant detected the changes in her condition, sounding an alert to the nanites floating in her blood.  Twenty seconds later, it was determined that the nanites could not stanch the flow, and the implant overrode its security programming and sounded the alert.  Five minutes later, a medical team overrode the lock on the door and burst in.  They were just in time to save her life.

***
Doctor Elspeth Romeo pulled off her surgery outfit, shoved it into a recycler, and stepped naked into the decontamination unit.  The shower hummed with ultraviolet light, followed by a spray of hot water mixed with disinfectant, and finally a blast of hot air.  She turned her body this way and that to dry completely, and then stepped out of the shower.

“How is she?”  Romeo glanced up sharply to see Taylor standing with his back to her, preserving her modesty.

“You can look round if you want,” Romeo said, teasing him.  “There’s not much to see.”

“It’s fine, thank you,” Taylor said.  He waited while she found her uniform undergarments and slipped them over her thighs and breasts.  “How is she?”

“She’s going to be fine,” Romeo said.  Taylor relaxed slightly.  “She slit her wrists across the veins, so her blood loss was not as rapid as it could have been.  If she’d slashed her arm open, it would have been too late.”

“Thank god,” Taylor said.

“You know the girl?”  Romeo said.  “I think I’m a little jealous.”

Taylor turned round and glared at her.  “I’m responsible for the crew’s morale,” he said.  “This is the third suicide attempt, you know, and the only one that failed.  This can’t go on!”

“Be reasonable,” Romeo said sharply.  “The crew knew that they’d be away from home for a long time, but forever?  I suspect that it might get worse once we make contact, because the America down there is not our America; they may well suffer culture shock, or worse.  John Rains was worrying about meeting himself on the planet.”

“That’s not too likely,” Taylor said dryly.  “We left in 2098, remember?  This is 2009.  The oldest of us will be a baby, if he or she exists at all.”

“Are you looking for counterparts?”  Romeo asked curiously.

“We’re looking for repeated historical figures,” Taylor said.  “We’ve found Truman, Putin and McCarthy; it seems that many leaders still rose to the top.  So far, no sign of anyone after 2000.”

“Humm,” Romeo said.  “I’m going to finish tending to my patients.  However, something you might want to consider; how will the natives react when they come onboard the Enterprise?”

“I don’t follow you,” Taylor said.

“This ship is light years ahead of anything they can build,” Romeo said.  “They will be awed, terrified and scared of what we might do to them.  You’ll have to take good care not to show them too much too quickly.  We don’t know how they’d react, Travis, but its unlikely that it will be quiet acceptance.”

Chapter Seven: One if by Land, Two if by Sea, Three if by Space…

The White House
United States of America
29th March 2009 (Time Line A)

The small briefing room was crowded, even without the normal crowd of Secret Service agents and aides that would normally fill the small room.  It had been designed to reassemble a comfortable sitting room, rather than the standard theatre-type briefing room.

President Jackson sat at the front of the room, surrounded by the two crews.  Red Brennen, Andrew Roscoe, Doctor Tony Jackson and Doctor Alex Pompey sat on one large sofa, as the only crew of the John Glenn.  On the second sofa, Felix Hawk, Malcolm Daniels, Moses Bender and Doctor Ashia Patel of the crew of Atlantis.  Two more crewmen had been unable to attend the meeting.

Sitting on small chairs or standing were the final group of people; the movers and shakers who’d planned and launched the entire mission.  Marcel Darius stood behind Brennen, regretting the paunch that had disqualified him for the mission.  General Campbell and Stanley Pope sat next to each other, hiding their mutual distrust for the meeting.  David Lorain stood at the back, aware that he was in disgrace with the President; she’d made her feelings quite clear in a private chat.  The White House staff passed around small glasses for the people.

When everyone had a glass, Jackson tapped the side of hers with her fingernail.  “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the crews of the John Glenn and the Atlantis.  Success to their mission.”

“Success,” everyone rumbled back, and sipped the excellent champagne.

Jackson put down her glass.  “Tomorrow,” she said, “your two crews will be departing on a mission that will have vast consequences for the human race.  I know that you all need to get back to the launch sites and grab some sleep, but first I have a few announcements to make.

“The first one is that CNN, which broke the story about the alien craft, has insisted on sending a reporter along with one of the flights.  The news about the flight is now common knowledge; various counties have reinforced that demand for themselves.  Caroline Langdon – yes, the famous newsreader - will be travelling on Atlantis.”

“Why not send her on John Glenn?”  Brennen asked.

“CNN is terrified of the possible legal consequences,” Jackson said.  “Which brings me nicely to my second point; Congress and the Senate have developed a remarkable degree of interest in space over the last week or so.”  She smiled at Brennen’s expression.  “It has something to do with a lot of pointed questions being asked about why we don’t have a proper moon base or even a large space station.

“Anyway, Congress is going to pass the Space Development Bill in a week or so,” she continued.  “The Majority Leader and many other Republicans have given their support; even a few Democrats.  All restrictions on the construction and deployment of spacecraft will be lifted, with two exceptions.  One, the government reserves the right to inspect any cargo at short notice.  Two, the government will accept no responsibility for any legal cases brought against any space corporation.

“Mr Brennen, assuming you survive this mission, I dare say that your company will bloom and grow.  Just make sure that you get full legal waivers from elderly space tourists.”

“Thank you,” Brennen said.

“You’re welcome,” Jackson said.  “Any questions?”

“Yes,” Brennen said.  “A space shuttle takes something like three to four weeks to prepare for launch.  Why is there one sitting on the pad now?”

“We were preparing to launch a new collection of classified satellites,” Lorain said.  His voice was cold.  “Atlantis would have been launched by now if this had not happened.”

“Then why use my ship?”  Brennen demanded.

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining,” Jackson said, as Lorain glared at Brennen.  “We don’t want to use the International Space Station as a base, because of the number of spies on the station.”

“I don’t think that Japanese and Russian scientists are spies,” Lorain said.

“Oh come on,” Brennen snapped.  “NASA’s been penetrated six ways from Sunday.  The Russians have all your – our – designs for big dumb boosters; that’s how they got their project working so fast!  You produce endless papers warning about the dangers of space debris; they’re planning to use the final stages of their boosters to build a new space station.”

“There’s no proof of that,” Lorain said stubbornly.

“It’s a proposal NASA made, you dunderhead,” Brennen snapped.  “They’re stealing ideas you’re too stupid to use.”

Jackson banged her knee with her hand.  “Enough,” she said sharply.  “Mr Brennen, we’re using your craft because it is our most impressive spacecraft.”  And because half the shuttle bay will be carrying nukes – an extremely unfriendly act, she thought, but did not say.  Who knew that sort of interrogation alien invaders might carry out on human captives?

“I see,” Brennen said.  “You do know we could have been on Titan by now?”

Jackson scowled.  “Good luck to all of you,” she said.  Brennen led the way back to the helicopters sitting on the White House lawn.

“That man has no respect,” Campbell said, after the room had been cleared of everyone, but Jackson and him.  He scowled.  “We should have his ship flown by qualified NASA crew.”

“We can’t, if Brennen was telling the truth,” Jackson said.  “And besides, that SSTO probably handles differently from a shuttle.”

“True,” Campbell said.  “I notice that you didn’t tell him about the nukes.”

Jackson shrugged.  “It would only upset him.”

“Madam president, why are you allowing a CNN reporter to go on the shuttle?”  Campbell asked.  “Every other tin-pot country is going to see it as an insult.”

“Because CNN will shout whatever they find out to the skies,” Jackson said.  “They can shout so loud, no one will hear what we whisper.”  She smiled.  “If we had a representative from every country that wanted to send someone along, we’d need a ship as big as that one up there.”

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta
29th March 2009 (Time Line A)

“It has just been confirmed by the White House, in a press statement issued today, that there is indeed a mission being planned to the alien craft,” Langdon said.  “This reporter has been permitted to travel on the space shuttle that will be going to orbit.”

She smiled at the thought of reporting from orbit, which would make her immortal among reporters.  She didn’t mention that she’d not be on the John Glenn – why spoil the moment?  “NASA has declined to issue a follow-up statement, but Brennen Spaceways today stated that they were very eager to work with NASA towards contacting the aliens and a peaceful expansion into outer space.

“Tomorrow, Congress will debate the Space Development Bill, which will remove most of the restrictions on space projects and provide a number of tax incentives for space launchers.  NASA has apparently agreed to purchase a number of SSTOs from Brennen Spaceways, as has the air force, assuming that the John Glenn performs as advertised on its maiden voyage.  Senator Chapman spoke today on the subject.”

The screen changed to show the senator, a middle-aged man.  He spoke in a southern accent.  “In order to reward Red Brennen for his contribution, the Senate Space Oversight Committee has insisted that NASA purchase at least seven SSTOs to expand their launch capabilities.  It is my intention to find out why NASA never completed its own SSTO development project and to punish the guilty, up to and including prison sentences for those who ignored the project.”

Langdon shook her head, wondering if the senator’s syntax was as confusing to the listeners as it was to her.  Was it even legal to ‘reward’ someone like that?  Was funding one project over another a criminal act?  “Director Sergei Baranidze, of the Russian Space Program, had a different view.  Speaking before the Alliance Committee on Space, he said that…”

Sergei Baranidze’s image appeared on the screen; a man who dressed to reassemble a Cossack.  His English was good, almost unaccented.  “This American abrogation of the space treaties signed between them and the old government” – a reference to the Soviet Union – “can only lead to great dangers for the world.  It would cause a massive expansion of activity, possibly allowing terrorists to dominate the world or to deploy weapons of mass destruction from orbit.”

“The Russian Government today condemned the renouncing of the Outer Space Treaty and the decision to send an expedition to the alien craft,” Langdon continued.  “Quietly, they let it be known that they would relax their condemnation if a Russian member were to be included on the flight.  The French, Japanese and Indians also condemned the decision; NASA has not commented on whither or not any foreign nationals will be travelling.

“On global news, the British Government today announced the expansion of the British Army’s ground combat divisions to include three new infantry units.  Following a debate in the House of Commons over Argentina’s renewal of the claim to the Falklands, Britain has stationed a small army force on the islands and…”

***
After she’d finished reading the news, she left the studio and entered her darkened dressing room.  Sighing, she turned on the light.

“Surprise!”  

She stared to see almost all of the production staff standing in the room, which was decorated with banners and posters; a massive cake sat on her table.  “Congratulations to our very own space reporter,” Zapata said, grinning.

A mug was thrust into her hand; she drank some and discovered that it was cider.  “I’ve not gone yet,” she said.

“But we wanted a party,” Zapata said.  “So enjoy!”

“And don’t let the side down in space,” Ullah said.

“I want an interview with the alien,” Zapata said.  “Full background, life on other worlds, so on…”

“They might find it offensive,” Langdon said, finding her voice again.

“If so, I want them with the flight crew of the shuttle, got that?”

“Yes, Madam,” Langdon said, and finished her glass.  Soon, she’d have to board the plane to Cape Canaveral, but for now she could relax.

Kennedy Space Centre
Cape Canaveral, USA
30th March 2009 (Time Line A)

The two men sitting facing General Campbell were nondescript military men; short brown hair and blue eyes.  They brought an air of undeniable confidence and experience to the room; men who could be trusted with the fate of nations.

“Do you understand your orders?”  General Campbell said finally.

“Yes, sir,” Captain Ernest Russell said confidently.  Beside him, Captain Dean Chassell nodded; he preferred not to speak unless it was urgent.

“To recap,” Campbell said.  “You will be travelling on Atlantis to Earth Orbit.  You are both checked out on how to fly the shuttle if necessary?”

Russell looked at Chassell.  “Yes, sir,” Chassell said finally.  They had both trained on NASA’s simulators.

“Good,” Campbell said.  “From the moment of your launch, communications to and from the shuttle will be handled by Cheyenne Mountain, rather than Kennedy.  In the event of the aliens being hostile, you are to take command of the shuttle and deploy the special weapons that have been loaded onto the craft.  Captain Hawk is an experienced NASA/military pilot, but he may balk at firing on the aliens.  If so, you are to relive him of command.”

“Yes, sir,” Russell said.

“NASA normally forbids anyone to carry weapons onboard the shuttle,” Campbell said.  He passed them a briefcase.  “From the special weapons department; hand pistols made from plastic and synthetics materials,” he said, flipping open the case.  “Here, and these are tailored shockrods, designed to shock anyone you hit with electrically.  If you have to, use these first; not the pistols.”

“We might put a hole in the hull,” Russell said.  It was unlikely, but possible.

“Quite,” Campbell said.  “You know about extraction?”

“Yes,” Russell said grimly.  “If possible, take an EMU and fly to the ISS, if not, then there’s no way out.”

“I’m sorry,” Campbell said.

“We knew the job was dangerous when we took it,” Russell said.  They shook hands, and then left the office.  Campbell watched them go; dark shadows in his eyes.

***
Captain Felix Hawk was the ideal of the brave American astronaut; clean-shaven, blonde hair that practically shone and an air of possessing the elusive American know-how.  Hawk, not unlike Brennen, had served bravely in the USAF over Iraq, and had even been one of the pilots who’d tried – unsuccessfully – to kill Saddam.

Transfer to the USAF’s space division had come naturally, as had his training for space missions that were not left to NASA’s civilian astronauts.  He’d flown on Atlantis before, deploying a highly classified satellite, and was looking forward to the mission.  Meeting aliens was something he’d dreamed of ever since orbiting the Earth.

“Captain Hawk, a smile!”  Hawk smiled as brightly as he could without any real humour as flashbulbs went off from the crowd of reporters.  He saw Caroline Langdon, still almost child-like, shaking hands with an older Hispanic woman.

“Any comments?”  Langdon asked, as she stepped up next to him.

“None,” Hawk said, wondering if he was going to have to make a speech anyway.  He’d hoped to avoid it; speaking to reporters tended to have disastrous consequences for NASA employees.

“Captain Hawk, this way please,” one of the ground crew said.  Hawk nodded to him in relief and signing his autograph book was hardly a burden.  Langdon signed as well, and gave the man a kiss on the cheek.  He blushed deeply and then pointed the two of them towards the other crewmen, waiting by the launch tower.

“Reporting for duty,” Captain Russell said.  Hawk looked at him; he’d never met Russell and his partner before and he had no idea what their real role on the flight was.  Officially, they were to carry out a military evaluation, but they were hardly the type of people even NASA would send for that.

“Pleased to have you,” Hawk lied.  “Come on; history is waiting for us.”

USSF Stillwell
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009 (Time Line A)

Completely undetectable by any system available to the alternate Earth, the fleet tender Stillwell hung in high orbit, over the continental United States.  The communications interception process had identified both components of the American mission to the ‘alien’ ship; much to the shock of Lieutenant-Commander Wachter.  Even to the systems at Enterprise’s disposal, picking up anything useful from their 2009 would have been difficult, but these Americans practically boasted of their secret plans.

“We have a launch alert,” Lieutenant Olivia Simpson reported.  Her skills on Enterprise were unnecessary until the time came to move from their position.  “I’m feeding data to Enterprise now.”

“On screen,” Commander Taylor ordered.  On the tender’s display screen, an image appeared of a massive…well, spacecraft, he supposed, rising from Earth.  It looked…strange, like a massive version of a tender mounted on a fuel tank.

“Now passing over the ocean,” Simpson said.  The shuttle was a very easy craft to keep track of.  “They’re discarding their rocket boosters now.”

“Odd way of doing things,” Taylor commented.

“I think from the spectroscopic analysis that their materials science is several years behind ours was at that time,” Stirling said.  The engineer had convinced Cozort to let her go on the tender.  She pointed; “look, pieces of their engines are being burnt up in their drive.”

“Is that thing safe?”  Simpson asked.

“Was the Wrecker War safe?”  Stirling enquired.

Taylor grinned.  “None of us are old enough to remember the Wrecker War,” he said.  “Still, it does seem needlessly dangerous.”

They watched as Atlantis made orbit and settled into position.  Stillwell followed the shuttle, unseen and undetected, her drones moving closer to scan the craft.

“Look at this,” Taylor said grimly.  As sensor radiation probed the craft, small nexuses of radiation could be detected.  “That craft is armed with nuclear weapons.”

“Ouch,” Stirling said.  “We’d better warn the Captain.”

Atlantis
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009 (Time Line A)

“Ground control, we have made orbit,” Hawk reported.  Behind him, Langdon undid her straps and floated free.

“This is fantastic,” she said.  She stared at the Earth.  “Why did we stop coming up here?”

“We’re to wait,” Hawk said, ignoring her.  “The John Glenn is on its way.”

“People would pay millions to float like this,” Langdon said.

“Shut up,” Hawk said, not unkindly.  “Don’t float around too much or you’ll get sick, which is really messy up here.”  He smiled; it was good to be back in space again.

“Can we see the aliens from here?”  Langdon asked.

“I don’t think so,” Hawk said.  “We’re on the other side of the planet.”

Armstrong Airfield
United States of America
30th March 2009 (Time Line A)

John Glenn was a polished silver cone standing on four legs in the centre of the field.  Two hundred feet tall and sixty feet in diameter, she looked futuristic; something that Brennen had insisted upon when designing the craft.  It looked more of a spacecraft than the space shuttle did; advanced and powerful.

“Are we ready?”  Brennen asked the tower controller.  Armstrong had a very informal system of flight control; Cheyenne Mountain had agreed to assist them for the first time.  Constructing a commercial spaceflight monitoring net would be simple; Brennen had already recovered feelers from big corporations about that and other space-related projects.

“Yes, Mr Brennen,” Gordon Rickman said.  He’d worked on both military and civilian command and control systems; this one presented no great challenge.  “The FAA reports that the air is clear above us; a few reporters buzzed around in helicopters, but they’re gone now after Mr Darius whistled up a few F-15s to chase them.  The AWACS aircraft concurs.”

“Nice of them to finally take an interest in us,” Brennen said.  “Do we have your permission to depart?”

“Yes, Mr Brennen,” Rickman said.  “Good luck.”

***
John Glenn had not been intended to be a passenger transport, but some small modifications allowed it to carry four people instead of two.  NASA had sent along Doctor Tony Jackson and Doctor Alex Pompey – a linguist and a biologist respectively – to complement the crew.  Brennen’s co-pilot, Andrew Roscoe, had enough military experience – it was felt – to serve as the initial military liaison.  NASA had wanted to send a full crew of their own, but Brennen had refused.

“Everyone ready?”  Brennen enquired.

“Don’t we have to go through a long checklist?”  Doctor Tony Jackson asked.  Brennen had asked him if he was related to the President; he’d said no and spent hours afterwards wishing he’d said yes.

“You’re thinking of NASA’s stuffed shirts, terrified of being sued,” Brennen said, grinning.  “Are you strapped in, children?”

“Yes, mom,” Roscoe said.  He grinned and activated an MP3 player.  Music started to play loudly.

“What the hell’s that?”  Jackson demanded.

“Thunderbirds theme music,” Brennen announced, and hit the launch button.  On a column of fire, John Glenn ascended to the skies.  “I used to love them as a kid – the movie in 2003 ruined it for generations of children.”

Chapter Eight: From the Earth to the Future

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009

The tactical display changed slightly as John Glenn rose from the surface, rising on a plume of flame to its meeting with the Atlantis.  A drone followed it, even as the Stillwell moved away to avoid any possibility, no matter how small, of a collision.  It was hardly likely; the 2009 craft were bound by the laws of orbital motion, the Stillwell –thanks to its drive field - was not.  Still, Cozort had ordered care and Taylor was determined to carry out those orders.  There would be no risks taken until the moment when they met their…counterparts?  Alternates?

“They’re coming,” Roberta said.  The tactical room was silent; people lost in the awe of the moment.  “That craft bares some resemblance to a Hover-class personnel transport, from 1970-2000.  Assuming a similar performance ability, they can carry twenty people to orbit.”

“I think that one is a cargo craft,” Stirling said over the communications link.  “The design is odd; half and half.”

“They don’t have a proper space station,” Taylor said, from Stillwell.  He’d passed the ISS in the Stillwell.  “All they’ve got is that heap of junk.  Why would they need a dedicated personnel carrier?”

“True,” Cozort said.  On the display, Glenn was matching orbits with the shuttle.

“I think they’ve burnt up their fuel supply,” Stirling said.  “Their propellant is somewhat unstable; they’re losing bits of their aerospike.  They might not be able to land safely.”

“Then what?”  Roberta asked.  The thought of that craft exploding in the atmosphere was somehow alarming.

“If we manage to have proper talks with them, we’ll return them,” Cozort said.  He sat down in the main chair, the tactical display automatically orientating itself on him.  “If not, we might drop them somewhere anyway.”

“They’re preparing for rendezvous,” Terns said.  The display focused on the real-time pictures from the tender; neither of the spacecraft knew that they were being observed.

“Travis, deploy the drones to follow the two spacecraft and then return,” Cozort ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Taylor said.  Stillwell pulled back from the two native spacecraft and set course for Enterprise.

John Glenn
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009

“I’m in space,” Brennen exulted.  “I’m in space!”  The planet spun below him; lovely in the glowing light, all blue and green.  He could see America turning far below.  “It’s magnificent,” he breathed.  “Why did we stop coming here?”

“Because the government is full of fools and NASA is full of cocksuckers,” Roscoe said dutifully; his voice heavy with strain.  He ignored the reaction from the two scientists.  “We’re up here now.”

Brennen started to run a status check.  “We’re bleeding some debris from the thrusters, as we expected,” he said, after running though the report.  “Fortunately we should be able to land once we refuel from Atlantis.”  He smiled.  “We can easily replace the damaged parts.”

He congratulated himself for a moment.  The genius of the SSTO design was that it could be rebuilt very quickly – a week was the planned turnover time.  

“Good,” Roscoe said.  “Can we land without Atlantis?”

“Not unless we’re very lucky,” Brennen grinned.  He’d tried to build that extra redundancy into the craft, but had discovered that if they tried to deorbit without fuel, they would be smashed against the ground.  The space shuttle could glide down; John Glenn could not.  The parachutes that he’d had stored in the nosecone could not be deployed through the upper atmosphere because they’d burn up.

“This is Atlantis,” the radio squawked, through static.  “We have you on our screens.”

“You too,” Brennen said.  “I take back most of what I said about the shuttle; as an orbital base you’re not too shabby.”

“Perhaps when the next generation is finally built the remaining shuttles will be left permanently in Earth orbit,” Hawk said, and there was no mistaking the yeaning in his voice.

“Hey Felix, if you’re ever out of work at NASA, come ask me for a job,” Brennen said.  “I can always use a good man.”

“I’ll consider it,” Hawk said.  The shuttle did indeed look impressive, floating in space, but Brennen knew that it was a sadly limited craft.

“This is the first reporter in space,” a new voice broke in.  “Do you have any comments for the people of Earth?”

“We’re on the air?”  Brennen asked in some alarm.  “Err, today we go to meet the future.”

“Well, it’ll do,” Langdon said.  Her voice changed from light-hearted to concerned.  “How are you feeling?”

Hawk stepped in before Brennen could recover from his shock.  “Sorry, Ms Langdon, but we have to start the fuelling process.  Brennen, are you in place?”

“Yes,” Brennen said, “we’re coming up behind you.”

“We’re extending the boom now,” Hawk said.  Brennen saw the shuttle’s fuel boom extend from its open cargo bay and stretch away from the shuttle.  He tapped his manoeuvring thrusters, angling Glenn so that she was heading for the boom.

“Locked on,” he said, as Glenn matched course perfectly.  “She’s handling well.”

“I can see that,” Hawk said.  “Ten seconds…five…contact!”

Glenn shock slightly as the shuttle fired its engines slightly to prevent them being jerked by the contact as the shuttle’s boom fell into Glenn’s own probe.

“Mission Control, we have penetration,” Hawk said, and laughed.  Sexual innuendo had been part of mid-air refuelling operations ever since it had been perfected.

Brennen sniggered.  “You’ll be looking for a job tomorrow, Felix.  Start coming.”

“You’re just as bad,” Hawk said.  “I’m coming now.”  Fuel started to flow into Glenn, the two captains exchanging innuendo as the fuel flowed.

“Tank full,” Brennen said finally.  “Pull out, pull out,” he begged.  A huge grin split his face.

”But I’m not done,” Hawk whined.  “Come on, love, one more minute.”

“But you’re not wearing a condom,” Brennen said in mock falsetto.  

“This is going to sound great on CNN,” Langdon said.  “It proves that spacemen are human, after all.  Thousands more will be demanding access to space.”

“Great,” Brennen said, thinking; and some bad press for NASA.  “You do realise that this is the most ambitious space manoeuvre ever?”

“Meeting aliens or exchanging fuel?”  Hawk sighed.  “I wish I was going with you,” he said.  “We’ll just have to hang here in orbit and wait for news.”  Slowly, the two craft separated and grew apart; Glenn moving slightly faster as the ship inserted itself for a trans-lunar injection.”

“Would you like to record more statements?”  Langdon asked.

“No,” Brennen said.  “On second thoughts, yes; I told you so.”

“Told who so?”  Langdon asked, puzzled.  What had Brennen told her that was ‘so’?

“The people who said that Glenn could never fly,” Brennen said.  “In fact, once I get back…”

“This is mission control,” a new voice broke in.  “Sir, the alien craft is moving!”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009

“Not too shabby,” Simpson observed, as the two native craft separated from each other.  “Can’t say I think much of the repartee, but what can you expect?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Taylor said.  “Why did we never think of all that innuendo?”

“Does it matter?”  Cozort said.  “Are they preparing to inject themselves towards us?”

“Yes, Captain,” Terns said.  He adjusted the display slightly.  “They’ll have some difficultly in passing us on their most cost-effective orbit.”

Cozort pointed to a place along the trans-lunar ballistic path.  “There,” he said.  “We’ll meet them there.”

“We’re moving the ship?”  Taylor asked.  So far, Enterprise had just waited at Lagrange One.

“Yes,” Cozort said.  “When they start to think through some of the implications, perhaps they’ll draw the correct conclusion.”

Taylor shrugged.  “It would hardly be that hard to deduce the capabilities of those craft,” he said.  “They follow the laws of physics; they’ve not found the loopholes.”

“Maybe,” Cozort said.  “Lieutenant Simpson, move us to this location.”

“Yes, sir,” Simpson said.  She activated her console and brought up the near-orbit display, computing a course and then starting it.  A shudder ran through Enterprise as her drives began to power up and form a new drive field.  Cozort felt himself tense; the last time they’d used their Thornleigh Drive they’d ended up in another dimension.

“Course laid in,” Simpson said.

“Go,” Cozort said.  The shuddering rose for a long moment, and then fell into the normal background noise.  “Engineering?”

“Everything looks nominal,” Stirling said.  “No power fluctuations; the drive seems to be working perfectly.”

“Good,” Cozort said.  Inwardly, he sighed with relief.  Taylor met his eyes and they knew that they’d been thinking the same thing: thank God!

John Glenn
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009

It took the alien craft three minutes to slip into a point along the trans-lunar ballistic path, roughly three hours away with the thrust of the refuelled Glenn.  Brennen watched the display of effortless superiority with awe and wonder; what could I not do with a ship like that?

“Oh shit,” Roscoe said.  “Don’t you see what this means, man?  They know we’re coming!”

“They would have known that from our trajectory anyway,” Brennen said.  “Perhaps they’re making it easier for us.  Mission Control, can you send us our updated trajectory?”

“Yes, Captain Brennen,” came back after a long pause.  “General Campbell wants to know if you still want to proceed.”

“Hell, yes,” Brennen said.  He glanced back at the two scientists; “you two ok?”

“Yes,” Jackson said.  He sounded nervous, but willing.  Pompey nodded beside him.

“Mission Control, we’re proceeding,” Brennen said.

“The President says good luck,” Campbell said.  “Good luck from me as well,” he continued.

“Thank you, general,” Brennen said.

***
Seventeen minutes after the alien craft had completed its manoeuvre; Brennen fired the main engine for a burn of ten minutes.  Moving away from Earth, the Moon could be seen ahead of them, while the alien craft was a dot of light.

“It’s on the radar,” Brennen whispered, for once speaking quietly.  “Five kilometres long; my god.”

“It’s awesome,” Roscoe agreed.  “What the hell does anyone who can build that want with us?”

“Perhaps they want some insights into our minds,” Pompey said.  “We must be very alien to them.”

“True,” Brennen said.  “We’ll be able to ask them in two and a half hours.”

“Tell me,” Jackson asked, “what happens if they don’t do anything?”

Brennen raised an eyebrow.  “You mean if they refuse to communicate with us?  If that happens, we’ll have to circle the moon and return to Earth.  But I don’t think that that will happen; not if they’ve moving to help us.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Roscoe said.  He sounded slightly spooked.  “How can we talk to them?”

“That’s my job,” Jackson said.  “I don’t think that they will speak English.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009

“Do you think that they will speak English?”  Rollins asked.  He’d spent the last few days consoling people who’d been struck by the distance between themselves and their relatives.

“I think so,” Cozort said.  He smiled; “they used English to decide if they wanted to come see us when we moved.”

“I’ve prepared the message,” Archie said.  “It’s on the same communications frequency they use themselves, so they should be able to receive it.”

Cozort nodded, thinking of the two drones that had followed the Glenn.  “Let’s hope that they follow orders.  Jill wants a look at that craft and if we have to take it to pieces she won’t be able to find anything useful.”

“Sir?”  Archie blinked.  “Can we learn anything useful from that primitive craft?”

“Oh yes,” Cozort said.  “We’ll learn what they know to build and how it works,” he said.  “What sort of stuff we can trade, for example.”

Taylor stared at the display.  “One hour to intercept,” he said.  “Should I get ready in Stillwell?”

“Yes,” Cozort said.  “Don’t appear threatening; we may need their goodwill.”

John Glenn
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009

The sheer size of the craft just grew on them as they approached; a dark chunky mass.  Isolated lights could be seen on its hull, but there was no response to hails.  The atmosphere in the small ship grew tense as they drew closer; the fight or flight response growing within them.  It was totally useless; the implacable laws of ballistic trajectories kept them on their course.

“It’s like something out of Star Wars,” Jackson breathed.

“No,” Roscoe said.  His voice still sounded scared.  “It’s the ship from Black Hole,” he said.

“Bollocks,” Brennen said, trying to sound jaunty.  “Battlestar Galactica.”

“Hell no,” Jackson said.  “The Galactica had launch bays.  This ship does not, does it?”

“No, but if you cut away the launch bays and expanded the prow, it would look a lot more like that ship,” Brennen said.

“At least its not a city destroyer, from Independence Day,” Roscoe said.  “I don’t think my nerves could have stood a flying saucer.”

There was a ping from the detection systems and all eyes swung to it.  A small object had separated from the massive craft and was moving towards them.  Brennen stared out the viewport and finally saw a small moving dot expanding rapidly into a teardrop of spinning light.

“My God,” Brennen breathed.  The alien craft was performing an impossible manoeuvre, moving to match their course.

“Attention, John Glenn,” a voice broke into the silence.  It was flat; like a computer-generated voice.  “Prepare to be taken on board.  Deactivate your drives; do not attempt to manoeuvre.  Acknowledge.”

Brennen found his voice.  “Acknowledged,” he said.

The small craft grew closer, and then the teardrop vanished, revealing a gunmetal cylinder with small thrusters at the rear.  As he watched, a shimmering wave of…something…appeared around the craft.  Glenn shuddered as the field gripped them tightly, spinning them around relative to the alien craft.

USSF Stillwell
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009

Taylor watched as the Glenn was secured within the drive field, and then orientated properly so that it could be landed without problems in a gravity field.  Carefully, he brought up the scanner and checked the small craft; then relaxed when it was clear that there were no unpleasant surprises on the ship.

“Four humans, all male,” he reported to Cozort though the radio.  “No guns or bombs.”

“Good,” Cozort said.  “Do you see any problems with bringing her into the shuttle bay?”

“No,” Taylor said.  He checked the console.  “No problems at all.”

“Then send the second message,” Cozort said.

John Glenn
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009

“You will now be brought onboard our craft,” the toneless voice said.  “Please do not be alarmed by anything you see; all our manoeuvres are perfectly safe.”

Almost before the voice had finished, the linked ships moved forward; the massive mothership grew vaster in front of them.  Even warned, the crew flinched back as the ship expanded from a small ship to a massive object, hanging in space.  It dwarfed the tiny Glenn, even as the small ship was pulled towards a massive docking bay.

“I think they’re going to put us down standing up,” Brennen said.  “Make sure our transmissions are being sent back to Earth.”

Roscoe checked the communications system and frowned; “We’re not picking up anything on Earth,” he said.  “Not any longer.”

“That means that they must have lost us when we were taken by the small ship,” Brennen said.  Inside, he was considering what that meant; could it be that the drive field blocked radio, or was it deliberate.

“Fuck!”  Roscoe said.  “I just realised; we have gravity!”

Brennen lifted a hand and lowered it.  “The drive must provide gravity for them,” he speculated.  “That’s something years beyond anything we can do.”

“Yet,” Jackson said.  “There was someone in my old university who was talking about artificial gravity.”

“It’s the same as Earth’s,” Brennen said, not listening to him.  “Good old one gee.”

“Why would aliens have the same gravity as Earth?”  Roscoe asked.

***
The ship had grown to a monstrous wall in the sky and a square of light appeared on the side; a shuttle bay clearly large enough to take the Glenn as well.  Brennen watched; a dark suspicion flowing through his head.  With an audible bump, the Glenn was set down on the floor, while space-suited figures moved around her.

“There’s something odd about them,” Brennen said.  It lurked at the back of his mind; something very familiar.

“Please depart your vessel,” the same toneless voice said.  “The bay is pressurised to Earth-standard.”

“What about disease?”  Brennen asked; the spectre of biological contamination from the ship had been discussed at one of the many briefings.  

Was it his imagination, or was there a note of amusement in the voice?  “We have nothing that could affect you.”

“Time to face the future,” Brennen said, undoing his straps and standing up.  Gravity tried to pull him down, a symbol of alien technology, but he worked the kinks out of his body.  The gravity felt subtly wrong, somehow; alike, but not alike.  He opened the main hatch and air, cold dry air, floated in.  There was no smell, unlike Glenn or the space shuttle; it was clear air.

The rungs of the ladder, an emergency precaution that now came in handy, extended from the side of the Glenn.  Brennen stepped out of the craft and started to descend, careful not to fall.  One by one, the others descended; watched by the space-suited figures and others in armour.  They looked intimidating; wrapped in powered armour that Brennen somehow knew was for combat operations.

One of the figures beckoned them through a door into the next room.  Three other figures stood in the room.  Brennen looked at them and felt his heart jump.  One was a middle-aged blonde man, the second was a younger black man, and the third was an older man with greying hair.  As he stared, he realised that the sight was not as unexpected as it seemed.

“You’re humans,” he said accusingly.  In hindsight, he was quite pleased with himself for getting that much out through a throat that had choked up.  Behind him, there was a thump; Roscoe had fainted.

Chapter Nine: First Contact

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009

Cozort stared at the four men, one of whom had collapsed.  They were not different, not alien, even though they’d been shocked to see him.  Cozort fought down an insane giggle and lifted his wristcom to his mouth.  “Doctor Romeo, please come to the landing bay with some stimulants.”

“You’re human,” the first of the natives said accusingly.

Cozort felt rather than heard Taylor’s chuckle.  “You were expecting bug-eyed monsters?”

“Well, yes,” the first astronaut – Brennen, Cozort identified him - said.  “We know that humans can’t have evolved among the stars – it defies belief.  How can you be so much like us?”

“You may be interested to know that we came to the same conclusion,” Cozort said.  The USSF had spent time considering the prospects for meeting aliens.  “As it happens, we are the same species…and the same nationality.”

“Americans?”  Brennen said.  A light bulb went off inside his mind.  “You’re from the future!”

Cozort smiled as Doctor Romeo bustled in, checking over Roscoe’s prone body.  “In a manner of speaking,” he said.

“Just shock and some dehydration,” Romeo announced after passing a scanner over his body.  She pulled out an injector and loaded it from her medical pack; injecting it into Roscoe’s arm.  “He’ll be fine in a few minutes, but he really needs a proper meal.”

“You can eat properly on this ship?”  Brennen asked in awe.

“Yes,” Cozort said.  “First, however, allow me to introduce myself and my crew; I am Captain Dale Cozort, this is Commander Travis Taylor and Colony Governor Gilbert Rollins.”  He smiled.  “All of us are from the United States Space Force.”

“So you are from the future,” Brennen said.  He stared at their uniforms, tracing the differences between them and the navy uniforms American sailors wore.  “Surely you’re being here causes all sorts of problems with the timeline.”

Cozort felt a flicker of admiration; his era had never spent so much time considering the implications of time travel and other things they’d known to be impossible.  “As I said, in a manner of speaking.  Would you like to accompany me to the briefing room?”

“Yes,” Brennen said.  “Can we signal our government first?”

Cozort had been expecting that request.  “The drive field prevents radio transmissions except on carefully selected frequencies,” he said.  “Your ship doesn’t broadcast on them.  If you want, we’ll forward the message though a drone transmitter.”

“You can’t turn off the field?”  Brennen asked.

Cozort smiled.  “The field provides gravity,” he said.  “Generally, we use neutrino transmissions or lasers.”

“I see,” Brennen said.  Cozort led the way towards the briefing room.

***
Brennen was finding a great deal to awe him and not much to surprise him; in hindsight it was clear that human minds had built this ship.  The gravity was Earth-standard; the doors were the proper size … and the crew very human.  As they walk though the corridors, he saw crewmembers passing them, brisk and competent.  There was some curiosity, but not as much as he would have shown.  It was all very military.

“Is this a military ship?”  He asked, after watching a mixed group of people who were obviously Special Forces or the equivalent pass by.

“Yes and no,” Cozort replied.  “The United States Space Force is a mixed organisation; both civilian and military.”  Brennen looked puzzled; Cozort thought for a moment.  “Imagine that you’re back in the days of the colonisation of America, with thousands of emigrants leaving the shores of old Britain and heading to America.  One problem; travel across the seas is expansive and grows more expensive the bigger – and thus more useful – ships you build.

“So the government constructs a large number of ships and run them at a profit,” he continued.  “Commercial corporations and individuals can hire space on the ships, or club together to build their own, and the funds from that help fund the military.  Meanwhile, the military produces a number of smaller warships to protect and defend the commercial ones – they can’t exist apart.  Enterprise is a colony ship…why are you four laughing?”

“It’s a long story,” Brennen said, though peals of laughter.  “I don’t suppose that you have a Galactica or a White Star, do you?”

“No,” Cozort said.  “We have three Starships like this; Truman, McCarthy and Enterprise.”

“Five if you count Pathfinder and America,” Taylor put in.  “Pathfinder disappeared under mysterious circumstances and that was that.”

“Anyway, during the big move into space, the government threw taxpayers money at various space projects, hoping to get some return,” Cozort continued.  “Basically, government owns considerable amounts of non-voting stock in many space industries; space paid for itself once we’d built the initial infrastructure.”

Brennen shook his head in awe.  “This is the future?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Cozort replied.  “This is the briefing room,” he said, pointing to a door up ahead.  It hissed open and they stepped though.  Brennen’s eyes swept the room; it seemed fairly normal apart from the young black woman sitting at one end of the table.

“Roberta Cozort, my wife,” Cozort identified her.  She stood up and motioned them to seats.  Brennen held out his hand for her to shake; she hesitated, and then shook his hand firmly.  Her grip was strong and confident; a pleasant change from most women he knew.

“We sort of lost most of the habit of shaking hands during the war,” Roberta said.  Her voice was a firm contralto.  “During the Wrecker War, it was often dangerous to have face-to-face meetings and even after we crushed the Wreckers, it never quite came back.”

“Wrecker War?”  Brennen asked.  He’d heard some neo-conservatives refer to the ongoing war on terror as a wrecker war.

Roberta shrugged.  “Basically, a struggle between various libertine microstates in space, semi-allied to various anti-American factions on Earth, verses us.  We won.”

Brennen smiled, sitting down on the hard chair.  He was almost disappointed that it was not changing itself to fit his behind.  Cozort touched a button on his chair and a holographic image, painfully real, appeared over the table.  Earth floated in the dark of space, surrounded by stations, asteroids, and spacecraft.  Three massive towers could be seen, rising up from Africa, Mexico and the pacific.

“Earth, 2098,” Cozort said.

“So you are from the future,” Brennen said.  “Don’t say ‘in a manner of speaking’ again.”

Cozort grinned, but it was a grin with an element of real stress behind it.  “Are you familiar, Mr Brennen, with the concept of alternate timelines?”

“Sure,” Brennen said.  “I read Harry Turtledove, Eric Flint, Steve Stirling…”

“Stephen Michael Stirling?”  Roberta demanded; the others in the room showing a similar state of shock.

“Yes,” Brennen said.  “He wrote the Draka books; Marching Through Georgia, Under the Yoke, The Stone Dogs…and quite a few other excellent books.  Why?”

Cozort and Roberta exchanged glances.  “Never mind,” Cozort said finally.  “The point, however, is that you understand the concept.  You see, we’re from a future, but it’s not your future.”

“You mean…”  For once, Brennen was at a loss for words.

“In late 1940, President Roosevelt appointed Truman as his vice-president,” Roberta said.  She sucked a small cylinder – a pen? – Between her lips as she spoke; it was incredibly arousing.  “That’s the first major change that we’ve been able to find, although I suspect that there might have been other tiny ones previously.

“Anyway, that’s idle speculation now,” she continued.  “Truman was given the task of building the American War Production program, a program to terminate the depression by preparing for the expected war with Nazi Germany.  In response, Hitler began a program that was aimed at increasing the productivity of Nazi Germany, placing it under the command of Speer.

“This was so clearly aimed at us that even Congress could see it,” Roberta grinned.  “Between 1940 and 1941, relations grew worse and worse to the point that we were shooting at each other in the Atlantic, although Roosevelt was unable to get Congress to declare war.  In late 1941, Japan bombed Pearl Harbour; at the same time a German submarine accidentally torpedoed an American cruiser – one carrying Roosevelt.

“I can only imagine the popular outrage,” she said, adjusting the display to show an image of a burning building.  “Thousands of people loved Roosevelt; they mobbed any German or Japanese they could find.  In a tide of rage, Truman became President and began a program determined to crush the axis powers.

“Here’s where things get really different,” she said, showing a picture of an internment centre.  “We started a much more aggressive program for war than you did; including interning German, Japanese and people who opposed the program.  This included the Ku-Klux-Klan, as all restrictions on the participation of blacks in the military were removed.  On the direct orders of President Truman, the Klan was smashed, along with most of the good-old-boy network.  Later, we started the ‘blood for citizenship’ program, recruiting masses of manpower from Latin America, India and Africa, given dependents citizenship in exchange for their menfolk joining our war machine.  General Stillwell ran this program and later became Governor of Japan.

“Meanwhile, we made massive progress into space…”

“That fast?”  Brennen interrupted; feeling tears in his eyes.  “What about accidents?”

“They – we – knew the job was dangerous when we took it,” Cozort said.  “Yes, accidents happen, even today.  We pressed on anyway.”

“By 1946, we owned space,” Roberta continued.  “But we’ve digressed; Hitler managed to reach Moscow twice, but was driven back by our not-so-friendly allies the Soviets.  We knew that Stalin was a bastard and made no attempt to disguise that, even if we did send them lend lease.  Meanwhile, the British and us mopped up in Africa and then invaded France in 1944.  By this time, the French had whored themselves to Germany, so we were hardly concerned about damage to France afterwards.  Rommel pulled off a fighting retreat that lasted until we bombed every remaining German city with atomic weapons in 1946.  Your nuclear program seems to have moved faster than ours, although I’m not sure why.

“In the meantime, the British hold on India had practically collapsed and Truman traded; their debts forgiven in exchange for their cooperation.  We crushed the Japanese navy in 1943, and then spent the lives of the Citizenship brigades like water to eradicate the Japanese from their conquests.  In 1946, three-quarters of the Japanese were dead, or fled to Manchuria.  In hindsight, it was probably a mistake not to strong-arm Chiang, but I digress.

“Anyway, we faced Stalin at the end of the war,” she concluded.  “Stalin broke relations with us entirely and started to subdue his share of the occupied lands.”  She displayed a political map.  “Poland, East Germany, the Balkans, all were crushed and annexed directly into Russia; the natives being sent to work in slave camps or fleeing into West Germany.  The South Africans were more than willing to give them a new home in South Africa as they were engaged on an expansion program.  We made our monopoly on space and nukes stick until the Hot War, when Russia attacked us with smuggled nukes.  Once we defeated Russia, we could move into space and started building starships like this one.  Dale?”

Cozort cleared his throat.  “We don’t know for sure how we came here,” he said.  An image of Enterprise appeared in front of them.  “We were supposed to wait until we’d passed the hyper-limit before using the hyperdrive, but it was activated somehow and sent us here instead.  And no, we don’t have a way back.”

***
Cozort watched the faces of the natives as they absorbed Roberta’s history lesson.  Roscoe watched with disbelieving eyes; Cozort had seen him eyeing Taylor to see where the seams were in his skin.  The two scientists had watched with fascination, even as they’d realised that they were largely irrelevant on the human-crewed ship.  And Brennen?

Cozort was starting to realise that Brennen might be a strong ally.  He was clearly utterly jealous of the Enterprise, let alone the vigorous expansion into space that had occurred in Cozort’s timeline.  If he could be offered the post of informal advisor, Cozort had hundreds of little trinkets to offer him in payment; the designs for generations of spacecraft being one of the smallest.

“So what are you going to do now?”  Brennen finally asked.  He stared longingly at the display of a space station, circa 1970.  Hundreds of massive cylinders, ex-rocket fuel tanks, had been grouped into a habitat; a workshop for the asteroid miners.  It was cheap and fairly convenient.

“That is a very good question,” Cozort said.  “I was wondering if you would agree to clarify a few details about your government?”

“I’d be more than willing to help,” Brennen said carefully.  “Surely you understand it, though?”

“No,” Cozort said.  Taylor, Rollins and himself had already decided not to discuss their own government until they understood the native government.  “It’s clearly very different, being limited to one small landmass on Earth.”

Brennen scowled; leaving no doubt that he would have planted the stars and stripes on every body in the solar system.  “The current head of our government is President Jackson,” he said.  “She’s the one responsible for me being here.”

“A remarkably perceptive woman,” Taylor said.  Cozort saw a flicker in Brennen’s eyes and realised that Taylor had just confirmed that they’d eavesdropped on native communications.  “What sort of person is she?”

A person suitable for a new Unity Party?  Cozort wondered.  He doubted it; the Unity Party had never existed here, the memes were clearly too different.

“She’s smart, tough and capable,” Brennen admitted.  “She refuses to take strong action against terrorists though; the little bastards are dug into Saudi Arabia and she won’t force their government to give them up because of oil.”

“You use oil a lot?”  Cozort said.

“In everything,” Brennen said.  Cozort suspected that that was an exaggeration, but if the number of cars they’d seen on the streets was accurate, then they clearly used a lot of oil.

“No fusion power, then,” he said, watching Brennen carefully.

“We’ve been trying to develop it for a long time,” Brennen admitted, “but the luddities never let it get anywhere.”

Cozort decided that that could wait for a few days.  “We think that we should open relations with your government,” he said.  “How do you propose we do that?”

***
Brennen mentally cursed – he’d forgotten to press the issue of contacting Atlantis and informing them of what had happened.  The entire journey, the history lesson, everything, had just been overwhelming.  

“Well,” he said, “can I first send a message to the shuttle?  Just a simple code to let them know you’re friendly.”

“So they don’t have to use the nukes they’re carrying,” Cozort said.  He seemed amused.  “Unless you were very lucky, they’d not have penetrated the shields around the ship.”

Brennen winced; he’d suspected something like that when the shuttle could have been sent to the rendezvous instead.  “I knew nothing about that,” he said truthfully.

“I never said you did,” Cozort said.  “You may send your message,” he said.  “Don’t tell them too much, not at first.  How do you suggest that we contact the government?”

“Well, I take it you want your nature to be kept a secret for now,” Brennen said.  “So I’d suggest…you do have smaller landing craft, don’t you?”

Cozort smiled.  “We can hardly set a five-kilometre starship down,” he said dryly.

“Then have one of them land at Armstrong Field, where my ship took off from,” Brennen suggested.  “You can send a message ahead of time for security and for the President to meet you there, or you can travel to the White House on one of our aircraft.”

“Good thinking,” Cozort said.  “After you send your message, do you want to rest?”

“Yes,” Doctor Jackson said firmly.

“Can’t we explore more of your ship?”  Brennen pleaded.

Cozort and Taylor locked eyes for a moment.  “Commander, can you show Mr Brennen the standard politicians tour?”

“Yes, sir,” Taylor said.  “Should I take him past Archie first?”

“Yes,” Cozort said.  “You can send the message first,” he said to Brennen.

“Thank you,” Brennen said.

***
As the natives and their escorts left, Cozort smiled tiredly at Roberta, reaching down to hug her.  “I expected aliens,” he said.  “Someday, we were sure that the USSF would meet aliens in space.  Now, they might be the most alien of all.”

“I know what you mean,” Roberta said.  “That Brennen guy is full of envy.”

“I don’t blame him,” Cozort said.  “This ship is fifty-odd years ahead of him, and centuries behind the ones in their space-fiction.  We’re ones who got to go to space; he’s stuck on the ground.”

“Not for long, through,” Roberta said.  “Now he knows that some things are possible, I’m sure a man like that would start chasing them.”

“I know,” Cozort said.  “Still, what choice do we have?  If we set up a colony in this system, sooner or later we’d have to meet them again.  I’d sooner have that discussion while we have the more powerful position.

“And besides, I swore to serve America,” he said.  “When I was a cadet at Farside Academy, they said that I should always put my country first – that nation down there is my country in a bad state.”

Roberta shrugged.  “Do you plan to introduce a few of our technologies?”

“Yes,” Cozort said.  “Fusion first, I think, and batteries to go along with them.  That should rid them of their dependence on oil.  Then we can consider how best to help them into space; we know where all the mistakes were made.2

Roberta considered it.  “What happens if the rest of the world tries to interfere?  Britain is an independent nation here, so is Canada, Australia and Ceylon.  And there are those thousands of independent African states.”

Cozort stared at the political map.  “The Unity Party knew that we needed might to make our rightness right,” he said.  “That’s why we kept the USSF in fighting trim after the Hot War, and weren’t we grateful that we did when the Wreckers bombed Mars?  We have enough weapons to give even Comrade Stalin pause; might may or may not make right, but I’m very glad to have it.”

***
Lieutenant Nancy Archie had been more than willing to discuss their communications system with Brennen, to Taylor’s not-too-well-concealed disgust.  Brennen had already decided that he neither liked nor trusted Taylor; the man reminded him too much of an air force fanatic.  He liked Archie though; she was a beautiful redhead, with clean skin and a gorgeous smile.

“It’s quite simple,” she assured him.  “The drive field blocks communications on almost all radio frequencies, so we use neutrinos to carry messages to a communications drone, not floating outside the drive field.  That drone has been reconfigured to transmit on your command.”

“Thank you,” Brennen said.  He reached across to the keyboard – similar design to ones on his world – and tapped in a message.

“You do know that you could speak to them directly?”  Archie said, after reading the message.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Brennen said.  “These code words will reassure them that there’s no problem and that we’ll signal again soon.”  He smiled.  “Perhaps I could take you to dinner when you come down to the surface?”

“Finished?”  Taylor said, impatiently.  “We have a tour to begin.”

Brennen nodded and allowed himself to be led away, followed by a brilliant smile from Archie.  She’d not said yes, but then again she’d not said no.

“This is the intership transport system,” Taylor said.  A small cab was waiting for them.  “I took the liberty of locking one waiting for us,” he said.  The door slid closed and they departed.  “It’s roughly five minutes from the bridge to the engineering room,” Taylor said.

He looked sharply at Brennen.  “Tell me, in your year 2001, were you attacked by Wreckers?”

“We were attacked by a terrorist group,” Brennen said, wondering what was happening.

“And you sent Special Forces into this little state and chased the leaders out, instead of something more spectacular?”  Taylor asked.

“Yes,” Brennen said carefully.  “What would your people have done?”

Taylor gave him a smile that made his blood run cold.  “Dropped a big rock on Afghanistan,” he said.

Chapter Ten: Dark Mirror

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
30th March 2009 (Time Line A)

“Are you out of your head?”  Brennen demanded.  “Millions of innocent people would have died!”

“Your point being…?”  Taylor shrugged.  “The Afghanis chose their government; if they’d wanted rid of the Taliban, they could have overthrown them.”

“But they had no choice, but to allow the terrorists in,” Brennen protested.

“There was always the option of rebellion,” Taylor shrugged.  “You need to convince people that any attack on America will be repaid tenfold.”

“But that will only provoke more attacks,” Brennen said.  “The Jihadis will find more recruits and do more harm to us…” 

Taylor swung around to face him.  “As I understand it, you’re locked in a brutal struggle with a slippery enemy that you can’t catch because he is operating out of nations you can’t do anything about because you worry too much about their sovereignty.  Right?”

Brennen felt uncomfortable.  At heart, that was the war on terror.  “Yes,” he said finally.

“Has it ever occurred to you that the easiest way to terminate that problem would be to drain the marsh, as it were?”  Taylor asked.

Brennen had a sudden vision of the Middle East covered with mushroom clouds, burning away the perversions that flourished there under allies that were hardly friends, anything, but friends.  People who’d demanded that the US respect them, but supported people who were willing to use their lives to hurt America.  

“Many of us wanted to do that after the Twin Towers fell,” he said finally.

“Then why not?”  Taylor demanded.  He frowned.  “You keep fighting small wars which your opponents don’t recognise as anything, but your defeat.”

“Because destroying the world’s oil producers would wreak our economy,” Brennen said.  “We need oil…”

“Even if that oil money is used to fund the deaths of your citizens?”  Taylor snapped.  “Your America seems to be grossly irresponsible.”

“You seem to know us very well,” Brennen said suspiciously.

“We studied your internet and the information you threw into space, heedless of who might be listening,” Taylor said.  “How did it get so bad?”

Brennen sighed.  “During the years following the Vietnam War, which we fought with one hand tied behind our backs, we somehow got the idea that in war nobody is supposed to get killed, and therefore if people do get killed it must mean somebody has been incompetent.  And, of course, that was not only our people, but those of the enemy as well.

“By 1980, the enemies were using their own people as human shields, placing people around military installations and daring us to fire on them.  When we fired, we were blamed for the deaths, even though we’d not put them there to be killed.  Sometimes we killed civilians by accident, never even knowing that they were there until CNN ran footage – the reporters were treated like visiting dignities, of course, and they never saw the horrors that lay behind our enemies.

“In 2003, we acted to overthrow a despot – and almost the entire world turned against us.  Apart from Britain and a few others, most of the world said that we were out to dominate the world and tried to prevent us from invading Iraq.  Today, while we fiddle, the Russians and the Chinese are starting to advance into space – and we do nothing!”

Taylor nodded slowly.  “We never fought in Vietnam,” he said.  “You’d have to ask Mrs Cozort, but I think it went into a brutal slaughterhouse after World War Two.  We weren’t involved.”  He looked at Brennen.  “Tell me,” he said slowly; “do you agree that your current society is unable to handle the problems your nation is facing?”

Brennen looked at him carefully.  “We are having problems, yes,” he said slowly, wondering what Taylor meant.

“We can help you,” Taylor said.  “This is America, the nation I swore that I would protect and defend.  Will you help me?”

“Help you do what?”  Brennen said carefully.

“Help me change the political structure of America,” Taylor said.  The transport started to slow as it reached the end of its journey.  “We’ll talk about this later,” Taylor said.  “But we can help you get into space – to control the high orbitals before the Russians and the Chinese do.”

“I probably don’t want to know the answer to this,” Brennen said slowly, “but what happened at the end of the Hot War?”

Taylor smiled.  “We destroyed Russia,” he said.  The transport stopped and they stepped out.  “Now, this is the engineering deck,” Taylor said.  “Now, where is Stirling?”

***
Stirling, as it happened, was in the briefing room with Cozort.  She’d been poking around the John Glenn, examining its technology, and she was covered in oil and dust.  She looked tired, but happy.

“I’ve been all over the native spacecraft,” she said cheerfully.  “It’s a very basic design, but quite imaginative.  Do you know that it would have probably have exploded as it tried to land?”

“No,” Cozort said, with what he felt was considerable restraint.  “Why would it have done that?”

Stirling brought up a holographic picture.  It looked odd, developed from scanner images rather than a holographic design program or a photographic composite.   “This is the booster – they call it the aerospike,” she said.  “Notice how it’s degraded and charred?  That’s the result of the fuel formula being not quite right and also the materials not being quite up to the task placed on them.  If they’d kept burning, eventually they’d have ignited their fuel tank and blown up rather spectacularly.”

“I wonder if Brennen knew this,” Cozort said.

“Given the sort of man he clearly is, I don’t think he cared,” Stirling said.  She sounded impressed.  “Anyway, I finished the examination; the ship presents no danger to the Enterprise.”

“Good,” Cozort said.  “Now, what are they missing that we could offer them?”

Stirling altered the display slightly.  “Apart from a cheap source of power, which we could give them in the form of fusion power or a quantum tap, they’re also missing power cell technology and some material science.”

“Surely they must have invented batteries,” Cozort said in astonishment.

“They have,” Stirling said.  “The main problem they have is that they can’t build ones that store enough power to be really useful, while the ones that they do have don’t have a very long life.  They’ve designed electric cars that really need to have power cells to be useful, but if we give them that technology…”

“Why have they not developed them for themselves?”  Cozort asked.

“Ask your wife,” Stirling grinned.  Roberta and her had become good friends.  “At a guess, I’d say that the original superconductors that went into the first power cells were constructed at one of the orbital stations; they never tried to build one in those conditions.  They can be built on the surface, but the costs are astronomical.”

“I see,” Cozort said.  “We might have a monopoly on building them if we activate one of the fabricators.”

“Quite possibly,” Stirling said.  “On a different matter, we can give them fusion and once they know how to build them they can build as many as they want.”

With all the results of unlimited power, Cozort thought to himself.  “Good thinking,” he said.  “Is the engineering department capable of doing without you for a day?”

“Yes, I think so,” Stirling said.  She frowned; we can’t finish the work on the drive without fabricating some new components anyway.”

“Understood,” Cozort said softly.  “I want you to pull one of the orbital fabrication stations out of storage and get it working to build up to full specifications.  Once that’s done, start producing power cells and the components we need.”

“Yes, sir,” Stirling said.  “What should we do for materials?”

Cozort frowned.  “There’s too much orbital junk around here,” he said.  “Perhaps we could sweep up a few defunct satellites and convert them into something useful.”  He nodded to himself.  “If the scanners should happen to pick up any non-American orbiting weapons, have them scooped up as well.”

“Yes, sir,” Stirling said, and left.

Cozort gazed down on the hologram for a long moment, before altering it to show the continental United States.  For a long moment, he let the political map of his own world cover the political map of the new one, before displaying the new world alone.  Armstrong field was highlighted.

He tapped his wristcom.  “Commander Taylor, please could you bring Mr Brennen to the conference room.”

***
Brennen had reached a point of numbed excitement; he’d seen so much of the Enterprise to be dulled slightly.  After his slightly disconcerting talk, Taylor had proven to be a good tour guide, giving Brennen a simple tour.  Now he stepped back into the conference room and yawned.

“Are you tired, Mr Brennen?”  Cozort asked.

“Yes,” Brennen admitted.  “This ship is wonderful.”

“We intend to land one of our small shuttles at Armstrong Field and meet your President directly,” Cozort said.  “Do you have any idea how we can contact her to tell her to meet us?”

“Well, when do you want to do it?”  Brennen asked, though another yawn.

“Tomorrow evening, I think,” Cozort said after checking the local times.

“Can you send a tight-beam message?”  Brennen asked.  Cozort nodded.  “Then I’ll record such a message and you can tight-beam it to Cheyenne Mountain.  Then she’ll have time to prepare to meet you.”

“What about Atlantis?”  Taylor asked.  “We could always bring the crew here.”

“Leave her there for now,” Cozort ordered.  “They should have at least a week of supplies; we can pick them up at leisure.  Mr Brennen, record your message, and then get some sleep.”

“Should I tell them what you are?”

Cozort blinked.  “Ah, you mean that we’re human.  No, just tell them that we’ll be landing.”

“I see,” Brennen said.  “Why?  Why not warn the President that you’re human?”

“Because if they think we’re aliens, they’ll be hesitant to risk starting a fight,” Cozort said.  “However, if they know we’re human, they might consider us competitors.”

Brennen nodded.  “Tell me, will we be landing in the Glenn?”

Cozort smiled.  “I really don’t think that that would be a good idea,” he said.

The White House
USA
31st March 2009 (Time Line A)

President Jackson stared at the image of the alien craft, still unmoving since it had moved to pick up the John Glenn.  Nothing had happened, past the message that Brennen had sent.  The code words could not have covered all situations; ‘contact made, friendly, communicating, talk soon, all safe,’ did not answer even one of Jackson’s questions.

“Madam President,” Marlene said.  “The President of Russia is on the phone.”

Jackson nodded and picked up the phone.  “Good morning, Joseph,” she said.

“Good morning,” Lapotin said.  It was the middle of the night in Russia and Lapotin was known to like his sleep; if he was calling her now, it must be important.  “I have received an interesting report from our deep space systems,” he said.  “I understand that your American crew has boarded the alien craft.”

“Yes,” Jackson said carefully.

“Have you heard anything from them beyond NASA’s code words?”  Lapotin enquired.  Jackson frowned; clearly Brennen’s insistence that NASA had been penetrated was correct.

“Would you not have heard if we had?”  She asked, playing for time.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Lapotin said quietly.  His tone was…odd.  “If you have heard nothing, then that implies that the aliens are keeping them from communicating with us, a distinctly hostile act.”

Us?  Jackson considered it.  “They may not be aware of diplomatic rights, at least as we humans practice them,” she said finally.

“True,” Lapotin said, “and yet some of the hawks in my cabinet have other ideas.  They think that your astronauts have already come to an arrangement with the aliens.”

“If they have signed any agreements,” Jackson said coldly, “they would hardly be legal.”

“Do they know that?”  Lapotin asked.  “Nevertheless, we must insist on being a full and equal party to any communications with the aliens.”

“We understand that you have an interest in this situation,” Jackson said.  “We will share what we can with you.”

“Will you?”  Lapotin’s voice darkened.  “We found something interesting on our radars,” he said.  “A number of radar pulses that should have hit satellites did not; the satellites were still there, but the radar pulses vanished.  This was a very random thing.  At the same time, pretty much, some of our space recording systems reported incidences of optical distortion – as if something was bending light around itself.”

Jackson blinked.  Reaching for her keyboard, she silently typed a message to Marlene; get Campbell up here now!

“We think that the aliens are surveying us,” Lapotin said.  “My advisors do not consider that a friendly act.”

“I take your point,” Jackson said.  “However, we cannot jump to conclusions…”

“Can we afford to take the time to decide?”  Lapotin snapped.  “Tell me, how much do you value your independence?”

“For all we know, that ship is the vanguard of the galactic empire, with thousands more just like it a solar system away,” Jackson said.  “We need to know more about them.”

“Taking that ship by storm would be the ideal answer,” Lapotin snapped.

Jackson laughed; Campbell strode in fast and glanced at her, wondering what was so funny.  “How many people do you think that we can put in orbit?”  She smiled.  “We have two remaining space shuttles; twenty people at most if we really push the life support envelope.  How many can you put in orbit?”

“I did not say that we could take it,” Lapotin said coldly.  His voice became crafty.  “However, we are considering an attack on the alien craft.”

“Suicide,” Jackson said sharply.

“We may have no choice,” Lapotin said.  “However, I wish to make a formal…demand.  If the aliens land in America, we insist on having a representative there.  I’m sending a personal agent of mine to the embassy; he’ll be ready and waiting in seven hours.  Good day.”

Before Jackson could respond, Lapotin put the phone down sharply.  Campbell stared at her.  “Who does he think he is?”  He demanded.  “That was an ultimation!”

“He thinks that he can make us bend over for him,” Jackson said.  She frowned; “I wish there was a way to be certain that he was telling the truth about attacking the alien craft.”

“I don’t think he can, unless it comes into low orbit,” Campbell said.

“Still,” Jackson said, “we need to check out his claim that the aliens are watching us.”

“Yes, Madam President,” Campbell said.  “However, something much more important has come up.”

“What?”  Jackson demanded.

“They’ve been in contact,” Campbell said.

Jackson gaped, then smiled.  “It’s a good think I didn’t know that while I was talking to Lapotin,” she said.  “What did they say?”

“Well, its from Brennen,” Campbell said.  “It was sent via tight-beam to NORAD headquarters in Cheyenne Mountain; nowhere further then ten kilometres from NORAD heard the message.  It was encrypted – and this is the real problem – in the NSA’s most advanced code.”

“Ouch,” Jackson said.  “That tends to prove Lapotin right about them watching us.  What does the message say?”

“It’s simple and complicated,” Campbell said.  “It runs: ‘this is Red Brennen.  A spaceship will land at Armstrong Field on 1st April at 1800hrs.  Please would the President be present for the meeting.’  Just that.”

“I see,” Jackson said.  “I’m going.”

“Madam President, it could be a trap,” Campbell protested.

“We have to go anyway,” Jackson said.  “I’ll have Jake briefed and he can take over here; if anything happens at Armstrong, he can take over without a hitch.”

“It could also be a cover for an attack,” Campbell said.  “If the aliens are surveying us, it could be designed to decapitate us before we could react.”

“We’ll put the military on full alert for the landing,” Jackson said.  “We’ll be ready to fight if need be.”

“If we do that, the Russians will know that something is up,” Campbell warned.

“Then we tell them that we concur with their warning about alien surveillance and we’re going on a higher alert,” Jackson said firmly.  “You make the preparations; I’ll contact Jake and tell him to get back here.  For the night of April 1st, the Vice President is going to be running America.”

***
After all the preparations, ordering a force of Rangers to secure the site, backed up by what Campbell fervently hoped would be enough firepower to give any attackers pause, Campbell sat down and started to think furiously.

If the aliens had sent the code in our most secure and unbreakable code, he thought, then it follows that they must be capable of breaking the code and any others we use with ease.  Fortunately, we never sent anything about the nukes over communications systems – heck, only six people know about the full project – but anything else must be wide open.

He cursed softly.  For the last few years, the US had been deploying a system whereby troop commanders could access military tactical data from their platoons, in a form of secured website.  If the aliens could hack the system, everything uploaded onto one of those servers would be known to the aliens.  This could be very bad, he thought grimly.  It was the understatement of the decade.

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
1st April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Orbital surveillance informs us that the US military has secured Armstrong Field,” Wachter said.  As the security officer for the Enterprise, he was fully trained in ground operations and was as experienced an officer as the USSF had.  “I think they’re rangers or something similar, from the communications experts.  No powered armour or energy weapons, but they look pretty competent.”

He frowned.  “If they have guided missiles, the shuttle is going to be in an extremely dangerous position,” he said.  If the shuttle’s drive field were to be brought down, the shuttle would be destroyed.  “Are you sure that you want to go down?”

“We have no choice,” Cozort said.  “Someone capable of making decisions has to go down, also someone who’s not obviously military.”  He stared at Wachter for a long moment.  “I understand your concerns, but we knew the job was dangerous when we took it.”

We knew the job was dangerous when we took it, Taylor thought.  That phase had been pretty much the unofficial motto of the USSF, even stealing the place of the official motto; ‘through hardship and American know-how to the stars.’  “Take care of yourself,” he said.

“Thanks, I will,” Cozort said.  “Commander Wachter, I want a five-man security squad of covert operatives in the shuttle with the rest of the crew.  If things go wrong, we might just be able to fight our way out.”

“Yes, sir,” Wachter said.  “The squad will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Good,” Cozort said.  “Any other business?”

“Sir, can we begin refitting the John Glenn?”  Stirling asked.  “If we replace some of the materials with composites, we can make it very safe indeed.”

“A gift for Brennen?”  Cozort nodded.  “Yes,” he said.  “That would be fitting, don’t you think?”

“Anything else?”  No one spoke up.  “Dismissed!”

***
The small shuttle was fifty meters long, roughly twice the size of a large Cessna passenger jet, shaped rather like a smaller space shuttle.  When Brennen had remarked on it, his guide had told him that it was designed to carry small groups of passengers to planets without an orbital tower.  According to the guide, it was also used to land troops behind enemy lines, although that had not been needed for some time.

“It’s a great basic design,” he’d said.  “If something goes wrong with it, it can glide to the surface and activate the stasis bubble just before impact.”

“Impressive,” Brennen said, trying to look unimpressed.

“Ah, Mr Brennen,” Cozort said.  “Are you ready to return to the surface?”

“Yes, Captain,” Brennen said.  “I have to report to my shareholders about how well the Glenn performed.”

“Lieutenant Stirling would like to discuss that with you at some point,” Cozort said.  “But enough of that for the moment; it’s time to go.”

The eight men stepped onboard the shuttle.  “Governor Rollins and myself will handle the negotiations,” Cozort said.  “These five are coming to assist us, should we need it.”

Brennen studied the men and had no difficulty in realising that they were bodyguards.  “You think that you will be attacked?”

“I find that preparing for the possibility tends to deter it,” Cozort said.  “That rather sums up our philosophy of government.”

Something clicked behind Brennen’s head.  “How are you governed?” he asked.  The odd discussion with Taylor was starting to make some kind of sense.

Cozort activated the flight control computer.  “Later,” he said firmly.  The shuttle vibrated, then drifted up and out of the bay.  A flicker of light appeared around the shuttle as they passed through the field surrounding Enterprise.  Brennen checked the clock, which was set to US time.

Cozort followed his gaze.  “We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said.

Armstrong Field
Nevada
1st April 2009 (Time Line A)

The darkness fell suddenly over Armstrong Field, causing Jackson to put down the complicated paper that she’d been sent by the American observers at the United Nations.  Stripped of its diplomatic mumbo-jumbo, it boiled down to certain parties within the UN putting together support for a joint human response to the alien craft.  Jackson frowned; the Russians, Chinese and Indians were expected, not to mention the French, but the Japanese and Germans were a surprise.  

Not that I should have expected anything less from the post-holocaust Germans, Jackson thought.  She’d never been a far-right Republican, but she sympathised with those who’d wanted to break up NATO after Germany had sided against America in 2003.  It had been…distressing.

“Madam President,” one of the young rangers said.  He was short and dark-haired; in awe of the president.  “We have a radar contact, three hundred meters away.”

“We can’t see anything?”  The air force officer said in surprise.

“Nothing,” the ranger said.  “No…wait, what’s that?”

Coming in high, spiralling down towards the ground, was a glowing teardrop of light.  Even as they watched, it came to a hovering stop ten meters above the ground, and then the teardrop popped, revealing a small futuristic aircraft.

“It looks like something we would build,” the air force officer said.  He sounded disappointed.

Slowly, the craft lowered itself to the ground, lowering short studs to it to land on, awe-inspiring in its silence.  Not a sound could be heard as it settled to the ground, apart from a small bump.  Slowly, a door slid open and light poured out.  Jackson caught her breath; feeling her heart beat rapidly inside her chest.

A figure stood in the light, and then stepped down onto the ground.  The light obscured any details, but the figure was clearly humanoid.  For a long moment, Jackson wondered if Brennen had come out first, but the proportions were all wrong.  The figure stepped forward and his face appeared – he looked human, an unfamiliar human.

Jackson found her voice.  “In the name of the United States of America, welcome to Earth,” she said carefully.

The figure smiled.  “In the name of the United States Space Force, thank you for the greeting.”

“You’re human,” Jackson said in awe.  She fought the urge to giggle.  “You’re human!”

“Of course,” the figure said.  “I am Fleet Captain Dale Cozort, USSF.”

“I see,” Jackson said slowly, trying to maintain a grip on sanity.  “What are you doing here?”

Cozort smiled.  “Now that, Madam President, is rather a long story.”

Chapter Eleven: Government and People

Armstrong Field
Nevada
1st April 2009 (Time Line A)

Flight Sergeant Mike Revel, United States Marine Corps, was finding that the strangest place he’d ever been deployed was an alternate Earth.  Since joining the Corps in 2075, he’d been deployed on missions against Black Colonies and a few smugglers, but he’d thought that those days were behind him.  What could Enterprise possibly meet in space that would require a Marine?

Revel shook his head in astonishment.  The Rangers deployed around the airfield by the natives looked professional and extremely competent, making his people look second-class by comparison.  Revel was half-hoping that they’d have a chance to exercise against one another, for he’d overheard a few disparaging comments from one of the Rangers.

That’s why they call us covert security, idiot, Revel thought.  Their light fatigues might not look super-professional, but they contained enough technology to make overwhelming them a dangerous prospect.  Molecule armour within their dress could defeat bullets, implanted sensors and strengthened bone would give them a better than even chance of surviving a headshot.  If they were attacked, all they’d have to do was pull on their hoods and then fight back with their energy carbines.

One of the native officers, from the Air Force, if Revel identified the uniform correctly, was examining the side of the shuttle.  Revel suspected that he was only trying to look good; very little about the shuttle’s technology could be deduced from the outside.

“Umm, Sergeant?”  The officer said.  Revel blinked at the unusually quiet tone for an officer to a sergeant, but saluted anyway.

“Flight Sergeant Mike Revel, United States Marine Corps, sir,” he belted out in his best parade ground voice.

“Colonel Robert Jefferson, Air Force Office of Special Investigations,” the officer said, returning the salute.  Revel noticed slight differences in stance.  “I was wondering…are you part of a secret American project, like that W-squared group Travis Taylor wrote about?”

Revel blinked.  “Travis Taylor?  As in the executive officer of the Enterprise?”  

“No, the Baen Books author, author of Warp Speed and The Quantum Connection,” Jefferson said.  “He wrote about a secret lunar base and warp-speed starships.”

“As far as I know, Commander Taylor has never written a book in his life,” Revel said.  He fought to hide a smile.

“I’ll send you a copy,” Jefferson promised.  “Where are you from?”

Revel hesitated.  “I’m not sure how much I can tell you,” he said.

“The future?”  Jefferson guessed.

“An alternate reality,” Revel said.  “I think; the science is way beyond my head.”

Jefferson nodded.  “No one ever thinks of soldiers as smart, do they?”

Revel chuckled.  It seemed that some things never changed.  “No, they don’t,” he said.  “That said, very few people understand the maths behind hyperspace.”

“Oh, tell me more,” Jefferson said.

***
“Let me get this straight,” Jackson said carefully, after all explanations had been made.  “You’re from the future of an alternate past, which diverged from ours in 1940.  Correct?”

“Yes, Madam President,” Cozort said.  “Although really big differences only start to appear in 1941.”

“I see,” Jackson said.  “Now tell me; why did you not mention that you were humans?”

Cozort looked…uncomfortable.  “It was my decision,” he said.  “The USSF has had a policy on alien contact since 1970 and we expected that you would have come up with something similar.  If it was the same, you would be less likely to have opened fire on us than if you knew that we were castaways.”

“Would that have made any difference?”  Jackson snapped.

“Yes and no,” Cozort replied.  “The shuttle’s shields would have handled most of the weapons you brought to this meeting, at least while we were flying.  On the other hand, it would have been hard for me not to have ordered a punitive response, even though many of us would have been uncomfortable with firing on Americans.”

And that’s a veiled threat if I ever heard one, Jackson thought coldly.  “Which one of you is in charge?”  She asked.

Cozort and Rollins looked at one another.  “According to USSF regulations, the captain is master of his ship, provided that he operates according to the Code of Military Justice and the Fleet Regulations.  The Governor is supposed to be the commander of the colony that we were supposed to plant, wearing one hat, and civilian representative while wearing the other.”  He sighed.  “For the moment, I’m in charge and I rather wish I wasn’t.”

Jackson had to sympathise.  “You mentioned a colony,” she said.  “Where did you plan to put that colony?”

Rollins laughed.  “Tau Ceti,” he said.  “We’ve gotten rather lost.”

Cozort nodded.  “At the moment, returning home or travelling to another solar system is impossible, although I’m sure that some people will demand that we try to rebuild the hyperdrive.  That leaves us with the option of planting that colony on your Earth or on another planet here – I prefer the latter myself.

“However, we do have some problems,” he continued.  “At the moment, we have slightly less than eight thousand people in all, including some who never signed up to become colonists.  Some of the real colonists were accepted because of their farming skills, skills that won’t be necessary on any other world in this system.  So, as you see, we really are a very small group.”

“We can’t put more than thirty men at most into space and you call yourself a small group,” Brennen said.  He’d been watching as Cozort briefed the President.  “How were you planning to solve that problem on Tau Ceti?”

“In the great Martian yards, the passenger starships, capable of carrying ten thousand people at a time, were being assembled as we…departed,” Cozort explained.  “We had a population of thirty billion spread over the solar system and at times it seemed like everyone and his pet dog wanted to volunteer.  We’ve never had such an enthusiastic response since the Wreckers bombed Mars – it’s put Personnel Division into a tizzy, trying to choose people to go.

“Anyhow, the new colony could have looked forward to gaining at least a hundred thousand people by the end of their first decade, at least,” Cozort said.  “Now, of course, we’re limited; unless we recruit people from Earth.”

“I think I see why you wanted to talk,” Jackson said thoughtfully.

“And, of course, there is the fact that we have some interest in America, even if it’s not our America,” Cozort said.  “We have some trade goods that we will be prepared to exchange for your assistance.”

Jackson saw Brennen's eyes light up.  She’d agreed to a private meeting, but Brennen had insisted on coming along and Cozort had raised no objections.  “What sort of goods?”  She asked carefully.

Cozort unslung the bag he’d been carrying and pulled out a small box.  Power cables ran from it, dangling loosely.  “This is what we call a Power Cell,” he said.  “It’s a very simple battery, in essence; it can hold a large charge for an indefinite period.  The entire device is solid-state; it remains reusable for centuries.  This small object holds enough power to generate a drive field, like that used in our shuttle, and hold it steady for a week if necessary.”

He pulled out a compact disc.  “We manufactured this according to specifications that we found on your Internet, so if you have problems let us know.  It’s quite an interesting method of storing information; we never invented anything like it until 2010, developing solid-state systems instead.  It contains a list of possible applications for the Power Cells, adapted for your society.”

He pointed to the cell.  “You’ll notice that we rigged up a power line compatible with your own systems,” he said.  “That should make it easier to test it.  Now, on the medical front…”

“I was going to ask you about that,” Jackson said.  “You might be friendly, but is your bacteria?”

“We don’t have any dangerous diseases,” Cozort said.  “Quite apart from limited genetic engineering, we all have medical nanites in our blood.  Anything that might have been dangerous was removed from our systems before we boarded; anything of yours will be defeated by the nanites before it gets dangerous.”

“That sounds fantastic,” Jackson said.  “I remember a story about a guy who was immortal because of nanites.”

“That doesn’t work,” Cozort said.  He grinned.  “We have similar stories, but nanites aren’t that effective over long periods, not to mention that they remove any drugs that enter the body as well.  Major surgery requires the host to be placed in a neutrino field, which tells the nanites to stop work for a while.  They’re not very bright, sadly.

“Anyway, we can offer a number of cures and vaccines for you, as well as some nanite packs,” he continued.  “One of them is against tooth decay, another reduces the dangers of cancer.  It usually manages to slow a cancerous growth.”

“Those would be very helpful,” Jackson said, her head spinning with ideas.  A painful thought surfaced in her mind and she banished it with an effort – she dared not raise her hopes too far.

“Finally, we can offer some fusion reactors,” Cozort said nonchalantly.  He saw Jackson’s eyes widen in shock and smiled inside.  “They’re non-polluting, don’t make any nasty radioactive products and hardly need anything to burn.”  Jackson’s eyes went wide with lust.  “You might find them useful.”

Jackson opened her mouth, but no words came out for a long moment.  “Yes,” she said, her voice unable to hide her shock.  “I think we will find them useful.”

“Good,” Cozort said.

“Tell me,” Brennen injected suddenly, “how are you governed.  What sort of system do you have for making decisions?”

***
Cozort cursed mentally; he’d been hoping to avoid discussions about the Unity Party.  From what they’d picked up, few people in the native America liked the thought of a one-party state.  Brennen had neatly trapped him and he felt a flicker of respect.

“We ended up with a coalition government during World War Two,” he said. “As I recall, it was the right-democrats and left and centre-republicans, allied under the Unity ticket.  The far lefts became the Progressives; the far rights became America First.  Anyhow, during the war, America First ended up folded into Unity, while the Progressives became increasingly devoiced from reality.

“Historians think it was the tide of refuges from Poland and East Germany that clinched it,” he continued.  “Commies were no longer popular as there were millions willing to tell the world about the worker’s paradise and how it treated anyone who was not Russian.  So the Progressives went belly-up in 1948, leaving Unity alone.  Chairman David Allen codified the unwritten ‘second constitution’ into the Unity Party’s rules – that was in 1949 - and we went on from there.”

“And you accept that?”  Jackson asked in surprise.  She remembered a novel when American had become a one-party state; there’d been a civil war almost at once.

“They’ve done well, by and large,” Cozort said.  “They’ve not ruined the economy, like the Communist Party of Russia did here – we never gave them the chance to in our timeline – and they’re not a cabal of old men.”  He shrugged.  “Some people hate the idea, but most people agree to follow Unity until they really screw up.”

“I see,” Brennen said.  “As it happens, you’ll need a base to operate from in America.”

“Yes,” Cozort said.  “We were hoping to lease somewhere.”

He saw Brennen’s eyes light up.  “You can lease here,” he said.  “It’s fairly out of the way, so you won’t have too many reporters, and you can pay me in space tech.”

Cozort smiled inside.  “Agreed,” he said.  He saw Jackson blink; is she shocked at the speed, or what?

“This would be a good place for security,” Jackson said slowly.  “Very well, I agree.  However, there is one final question; how do we break the news to the world?”

“Let that CNN reporter have the main scoop,” Brennen suggested.

“Out for more publicly?”  Jackson asked.

“We’ve left her on the Atlantis,” Brennen said.  “If you want good publicly, she’ll need to be involved because otherwise she’ll have been far away from all the action.”  He paused.  “She is quite a respected newsreader.”

“True,” Jackson said.  She turned to Cozort.  “Can your ship pick her up?”

“Of course,” Cozort assured her.  “I’ll order Enterprise to send another shuttle to pick her and the rest of the crew up.”

“Thank you,” Jackson said.

“Now, can we discuss arrangements for shore leave?”  Brennen said.  “I could organise tours and visits everywhere for your people.”

Cozort nodded.  “I think that you and Governor Rollins should discuss that.”  He nodded at Rollins.  “Can I leave you to make the arrangements?”

“Yes, Captain,” Rollins said.  Cozort nodded and left the room, heading for the shuttle.  Jackson left through the same door and returned to her command vehicle, actually a refitted trailer.  She had some arrangements of her own to make.  

Atlantis
Earth Orbit
1st April 2009 (Time Line A)

Caroline Langdon was starting to find floating in orbit a little boring.  She’d watched the Earth flow by for hours on end, then she’d taken a trip outside the ship, and finally she’d convinced – not that he’d needed much convincing - Captain Ernest Russell to spend some time practicing zero-gee docking manoeuvres.  It had been quite messy; Langdon had already decided that that pleasant interlude would not be included in the report to CNN.

Hawk and Daniels spent most of their time watching the unmoving alien craft.  They were fascinated by its sheer size and power.  Russell and Chassell waited patiently and played endless games of cards, checking the uplink from Cheyenne Mountain each hour on the hour.  Whatever Russell’s qualities in bed, or floating in the air, depending, were, he was very tight-lipped about what he was doing in orbit.  She’d just floated into the control room when a message came though the radio.

“Calling Atlantis, calling Atlantis, this is Doctor Jackson,” it said.

Hawk reached for the radio.  “This is Captain Hawk,” he said.  “What’s your status?”

“I’m approaching you at a colossal rate of knots,” Jackson said.  “Our hosts have delivered Brennen to the surface and the President asked them to pick up Ms Langdon and anyone else who wants a quick trip to the surface.”

The radar pinged.  Hawk looked at it, not quite believing his eyes, then stared out of the viewport.  A shimmering teardrop of light hung just in front of them, spinning gently, then the light vanished, revealing a smaller craft already moving for a rendezvous.  It positioned itself next to the Atlantis, it’s prow hovering besides the shuttle.  It made the space shuttle look old and primitive.

“We’re extending our tube now,” a new voice said.  Langdon listened carefully, but it did not sound alien.  A dull thump occurred as something hit the side of the shuttle.  “Tube connected to your upper hatch,” the voice said.  “Please open the hatch.”

Hawk stared at the rear of the alien craft, lost in his thoughts, and sighed.  He reached for the hatch controls and secured the airlock, opening the main entrance.  A figure, dressed in a basic spacesuit, entered.  The second door hissed open.

“Doctor Jackson?”  Hawk said.

“Captain Hawk, I presume?”  Jackson said.  He grinned.  “You won’t believe my new friends.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” Hawk said.  “You may take Ms Langdon whenever you want.”

Jackson nodded.  “Coming?”  He said.  Langdon followed him through the airlock, saw her first alien…and nearly fainted.  

***
Hawk watched as the alien…no, not so alien, craft disconnected from the shuttle and fell towards the surface, light already billowing up around in a glorious teardrop.  He felt tears in his eyes, knowing that he was looking at the end of NASA and perhaps human endeavour.

“Godspeed,” he said, and started to prepare Atlantis to descend to the surface.

***
Unbeknownst to any American, whether native or alternate, a small apparently dead satellite hung near the shuttle.  It was part of a Russian system designed to monitor what the Americans were doing and it had been trained on Atlantis ever since the shuttle had entered orbit.  The arrival of the alien craft had been recorded.

The Russians knew that something had happened.

Armstrong Field
Nevada
1st April 2009 (Time Line A)

The communications link, through part of the Emergency Broadcast System, was as secure as American ingenuity could make it.  Jackson suspected, after realising how well Cozort understood the world’s problems, that it was open to his people.  Still, there were the Russians, and the Chinese, and…

“Madam President,” Campbell said.  “How are you?”

“Fine,” Jackson said.  She smiled wanly at him.  “It’s a long story,” she said.  “The basic version is that these ‘aliens’ are visitors from another universe.”

“Oh, like Harry Turtledove,” Campbell said.  “I read those books when I was in Iraq.”

Jackson smiled.  “Something like that, yes,” she said.  “Anyway, this place – Armstrong – is going to be the contact point for a while.  I want you to lay on as much security as you can, although we’re going to have to let the press in at some point, worse luck.”

“Yes, Madam President,” Campbell said.

“I’m sending you Brennen’s briefing paper,” Jackson said.  “Have it distributed to the National Security Council and the rest of the group.  Until then, I’m going to be here for another day, and then I’ll be back in Washington.”

***
The second shuttle landed beside the first, much to the awe of the visitors who’d not seen the first one land.  There was no attempt at concealment this time, the teardrop of light fluoresced through different colours before popping to reveal the small shuttle inside.  Almost before the hatch had fully opened, Caroline Langdon jumped out, staring around her in awe.

“You’re the space aliens?”  She asked Sergeant Revel, who laughed gently before confirming the explanation that Doctor Jackson and the shuttle pilot had given her.  Her disbelief had been defeated by the sight of the President, who led her into a private room.  Brennen showed them the way, forgetting to mention that the room was normally used for private trysts.  

“Impressed?”  Jackson said, just as soon as the door closed.

“Yes,” Langdon said.  “You’re not going to cover this up.”

“No,” Jackson agreed.  “We’re giving you an exclusive.”

“Me?”  Langdon said.  Shocked before, that statement nearly made her faint again.  “Why me?”

“Well, you were going into space,” Jackson said.  “Look, we have to announce this to the world, so this is the way we’ve decided to do it.  Of course, if you don’t want a scoop…”

“I’ll just contact my producer and get them to send out the news team,” Langdon said.  Jackson smiled and left her to make the arrangements.

***
A Secret Service man located Captain Cozort for her and asked him to step along to meet the President.  Cozort came as soon as he’d checked in with Enterprise – the atmosphere on Armstrong was becoming a carnival.  The bartender, who’d often consoled Brennen when he was drunk, had thrown open the doors of his bar and invited everyone – particularly the newcomers – in to drink.  The AFOSI people had talked some of the security staff to come in and drink, unaware that the nanites in their blood prevented alcohol from having much of an effect.  Cozort did not mention this to the bartender – it would only have upset him.

“You gave this job to Governor Rollins pretty quickly,” Jackson observed.  “You want to be rid of him?”

“Not really,” Cozort said.  “This is his sort of job; he governed an asteroid for ten years; when the normal length of service before you get voted out is four years, that’s quite a vote of confidence.  The problem is that he’s in shock.”

“I see,” Jackson said.

“Indeed,” Cozort said grimly.  “I needed to find something for him to do before he gets even deeper into depression.  His wife was meant to be on the next ship out, you see.”

Chapter Twelve: Truth and Consequences

The Kremlin
Moscow, Russia
2nd April 2009 (Time Line A)

The picture was grainy, far below the special effects of Hollywood, but it was real.  And in being real, it had a certain impact that no special effect could ever have evoked.  President Lapotin had watched Independence Day when he’d been younger, and he’d been impressed by the effects, but the image being displayed on the screen was spectacular.

“As you can see, Mr President,” Professor Ulya Kozlina said softly, “the American spacecraft was indeed visited by a spacecraft of unknown origin.”

Premier Tao stared at the screen.  “Then the Americans lied to us,” he said coldly.

“Perhaps,” Lapotin said.  “Note the timestamp; the American President talked to us before this…meeting happened.”

“Do we know where the alien craft went after meeting the shuttle?”  Tao asked, as soon as it became clear that Homchoudhury was not going to say anything.

“No, sir,” Kozlina said.  She shook her long mane of white hair; she knew it distracted people from reading documents that she wanted them to sign.  “We can only track the alien craft through lucky strikes – we only have vague hints of their presence.”

“The fact remains; the Americans have made contact and not said anything to us,” Tao said.

“Would we have said anything to them, were the position reversed?”  Homchoudhury asked.  Kozlina looked like she wanted to agree, but it was dangerous, in Russia, to draw the attention of those more powerful than you.  There was always the danger of being proved right.

“That is beside the point,” Tao said.  His normally still face scowled.  “We need to respond, fast!”

“I’ve already issued orders to Boris Lapotev,” Lapotin said.  “He can proceed to the Americans space centre where the shuttle has landed.  Once on the site, he can make contact with some of our deep-cover agents at NASA.”

“Would the Americans be basing whatever they’re doing at NASA?”  Homchoudhury asked.  “They know that we have spies throughout the organisation.”

“They’d need people from NASA to help with any space-related project,” Lapotin said.  “It’s as good a place as any to start.  Meanwhile, we need to find a way to pressure the American President.  Tao, are you still interested in a joint attack on Taiwan?”

“Chinese Taipei,” Tao snapped.  The Chinese Government officially refused to use ‘Taiwan’ and pressured all their allies and neighbours to do likewise.  “Is it wise to provoke the Americans when they might have concluded an alliance with aliens?”

“We need to find out how these newcomers will react,” Lapotin said.  He was about to continue, but the door swung open.  Lapotin scowled; he’d given strict instructions to keep everyone out unless it was urgent.  His female secretary – and mistress - flinched back from his glare.

“Mr President,” she said, trembling, “there is a vital broadcast on CNN.”

***
Although Lapotin personally was unaware of it, CNN had been advertising that they had a really big story that was about to break for the past five hours, trying to attract companies to pay for advertisements that they could almost guarantee would be seen by millions of people.  Bidding had started at one thousand dollars per minute; by the time of the broadcast it had risen to nearly a hundred thousand dollars.

This, naturally, gave the foreign intelligence agencies, all of whom were aware that CNN had had an astronaut on the space shuttle, adequate warning that something important was coming.  An American intelligence agent had once called CNN an unofficial spy agency for all comers – the foreigners certainly treated it as such.  The FSB had gathered all they could before informing their president, for knowledge was power in the new Russia.

The television screen was activated and the three world leaders turned to face it.  CNN’s sigils appeared on the screen, followed by an image of the alien craft, orbiting far above the Earth.  A reporter’s voice began to speak, every word full of excitement.

“Some days ago,” she said, “I was allowed to travel onboard the space shuttle to orbit, there to meet with what we thought were alien visitors.  Contact was made; but not with aliens.”  The image changed to show Langdon standing in front of a futuristic aircraft, in Nevada.  The caption ran: ARMSTRONG AIRFIELD, NEVADA.  “Instead of visitors from beyond the stars, we have visitors from another dimension,” she said.

“Impossible,” Lapotin hissed.

The screen changed to show a picture of a middle-aged blonde male, wearing an unusual uniform, black trousers and jacket, dark blue shirt.  An insignia was prominently displayed on his right shoulder; Lapotin recognised it as the stars and stripes and then wondered why it looked odd.

“Captain Cozort and his crew, of the United States Space Force, have arrived here by accident,” Langdon said.  “They cannot get back, so they have agreed to share some of their technology with the world in exchanges for services rendered.  We take you now to the white house, where President Jackson is issuing a statement.”

The White House briefing room was packed with reporters; the crush smashing equipment like paper.  Lapotin, who’d faced the openly rude western media reporters before, might have smiled.  It was hard to be certain.

“We have verified Captain Cozort’s claims,” President Jackson said.  She sounded tired, to Lapotin, proving to him that a woman had no place running a major country.  “We have been contacted by alternate Americans” – she had no way of seeing the flicker of horror on Lapotin’s face – “who have offered to trade some of their technology for assistance that we can give them.”

The screen flicked back to Langdon.  “The Alternates, as we’ve been calling them, have provided CNN with an exclusive electronic document with some details about themselves and their technology.  That document is currently on CNN’s website” – Lapotin ordered his secretary to access it – “and is available to all.

“We will bring you more updates as the situation warrants,” Langdon concluded.  “Now, fighting in Iran today led to a success for the reformers when the conservatives suffered a revolt from the rear by unpaid soldiers.  This opens the hope that the war might be ended in 2010…”

***
Lapotin banged the table hard.  “This is a joke,” he snapped.  “It must be!”

“It would explain a lot,” Tao said.  Alone of the three, he’d not let his emotions run riot.  “That craft we saw docking with the shuttle was clearly human-designed.”

“If this report is true,” Homchoudhury said softly, “then we must insist on sharing all technology, even on pain of war.”

“You plan to threaten America now?”  Tao said.

“These are Americans,” Lapotin said mockingly.  “Not the nazi bastards, not Muslim fanatics, not even the British, but Americans; people who don’t start wars with forces that might just get a few of their precious men killed, the poor darlings.”

“I see,” Tao said.  “A threat to Taiwan and Japan, while pressing through the United Nations, then?”

“Seems fair enough,” Homchoudhury said.  “We have good relations with many of the smaller nations; the Americans and the British might find themselves isolated.”

“I’m sure that the French will be helpful,” Lapotin said.  “Hell, the British might also desert the Americans, given the stakes.”

“I doubt it,” Homchoudhury said.  “Whatever their faults, the British are tougher than they act; they’re more pragmatic than their American cousins.”

“But they don’t have a large military,” Lapotin said.  “That weakens them for the nonce.”

“True,” Homchoudhury said.  “One other point; send Boris Lapotev to this Armstrong Field place.  He can start to see the truth, just in case this is an American lie.”

The White House
Washington DC, USA
2nd April 2009 (Time Line A)

CNN’s briefing paper had been printed out several dozen times by staff members before General Campbell had been able to snag two copies.  It was amazing how many copies had gone AWOL, into the cubicles of Pentagon staff or even into the hands of people without security clearance.  Campbell bent his head to read the document as the president took more questions in the next room.

“You don’t believe them, do you?”  Campbell glanced up to see Pope standing there, holding his own copy.

“What makes you say that?”  Campbell asked, noting that the timestamp on Pope’s copy suggested that it too had come from the Pentagon.

“You were grinning at the thought of contacting aliens,” Pope said dryly.  “Now you’re not.”

Campbell waved the sheaf of documents under Pope’s nose.  “This is going to be bad,” he said.  “It’s going to be one of those days, I can tell.”  Pope raised an eyebrow.  “If they’re telling the truth, this technology will radically reshape the world.  The political implications alone…”

“I would have thought that political implications were the President’s concern,” Pope interrupted dryly.

“You can’t separate military and political implications these days,” Campbell snapped.  “Look at this; fusion power, life-long batteries, some advanced manufacturing…there are dozens of potential implications from these.  Do you realise that one of the main problems with battle lasers is the lack of a way of carrying the required charge?  These batteries can act as super-capacitors for lasers, we might finally be able to make the ABM screen perfect.

“But all of these have a downside,” he continued.  “You remember the Saudi Wargame?  If there is a significant loss or interruption of the Saudi oil production, the world economy implodes, simply because of the sudden loss of jobs.  These technologies could cause people to abandon oil; its polluting and unclean and funding terrorists, but then the oil companies would go bang!”

“I see your point,” Pope said.  “We have some other problems; already the Russians and Chinese are pressing the flesh at the United Nations.  They have a lot of allies there since they helped bail out sub-Saharan Africa in 2007.”

“Already?”  Campbell was stunned.  “It’s only been…what?  Twenty minutes?”

“The miracles of modern radio,” Pope said thoughtfully.  “I don’t know for sure what they have planned, but I suspect that they’re lining up support for some big push in the court of world opinion.”

“Tell me,” Campbell said, “what makes you think that we should care?”

“If the rest of the world is against us, it could get tricky,” Pope said.  Campbell scowled, so Pope hastened to explain.  “I don’t doubt for a moment that we could take on the rest of the world with one hand tied behind our collective back,” he said.  “However, the economic damage alone could ruin us.”

“There’s also the question of whether or not Cozort was telling the truth,” Campbell said.  “If they’re lying, for whatever reason, we’re in deep shit.”

“If they have a ship like that one, they don’t have to lie,” Pope pointed out.  “Indeed, we should consider ourselves lucky that they’re willing to talk.”

“I know,” Campbell said.  “The first priority is finding out if they’re being truthful, or not.  A pity we had Atlantis land.”

“I don’t think that it would have done any good,” Pope said.

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
2nd April 2009 (Time Line A)

Brennen watched the recording of the CNN broadcast and the President’s speech for the third time, contemplating the profits for his company even as he did so.  Cozort had offered to make him their representative for trading some of their technology, which promised enough profits to really put America in space.  The fact that another group of Americans had already accomplished that meant very little to him.

“What do you think?”  Taylor said.  Brennen started; he’d not heard the executive officer enter his room.  Hell, he’d not known that Taylor was on Earth.

“The Captain went back to the ship,” Taylor said, answering his unspoken question.  “What do you think of the speech?”

“I think that the President is optimistic, but cautious,” Brennen said.  Taylor nodded.  “She’s delighted to have a way out of the energy trap, but that will damage the economy for a long time unless it’s handled carefully.”

Taylor nodded again.  “Perhaps we can help her with that,” he said.  “Still, we have other problems.  We need lots of money for changing the world.”

Brennen grinned.  “The normal problem with revolution,” he said, only half-joking.  “You could always sell your power cells.”

“We’d have to price them so not to damage the oil companies too much,” Taylor said.  “I think.  I know very little about economics…but I know someone who does.”

“Well, you find him,” Brennen said.  “The question is; how well will your power cells perform when they’re tested?”

“Perfectly,” Taylor assured him.  “They’re quite simple to make.  However, we need a few more money-making ideas for our campaign chest.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
2nd April 2009 (Time Line A)

The news that a successful contact with the natives had been concluded ran through the ship like wildfire, far ahead of Cozort’s formal announcement.  One hour after the President’s broadcast, everyone on the ship had watched it and had dissected it for meaning.  Many of the crew wanted to visit the alternate Earth, often trying to convince their senior officers that they were due shore leave – a claim that often led to them being laughed at.  There would have been no shore leave for years had the mission gone as planned.

Sanchez watched the developments with some interest and considerable satisfaction.  Acting almost on instinct, Cozort had allied the Enterprise crew with their counterparts – the natives.  Cozort might not be aware of it, but defence of America was ingrained in almost every officer in the USSF; if the alternate America were to be threatened the USSF would jump to its defence.

Which can hardly fail to destabilise the global situation, Sanchez thought.  Cozort had had him working with those trying to build a picture of the global politics.  It had become very clear that there would be literally billions of people with an interest in harming the alternate – native – America.  Sanchez judged that they would be too scared of Enterprise for a week before they began scheming.  

So perhaps I can give them some help, Sanchez thought coldly.  Already, he’d entered his name on the list of those wanting shore leave and a chance to explore the new world.  Now, all he had to do was get some information to show the Russians.  He’d decided, after some thought, that the Russians would be the most likely to make good use of the information; the Japanese might have been better, but their relationship with America, while hardly that of the annexed state it had been in his universe, was still too close for comfort.

Quickly, pulling his official ‘I have every right to be here’ attitude around himself, he walked into the colonist zone of the starship.  Five thousand colonists lay in tubes, in stasis, unaware that they would never see Tau Ceti III.  Entering one of the storage rooms, Sanchez stared at the tubes, silver coffins, before moving to the access point for the colonist’s gear.  He’d had to rely on memory – if Wachter was to check who’d access the manifest, he’d find no evidence that Sanchez had ever been interested.  There were few people who scared Sanchez, but Wachter was one of them.

Fortunately, the code was a fairly basic one, used against regulations by a lazy colonist.  In theory, all security codes were to be for one person only, but the colonist had only programmed in one and shared it with everyone.  No one even knew that Sanchez knew it.  He tapped it in and the hatch hissed open, revealing a collection of computer equipment.  It was the work of a moment to pull out a portable computer and seconds more to find datachips that contained information that might be helpful.  The USSF had been paranoid over problems that might be encountered by its colonists, and with a total concentration on the need to maintain a technological society, had supplied information on building a technological base from scratch.

Sanchez smiled; how like the USSF’s bureaucrats to forget that a human civilisation that had fallen back to savagery would be unable to access the datachips they’d been so proud off.  He’d heard Cozort discuss the decision in pungent terms, but no one had altered it; you never knew what might come in handy one day.

And when it does, and you don’t have it, you’ll look a right fool, if you’re lucky, Sanchez remembered his old teacher saying.  And if you’re not lucky, you’re dead.

Placing the small computer in an anonymous carry case, Sanchez left the room, passing Doctor Romeo in the corridor.  She nodded polity to him and he saluted back; in theory a doctor was not part of the chain of command, but it was hardly worth the risk.  Not now.  It took ten minutes to return to his cabin, and then he could relax before going on duty in an hour.

***
Doctor Elspeth Romeo had been enthused by the discovery of another world, but less impressed by their disease environment.  These people had abandoned the genetic engineering  - and had paid hardly any attention to nanotechnology – that would have saved them from hundreds of small epidemics; AIDS, flu, biological warfare, all had been defeated back home.

She’d asked Cozort to share some of their cures and he’d agreed to make it one of their trade goods, but like many USSF officers he saw disease as a minor problem – it simply never happened to them.  The one and only space epidemic had occurred on the Moon in 1980, widely believed to have been Soviet biological warfare.

For the moment, however, she’d been given another task.  Entering one of the storage rooms, she found the computer records ready and waiting.  Wayne Stuart’s tube was in one of the annexes, so she ordered the robots to bring it to her.  The silver tube was pushed out onto the stand – some wag in the USSF had termed it the bier – and Romeo opened the control panel on the side.

***
Wayne Stuart did not and would not hold a formal post on the colony’s governing council, at least for the mandatory five years since settlement where the appointed government would run everything.  There were too many things to be done to allow little matters like elections and power struggles to become overt, so the USSF had appointed the council and offered anyone who disliked that thought the chance to leave the Enterprise before launch.

His real role was hard to define, even by the bureaucrats, although they termed him a ‘colony assistant’.  He was a fixer, a shower and a doer; he showed new colonists how to live on the land, how to fix things to work properly without the standard run of machine tools, and how to begin a proper economy on the new world.  He’d had experience at all forms of commercial activity and had developed an eye for opportunity and profit, matched by a genuine patriotism and loyalty to Rollins, who’d recruited him.

Like an idiot, he’d been waiting for a moment of pause, when the stasis field held him frozen in time for a long eternity.  There had been no sensation; one moment the medic at Orbit One had been leaning over him, the next Doctor Romeo had taken her place.  He stared up at her, her name and rank coming to him from his memory implant.

“Are we there yet?”  He asked.  Surprisingly, his voice was firm; he’d been expecting a harsh voice.

Romeo smiled bitterly.  “No,” she said.  “We’re rather lost.”

“Lost?  Lost where?”  Stuart asked.  Romeo began to explain carefully, ignoring the expression on his face.

***
Floating outside the Enterprise, the massive orbital manufacturing complex began to unfurl, expanding to its full size.  Near six hundred meters in length at full expansion, it was capable of constructing itself from almost any materials supplied to it, growing it’s simple chambers and placing the pre-manufactured components in their proper place.

Cozort watched as a small fusion reactor was shipped over from Enterprise to the complex, being prepared to power the complex with enough power to complete the process.  After five or six days of shovelling lunar rock into the complex, it would be ready to start manufacturing components for the Enterprise, and then start producing high technology artefacts for the natives.

The door to his flag cabin chimed.  “Come in,” he said, not turning away from the holographic projection.  Stuart entered and took a seat without being offered one; a gesture of confidence or casual disrespect.

“Good afternoon, Mr Stuart,” Cozort said.  He ignored the seating; it might have been confidence and Stuart was needed.  “I assume that you’ve read the briefing paper?”

“Yes, Captain,” Stuart said.  Cozort took a moment to study him; he was a nondescript man with brown hair, but glimpses of inner strength could be seen hiding under the exterior.

“Good,” Cozort said.  “It so happens that we need someone to act as a Commercial Representative down on the surface of the native America.  Interested?”

A chance to make money?  “Yes, Captain,” Stuart said.

“We will need to introduce some of our technology into their system,” Cozort said.  “I expect you to handle the negotiations.”  He stared at Stuart for a long moment.  “I know that you would make profit for yourself as well, and I don’t mind, but don’t try to cheat the ship and her crew.”

Stuart hid a gulp.  Cozort could be extremely intimidating when he chose to be.  “Yes, sir,” he said.  “Am I to assume that I have discretion?”

“Yes, with the single exception that you are not to supply any technological details without my permission first,” Cozort said.  “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Stuart said.

“Excellent,” Cozort said.  “There will be a shuttle to Armstrong Field in two hours.  I suggest that you use one of the guest cabins to familiarise yourself with the alternate world and start making plans.”

Chapter Thirteen: Mr Cozort goes to Washington

Department of Energy
Washington DC, USA
7th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The long cool room was a masterpiece of taste and design, with a long wooden table and green plants lining the windows.  It had been joked by various insiders that the entire conference room had cost more than a nuclear reactor, although this was untrue.  Economy had been the watchword, which meant that the entire complex had been only slightly more expensive than predicted.  

The Secretary of Energy Advisory Board met in closed session, reporting to the Secretary of Energy and the Assistant to the President for Economic Policy, to discuss the implications of the Alternates technology.  Since Captain Cozort had presented President Jackson with a power cell, research had begun at once at the Albany Research Centre.  Nervously, the Secretary of Energy, Matthew Forbes, prepared to hear the report.

He was short and stout, with a neatly trimmed beard.  His appointment had come as a shock to him; he’d expected to serve in the department, but as the secretary?  The thought had never crossed his mind, or so he told himself.  Beside him at the end of the table, a sharing of precedence that would have shocked more aggressive members of their posts, was the Assistant to the President for Economic Policy, Keith Gregory.  Gregory was tall and thin, so thin that he looked like a skeleton.  His long thin fingers were steepled in front of his face, concealing his expression.

At a nod from Forbes, Bernice Custer, one of the Albany Research Centre’s top scientists, began her presentation.  “We had the power cell transported to Albany,” she said, “and started to attempt to discover if it lives up to the claims that the Alternate captain made.  It was a fairly simple task; the instructions are precise and detailed, although they assume more familiarity with electronics and basic systems than ours do.”

There were nods; a number of lawsuits at the turn on the century had convinced companies to provide idiot-proof instructions for fear that someone would manage to electrocute himself and sue them afterwards.  “The power cell itself was rigged with power cables comparable to ours, we suspect that they reverse engineered such equipment from Brennen’s ship.

“Anyway, we started to pour on the power and it just absorbed it all.  We stopped after an hour and experimented to see how much the system held.  At least 99% of the power came back for us to use.”  She smiled.  “Then we started to see how much we could surge out of the cell; ten minutes later the testing apparatus fused.”

She adjusted the picture on the overhead display.  “The surge was simply too powerful for the equipment to handle, but it would be useful for anything that needed a powerful surge, once we figured how to stop the conductor from melting.  That said, a constant drain on the cell did not degrade it, at least not as far as we could tell, and it continued to pump out power at a steady rate until it ran out.”

She adjusted the display again, showing a picture of an electric car.  “The main problem with electric cars is that they have a very limited range, simply because we never invented a battery that could store that much power.  While we did experiment with more advanced batteries such as lithium ion and nickel metal hydride batteries for cars, they had dangerous ecological effects.  If we adapted a power cell to run an electric car, it would change everything.”

“Thank you, Doctor Custer,” Forbes said.  “Do you believe that power cells represent a danger to people on the street?”

Custer paused.  “I don’t think so,” she said.  “We treated the sample one quite badly and never made it explode.  We’ll have to check with them, but if it can survive a crash it would significantly reduce the risk of fires in a car crash.”

“Thank you,” Forbes said again.  Custer recognised it as a dismissal and left the room, leaving behind her notes.  Forbes turned to the table.  “Recommendations?”

“We bury this technology as far as we can,” one man said bluntly.  Forbes recognised him as Preston Racanelli, a major name in the oil industry.  “If the demand for oil slips, the oil companies will fold and put millions of people out of work.”

“Hardly the only problem,” the automobile magnate, David Weiland, said.  “Still, it will take years to change every car to electric designs.”

“The bloody greens are in half the fucking state governments,” Racanelli snapped.  “If they get their hands on this, they’ll start making it compulsory to have an electric car.”

“Not that they ever have to pay money to meet the costs of their policies,” Weiland agreed.

“It would be quite easy, surely, for your companies to start producing these…power cubes?”  An older man said from the foot of the table.  Forbes had wondered if Ronald Beatty had been asleep, but he’d clearly been listening.  “There would be a process of change, yes, and some disruption, but with emergency legislation it could be handled.”

“We don’t know yet how to produce the power cells,” Forbes said.  He suspected that Beatty had messed up the name merely so that people would underestimate him.  “Still, it should be fairly easy to copy, and then…”

“It would avert the economic devastation if the president place special controls on the industry,” Gregory said calmly.  “I shall recommend emergency legislation.”

“It would also thwart the sand niggers,” Racanelli said.  “No more terrorists.”

“The Saudis won’t be happy,” Gregory agreed.  “Still, we can offer their royals sanctuary in exchange for keeping their mouths shut at the crucial time.”

“The one problem, as I see it, is convincing the Alternates to give us the diagrams,” Racanelli said.  He studied his hands for a long moment.  “We can always appeal to their patriotism.”

“We will proceed as circumstances dictate,” Forbes said coldly.  “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to report to the President.”

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
7th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“This is Caroline Langdon, presenting Alternatives,” Langdon said to the world at large.  CNN had capitalised on its first big scoop with the Alternatives by hosting a series of programs on space flight, alternate history and the theoretical implications of their arrival.  Langdon, as the person associated with the Alternatives, had been selected to host the new show.

“Today, we’re going to hear from people all across the nation,” she continued.  “We asked thousands of people what they thought of the Alternatives and here are some of their answers.”

“I think its all a government trick,” said a mother from California.  “They’ve had this technology for years, and they’ve kept it hidden for some reason because the government is evil and now…”

“I hope that the pollution-free technology is distributed as widely as possible,” said a university student from New England.  “Once all the cars are no longer producing gases, perhaps it will be possible to breath free once again.”

“Naturally, we’re very excited at the opening vistas for space flight,” an ex-NASA astronaut said.  “As the Alternatives prove, space is clearly the way forward; once we’re out of the gravity well we can go anywhere.  In their world, we have colonies across the solar system – we need to catch up.”

“But who would spend so much money on space?”  Ranted a particularly green congressman.  “We have to spend money on improving inner cities, on helping our brothers in disadvantaged counties to grow, in bringing everyone to a constantly rising above average standard of living.  Why waste money on space?”

“They say that they mined the asteroids,” a young boy said.  “Does that mean that they vandalised space?”

“This proves that America is the chosen nation,” a nationally prominent far-right leader pronounced.  “If America can rise to such heights in one dimension, we can do it in two.  USA!  USA!”

“The appearance of the so-called Alternatives is a trick by the devil,” one preacher said.  “They hope to seduce good Americans into becoming slaves to technology!”

“What are they not telling us?”  A noted scientist asked.  “They have refused to share quantum tap technology with us; what else are they hiding?”

“But what are their views on race relations, abortion and the invasion of Iraq?  Another student asked.  Langdon thought that that one would make a good endpoint.

“As you can see, the responses range from hope to fear,” Langdon said.  “We at CNN have invited a member of the Alternative crew to appear on a CNN talk show, to discuss such matters.  Until then, I fear such questions will remain unanswered, but remember you saw it on CNN first.”

She frowned.  “International reaction has been very quiet recently,” she said, “but there are rumours at the UN of something big happening.  In the meantime, the Chinese Premier, Yang Tao, has publicly issued a statement demanding that the Taiwanese Independence Party withdraw from Taiwan’s election race.”

“Chinese Taipei is part of China,” Tao said.  “It is inhabited by Chinese, owned by Chinese, and part of a nation that had endured for millennia.  We will not permit any permanent severing of ties between Chinese Taipei and the rest of China.”

“When asked if China would consider a victory for the Taiwanese Independence Party a cause for war, Premier Tao refused to comment,” Langdon said.  “Professor Peabody of the University of Hampshire is with us today.  Professor, do you think that the Chinese will attempt to attack Taiwan?”

“As you know, Ms Langdon, China believes quite firmly that Taiwan is Chinese territory, although currently unoccupied by China’s central government.  While China has offered to negotiate a form of autonomous status for Taiwan, they are very determined to prevent any formal independence.  Notice that the Chinese are patient – they were prepared to let the British stay in Hong Kong for fifty years, knowing that they’d recover the colony in the end – but they would not concede permanent separation.  If Taiwan declares independence, China will almost certainly attack.

“At the moment, the balance of power is squarely in favour of China, particularly with their alliance with Russia and India.  However, any war in the Far East might well drag Japan and us into the mix, and what would the Alternatives do?  Personally, I think that China would have to be crazy, but they might decide it’s worth the risk to attack now, instead of waiting until we become much stronger.”

“Thank you, professor,” Langdon said.  She liked Peabody; unlike most people who came on CNN he was neither bigheaded nor overconfident.  “Unfortunately, it has now been confirmed that Russian Backfire and Blackjack strategic bombers have been deployed to bases in the Russian Far East, heightening the tension in the region.  Japan’s foreign minister condemned the move as ‘provocative’ and warned that the Japanese Self-Defence force is on full alert.

“As yet, there has been no comment from the White House, or the Alternate starship, but we’ll update you as soon as we hear anything.”

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
7th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Now there’s a turn-up for the books,” the bartender said, as Caroline Langdon’s face vanished from the television screen.  “Did you get to see her in the bare flesh?”

Brennen leered cheerfully.  “No, you sexist pig, I did not see her gorgeous naked body, just her normal clothes.  She did an interview with me, you may remember.”

“A shame she wore that loose jumper,” the bartender said.  “I must say, Mr Brennen, you’ve done us proud.”

Brennen grinned.  “I have, haven’t I?”  He stared out of the window; one of the large prefabricated Alternative buildings could be seen.  At least a hundred Alternatives lived on the base now, with plans for guided tours of American cities being prepared.  One massive construction robot had started work on building the day after the Alternatives had landed; now the flats had been converted into shuttle landing pads and shuttles were landing all the time.

“I can’t get them drunk, though,” the bartender complained.  “I give them drink after drink, but they never get more than tipsy.”

“Clever of them,” Brennen said, remembering days where his hangover had nearly killed him.  “I wonder how they do it.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” the bartender said.  “Another beer for you?”

“No, thank you,” Brennen said.  “I’ve a meeting with Wayne in five minutes.”  He took a final swig of his beer and left the bar.  Outside, he studied the guest quarters, where newsman and government agents watched the Alternates.  Overnight, thousands of curious citizens had swarmed to Armstrong, but Brennen had given orders to keep anyone not cleared out of the base.

He met Stuart inside one of the prefabricated buildings; a massive block assembled from components.  It was designed to withstand all weather and was almost impossible to misassemble.  Although, as Taylor had pointed out, you could make something idiot-proof, but there were far too many clever idiots.

“Good afternoon, Mr Brennen,” Stuart said.  Brennen smiled back; the Alternates were so formal all the time.  He had yet to hear a ‘hi’ or a ‘yo’.

“Hiya,” he said cheerfully.  “What’s up?”

“Well,” Stuart said, “a number of automobile manufacturers have requested that we sell them a number of power cells, while a number of oil companies have demanded that we sell them the designs for the power cells.”

“I see,” Brennen said.  “What are you going to do?”

“Do you not have any ideas, Mr Brennen?”  Stuart asked.  He smiled; “we do have a few, but you first.”

“Offer to sell them one of the orbital plants,” Brennen suggested.  “They’d get what they wanted, you’d still be selling your own production, and they’d have to pay you to transport the stuff to Earth.”

“There’s no reason why they could not be parachuted from orbit,” Stuart said, “but that’s not a bad idea.  We were thinking of selling them to the oil companies for them to sell on.”

“Not too bad, but they could still form a cartel,” Brennen said.  “Anyway, I have a question and a proposal.”

“Which is?”  Stuart asked.

“I have a problem,” Brennen began.  “NASA has lost a lot of orders for satellite launches lately, although no one’s sure why.  I think it’s because no one is sure if you’re going to give a few of your shuttles to people or not.  I would like to hire one of your craft.”

Stuart raised an eyebrow.  “That is an interesting proposal,” he said.  “’I don’t know’, is the short answer.  I’ll ask Governor Rollins.”

“The second proposal is slightly more of a money-maker,” Brennen said.  “Floating in orbit right now are thousands of satellites that have a vital historical importance to us.  If a few of them were to be recovered and sold on Ebay, it would make more money for us.”

“And for what Travis and the Governor are up to,” Stuart said thoughtfully.  “Mr Brennen, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll pass it up the chain.”

Paradise Residential Home
Baltimore, USA
7th April 2009 (Time Line A)

She was called Fiona Jackson and she was the First Daughter of the President.  Disdaining the constant publicity of life as a member of the First Family, she’d retreated to the Paradise Residential Home, one of the places created by the rich to protect themselves from the poor.  Inside its electric fence, a force of guards, better armed and equipped than the standard police force, kept out troublemakers with a gusto that would have suited a British redcoat in Hong Kong.  Paid too much to notice the inequality of their station, the guards kept out those whose only crime was in being constantly unemployable; the social network that kept them alive constantly fraying.  

“I’m sorry, Ms Jackson,” the doctor said, “but it’s becoming terminal.”

There was one other fact about Fiona that was important, at least to people interested in her mother, although it was not generally known.  After a party when she was seventeen, she’d been mugged on the street and brutally raped – the rapist apparently being a ‘disturbed individual’.  It had left her with a lifelong fear of empty streets … and AIDS.  In 2008, a faster and more dangerous strain of AIDS had appeared, and Fiona had caught it from her rapist.

“How long do I have?”  Fiona finally asked, as the awareness of death settled around her.

“About seven months, I think,” the doctor said.  Fiona felt a tear on her cheek.  “The last month will be bad, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said.  “You may go.”

Once the doctor had left, a thought occurred to Fiona.  What’s the good of being the First Daughter if you can’t get help from your mother?

The White House
Washington DC, USA
8th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The Secret Service had been seriously unhappy about the decision, but President Jackson, aware of the dangers in the increasingly dangerous Taiwan crisis, and of a certain family matter, had overruled the defenders of Washington.  Those who were in the know had wanted the shuttle to land at Andrews Air Force Base, but Jackson had insisted.  And so the Secret Service and the army defenders of Washington, armed with Stinger missiles, watched as the Alternate shuttle swooped over Washington and landed neatly in front of the White House.  Watching from outside the fence, reporters took thousands of photographs, which would cover the world in less than an hour.

Captain Cozort checked his dress uniform for the last time, placed his cap on his head, and extended his arm to Roberta.  She, wearing a neat black dress, took his arm and they walked together out of the shuttle, to meet a honour guard of Secret Service agents, led by a Marine.  The group saluted and Cozort saluted back.

“This way, please, sir and madam,” a woman said.  “I am Marlene White, Presidential aide.  If there’s anything you need, just ask me.”

“Thank you,” Cozort said, studying the White House with interest.  From the outside, it looked very much like it had in their dimension, on the inside it was more ornate and decorated.  “This house is very different on the inside,” he said.

“Indeed?”  Marlene said.  “After your dinner with the President, perhaps you would like a tour?”

“Yes, thank you,” Cozort said, as they walked down the luxurious corridor.  Portraits of famous presidents hung from the walls; he recognised Lincoln, Roosevelt, Truman – some looking different from their appearance in his universe – and ones after him.  “Who are they?”

“Presidents,” Marlene said.  “Not in your universe?”  Cozort shook his head.  Marlene pointed to some of the Presidents.  “Eisenhower, Nixon, Kennedy, Bush I, Clinton, Bush II, and finally Jackson.”

“Eisenhower was a general in our universe,” Cozort said, deciding that researching the unnamed presidents could wait.  “He was discharged for some reason in 1945.”

“A prisoner exchange with the Soviet Union,” Roberta said.  “They never wanted to go back and we could have found a use for them.”

“I see,” Marlene said.  “This is the presidential dining room,” she said, opening the door.  Cozort gazed in to see a small table, set for four people.  Jackson and another person were sitting there; they rose to great the Alternatives.

“Good evening,” Jackson said.  “This is General Campbell, of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.  Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Cozort said, as he shook hands with Campbell.  The general’s grip was firm; his eyes sharp and distrusting.  “It is a honour to be invited to dinner with the President.”

***
The meal was superb, far superior to the reconstituted food that was the stable diet of most USSF spacecraft; roast turkey and trimmings.  There was plenty of it, which, in Cozort’s opinion, was slightly more important than the quality.  They talked about ideal matters until afterwards; Jackson poured a small glass of wine for each of them, and then the table was cleared away.  Clearly, the real point of the meeting was about to be reached.

“Have you been following the news?”  Jackson asked.  She sounded concerned and worried; something that worried Cozort.

“As best as we can,” Cozort said, “but so much of this world’s politics are strange to us.”

“I see,” Jackson said.  “We are being pressed hard, in the UN and other international institutions, to share the technology that you have shared with us with other nations on Earth.”  She waited to see if Cozort would react.  “As you might be aware, they don’t have the military capability to threaten us directly, but some powers are preparing military moves to force us to cooperate.”

Cozort hesitated.  “If they can’t threaten you, or us,” he said, “then how can they threaten you to force you to cooperate?”

“The Russians and Chinese are preparing what looks like an attack on Taiwan,” Jackson said.  “We have a responsibility to defend it; while there are rumblings coming from North Korea.”

“And it’s not a state here, is it?”  Cozort said.  “I take it that they’re preparing other tricks?”

“Yes,” Jackson said.  “We have a considerable amount of money invested in the Far East; they’re attempting to convince the banks to stop payments and thus damage our economy.  That would be very bad.

“In the meantime, they’ve convinced the United Nations to hold an emergency debate,” Jackson continued.  “I suspect that many nations, seeing your technology as the way forward, will demand that we share, or else.  The ‘or else’, in this case, is economic disaster.”

Cozort stared at her.  “You can’t just survive without the rest of the world?”

“Oh sure, in absolute terms,” Campbell said.  “The problem is that we have a great many jobs invested in foreign activities; all of which would be lost if the global economy tanked.  Then there would be so much misery in America.”

“This is something completely wrong,” Cozort said.  “Did your predecessors have no sense of responsibility?”

Jackson glared.  “President Clinton had no eyes for anything, but legs and breasts,” she snapped.  “But how can a President hope to hold back the rush to invest in new markets?  Or does your fascistic state party prevent it?”

Roberta decided she’d better pour oil on troubled waters.  “Who would invest in the remainder of the world when space is so much more profitable?”

“That is not an option available to us,” Jackson said.

“Why not?”  Cozort asked.

“How did your Unity Party manage to retain power for so long?”  Campbell asked.  “Every other single party state we’ve seen either collapses, or turns really repressive.”

“Membership of the Unity Party is not required for anything, apart from political office,” Cozort said.  “I’m not a member myself, even though I do understand politics; you want us to do something to deter the Russians and Chinese, right?”

“Yes,” Campbell said.  “Something spectacular.”

“The destruction of a few of their airbases should do it,” Cozort said thoughtfully.

“Are you mad?”  Campbell demanded.  Jackson was equally shocked.  “If you kill thousands of Russians they’ll be outraged….”

“And that is a problem?”  Cozort asked.

“They’ll feel bound to do something in revenge,” Jackson said quietly.

“All right,” Cozort sighed.  “We’ll show them how ineffective their weapons are against us, and then they should get more reasonable.”

Campbell stood up, shook hands again, and left the room, having previously agreed to give Jackson some privacy.  Jackson looked into Cozort’s eyes, holding him with her gaze.  “I need a favour,” she said softly.

“What can we do for you?”  Cozort said.

“You said you had advanced medical techniques,” Jackson said, and he heard a sob in her voice.  “My daughter has AIDS; can you do something to save her life?”

Cozort stared at her.  “Of course we can,” Roberta said firmly.

“I’ll ask Doctor Romeo to see her,” Cozort said.  “Unless it’s something really odd, our nanites should be able to handle it.”

“God bless you,” Jackson said, and gave them a hug.  It was a rare moment of unguarded emotion for her.

Interlude

From: Pride Goes Before … A study of the coming fall of Saudi Arabia.  Deadeye, Dick.  University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, 2004

The question is not ‘if’ Saudi Arabia will fall, but ‘when’.  The Saudi state is simply unsustainable over the long term – a combination of internal and external pressures will destroy it.  This is not the place for a detailed discussion of the extremely warped Saudi economy.  Suffice it to say that the Saudi government is faced with increasing demands on its resources, the failure to meet even one of which could have disastrous consequences, when its ability to meet those demands was limited like never before.  It was uncharted territory, and, used to always having their own way, the monarchy will stumble.  

A limited list of those demands would include: a) the meet to support an increasing number of princes and princesses, b) the need to support an increasingly powerful and dangerous religious establishment, c) the need to maintain an elaborate welfare state for ordinary Saudis, d) the need to maintain foreign relations, from controlling small, poor, nations to bribing Saudi allies in Washington and e) the need to maintain the divided military forces so they would not be tempted to consider a coup.  All of these demands absorbed huge resources and are vital to national security.

In the final analysis, the regime believes, the monarchy can count on the support of the United States.  However, post-9/11 events have made that unlikely; the US distrusts Saudi, has alternate oil supplies and, if pressured, could invade and crush the incompetent Saudi military within a week.  The image of US troops fighting to preserve an extremely unpopular regime that had (at the very least) condoned attacks on the CONUS was a horrifying one to US policy makers.  Indeed, in 2003, the US quietly decided to write Saudi off if the monarchy was to suffer an ‘accident’.  Indeed, the US accepted the Saudi request to vacate the US bases in Saudi with quiet relief, and promptly made any real change in the US strategic position meaningless by moving the bases and supporting troops north into Iraq.

The only course of action that might prolong the agony – preventing it indefinitely is impossible – is for the Saudi leaders to ally themselves with the terror movement, taking control and using it as an escape valve.  Already, the Saudi rulers have been supporting insurgents slipping into Iraq – simply because if they’re fighting the US there, they’re not fighting their rulers at home.  The irony, however, is that the more the US kills in Iraq, the safer the position of the real enemy is.

Chapter Fourteen: Parasites

Royal Palace
Saudi Arabia
8th April 2009 (Time Line A)

He was called Saladin, by those who knew of his main role, a name chosen to reflect the glories of a fallen civilisation.  Those who knew his real name, Prince Bakar, were few and no western intelligence agency had every realised that the dreaded Saladin and Prince Bakar were one and the same.  Saladin, whose anti-western rhetoric inspired a generation of young deprived men to go to fight the westerners in all nations, but Saudi Arabia, a Saudi Prince?  Impossible!

And yet it was true.  In hindsight, the CIA would conclude that it was obvious.  Their position tottering after Osama Bin Laden blew the Twin Towers apart, the House of Saud had needed a saviour.  They’d relayed on the American troops in their nation to prevent a general insurrection, but the growing American distrust – if not outright hatred – and the removal of Saddam Hussian had in turn removed the regimes’ prop, just when they needed it most.  They had no difficulty understanding President Bush’s strategy; invade Iraq to free the oil production from the unsustainable sanctions and use it to escape dependence on the House of Saud.  Would there be an ‘Operation Saudi Freedom’ in the future, they wondered?

Few westerners really understood the House of Saud, which could best be compared to a loose mafia family.  The ongoing power struggles between the menfolk – women had no role at all beyond sexual partners – led to situations where a junior member of the royal family could wield disproportionate influence.  In a situation where the ever-increasing number of younger members wanted a share of the shrinking pie, Prince Bakar managed to convince enough family members that there was only one course of action.

First and foremost, assume command of the underground terror organisations, both within Saudi itself and the rest of the world.  Prince Bakar, using his Saladin identity, had positioned himself as the next Mahdi, using the terror groups to further the covert aims of the House of Saud.  Terror attacks in Iraq and the gulf, targeted against oil industries, damaged Iraqi oil and kept the world, mainly America, dependent on Saudi oil.  Expanding the program to the Russian oil fields had not been so successful; the Russians had clamped down hard on the region.  The Russian KGB – later the FSB – had proven very effective at ending terror movements.

Secondarily, manipulate world politics to safeguard the House of Saud.  Iran’s civil war had been started by terror attacks that both the reformers and the fundamentalists had blamed on the other side.  Meanwhile, enough American politicians were on the Saudi payroll to prevent any overt action being taken against Saudi Arabia.  

Thirdly, manipulate Islamic opinion so that the House of Saud was presented as moderates.  By funding various Islamic institutes, including many that had known links to terror groups, Prince Bakar would be able to influence thousands of young men and women.  It never failed to give him the giggles; thousands of young men thought that ‘Saladin’ embodied the Muslim virtues, when he’d never prayed at all except when it was necessary to convince people that he truly believed.  Like the rest of the House of Saud, it was of no concern to him that Islam would be destroyed by his program; either by an outside force or by self-destruction.

It had seemed, ever since Bush had left the White House, that the plan was working.  Until now.

“Kelly,” he bellowed.  She came into his room, stark naked, carrying a glass of beer.  Most Saudi royals drank wine, but he’d lived in America long enough to develop a taste for beer.  Kelly was American too; a blonde girl he’d picked up in California.  She’d been entranced by the dashing Saudi prince, unaware of the nature of the desert kingdom.  She’d been shocked to discover the reality, until he’d beaten it out of her.  She was alone, thousands of miles from home.

She passed him his beer; her eyes lowered, and let the room.  He watched her go, noting that her drug dependence was doing terrible things to her once-sexy rear.   Sipping his beer, he turned back to the report; a Saudi agent in the Department of Energy.

‘If the present testing reveals no defects in the design,’ it ran, ‘it is very likely that the DOE will endorse the use of Power Cells in the cars, trucks and military vehicles.  While charging stations will take some time to set up, one young wiz has managed to rig up a standardised design that can – according to the Alternate representative – be charged from a standard power socket.  Public interest in this is extremely high.

‘It is therefore certain that the demand for electric cars will increase, despite ongoing programs to dampen enthusiasm by numerous oil companies.  The DOE estimates that America’s dependence on imported oil will fade by 60% by 2015.’

“Those fucking bastards,” Prince Bakar swore out loud.  The Americans – their mysterious Alternates – had managed to wreak the House of Saud.  Once the incoming funds from America dried up, the House of Saud’s lifetime would be measured in months.  If that.

Prince Bakar closed his eyes.  Unlike the Russians, the Americans constantly refused to risk their lives, or even those of enemy nationals.  These Alternatives, he was sure, would be just the same – once threatened, they would shrink from bloodletting.  Quickly, he started to plan a campaign; find an Alternative and kidnap him.

***
Two hours later, ‘Saladin’ was perched in front of a group of Arabs.  They all looked secular, apart from prayer caps perched on their heads; all like Americans.

“This is the base of the infidel Alternative Americans,” Prince Bakar said.  “Your mission is simple; you are to go there and find out their routine.”

“For what purpose?”  Rakim asked.  The light-skinned agent could pass for an American student, despite having killed three democrats in Saudi.  Prince Bakar had informed him that they were American agents.

“We need to know more about them,” Prince Bakar said.  Rakim nodded; ever since meeting ‘Saladin’ he’d heard about the importance of information from him.  “Specifically, what are their plans?  Are they planning to take any trips away from their compound?”

“So we can assassinate a few of them?”  Rakim asked.  He smiled; “killing Americans is a joy.”

He’s a psychopath, but a useful psychopath, Prince Bakar thought coldly.  Such scum were necessary, but how he detested them.  “Not at first,” he said.  “Information first.  I’m trying to send in a full team of invisibles, but you’ll be on your own for a week or so.”

***
They talked on for another hour, pausing only for prayers, and finally Prince Bakar left the safe house.  It had been placed in Mecca for a reason; no renegade American would risk bombing a house in the holy city.  Rakim watched him go; he’d never told Prince Bakar that he knew who ‘Saladin’ was.  It would only have upset him.

Knowledge was power, after all.

Shuttle Hawk
Over North China
10th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The Hammer-class assault shuttle had been designed in a fit of bureaucratic absent-mindedness.  About the same size as a Hercules transport plane, it was capable of delivering a full assault force to any target on Earth’s surface.  Unfortunately, it had been designed after the Wrecker War, when assaults on the surface were very uncommon.  Desperate to save the costs of scrapping the few prototypes, the bureaucrats had convinced the Starship Design Board to include a few modified Hammers on the complement of the Enterprise and her sisters.

“Look,” they said, over a fine dinner, “if they need to land in a hostile environment, they’d need a rugged transport, not some dinky civilian shuttle.”  It was pointed out over the port that there was no such thing as a hostile environment on another world.  “Ah, but they might just have aliens, or terrible weather, or something,” the bureaucrats chorused.

After much arguing and horse-trading, Admiral Rittenhouse agreed and five Hammers were loaded on the Enterprise.  In a display of the USSF’s institutional paranoia, they included arming kits for the shuttles; it had taken Stirling only a day for all of them to be prepared for operations.

Air rushing against the drive field, Commander Taylor took the Hawk though the atmosphere, banking over Taiwan and heading for China.  At a steady mach four, the Hawk would have reached China in minutes, but he was in no hurry.  At his attitude, the Chinese would have nothing that could touch him; he was prepared to let them know he was coming.   

Commander Taylor had insisted on flying the mission personally and Cozort had not objected.  Taylor had had little to do and Cozort knew he needed excitement, so he’d let his first officer fly the mission, although he’d warned him not to kill too many people.  Several miles over China, the battle computer, programmed with every known hostile sensing system, reported that radars were locking on to Hawk.  Taylor smiled and linked his mind to the shuttle’s computers.  This is going to be fun, he thought.

***
The Chinese and Russian militaries had begun a process of close cooperation, hampered by the mutual lack of trust and of different doctrine.  From this, the West had concluded that the two powers would never become as powerful a force as NATO; they might even break up.  However, the Chinese had persisted and convinced the Russians to help create a massive air defence net over Northern China.  Using encrypted radios, the four constantly orbiting AWACS – Russian Beriev A-50 'Mainstay' – controlled the airspace for thousands of kilometres; both Japan and Korea had lodged protests at the United Nations.

General Sung, an experienced officer at controlling an air battle, could not believe his eyes.  Travelling at mach four, performing impossible manoeuvres, an unbelievable plane flew high over his bases.  His first conclusion was that the radar was malfunctioning – he’d never trusted the Russians – but there were too many reports for it to be dismissed as a glitch.  Lifting his telephone, he gave orders for the immediate launch of the best fast-jet fighters in China’s arsenal.

He smiled and lit a Cuban cigar, brought in to China in defiance of the American blockade.  Whatever the American Alternatives thought they were up to, his superb fighters would bring it down and then perhaps China would be able to duplicate the design.

***
“They’re coming up to play,” Taylor reported, as seventeen fighters lifted up from the ground.  The Russian-designed MIG-29s were easy to detect, but they were clearly very manoeuvrable for Native planes, even though Hawk could outmanoeuvre them with ease.  They climbed rapidly, so Taylor took Hawk higher, watching as the Chinese pilots struggled to match him.

“Incoming missiles,” the battle computer announced, informing him that the Chinese pilots had run out of patience.  Nearly thirty missiles lanced away from the defending planes, heading towards Hawk, pulling a respectable speed.

“Now,” Taylor said.  Hawk angled over, hung in the air for a single moment, and plunged towards the ground at mach seven.  The battle computer controlled this part, allowing Taylor the chance to control the Jammers, which were confusing the pilots.  Taylor would never have admitted that heading towards the ground at such a high speed was beyond his skills.  Chosen with malice aforethought, they were plunging straight down towards China’s largest airbase.

***
General Sung felt his cigar drop from his mouth; the American plane was coming down right on top of them!  The radar image had no lateral movement, but a steadily decreasing number beside it showed that it was losing attitude at an awesome rate.  “Did we hit it?”

“I don’t think so,” the radar technician said.  The attitude meter reached five meters and the general cringed, then realised that he was still alive.  The plane must be…

Moving with all his ungainly bulk, the general ran over to the window and pulled back the blind.  To the general consternation of everyone on the base, a massive black aircraft…no, spacecraft…hung only four meters above the ground.  It looked…aggressive, almost as fearsome as the famed American Blackbird; it was clearly a weapon of war.

“Shoot it down,” the general commanded, and several guards tried to hit it with their pistols and rifles.  Sparks glinted on the hull, but there was no other effect.  Before the general could order the ground-to-air missiles trained on the craft, it shimmered and was gone, the general flinched as it passed over his building and gained height rapidly.

“Fire,” the general said, and a hail of missiles rose from the ground.  The general watched as they intersected with the American craft’s course…and exploded harmlessly two meters from the craft.

***
Hawk shuddered as the native missiles burst against her drive field, but there was no further harm.  Not realising that they could not achieve the timing necessary to use high explosive missiles to disrupt the field, they launched another salvo and another, uselessly expanding missiles.

Taylor, however, had another use for those missiles.  Hawk came to a halt two kilometres above the base and waited for the missiles.  The MIG-29s came as well and launched their missiles; adding to the confusion.  Gotcha, Taylor thought.

Precisely one minute to interception, Taylor triggered Hawk’s directed energy weapons.  In a flurry of red-orange bolts from the nose, Hawk blew each and every one of the missiles out of the sky.  Before the fighters could react, Taylor brought Hawk over them at very high speed, and then vanished into the distance.  Buffeted by the drive field, the MIG-29s went into spins, recovering just in time to avoid crashing into the ground.  Smiling, Taylor headed back for orbit, leaving behind him impotent and shocked defenders.

Bethesda Naval Hospital
Maryland, USA
10th April 2009 (Time Line A)

They led Doctor Romeo through the corridors into a small private room, guarded by secret service agents, and pointed her in.  One older woman, grey and maternal, waited for her inside the room; a younger version of the President lay on the bed.

“I’m Doctor Flawse,” the woman said, shaking hands.  “This is Fiona Jackson.”

“How are you today?”  Romeo said, unloading her equipment.  The descriptions of AIDS had matched nothing she’d seen personally, but MEDIC had matched it to odd reports of a retrovirus that had been common in Africa during the genocide.  The South Africans had used it as a cheap method of determining which of them had slept with black women; they’d been uninterested in curing it.

“Weak,” Fiona said.  “Can you help me?”

“I don’t know,” Romeo said.  “However, I’m confident that we can study the disease and defeat it.”

“Are you sure?”  Flawse asked, as Romeo unloaded a medical device and placed it on Fiona’s bedside.  “It is illegal to claim to be able to cure AIDS, cancer and other incurables.”

“Cancer is easy,” Romeo said.  “A limited dose of medical nanites and the affected cells can be killed and then replaced, as the situation dictates.  We boosted resistance to cancer in space workers in 2010, using a mixture of genetic engineering and nanites.”

“People would frown about that,” Fiona said, wryly.  Genetic engineering remained a dangerous subject in 2007.

“People kept expecting the geneticists to produce superhumans,” Romeo agreed.  “It never worked; past a certain point there’s only so many improvements you can make without causing new problems.  Anyone with a boosted immune system, for example, requires far more food when ill than a normal person does at any time.”

“So no attempt to grow better warriors, then,” Flawse said.  She sounded worried; “do you people believe in a god?”

“Many of us do,” Romeo said.  “Not all of us; religious freedom is a constitutional right.  Some of the Black Colonies are based on a particular religion.”

“We were opposed to genetic engineering because it involved unforeseen risks,” Flawse said.  “What if we created a new disease that wiped us out?”

Romeo shrugged.  “Then you place the entire experiment on an asteroid or space habitat,” she said.  “Now, let’s begin.  MEDIC, are you online?”

“Yes, doctor,” the warm voice of MEDIC, the other distributed intelligence, said.  “Full neutrino link with Enterprise established; I am running subroutines though all the medical equipment.”

“Good,” Romeo said.  Aside, to Flawse; “Damned intelligences always feel the need to boast about how smart they are.  Now,” she attached a cable from one of her pieces of equipment to Fiona’s arm, “let’s see what we have here.”

Fiona started.  “It feels cold,” she said.  “What is it?”

“It is currently drawing some of your blood and skin samples and running it through an analysis machine,” Romeo said.  “MEDIC?”

“Patient One is infected with a retrovirus, loosely comparable with the ‘Scourge of God’, first detected by Doctor Piers Botha in South Africa,” MEDIC said.  “It appears to be infecting CD4+ helper T cells, a type of white blood cell, consequently weakening her immune system.  It seems to be actively spreading into other cells and damaging every part of her body.”

“It’s the new strain,” Flawse said, fear in her voice.  “It kills far quicker than the older one.”

“MEDIC, can you program the nanites to tackle the problem?”  Romeo said, studying the display.  “Destroying the virus would prevent further damage, then allowing us to rebuild the damaged sections.”

“Nanites reprogrammed,” MEDIC said.  “Please check tube one.”

Romeo opened one of the other boxes and pulled out an injector gun.  Holding it, she placed a small device between Fiona’s breasts, another behind her head and a third between her legs.  “Lots of nanites,” she said.  “MEDIC, is the scanner working?”

“Yes, doctor,” MEDIC said.  “Please inject her.”

Fiona tensed as Romeo pressed the massive gun-like injector to her arm and pulled the trigger.  There was a long hiss, and then Romeo withdrew the injector.  “Begin process,” she said.

“Progress begun,” MEDIC said.  “Nanites are being directed against the virus.  Recommend a blood-purge afterwards.”

Romeo nodded and pulled out another piece of equipment.  “This device is clamped to your leg,” she said.  “Over a few days, it performs a process of cleaning your blood of the remains of the virus material, once the nanites have neutralised it.”

“Destroying virus particles,” MEDIC reported.  There was a long pause.  “All detected virus particles destroyed; beginning basic repairs.”

Romeo pulled out a second injector.  “This is a basic booster for your immune system,” she explained.  “We’ll have to watch to see how you do, but I think that you should be able to live for the rest of your natural life.”

Fiona stared at her.  “You mean I’m free?”

“Of the virus?  Yes,” Romeo said.  “I advise you to take it easy for a few weeks, while the nanites complete their work, but you should be fine.”

She was unprepared for the violent hug that Fiona gave her.  “You’re a miracle worker,” she said in total delight.  “I can go out again, do things again!”

“If you don’t take care of yourself,” Romeo said sternly, “you might become infected again through sexual activity.”

“I’ll take care,” Fiona promised.

“And we have to perform a medical test before discharging her,” Flawse said firmly.  “Something we could not see could hardly have completed the task of destroying the virus.”

“The virus is indeed destroyed,” MEDIC injected firmly.  “The process of repairing the damage caused by the virus is well advanced.”

Flawse fainted and had to be revived by Romeo.

The White House
Washington DC, USA
10th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“So there has been no diplomatic communication from the Chinese,” Jackson said to Campbell.  “However, they’re withdrawing?”

“Well, not exactly withdrawing from anywhere,” Campbell said.  “However, they have stepped down their air defence network, reduced their naval patrols and have become suddenly quiet over the subject of Taiwan’s independence.”

“Will miracles ever happen,” Jackson said rhetorically.  “As long as the Taiwanese don’t rush for their independence, we might just have escaped another crisis.”

“Thank God,” Campbell said.  “We have enough problems with these Alternatives; we don’t need a war with China as well.”

“I know,” Jackson said…

“Madam President,” Marlene said, “I have your daughter on line two.”

“Thank you,” Jackson said, feeling a spurt of hope and fear.  Fiona had been secluded to see the Alternative doctor today.  She picked up the phone.  “Fiona?”

“Mon, I’m cured!”  Fiona said aloud.  “She did it!”  Quickly, Fiona ran through the procedure, and then announced that the doctors at Bethesda Naval Hospital had pronounced her cured.

“Thank god,” Jackson said.  “You’ll be coming here so that we can celebrate?”

“Yes, mom,” Fiona said.  “I’ll be there soon.”

Jackson put down the phone and turned to Campbell, tears shinning in her eyes.  “They cured her,” she said softly.

“That’s good,” Campbell said slowly.  “But how many others are going to want the same treatment?”

Chapter Fifteen: Culture Shock

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
11th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The small briefing room contained only four people; Ensign Miguel Dominga Sanchez, Flight Sergeant Mike Revel, Lieutenant Theresa Wiggins and Wayne Stuart.  Stuart handled the briefing in a clipped manner, watching the other three carefully as he spoke.  No Native personnel were present.

“As you may recall, you three put your names into a raffle for the first shore leave positions,” Stuart said.  “It so happens that I need to go to New York – not our New York, alas – and Captain Cozort has given permission for three people to be selected from the raffle.  You three are the lucky ones.”

He watched their expressions change.  “This is very much an alien world,” he said, “and it’s deceptively familiar.  If any of you don’t want to go exploring, now is the time to say so.”

Sanchez looked at the others, and then spoke.  “I think I’d like to see what New York was like,” he said.

“I know,” Revel said.  “I used to have relatives who lived there before the Hot War.”

“I’d like to come,” Wiggins said shyly.  Her recent suicide attempt had dulled her personality still further – Romeo had convinced Taylor to rig the raffle in her favour.  “If it lives up to its reputation, then it should be fun.”

“Good,” Stuart said.  “We’re taking a private plane, one belonging to Brennen’s company, so we depart in one hour.  Before then, make sure that your wristcoms are linked into the Native mobile telephone system, that you have a supply of native clothes, and that you have a personal locator beacon.”

“You don’t think that anything will happen, do you?”  Wiggins asked nervously.

“These huge cities are easy to get lost in,” Stuart said.  “I’m quite looking forward to it myself.”

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
12th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“It has been confirmed by doctors from the Centre for Disease Control, and the World Health Organisation, that a successful cure of the new and deadly strain of AIDS was carried out,” Langdon said.  A photo of Fiona Jackson appeared on the screen.  “Fiona Jackson, daughter of President Jackson, was cured of AIDS by an advanced medical technique at Bethesda Naval Hospital, Maryland.

“According to the CDC, the cure was complete and total, although the Alternative doctor recommended bed rest while the medical nanites completed repairing the damaged tissue,” Langdon said.  The image adjusted to show a scowling black woman.  “Mrs Roos of the Campaign for AIDS tolerance had this to say.”

“We’re very excited to hear that a cure is possible,” Roos said.  Her voice was pure Brooklyn.  “However, we demand a immediate enquiry as to why the President’s daughter, even if she is the most famous AIDS victim, was the first to receive the treatment.  There are many who need it and cannot pay the cost demanded.  They must be planning to charge for it, even if nothing has been said publicly.”

“Mrs Roos’ opinion is shared by AIDS victims across the globe,” Langdon said.  “In Maryland, a crowd of AIDS victims and their families gathered in front of the hospital, despite official denials by the hospital that they possess more of the medical nanites used to cure the First Daughter.  In New York, a riot near the United Nations Building caused seven hundred thousand dollars worth of damage, as AIDS-infected people clashed with police following a protest march.”

She cleared her throat.  “In international news, the leader of the Taiwanese Independence Party today announced that he would be pressing the issue of Taiwanese independence at the United Nations.  China has termed the matter a distraction from the far more important matter of the Alternatives, which will be debated next week at the UN…”

United Nations Building
New York
12th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“All this for medical nanites?”  Revel asked, as the fire crews cleared up the wreckage.  “It looks like a Wrecker attack, or even an accident with a Power Cell.”

“It looks that way,” Stuart said coldly.  “Remember, this AIDS disease is incurable for them, because they have no way of manipulating matter safely at the microscopic level.  AIDS attacked their immune systems directly; nanites wiped out the virus, but they can’t build nanites because you need a zero-gee environment to produce the first batch of any set.  It’s a natural outgrowth of space travel, which they don’t have either.”

“They’re blaming us?”  Wiggins asked nervously.

“Not as much as they will be,” Stuart said cheerfully.  “I’ve got to meet people in the UN; if they don’t listen to my recommendations their global economy is going to crash badly.”  He sighed.  “Stupid irresponsible system,” he said.  “Which idiot came up with the idea that interlinking a global system without a global government and police force was somehow a good idea?”

“I’ve no idea,” Sanchez said.  “All I did was politics.”  He stared at the UN building.  “As far as I can tell, no one thinks that that building is worth a mass.  Why did they want you there?”

“Worth a mass?”  Stuart asked.  He shrugged.  “It’s a way of showing that they’re in charge,” he explained.  “They think that if they get to choose the location of the talks, they’ll have more control and the advantage of home ground.  If I’d been permitted to, I’d have held the meeting on Enterprise, but Captain Cozort refused.

“And not all of them are Americans and some of them might face criminal charges if they were on what is regarded as neutral ground,” Stuart continued.  “So I have to come here to meet them.”  He smiled.  “We – the Enterprise – could have guaranteed their safety, but they choose to trust it to convention instead.”

“So we get to explore while you’re bored out of your mind,” Revel said.  “I think I like that, don’t you?”

“Bastard,” Stuart said.  “I’ll have time to explore later.”

“Coming, Theresa?”  Revel asked.  He exchanged a long look with Sanchez, who took the hint and headed off on his own.  “Let’s go visit New York.”

***
The meeting room was anonymous, with no decorations beyond a small water cooler.  Stuart was, he supposed, meant to be feeling out of place, but in truth the room reassembled a basic room in an asteroid habitat.  He nodded to the seven men in the room, five Americans and two Arabs.  There were no women present.

“Good morning, Mr Racanelli,” he said formally.  A seat waited on one side of the table; the others sitting around him in a loose semicircle.  I’m to be interrogated, or judged, he thought.  These men are nothing compared to those from Black Colonies.

“Good morning,” Racanelli said.  “This is the governing council of what the media calls the oil cartel,” he said, indicating the six other men.  “Between them, these men control most of the oil industry.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Stuart lied.  Unlike Cozort, he’d been unconcerned about the irresponsibility of the system, but devising an inherently unfair system was just plain stupid.  “I hope that we can work out a mutually beneficent solution.”

There was a long pause as the men considered the statement and tried to see if it added up to a threat.  “I hope so too,” Racanelli said finally.  “We understand that your technology will change our field completely.”

“It will wipe you out of business,” Stuart said bluntly.

They stared at him.  Finally, one of the Arabs spoke.  “We are vital to the world economy,” he said.  “We can’t be displaced.”

“You are vital to the global system as it stands now,” Stuart corrected him.  “I assume that you already know about the power cells?  Those and fusion reactors will reduce the demand for oil considerably – terminating any need for sources from the Middle East.”  He smiled.  “Incidentally, in my universe, the Middle East is building a reasonably civilised civilisation without any oil money.”

“We can prevent them from ever being deployed,” Racanelli said coldly.  He smiled; “the EPA has already proven very useful in delaying fuel-saving technology, why should yours be any different?”

And they say that the Unity Party is fascistic, Stuart thought.  He’d never been a member himself, but like many Americans, he’d respected the Party.  “You must have heard the reports from China; the Hawk could walk through the Middle East defences and systematically destroy the oil wells.  Then what?”

“I thought you were Americans,” Racanelli snapped.

“What sort of Americans let a bunch of uncivilised barbarians dictate terms to the greatest democracy on Earth?”  Stuart said sharply.  “Let’s not even talk about pollution and the damage you do to people’s lungs, or shall we?  How many deaths are on your consciences?”

Racanelli glared at him.  “If you ruin us, you’ll put thousands of people out of work,” he said softly.  The others nodded.

“Ah, but not you, right?”  Stuart said coldly.  He stared at him.  “Your version of America has none of the laws that make irresponsible business activities so dangerous, eh?  You won’t starve, but perhaps you’ll be torn apart by crowds of your ex-employees.  You like that idea?”

“What do you want?”  Racanelli asked; ignoring the shocked gasps from the others.  The Arabs looked particularly worried, for they understood how important oil was to the Middle East.

“I wish to make a deal with you,” Stuart said simply.  “It is hardly in our interests to wreak the economy, is it?  You see, the power companies won’t be so affected – certainly not as much as you would be – so we’d like to sell you the technology to produce power cells for yourselves.”

“You’ll keep us going?”  Racanelli asked, in shock.

“Certainly,” Stuart said.  “Unfortunately, you’ll have to buy one of the orbital manufactories from us, but we’ll sell the first one for ten billion dollars.”  Which is pretty much pocket change for these guys, he thought.  I wonder if they’ll notice the little trick?

“Why can’t they be built on Earth?”  One of the Arabs demanded.

“Most of them can be,” Stuart said.  “The problem is that some of the components need to be manufactured in zero-gee, in orbit.  Seeing that you’ve discouraged space exploitation…”

“But if we got into space,” Racanelli said, “we’d be in position to expand into other fields in space.”

“Quite right,” Stuart said.  “The choice is yours; the future or disappearance.”

“Do you have any conditions on how we use them?”  Racanelli said, thoughtfully.

“First in America, built in America,” Stuart said.  “After that, nothing.  It’s up to you.”

“We need to think about it,” Racanelli said.  “Can you leave us alone for a while?”

“I always wanted to visit the big apple,” Stuart said cheerfully.  He knew he’d won.  “It was destroyed in my time, you see.”

***
Sanchez wandered about New York for nearly an hour, checking how closely the real city matched with the map he’d downloaded into his implant, and then started to hunt for an Internet café.  He found one very quickly and managed to get access to a computer after only ten minutes wait.  He spent most of that time answering questions about the Enterprise – despite his native clothing his accent was recognised by some of the patrons.  He found it sad that none of the Hispanics in the café sounded like him; the Americans had done a very good job of destroying Mexican culture.

As soon as he had access to a private terminal, he sent an email to the Russian consulate in New York, using one of the Russians most advanced ciphers.  He’d only asked for a meeting in twenty minutes, but he knew that using their code would make the Russians very interested in meeting him, if only to ask about how he’d cracked their code.

Leaving the café, and his new friends, he wandered down towards Central Park, watching for possible pursuit by the people who’d recognised him.  There was no sign, so he stepped into an alley and pulled out a small scanner, scanning his entire body.  There was no signal from his implant that might have been a carrier wave for a surveillance system; he would not have put it past Taylor to have ordered them activated for this ‘shore leave’. 

Sighing in relief, he headed towards the Park and slipped in, looking for his contact.  He’d downloaded pictures of the consulate staff and, looking around, he saw Vladimir Antvov, military attaché.

“Vladimir Antvov?”  He asked, as he sat down next to him.  A small device from the Enterprise scanned Antvov for bugs and reported him clean.  A second device created a disruption field, making eavesdropping difficult.

“Yes,” Antvov said.  “Who are you?”

“My name is none of your concern,” Sanchez said, grimly aware that if Wachter was ever given a description of him, it would take him seconds to place him.  Whatever Wachter’s other faults, he was not stupid; certainly not stupid enough to fail to recognise the only Hispanic onboard Enterprise.  “I have information concerning the starship.”

One thing that was not that different about this world was that ‘starship’ had only one possible meaning.  “The American Alternatives?”  Antvov asked.  “What do you know about them?”

“A great deal,” Sanchez said.  “For a start, I can tell you that they plan to make America the dominant power, now and forever.”

Antvov muttered some unpleasant-sounding words in Russian.  “We have millions of people who claim to know things about them,” he said.  “Why should we believe you?”

Sanchez smiled.  “Apart from the code I used to attract your attention?”

“Apart from that,” Antvov said firmly.  “You could be a CIA plant.”

“Suspicious, aren’t you?”  Sanchez smiled.  “Not that I blame you with the Americans around, even though yours seem to be less cunning than ours,” he said.  And less ruthless too, he thought.  He pulled a small box out of his bag.  “This is a portable computer,” he said, opening the box.

“It looks like one of those computers for children,” Antvov said.  “You know: teach your kids to type, that sort of thing.”

“I don’t know,” Sanchez said.  “This is a molecularly-built computer, constructed using nanites and in solid state – don’t try to open it or you’ll break it.  It’s designed for a hostile environment, on an alien planet; it’s extremely tough and won’t need repairs.”

“None at all?”  Antvov enquired in disbelief.  Russia’s own computers still broke down under pressure; the Americans were far ahead, even if some of their companies were opening up factories in Russia.

“None,” Sanchez confirmed.  “The small nanites in the system perform repairs constantly, should they be needed.  The operating system is basic; its very hard to mess up” – he smiled – “although its been known to happen.  The background infosystem architecture is very stable and can be rebooted if necessary.”

He pulled out a few objects that reminded Antvov of French fries.  “These are what we call datachips,” he said.  “Each of them carries two hundred gigabytes of information that the USSF – bless its black little heart – thought would be important for a new colony world.”

“What sort of information?”  Antvov asked, examining the datachips.  They were unmarked.

“Basic technology and, more importantly, a development chart,” Sanchez said.  “You won’t be able to build another Enterprise, but with some effort you should be able to match most of what us Alternatives are going to introduce into America.”

“Us Alternatives?”  Antvov said.  “It sounds like you disagree with them.”

Sanchez frowned.  “In my universe, America has a hegemony over the entire solar system,” he explained.  “Despite an elitist government, American living standards are very good, the American dream, you might say.  For everyone else, it’s a nightmare; a world where the Americans dictate to us whenever we have something they want, and leave us scrabbling in the dirt.

“In Africa, the entire continent is dominated by a whites-only regime,” he continued.  “In Europe, the remains of the French struggle to survive, while the Germans flee to Africa.  The entire USSR is a radioactive wasteland, while China is split between the Red Chinese and a Japanese-run Manchuria.  Do you want that to happen here?”

Antvov stared at him.  “You’re offering to help us?  Why don’t we find you a backpack nuke and you take it back to the starship with you?”

“Because nukes can be detected when the shuttle gets scanned,” Sanchez said.  “If the nukes goes off outside the defence field, the Enterprise would be undamaged.”

“I see,” Antvov said.

“Now, take that computer and go,” Sanchez said.  “On that are instructions for contacting me, should it be necessary.”

“Thank you,” Antvov said.  “I think.”

“Thank you too,” Sanchez said.  “Don’t lose the computer; it was hard enough stealing it.”

***
Quicksilver – baptised Robert Powell by a doting mother who’d had hopes that her son would become more than a simple gang member – had never seen a more obvious pair of tourists.  The tall handsome man and the smaller woman, wandering through New York gawping at the skyscrapers.  He smiled; the man was clearly interested in the woman and not paying so much attention to the surroundings.  They clearly didn’t know it, but the market they were wandering through was Dogs territory.

He glanced around until he located Fox – Jack Piper – and nodded in their direction.  While he shadowed them through the market, Fox rounded up the rest of the gang; seven hyped teens with no job, education or prospects.  Dressed to scare, it was a tactic they’d practiced many times; snatch a bag and run, while any victim who protested found themselves surrounded by six teens, eager to hurt them.

They clearly weren’t paying attention to Quicksilver as they came to the end of the market.  The man had his arm draped over the woman’s shoulders, comforting her.  Quicksilver wondered why; were they cheating on a husband?  He made a mental note to check her purse to see who she was; the gang leader might want to blackmail her.  Quicksilver checked to see that the others were in position, and then he bumped into the woman, cut her handbag straps with a single practiced knife slice, and ran carrying it away.

“My handbag,” he heard behind him, in a shrill voice.  Nothing like his mother’s, which instantly transmuted him back to a seven-year-old, but like a beaten whore’s.  He glanced behind him to leer and saw, to his horror, that the man was in pursuit.  Grinning, Quicksilver steered towards where the gang was waiting and ran though them as they stepped out to block the man’s path.  Holding their knives, they looked like a New Yorker’s worst nightmare, and he heard the man come to a stop.  

Smiling, he turned round to see the coming beating and gaped.  The man was facing six thugs, but there was something odd about him.  It took Quicksilver a few seconds to realise what it was.  The man simply did not look scared. Not at all.

***
This is supposed to intimidate me, Flight Sergeant Mike Revel thought coldly.  He snickered inside, and stared at the gangbangers.  They looked just plain silly to him; Wrecker defenders had looked far more dangerous.  They tried to hold his gaze, but only one of them could.

“Give us back that handbag,” Revel said coldly, “and none of you little boys will get hurt.”

The gangbangers burst out laughing.  “Go back home, white boy,” one of them said.

“Last warning,” Revel said, keeping his voice steady.  The government lets these people waste their lives like this?  

“You can’t stop all of us, little man,” the leader said.  He was a massive hunk of muscle, but to Revel’s eyes he was slow and uncoordinated, too dependent on his strength to win fights.  He danced forward, trying to look like he knew what he was doing, with his knife.  “I’m gonna scar your pretty face.”

He slashed at Revel, who ducked and caught the knife-arm.  With a twitch of his enhanced strength, he casually broke the arm; the gangbanger howled in pain.  Before he could do anything, Revel slammed a punch directly into his stomach; he kneeled over and fell to the ground.

“You bastard,” one of the other gangbangers said.  He lunged forward and Revel smashed a fist into his jaw, shattering it.  Blood and gore flew everywhere.  A third moved behind him while he broke a fourth’s leg, stabbing him in the back with his knife.

“What the hell are you?”  The fourth said, as the knife refused to penetrate past a centimetre.

“Molecular armour,” Revel said, tugging the knife out.  Pain flashed though his body, dampened by the battle drugs his enhancements released into his body.  Combat nanites started to repair the damage; he grabbed the shocked gangbanger and rammed a punch through his throat.  The other two gangbangers fled and Revel let them go; there was one other person left.  

***
Quicksilver watched in horror as the man – the superman – tore through his gang of thugs.  One by one, they fell, without even harming their foe.  Even a knife in the back failed to kill him.  Sirens went off in the distance, but Quicksilver knew that there was no way that they could get to him in time.

Suddenly, he remembered the gun in his pocket and reached for it.  Before he could pull it up to point at his pursuer, steel-like fingers clamped around his hand and crushed it, along with the gun.  He stared at the bloody remains of his hand and screamed from the pain.  “Please,” he started to say.

“Please what, thief?”  The man said.  He picked up the handbag.  “Where I come from, there are no thieves like you,” he said.

“Do you cut off their hands?”  Quicksilver said; he’d heard that some countries did that.

“A splendid idea,” the man said.  He grabbed Quicksilver’s other hand, held it in front of his face, and crushed it like a bug.  As he snapped one of his legs, Quicksilver fainted from the pain.

***
Lieutenant Larry Porteno liked to consider himself a hardened police officer.  He’d been first on the scene when the NYPD had received the tip-off that had led them to the Brooklyn sniper and when they’d discovered the lair of the Central Park murderer.  Both times had shocked and disgusted him, but this was something new.  Summoned by a mobile call by a pedestrian, his squad arrived – brushing past a girl who was staring into the ally – to see…

A man standing in the middle of a scene out of Sarajevo or post-rebellion Tehran.  The corpses of five gangbangers lay scattered around him, while the man was trying to clean his clothes.  He was dressed simply, in jeans and blue shirt, and the blood was soaking in everywhere.  Porteno heard one of his squad being sick behind him.

Instinct took over.  When you’re a cop, you know that there are some situations that need to be stopped as quickly as humanly possible.  He lifted his pistol, wishing he’d brought something heavier along, like a bazooka, and aimed it at the figure.  “Hands up,” he snapped.

The man stared at him and Porteno knew with a sick certainty that he was considering how easy it would be to take the gun off him, or worse.  “Hands up, your bastard,” he said again, cocking the weapon.

The man raised his hands slowly.  “I am Flight Sergeant Mike Revel, of the USS Enterprise,” he said calmly.  His accent was strange; American and somehow not American.

“This isn’t an aircraft carrier,” Porteno snapped.  “You bastard; why did you slaughter ten people.”

“Five thieves and thugs,” Revel said calmly.  His odd accent suddenly made sense to Porteno.  

“You’re from the starship,” he said in horror.  “One of the Alternatives.”

“Yes,” Revel said.  “This thief stole my companion’s handbag and I gave chase.”  He sounded completely unconcerned about having killed five people.

“I must ask you to come with me,” Porteno said carefully.  No one in the NYPD had been warned that this might happen; what about the gangs?  How might they react to having five of their members torn apart?

“May I notify my commanding officer first?”  Revel asked.  Behind Porteno, Wiggins started to talk into her wristcom.

“No, come with me,” Porteno snapped.  Revel shrugged and allowed himself to be led away.  One officer made to remove his wristcom.

“I’d be careful with that, if I were you,” Revel said.  “It’s designed to react badly with anyone using it without permission.”  Reluctantly, the officers left it on his arm.

***
The discussion had been acrimonious, but eventually Racanelli convinced the others that joining Stuart’s plan was the only way to survive in some form.  Once he was sure of the consensus, he called Stuart back into the room.

“We agree to your terms,” he said.  “We will buy one of your orbital stations.”

“I’m glad that you have chosen the sensible course,” Stuart said.  His wristcom chimed.  “Excuse me.”  He lifted the wristcom to his mouth.  “Stuart here.”

“Mr Stuart, it’s Lieutenant Wiggins,” the voice said.  “We have, err, something of a situation here.”

“A situation?”  He asked, wondering what the hell had gone wrong.  Wiggins told him.  “I see,” he said.  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.  Have you informed the captain?  No?  Then do so,” he ordered.  “We’ll see if we can sort this out quickly.”

Chapter Sixteen: Repercussions

The White House
Washington DC, USA
12th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The American Medical Association was whining about the possible dangers from nanological disease treatment, the Taiwanese were considering an attempt at independence and the French were up to something in the UN.  All in all, President Jackson was not having a good day.  Unfortunately for her, it was about to get worse.

“Madam President?”  Marlene said.  “I have Mayor Richardson on line two.”

Mayor Richardson of New York?  “Put him through?”

“Good afternoon, Jerry,” she said, as she picked up the phone.

“It’s not a good afternoon,” Richardson snapped.  “We have something of a situation here.  One of your damned Alternatives was attacked by a group of street-thugs.”

Jackson drew in her breath sharply.  “How badly was he hurt?”

“He was not,” Richardson said grimly.  “He killed five of them; the NYPD arrested him.”

Jackson swore.  “Where is he now?”

“In one of the police stations in upside New York,” Richardson said.  “The gangs are stunned, for the moment, but some police officers have been worried about them trying to take him from his cell.  And…”

“And?”  Jackson snapped.

“There is some question as to if he’s human,” Richardson said.  “We ran a routine x-ray of his body and there are a number of anomalies.  I’m emailing you the doctor’s report.”

“I’ll have to inform his commander,” Jackson said.  “Keep him buried until then.”

“Yes, Madam President,” Richardson said.  “I’m going to have to say something though; the press has already caught on that something happened.”

Jackson considered it for a long moment.  “If they ask, inform them that some thugs attacked one of the Alternates and we’re currently investigating.”

“What about the dead boys’ families?”  Richardson said.  “You know how they respond to claims of police brutality; with all the liberal crowd round here.”

“You mean the ones who don’t have to live on the streets,” Jackson said.  “Tell them the same, but remind them that it was their children who were the aggressors.  You never know; we might get some sense out of them.”

***
It took ten minutes to forge a link to the Enterprise, by linking through the new transmitter at Armstrong Field, and three more to wake Cozort.  He’d been trying to catch up on his sleep.

“Madam President,” Cozort said.  “What can I do for you?”

“There’s been an incident involving one of your people,” Jackson said.  Swiftly, she ran through the details.  “What should we do about it?”

Cozort hesitated.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I’m just trying to find the message from Stuart.  According to Stuart’s report, Revel chased a thief who stole one of my people’s bags, was attacked by six others and defeated them, right?”

“You mean beat them senseless?”  Jackson said.

“I mean thieves,” Cozort said.  “Is that a problem here?”

Jackson smiled despite herself.  “Every time someone gets a bloody nose here, they sue; if a cop did it, they can stand to win millions of dollars.”

“These are people who choose to break the law,” Cozort snapped.  “My person might have been a little old lady; if they chose to steal, they chose to run the risks of picking on someone who could fight back.  They deserved it.”

“Five boys are dead,” Jackson said.

“Five thieves are dead,” Cozort corrected her.  “Why do you let that happen; why not expand your economy and create more jobs for the boys?”

Jackson fought down a grin.  Cozort’s people seemed to have lost the concept of the glass ceiling entirely; she admired that about them.  “It’s not that easy,” she said.

“Of course it is,” Cozort said.  “All you have to do is find something that needs done and put them to work.  Tell me; if your police had caught them, what would have happened?”

Jackson hesitated.  “They might have been given a restraining order,” she said.  “The prisons are overcrowded anyway.”

“Then build more,” Cozort said.  “A unenforceable restraining order?  We’d have given them a year’s hard labour.  And picking on an ex-marine?  Stupid enough to deserve a second year, assuming that they survived the experience.”

Jackson sighed.  “The question is; what do we do about your ex-marine?”

“He’s done nothing wrong, not by our standards,” Cozort said simply.  “Let him go.”

“The victims families will want justice,” Jackson said tiredly.

“Their own fault for rising thieves,” Cozort said.  “Send him back to Armstrong, so he’ll be away from the press.”

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
12th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Langdon stared at the report, then looked up at Zapata.  “Is this for real?”

“Yes,” Zapata said.  “We got confirmation from the NYPD and some of our friends in the New York administration.  Some of the liberal crowd are already making speeches about it, so we need to move on before we get beaten by our rivals.”

“I know,” Langdon said.  “At this rate, the Bloggers will have it by now, with lots of right-wing comments.”

Ten minutes later, she interrupted a scheduled program for her announcement.  “This just in,” she said.  “An attempt by street youths in New York to rob one of the Alternatives ended badly – for them.  The Alternative brutally beat five of them to death; punishing them for the attempted attack on his person.  We now take you live to Councillor Regina Askins, of the New York legislate.”

Regina Askins, a middle-aged lady, spoke in an accent that was pure upper class.  “I protest most strongly about the brutality used by the Alternative,” she snapped.  Her voice was high and shrill.  “Those poor boys were only reduced to stealing by their desperate social conditions, caused by the lack of money used to fund welfare programs.

“The right-thinking people will know that this is true,” she continued, her voice getting shriller, “and they will protest against this disgusting treatment.  These victims of the big right-wing conspiracy will be avenged; these disgusting technocrats will not pollute New York any further!”

“When pressed, Councillor Askins declared that she felt that Alternatives, who are ‘clearly unused to living in a progressive society’, should be forbidden from entering New York without escort,” Langdon said.  “When asked if the liberals would assist with a private prosecution of the Alternative in question, Askins refused to comment.

“Mayor Richardson announced later that he would be conducting a full investigation, and appealed for calm from the population,” Langdon continued.  “However, an anonymous source from the NYPD has suggested that there has been a slight decline in street crime since the incident, although there are rumours that the gangs are planning something big.  A number of people have fled the grimmer areas of New York.

“The White House had no comment when asked,” Langdon concluded.  “However, Councillor Brian Childress made a short statement in which he condemned the growth of street crime in New York and the other cities.  Childress, the founder of New Yorkers Against Street Crime, stated that he would oppose a private action against the Alternative, and indeed gave his actions his full blessing.  Now, back to the regular program…”

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
12th April 2009 (Time Line A)

A glimmering silver speck in the sky fell towards the field, sliding into a cone falling from orbit.  Taylor watched as the John Glenn returned to Earth; it’s newly modified aerospike not failing at all.  He held up a pair of ommibinoculars and was pleased to see that there were no flecks of material falling into the rocket plume.

“It looks good,” Stuart said cheerfully.  Beside him, Rollins nodded, before the roar of the engines rose to a crescendo.  Under four plumes of exhaust, John Glenn landed neatly on the ground.

“Come on,” Rollins said, leading the way back into the building.  The inclusion of a small fusion reactor permitted them to run air-conditioning, power and lighting at the same time, without any dependence on outside power sources.  Once they were back in Rollins’ office, they took seats.  “Report, please, Mr Stuart,” Rollins said.

“I concluded the deal with the oil leaders as planned,” Stuart said.  “They’ve promised to purchase the next available orbital construction unit, so we’ll hand it over to them in two weeks.   In the meantime, we’ll start supplying them with power cells and some of the spare fusion reactors, so they can begin the conversion process.

“In the meantime, we’ve begun plans to start lunar mining, including construction of a base on the Moon,” he continued.  “A few of the orbital modules can start producing the components and numerous science institutes on Earth have expressed an interest in sending scientists along with us.  They’ve promised some extra funding.”

“Thank you,” Rollins said.  “Now, have you heard about the incident in New York?”

“Yes,” Taylor said coldly.  “I can’t believe that they allow thieves to prey on innocent travellers, or that they don’t punish them enough to deter them.  What was wrong with sending the Ku Klux Klan to labour camps or punishment battalions?”

“Nothing,” Rollins said.  “These people are too soft, too infected with soft feelings and some of their politicians are trying to divide the pie into many smaller parts instead of making it bigger.  They still have racial problems, for God’s sake!  Many of the street thugs are black.”

“And some of them are talking about bringing charges against Revel,” Rollins said.  “That cannot be allowed; it sets a bad precedent.”

“If we were at home, we’d give him a medal,” Taylor agreed.

“At home, we kept the economy expanding far longer than these people ever did,” Stuart said.  “However, we’re not home now.”

“We have to build – rebuild, I should say – the Unity Party here,” Rollins said.  “It’s the only way forward; have you seen the state of their schools?”

“No,” Taylor said.  “I take your point, however; these people just seem to be allowing their society to decay.”

“So,” Rollins said.  “We need to get far more funding than we already have.  Fortunately, there are plenty of ways to do that.”

***
Brennen ran his hand along the cooling side of John Glenn.  Stirling, the pilot of the SSTO, stood next to him.  “She’s a remarkable machine,” she said.  “Very different from ours, of course.”

“How did you get into space?”  Brennen asked; the metal felt odd to his touch.

“We used Big Dumb Boosters for a lot longer than you, relatively speaking,” Stirling said.  “Before we designed a working spaceplane, we’d lifted the main components for a space station into space by main force; designing the boosters to remain in orbit for a long time after launch.  Soon, we were harvesting the metals from the boosters to build bigger things in space, and then we were mining the moon.

“It was when we developed the Orbital Manoeuvring Vehicle that things really took off,” she continued.  “Soon, we had managed to put together the basic parts for a lunar base and sent it towards the Moon, placing it in orbit.  Once we had everything ready, we landed on the Moon and set up a base.  The Moon’s materials helped us to capture our first asteroid and things just went on from there.”

Brennen sighed.  “I wish it had been like that here,” he said.

“It still could be,” Stirling said.  She pulled a small datachip out of her overalls.  “This is the formula for making that metal; the one you were fondling.  Once you start making SSTOs out of it, there’s no limit to where you can go.”

“People keep expecting you to hand over your drive field technology,” Brennen said.

“Not at once,” Stirling said.  “We do remember our friends, you know.  We might be able to loan you a shuttle, but until then…”

Brennen took the datachip and stared at it.  “Can this stuff be made on Earth?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind some slight imperfections,” Stirling said cheerfully.  “Keep an eye on the process and all should be fine.”

“You know, I think I could kiss you,” Brennen said.

Stirling grinned at him.  “Then why don’t you,” she said.

American Medical Association
Washington DC, USA
12th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Doctor Elspeth Romeo had been chosen, not because she’d embarrassed someone important, as cruel wags had suggested, but because she was one of the most experienced physicians in the solar system.  Her understanding of medical science was second to none, while her work with nanological treatment had expanded the technology’s capabilities remarkably.  It had been Romero who’d pioneered the technique of constant regrowth that had defeated many viruses – the USSF had been delighted to have her for Enterprise.

What she was not was a medical teacher.  Facing nearly a hundred of what were supposed to be the best physicians in the native America, she felt her temper start to fray.

“No, Doctor Parkins,” she snapped.  “There was no danger that the nanites would escape Ms Jackson’s body and contaminate the hospital.  In order to work, nanites need a power source, in this case the generator that was producing a power field.  Had some of them somehow left the body, they would have become inert as soon as they fell outside the power field.

“Now, if I may continue,” she glared around the auditorium, “we started to experiment with genetic engineering in 1990, when it became clear that Mars would have to be terraformed and the only way to do that quickly was to introduce bacteria and later plants that would grow in the odd atmosphere and produce more oxygen.  Due to obvious safety reasons the production station was placed on a former industrial habitat and towed to a free orbit.  Later, the station was moved to an isolated asteroid habitat.

“As experimenting continued, people started to wonder what genetic engineering could do for humans,” she continued.  “The results were somewhat disappointing; while people could be given improved immune systems and generally improved health, expanding intelligence proved to be impossible.”  She shrugged.  “At least, so far.

“Genetic engineering could solve many of your health problems,” she concluded.  “Your vaccines do not withstand all diseases, but we can show you how to boost a person’s immune system to fight off the diseases that you have been – so far – unable to cure.  Cancer, for example, can be defeated by the introduction of cancer-resistant cells.  Any questions?”

A rather agitated older man in the front row stood up.  “Are you suggesting that we change a person’s genes?”

“Of course,” Romero said.  “How else would you boost an immune system?”

“It’s playing God,” the man said.  There was a rustle of agreement.  “Why should we risk people’s lives on an untried technique?”

“It is hardly untried,” Romeo sighed.  “It has been practiced for the past seventy years in my timeline.”

“Anyhow, what about the nanites?”  Another man asked.  “Can’t they repair cancer damage?”

“When nanites were first conceived,” Romeo said, “it was hoped that they would be able to cure want permanently.  Unfortunately, it proved to be a false hope; nanites are basically dumb.”  There were a few chuckles.  “The first problem was that nanites attacked anything new entering the body, which reduced the effectiveness of some drugs, although it became possible to instruct the nanites to ignore certain drugs.  The second problem was that self-powering nanites are impossible; a nanite needs a power field to function.  So finding a way to make the changes permanent was vital.”

“How disease-free are people with nanites?”  The man asked.

“Perfectly,” Romeo said.  “I’m a very bored doctor, most of the time.”  That was a lie; her work kept her busy until they’d wound up in this universe.  “As the nanites filter out alcohol and other recreational drugs, the worst problem is the idiots who use electrical simulation of their pleasure centres.  It should be banned.”

“Why isn’t it, then?”  Someone asked.

“Most of the victimless crimes were removed from the list of crimes that people could be punished for,” Romeo explained.  “It was too undemocratic, or so the explanation went.”

***
Answering more of what she considered to be stupid questions, mainly about the morality of the nanite technology, took another hour, but finally the AMA governing council had come to a decision.  It had been a hard decision; the assembled doctors were very senior indeed and many of them feared that they could not be retrained to use the new cures.

“Doctor Romeo,” the director - Mike Edward – said.  “Before we inform you of our decision, we’d like to know the answer to two questions.  First; are you aware of the demonstrations demanding immediate access to the AIDS cure?”

“Yes,” Romeo said.  “I understand what they want.”

“It is not our practice to simply hand out cures,” Edward said.  “Would you agree with that?”

“No,” Romeo said.  “The doctor’s oath is simple; the cure is all.  I have an obligation to aid those I can; regardless of such concerns.”

“Still, why should we simply hand out the AIDS cure?”  One of the organisers said.  “We have enough trouble funding health care with the liberals pushing us to treat everyone.  Why should we make the AIDS cure freely available?”

Romeo stared at him.  “If you care nothing for the lives of your patients, consider the urgent need to wipe out AIDS; something that can only be done by reducing the number of carriers.”

“We have decided to distribute the cure,” Edward said, changing the subject sharply.  “I assume that you will be teaching people to use it at Armstrong?”

“Or on your ship itself?”  One of the younger doctors said, unable to disguise his eagerness.  

“At Armstrong, I think,” Romeo said.  “We’ll make the arrangements and contact you.”

The Pentagon
Washington DC, USA
12th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Well, that went well,” Pope said.

“I never thought you’d be able to do that,” Campbell said.  He smiled; “I guess I owe you dinner somewhere.”

“Indeed,” Pope said, grinning hugely.  Working together in their little group had settled most of Campbell’s and his differences.  “I never expected such a…dramatic result, but having a chance to X-ray one of our Alternatives in healthy condition was worth the lives of the gangbangers.”

“And this way we avoid the possible disaster if one of them was killed,” Campbell agreed.  “So, what did you find out?”

“That we planned badly,” Pope admitted.  “We lost two of them; Stuart and the Hispanic guy.  We followed the other two, but we lost the others.”

“Very irritating,” Campbell said.  “Now, what did you find out about the captive one?”

“He’s an ex-marine, for a start, so the NYPD was lucky he decided to cooperate,” Pope said.  “The X-raying revealed what I can only call massive augmentation, from a concept in those science-fiction books published by that British author.  Look.”  He pulled out an X-ray and placed it on the table.  “His bones have been reinforced, he has this small cluster of implants at the base of his neck, there are small fibres running through his fingers – we can’t even guess what those are for – and he heals very quickly.  One of the gangbangers knifed him and there was no visible damage an hour later.”

“Wolverine in the flesh,” Campbell commented.  Pope glared at him.  “I know dozens of Special Forces who’d love to have this guy working for him.  What sort of security do you have on him?”

“Several of the highly-trained special forces military policemen,” Pope said.  Campbell nodded; the SF military policemen rode herd on the SF personnel when they were off duty.  Every one of them was a potential super-terrorist.  “That said, with this sort of equipment I’m not sure anything short of bazookas would stop him.”

“We don’t want to provoke an incident,” Campbell agreed, hiding the irony from his ally.  “But at least we confirmed that they are human.”

“So what now?”  Pope said.  “The President is going to want some advice; what do we suggest?”

Campbell considered.  “We can’t hold him here if Captain Cozort chooses to take him back, or if he escapes on his own…”

“If he did that we might need to ask Cozort for help in recapturing him,” Pope said gloomily.

“That would be amusing,” Campbell said, in a tone that said it would be very unfunny indeed.  “When the President asks, suggest that we retroactively grant Mr Revel diplomatic immunity and let him go.  In future, the Alternatives can be escorted by State Department personnel.”

“Good thinking,” Pope said.  “Now, its getting late, so dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Campbell said dryly.

Chapter Seventeen: Looming Doom

Safe House
Mecca, Saudi Arabia
14th April 2009 (Time Line A)

It was worse than he’d dared to think.

The American members of the oil cartel were delighted; instead of the much-dreaded collapse of their businesses and their ruin, they’d have the ability to change their own production to produce Power Cells for the American market.  There’d been some difficulties, true, but by and large they felt that they’d escaped from the one thing they feared.  The green propaganda against oil would encourage people to invest in Power Cells; thus saving them money.

For Saudi Arabia, it was a death sentence.  The regime only survived because it could buy off or control its most feared enemies; the radical fundamentalists.  Once they realised that the money would come to a halt, they would start to press against the foundations of the regime, while the princes would be unable to pay the army and the National Guard.

Prince Bakar, in his Saladin disguise, entered the safe house and salaamed his hosts; the core of the Arabian Independence Front.  The AIF fought for independence for Arabia; fighting in Iraq, Iran and the rest of the Middle East.  As some Western intelligence agencies had discovered, the AIF had recruited a number of ‘invisible’ agents – one who had originated from the target country and was thus undetectable.  Prince Bakar was proud of his plan to deploy invisibles in actions in their own country; the only downside of that was that most of them had to be paid, instead of acting out of their faith.

Prince Bakar rolled his eyes.  Few western Muslims were willing to kill their own people, or even to support others who would, but they all wanted to go fight in Afghanistan or Iraq or even Iran, even if the civil war was killing thousands of people per day.  You just can’t get the Muslims these days, Prince Bakar thought to himself.

Rakim was speaking.  “The recent incident in China proves that these…Alternatives,” his voice became a sneer, “are willing to engage themselves on the side of American imperialists.”

“So it would seem,” Prince Bakar agreed.  As far as most of the AIF knew, he was a strategic planner for the global jihad.  If they’d ever realised his true name and status, he’d be lucky merely to be torn apart.  Many of the AIF hated the House of Saud more than the Americans, which was why the AIF was sent outside Saudi Arabia to fight.

“That means that they are enemies and very powerful enemies,” Rakim said coldly.  “We must engage them.”

“The Americans are weak,” one of the AIF fighters proclaimed.  He’d wanted to fight in Iraq, but his French origins made him ideal for missions in the West.  “We need to find a way to threaten them and force them to leave.”

“We need to move fast,” Prince Bakar said.  “If the American dependence on oil is reduced, the funds coming into this nation will be reduced.”

“Who cares about their dependence on oil?” Another fighter demanded.  “More money for the cocksucking royals?”

Prince Bakar fought to hide his reaction.  It was death to criticise the Royal Family in Saudi, but he could hardly report this fighter.  “If the Americans have no incentive to maintain the status quo,” he said dryly, “they will have nothing preventing them from carrying their crusade into the heart of Mecca.”

The reaction was horror, from all members of the group.  “Allah would never permit that,” Rakim said.

“We have too many problems with disbelief to count on divine help,” Prince Bakar said.  “We have fallen from the proper path; passed into the hands of our foes.”

“You have a plan, then?”  Rakim asked.

“I have considered the problem at length,” Prince Bakar said.  He had, or, more accurately, an exclusive consulting firm had.  “We need to destroy them, or at least force them to withdraw from Earth completely.”  He sighed.  “So far, it has proven impossible to design a strike against their starship, while we might be able to slip a bomb into their ground base, we know that American security is nothing to laugh at.”

One fighter, horribly scarred along his face from an encounter with an American patrol, nodded.  “We need to intimidate them,” he said.

“Yes,” Prince Bakar agreed.  “We can proceed, I think, with the plans for Indonesia and the Philippines.  The Americans have lost whatever popularity they enjoyed in those places, so moving against the weak governments might draw an American response and another Vietnam.  Once we restore the Caliphate in those regions, the Americans will find it hard to intervene without causing massive loss of civilian life; really not a good ground for tanks and stealth bombers.  Nigeria, Sudan and Ethiopia are probably too explosive to attempt a takeover, although circumstances might change fast.  North Africa?  Still too risky until we have a stronger underground.”

He picked up a map of America.  “The only way forward, however, is to find and interrogate a member of the Alternatives.”

“That might be dangerous,” Rakim said.  “Did you see the recordings from New York?”

There were nods from the group.  CNN was one of the best intelligence sources that the AIF had; the Americans seemed to love boasting of their trials and tribulations.  In any rational government, they felt, bad news would be concealed so that the populace would not lose face.

“Attempting to grab a soldier from these Alternates might prove dangerous,” Rakim continued.  “However, they clearly have civilian members as well, including some women.  Who would give such enhancements to a women?”

Conditioned to believe that women were second-class citizens at best, the group did not disagree.  “I will take groups one and two to America,” Rakim said.  “Once there, we will await an opportunity to snatch one of their civilians, preferably a woman.

“Once we have him or her, we will use the emergency egress route using the cargo planes, then get them here, where no American would dare come,” he continued.  “Then we can make our demands and interrogate our captive at our leisure.”

“May Allah go with you,” Prince Bakar said.

The White House
Washington DC, USA
14th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Would anyone like to tell me just what went wrong?”  President Jackson demanded.  “Now that it’s clear that we’re not going to be bombarded, why was this situation even allowed to happen?”

The group shifted uncomfortably.  “The entire situation is extremely irregular,” Paul McDowell – the director of the FBI – said.  “We believed that supervision of our guests was the responsibility of the Air Force Office of Special Investigations, who have set up a spy station at Armstrong Field.  When they flew to New York, we did not receive any notification that they were coming, so none of the standard preparations for foreign guests had been made.

“In short,” he concluded, after a long discussion on how badly coordinated the other departments had been, “it was a general mix-up.  None of the Alternatives were killed, so no real problem, right?”

Pope concealed a smile with some effort.  He could have simply ordered that no protection was to be arranged, but that would have looked very bad if he had been caught at it.  By deliberately confusing the entire warning process, it looked like an accident and no one was any the wiser.

“It could have been worse,” Jackson snapped.  “If these were the Russians or the French, it could have sparked off a major diplomatic incident.  What sort of welcome to New York is it when a person gets mugged the first day they’re there?”  She glared around the room.  “Recommendations?”

Campbell cleared his throat.  “I suggest that we extend formal diplomatic immunity to Sergeant Revel and release him,” he said.  “I see no reason to treat him as a prisoner; he’s been very cooperative.  Further…”

“You still have him in the cells?”  McDowell demanded.  “Why?”

“Because he is dangerous,” Campbell said.  “We also had an opportunity to examine him, which we did.”

“And the results?”  Jackson asked curiously.

“Well, he’s human,” Campbell said.  He was amused to see the expressions of relief on some of the faces.  “Genetically, at least.  He’s been put through a long process of enhancement, on which he won’t comment beyond the fact that ‘it hurt’.”  He smiled.  “This is apparently considered a great honour, which goes to show that Marines are the same whatever dimension they come from.

“In our terms, he’s roughly nine times as strong as a normal human, with considerably faster reflexes, sharper eyes and some active sensors.  Using those, he claims to be able to see into the infrared spectrum, and he can see at night.  His body seems to break down wastes to the extent that he never had to” – at this point the general’s face grew red – “take a dump during the time he has spent in prison.”  The group chuckled.  “He also has a variable heat signature, pain-reducing systems and some implants he won’t talk about.  

“Madam President, the Marine Corps and the Regular Army would give their back teeth for soldiers of this quality.  It is the collective advice of the Regular Army that we ask for that technology.  It is important – I cannot stress this enough – that this technology does not fall into the hands of terrorists – one hundred men enhanced like this could conceivably take and hold any military target on the continental United States.”

“It’s like the Draka,” McDowell said.  “You know, the books by Steve Stirling.”

“They know that name,” Jackson said slowly.  “Brennen is due up here tomorrow for testimony in front of the Senate Subcommittee on Space Affairs.  We’ll ask him afterwards.”

“Anything from the UN?”  Campbell asked curiously.

“Not yet,” Jackson said.  Her voice was worried; “the French seem to be moving carefully, for once, so we don’t know what the surrender monkeys are up too.”

Police Headquarters
New York, USA
14th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Your lucky day,” the warder said to Revel, as he sat patiently in a cell.  The other images had refused to share with him; fear of the ‘vigilante killer’ was running high.  The New York press had been pushing the story for all it was worth and were evenly divided on whither Revel should be prosecuted or if the Mayor should give him a medal.  

“Why?”  Revel said cheerfully.  Apart from being confined in a cell that he could have broken out of with ease, this was hardly a bad place; the police seemed to go out of their way to be nice to inmates.  Such weakness astonished him, until one of the warders had explained that crooks sued on the slightest suspicion of police brutality.  The police were hardly weak under the Unity Party, where extreme punishments were the norm.

“You’re being released,” the warder said.  He winked.  “Although if you’d mind taking a stroll through downtown to clean it up a bit…?”

“I think that I’m in enough trouble already,” Revel said.  “It’s nice to know that someone understands that it was not my fault.”

“It’s the liberals in their ivory towers,” the warder sighed.  “None of those rich bastards ever have to face the streets, or to patrol knowing that everyone you see if a potential enemy.”

“You need tougher laws and the willingness to enforce them,” Revel said.  “President Stirling himself said that criminals were not nice people, but people who needed a good kick in the unmentionables.”

“Sounds a sensible guy,” the warder said.  “We had eight years of Clinton and we never quite recovered.”

“Was he the guy who got impeached for chasing girls?”  Revel said.  “We would not have cared if someone did that!  We only impeach for gross incompetence and corruption.”

“We’d have gotten Clinton on the former charge,” the warder sighed.  “It’s been a real pleasure to have you as our guest.”

Revel laughed.  “I bet you say that to all your prisoners.”

***
The shuttle landed on a small field just outside New York.  Taylor had considered picking Revel up from the top of a skyscraper, but one of the Natives had convinced him not to; New York had not yet recovered from the attack on the Twin Towers.  The landing was easy, even if the pilot had to endure the hundreds of questions from the police escort.

Taylor took Revel aside for a short talk, moving back into the secure shuttle, while the pilot described in great detail how it felt to fly to the Moon.  “You’ve caused us some trouble,” he said as he ran a security sensor over Revel, “but also some pride.”

“Thanks,” Revel said.  “I was only trying to recover Theresa’s handbag.”

“And a good thing too,” Taylor said.  “Beating hell out of a group of street thugs will…discourage them from trying to rob any of us again.”

“Sir, do we have anything in common with these people?”  Revel asked.  “They treat little thugs like kings.”

“I’m sure that we have lots in common with them,” Taylor said, as he finished the security check.  “Ah, one small listening bug, placed on your arm.”  He adjusted the scanner.  “Clever,” he said.  “They’ve placed it into the sleeve.”

“I’ll take it off,” Revel said.

“Yes, put it in a sealed box,” Taylor said.  “Jill might want a look at it.  Meanwhile, what were your impressions of the city?”

“It smells,” Revel said.  “They seem to delight in motor fumes.”

“It’s their oil habits,” Taylor said.  He watched carefully as Revel placed the bugged jacket in a sealed box.  “Now, what did they ask you?”

“They were interested in my enhancements, sir,” Revel said.  “They asked all sorts of questions as to how I’d been constructed; they thought for a time that I was an android.”  Taylor laughed.  “Then they asked about the Marines and the Enterprise, so I told them a little about the Marines and nothing about the Enterprise.  Other than that, they kept asking how many of us there were.”

“Anyone would think that they distrusted the Captain,” Taylor said.  “He told them, did he not?  I don’t suppose you managed to record the conversations?”

“No, sir,” Revel said.  He frowned.  “They took my wristcom as soon as I arrived at their jail, using gloves and a safe box.  Some people who were clearly Special Forces were watching me all the time, even if they left feeding me to the jailer.”

The pilot re-entered the shuttle.  “Permission to take off, sir?”

“Granted,” Taylor said.  “Take us back home.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
15th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The holographic display showed the units being prepared to travel to the Moon, but Cozort and Roberta were busy.  With one thing and another, it had a long time since they’d been able to sleep together.  Now, they held each other close and murmured as they rediscovered the charms of their bodies.

Afterwards, they held each other for a long time.  Finally, Cozort broke the comfortable silence.  “We must hold more briefings like this,” he said.  “Can you imagine how much improved they would be if we had them after an orgy?”

“Twit,” Roberta said, and smacked him gently on the head.  Cozort caught her arms and tickled her unmercifully until she kissed him deeply, then hugged her.  “But seriously…what will you do to Sergeant Revel?”

“I don’t think that any punishment is called for,” Cozort said.  “We can’t hold him accountable for any crime under any of our laws; the Uniform Code of Military Justice says nothing about killing a number of thugs, nor does the codified civil laws.  I don’t think that anyone imagined that it might be a crime to defend yourself.”

“These people are different,” Roberta said.  “It’s hard to tell with memes, but I think they allowed themselves to be infected with socialism and liberalism, maybe because their cold war was softer than ours.”

“Or perhaps colder,” Cozort grinned.  It had been a shock to discover that Poland, East Germany and Romania, among others, had survived and even thrown off their shackles.  “I guess that they had no massive flood of refuges.”

“None,” Roberta said.  “It seems that Eisenhower – he was a President here – chose to risk using his own good judgment to gauge just what the Soviets could or would do.  He starved the U.S. military during the 1950s to let give the consumer economy room to breath.  It was a risk, but history – their history - shows that he was right to take it.

“But in our time, the state-run system for organising industry continued for far longer, boosting us into the solar system.  We knew what conquest by the Soviets would be like after the torrent of refuges from Poland; we were prepared to suffer real hardship to prevent them from coming to America.  We never tolerated people who were actively pro-Soviet, even if we did have a lot of criticism over abandoning the French.  President McCarthy lost his office over that, but would we have fought a long ground war that would be impossible to win?

“But they did, in Vietnam, and they lost.  This pushed them into a period of…well, democratic disconnect.”

“I heard that on Ceres State,” Cozort said.

“The people chose to suspect the government of being constantly untruthful and deceptive, so they looked for underhand motives while believing the best about their enemies.  Even now, when they’re fighting a war against homegrown Wreckers, they don’t grasp the fact that it’s them or the enemy.  No middle ground, no compromise.

“And, at the same time, they no longer take responsibility.  It’s not enough to take the blame for something; they spend millions trying to shift the blame onto someone else.  A person does not get a job?  He sues.  A person hurts herself?  She sues someone, anyone, so long as they can make her independently wealthy for life.  These people have no faith in the law, and, as long as that goes on, why should they?”

“I don’t know,” Cozort admitted.

“We should be trying to think about terraforming Mars,” Roberta said.  “We have the capability; it would be far easier without the Wreckers and the quantum tap incident.”

“Maybe,” Cozort said.  “Do they still want you on that show?”

“The chat show?”  Roberta nodded.  “They keep changing the date, though, for reasons I don’t understand.”  She sighed.  “Are you going to allow others to take shore leave?”

Cozort grinned.  “I better had, or I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.  Not everyone has such a nice wife to come home to.”  She smacked him on the rump playfully.  “You know what I mean,” he said.

Roberta kissed him.  “You’d better make certain that everyone understands about sexual morality here,” she said.  “They seem to be more permissive than we are, and I thought that we forbade nothing between consenting adults.”

“We don’t,” Cozort said.  “I’ve prepared a short note to the crew.  Would you like to see it?”

***
From: Fleet Captain Dale Cozort
To: ALLCREW
Re: Shore Leave

Following discussions with the Native authorities, it has been decided to allow a rotation of shore leave from the Enterprise to the alternative America.  So far, there has been no communication on the subject with the other nationalities on the planet and so travelling to them is STRICTLY forbidden.  

In order that the rota be fair and above board, would all crew who DO wish to take shore leave send their names through shipnet to the shore leave system.  Closing date for the first rota is the 20th April, local dating; anyone who misses that will be at the end of the rota.  Any changes in the rota should be made by private agreement.

The Natives have agreed to allow us diplomatic immunity (check shipnet file #472376), however any criminal acts (defined by the UCMJ/CCL) reported by local law authorities will be punished according to the CCL, following standard investigation procedure.  As the Natives haves crimes that we do not consider crimes, and vice versa, it has been agreed that the Native authorities may declare any member of the crew persona non grata at cause.

Personnel on shore leave may be interrogated about technology on the Enterprise.  Do not discuss your role on the ship, the nature of the technology, or anything else that may be helpful.  Particularly, do NOT allow technology to fall into Native hands.

Personnel are also warned that there is a high risk of contracting a social disease or high drug abuse, therefore please keep your nanites functional at all times.  Personnel may withdraw their pay from Ship’s Bank in Native currency; however please be aware that Native currency is NOT legal in ship’s stores.

Finally, I expect you all to comport yourselves under the best traditions of the USSF.

Captain Cozort.

***
“You are very brave,” Wiggins said later, to Revel.  “I don’t think I want to go down there again.”

“I don’t know,” Revel said.  He smiled;  “they do have better food than we get on ship.”

“Thanks,” Wiggins said, somewhat sourly.  “We do try to grow plenty of food.”

“I would kill for a proper steak, sometime,” Revel said.  “Processed food may be good for you, but it gets on your nerves after a while.”

“What was it like?”  Wiggins asked.  “Being in prison, I mean?”

“We could teach those people a lot about prisons,” Revel said.  “I could have left at any time; those wimps they had guarding me might have been their special forces, but they clearly had no enhancements beyond heavy training.”

“A safe place to spend the night, then,” Wiggins said.  She reached for him and gave him a hug.  “Thank you for recovering my bag.”

He hugged her back.  “You’re welcome,” he said.

Chapter Eighteen: Space Scare

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
16th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Good morning,” the tall engineer with the vaguely Australian accent said crossly.  “My name is Paul Sheller and I’m the Lunar Development Officer.   For those interested, I was intended to head up a small manufacturing and mining centre on Dayton – that’s what we called Tau Ceti 4.3

“Unfortunately, we ended up here instead,” he continued.  “I can’t say I’m too happy about it, but needs must when the devil vomits on your toenails.  Fortunately, we know roughly where the prospectors in our timeline found things like water and minerals, so finding them should hardly be difficult.”  He brought up a map of the lunar surface.  “This is the sea of tranquillity,” he said.  “It wasn’t very tranquil during the Wrecker War, but that’s not our concern at the moment.

“In our timeline, we established the first manned base on the moon there,” he continued.  “We planned to establish a major colony nearby, but as it happened the colony’s main base was moved to the far side of the moon due to a change in the international situation.  However, exploration of the moon during 1960 turned up water – in ice form – at the South Pole.  Our mission is to establish a mining station at Tranquillity and to establish a formal water-mining station at the South Pole.  Any questions?”

“Yes, sir,” one of the seven NASA representative said.  “Why are we not placing both stations at the South Pole?”

“That ‘we’ is rather impressive, Mr…ah?”

“Sawyer, Victor Sawyer, sir,” Sawyer said.  He smiled; his brown hair catching the light from the window.

“Well, Mr Sawyer,” Sheller said.  “As you might be aware, there are slight problems with launching cargos from a mass driver into space on the correct trajectory.”  He brought up an Earth-Moon diagram.  “The orbital industry nodes are being established in high Earth orbit,” he explained.  “The Enterprise itself remains at Lagrange One.  As we don’t have enough shuttles to spare, we need to fire the material from the moon towards the Earth, where an OMV or shuttle can pick it up.

“The second problem, of course, is that not everything we want to mine is at the South Pole,” he continued.  He smiled at the abashed Sawyer.

“Any other questions?  No?  Good.”  Sheller smiled.  “We depart at 1100hrs precisely,” he said.  “Be on the landing field with everything you brought; NASA’s larger equipment will fit in our shuttle’s bay.”

“Sir,” Sawyer said, “why not bring along more of NASA’s personnel?”

Sheller shook his head.  “I understand that NASA calls itself a space agency,” he said.  “Compared to what we had in this point in time, you’re not even a missile launch site.  You have a lot to learn and maybe, if you listen carefully to us, you’ll get into space without the massive human cost it took from us.  The Black Stone at the Nevada Launching Site in our timeline lists nearly seventy deaths before space travel became a regular thing.”

“Seventy deaths?”  Sawyer said in shock.  The other NASA representatives gasped.  That’s…”

“Outrageous?  We all knew the risks when we stepped onboard Enterprise, even if this particular outcome was not on the USSF’s list of possible disasters,” Sheller said coldly.  “So did those who blazed the trail for us.  If NASA had followed the same course, who knows where you would have been?”

Capital Hill
Washington DC, USA
16th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“This meeting of the Senate Subcommittee on Space Affairs will now come to order,” Senator Chapman pronounced, banging his gravel.  “The inquest into NASA’s failure to provide a proper space transportation service is now entering its second day.  I wish to welcome Mr Red Brennen, hero of the flight to the Alternative starship, to the senate.”  There were a few claps from the gallery and the senators scowled.  Egoists to a man (or woman), they disliked the thought of someone else getting clapped or cheered.  It distracted attention from them.

“Mr Brennen, do you understand the procedure?”

“No, Senator,” Brennen said calmly.  For once, he’d dressed in a simple suit; appearing efficient and respectful at the same time.

“As the most experienced American non-NASA astronaut, and a noted authority on space travel, we would like to ask you a few questions, following which you may make a statement,” Chapman said.  “For the record, do you understand?”

“Yes, Senator,” Brennen said.  He smiled; clearly Chapman hopes that if he cuddles up to me I’ll slip him some contributions later.

“Then we may begin,” Chapman said.  “Mr Brennen, during the past five years you have constantly criticised NASA and its work in space.  Would you care to detail some of the problems with the organisation?”

Brennen thought for a long moment, placing his thoughts in order.  “To list all the problems with NASA would take a long time,” he said.  “However, the main problem, as I see it, is that NASA has no sense of its own importance or its place.

“What is NASA for anyway?  Ask a farmer and he might say that its for launching weather satellites.  Ask a military man and he might point to space warfare.  Ask a scientist and he will say that its for scientific research.  The long and short of it, Senators, is that NASA has no fixed purpose or plan.”

He took a sip of water.  “NASA last had a serious mission when Kennedy told them to put a man on the moon.  In ideal, that was a great idea, but it was completely wasted; NASA put a man there, but then had no real follow-up plan.  Meanwhile, NASA spent billions of dollars on building the space shuttle, which was meant to replace the Big Dumb Boosters.  Unfortunately, savings from the shuttle were minimal and NASA had to go back to Big Dumb Boosters for many missions.

“Meanwhile, NASA was supposed to conduct space research, which it did.  It spent millions of dollars on researching colony ships to nearby stars – even faster-than-light travel – all of which was effectively wasted money.  What was the point of drawing up massive plans for converting an asteroid into a generation ship if we could not capture an asteroid?”

Chapman nodded slowly.  “Why do you feel that NASA was such a failure?”

“I don’t mean to really slander NASA’s past,” Brennen said.  “The agency did do some great work.  However, it transformed into a bureaucracy, which then started to refuse to admit mistakes, refuse to share its position and refuse to take risks.  Senator, if we’d let a few deaths deter us from World War Two, Hitler would have had his foot on our backs now.”

“Are you suggesting that NASA should take risks with the lives of its pilots?”  Another senator - Sherri Bond – asked.

“Senator, NASA’s space shuttle was outdated almost as soon as it came into service,” Brennen said.  “Because of this, two shuttles were lost, with some loss of life.  But every crewman on those shuttles knew and accepted the risk – there are more applicants for the seats on the shuttles than NASA could ever accept.  Indeed, NASA went into shock and morale was destroyed.”  He sighed.  “Morale at NASA has fallen sharply since we gained access to some of the Alternative’s history records.  The astronauts know that they could be on the Moon, on Mars, all across the solar system, but NASA prevented it.”

“Mr Brennen, some senators have been calling for criminal charges to be brought against NASA administers,” Chapman said.  “Would you support such charges?”

What could we charge them with?  Gross negligence?  Outright treason?  “Senator, NASA’s problems will not be solved with a few people getting kicked out of work – the problems are far too deep for that.  The entire organisation needs to be reformed.”

“Do you have any suggestions?”

“We have one main priority,” Brennen said.  “Matching the Alternatives, as soon as possible.  Therefore, I propose that NASA be broken up into different sections.  Ideally, we want a Commercial Space Authority, operating along similar lines to the FAA, but with less interference – commercial activity will develop our launch capabilities far quicker than any other method.  

“Next, military activity should be put under the control of one military organisation; some form of United States Space Force.”  He smiled.  “That, by the way, is the organisation most of the Alternatives belong to.  That new organisation should buy a number of Glenn-class SSTOs and use them for all military activity in space.

“Finally, all science-based research should be placed away from the space work and done in universities and research labs.  We do need to match the Alternatives drive fields, but we cannot afford to waste money from space launches.”

Brennen took a deep breath as Chapman started to speak.  “You’ve given us a lot to think about,” he said.  “Do you wish to make a closing statement?”

“Just one,” Brennen said.  “We need to place the remaining space shuttles in orbit and use them as mini space stations.  That would save money.”

“Thank you for coming,” Chapman said.  Brennen nodded and left the room.

***
Outside, he was surprised to meet Marcel Darius, the NSA agent.  Darius looked older somehow; his hair looked whiter than it had been.

“How are you?”  Brennen asked, after the normal pleasantries had been exchanged.

“I feel old,” Darius said crossly.  “NSA has been in a flap after the trouble in New York.”

“I heard about that,” Brennen said.  “Was it really twenty gangbangers killed?”

“Six,” Darius said.  “Still, it was quite bad enough.  How did the Alternatives you work with react?”

“As if it wasn’t a problem,” Brennen said.  “As far as they were concerned, the gangbangers deserved everything they got.  I find it hard to argue.”

“So does Councilman Gordon,” Darius said.  “He’s moving for stronger law and order polices in New York.”  He smiled.  “A lot of people in New York demonstrated in favour of the Alternative.”

“I understand he returned to the starship,” Brennen said.  “Still, it’s interesting.”

“Yes,” Darius said.  “Anyway, the President would like to see you, so come along.”

“Do I have a choice?”  Brennen asked.

“Not really,” Darius said.  “But please?”

“Oh, all right,” Brennen grumbled.

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
16th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Whatever else one could say about the space shuttle, Sawyer thought, one could hardly say that it looks unsuited to its task.  The Alternatives’ cargo shuttle, on the other hand, reassembled nothing more than a massive rounded box.  It fell out of the sky and landed neatly on the field.

“Come along, everyone,” Sheller said cheerfully.  “Start loading the shuttle.”

A door hissed open, revealing a massive cargo hold.  Sawyer started to load the shuttle, helped by his companions; it all seemed so casual.  “This is like a boy scout trip,” he muttered.

“I know what you mean,” Ernest Foster said.  “This is so unorganised.”

“What was that?”  Sheller demanded.  “This is hardly unorganised; work has already begun on the moon.  Once we get up there, then we’ll see what to do with you.”

“They don’t want us here,” Foster muttered as Sheller left to harass a hapless member of the ground staff.

“Can you blame them?”  Sawyer asked.  “Look at this craft; it makes the space shuttle look like a matchbox toy.  They think we’re stupid for staying on Earth and how can I disagree with them?”

***
As soon as the shuttle was loaded, Sheller led the NASA representatives into the cargo hold and up a ladder into the crew section.  The shuttle had two decks; one for cargo, one for crew.  Apart from the pilot, Sheller and the NASA representatives were the only ones present.

“We’re off,” the pilot said.  Sawyer grabbed onto the side of the shuttle as it shook once, and then stabilised.

“You can’t fool us,” he began, and then looked out of the small portholes.  “My god!”

Below them, the Earth was already shrinking, falling away behind them.  Try as Sawyer might, he could not feel any acceleration; no thrust or pressure.  The stars came out as the blue sky receded, and earth became a beautiful ball floating in space.  Sawyer felt a lump in his throat.

“It gets us all,” Sheller said, for once not sarcastic.  “Earth is a beautiful planet, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”

“How long does it take to get to the Moon?”  Foster asked.  Sawyer could see tears in his eyes.

“About half an hour,” the pilot answered.  “We could go quicker, but there’s no point in putting extra strain on the Thornleigh Drive, unless something goes wrong somewhere.”

For the first time, Sawyer truly appreciated the Alternatives and their view on life.  Floating in space, heirs to a nation that had conquered the final frontier, how could they not feel contempt for a people who had turned their backs?  It was worse; the cowards were themselves, a dark mirror of their darkest fears.  They’d not chosen to be here, to be faced with such problems, but having no choice they would face them squarely.  They would not run away, they would not be scared by threats and intimidation…Sawyer had heard that the Alternatives had destroyed their USSR and he believed it now.

It’s a good thing they’re not interested in conquest, Sawyer thought.  No one on earth could stand against them…

The White House
Washington DC, USA
16th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Thank you for coming,” President Jackson said, as Brennen took his seat facing the big desk.  He sighed; all the power, glory, and shame that was America was focused on the woman sitting behind the desk.  America rarely enjoyed the curse of leadership; the office of President was leadership.  Brennen hoped that Jackson would be up to the coming challenges.

“You’re welcome,” Brennen said.  “Might I ask why I’ve been summoned here?”

“How are things at Armstrong?”  Jackson asked.

“So far, it’s been interesting,” Brennen said.  “There are roughly two hundred Alternatives on the surface, using it as a kind of base camp.  They’ve been very helpful with improvements to the John Glenn; now we can improve the design with our own technology.”

“I see,” Jackson said.  “How many do you plan to build?”

“About twenty,” Brennen said.  “With the new materials, savings on fuel will make spaceflight even cheaper.  We’ve even started building a proper space plane for tourists.”

“Make sure you get waivers from your customers,” Jackson said.  “Answer me a question; do you think that they have our best interests at heart?”

Brennen frowned.  “It’s hard to say,” he said.  “It’s like those time travel books, like Weapons of Choice or The Guns of the South.  These people are Americans, but they’re ones from a very different America, almost a fascist one, but they don’t feel enslaved.”  He sighed.  “It’s hard to get them to talk about their home, because they can’t return, but its clear that it worked on very different lines to ours.

“In Weapons of Choice, the time travellers were shocked at the prevalent racist and sexist attitudes of Americans from 1942,” he continued.  “Our time travellers dislike our apparent reluctance to confront our foes, or to clean up our cities, or our complete failure in space.  They’re immigrants, Madam Presidents, and almost all immigrants try to change their new home to some degree.  These people have the firepower to do just that – change us.”

“I see,” Jackson said.  “Should we be planning to destroy the Enterprise?”

“I don’t think it can be destroyed,” Brennen said.  “They knew about the nukes on Atlantis, they laughed at them.  An attempt that ended in failure could provoke a sharp reaction; they might ally themselves with the Chinese.”

“Bugger,” Jackson said.  Privately, she suspected that the Alternatives would do no such thing, but…

“Is there anything else?”  Brennen asked.

“Yes,” Jackson said.  “Why do they go on about S. M. Stirling?”

Brennen laughed.  “I finally got that story out of Jill Stirling; their engineer.  It turns out that our writer was one of the few duplicates after 1970 or thereabouts; he was President during something they call the Amalgamation, when Britain and a number of other Anglo states joined the United States.”  Brennen smiled.  “I heard Taylor talking about looking for the author and asking him to join, but they were unable to find him.”

He chuckled.  “They think he’s one of the greatest presidents they’ve ever had, simply because he prevented a war with the British Commonwealth – only they called it the Stirling Bloc in their timeline – and convinced them to join up with the US.  You know the really funny thing?  Stirling wrote about a super-Africa, and the Alternatives world had a super-Africa!”

Jackson laughed.  “Like that story by Clarke,” she said.  “The one where ideas from Mars were somehow getting into the head of the science-fiction writer.”

“Maybe,” Brennen said, loath to admit that he’d never read Clarke.  “Still, you need to worry about their effect on us.”

“What about our effect on them?”  Jackson asked.

“I don’t think we’ll have one,” Brennen said.  “They remind me of Muslims, in some ways, very certain of what they are.  They’ve remained remarkably disciplined under unprecedented circumstances; The Final Countdown aside, I don’t think that a USN carrier crew could hold together under such conditions – cut off from everything they’ve ever known.”

Tranquillity base
Lunar Surface
16th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The silver sphere of the moon grew and grew in the sky until it loomed over the tiny shuttle, dominating the horizon.  As it grew, it filled the portholes; Sawyer gasped as for a long moment it looked as if they were going to smash into the moon.  The entire perspective shifted, changed, and the moon was just another landscape.  The shuttle’s plunged levelled out, swooping over craters and the strange dark seas on the moon.

“I can see lights,” Foster breathed.  Lights glowed in the centre of one of the seas; the shuttle angled down towards the centre of the lights.  A shimmering glow became a cluster of buildings, even as they watched.

“That is a class-one lunar base camp,” Sheller said.  “It’s prefabricated, unloaded from the Enterprise’s holds and set up at a likely location.  Note the long cylinder being placed carefully beside the camp; that’s the mass driver.  It can shoot two hundred tons of ore into an Earth-trajectory.  The building next to the mass driver compresses the ore into the basic shape for injection, then the mass driver’s main drive field propels it into space.”

A massive robot crawled away from the base as they flew over.  “That is a basic mining robot,” Sheller said, when asked.  “In basic terms, it searches for deposits of ore and mines them, loading its skip with ore.  When it’s full, it returns to the mass driver location and deposits what its collected.”

Sawyer stared down at the base as they came in to land.  “How long did this take you to build?”

“About two days,” Sheller said.

“Good god,” Sawyer muttered, as they landed without a bump.

Chapter Nineteen: Enemy Action

Private Airfield
California, USA
18th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Although they believed that it was because of their own efforts, the FBI and other American counter-intelligence services had done a fairly good job of arresting or scattering most of Al-Qaida’s people within the continental United States.  The State Department, pleased with the level of covert cooperation that they had received from the Saudi Royal Family, eagerly agreed to their condition that their involvement remain a secret.  They never understood that there was a secret motivation behind their actions.

Al-Qaida, irony of ironies, had achieved the distinction of looking good, compared to the Saudi Royal Families.  It was dangerously independent, committed to removing the American-backed Saudi regime, so the Saudi rulers understood that it had to be destroyed.  Even more than the US, they hated and feared Al-Qaida, and supplying targeting information to the Americans crippled Al-Qaida’s operations, often placing them in positions where they tried to fight their way out of arrest, and getting killed in the process.  As far as Prince Bakar was concerned, the only good Al-Qaida member was a dead one.

Unknown to the FBI, however, the AIF had its own cells, separate from Al-Qaida’s or indeed those of any other terrorist operation.  Preferring to remain in the shadows, they prepared constantly, keeping hidden from the American hunters.  As they had no link to Al-Qaida, or the related organisations, none of the discovered Al-Qaida cells revealed them.  Naturally, no one from Saudi exposed the AIF cells.  It was one of their best foreign policy tools, after all.

Rakim flew into the airfield on a small private jet, covered by diplomatic protocol.  The US air defences had tracked the plane ever since it had left Saudi, where it had been inspected by American agents.  There was nothing incriminating on the airfield; no explosives, no guns beyond standard handguns to discourage robbers.  Should the FBI inspect it – which they had done from time to time – there was nothing for them to find and grow suspicious over.

“Howdy,” the airfield manager said cheerfully.  The older man had been recruited from the Nation of Islam – an organisation that Rakim considered heretical – and had been running the small training airfield for three years.  His voice was American, deliberately so, in contrast to the Al-Qaida personnel who tried not to act American.  He was also a fully paid-up member of the Republican Party.

“Salaam,” Rakim said, after checking that there was no one in earshot.  As far as the Americans knew, he was a junior Prince out for some flying fun.  “What sort of progress have you made?”

He sensed more than saw the manager’s silent rage; he was too used to American standards of politeness.  “We have been working to track Alternatives who are on leave on American soil,” he said.  “Of the hundred or so we can track at any one time, most of them are in New York or Washington.  The local criminals give them a wide berth.”

“So you don’t have an opportunity to kidnap one?”  Rakim snapped.  He reminded himself not to expect too much from a heretic.  “That is rather disappointing, don’t you think?”

“We have an opportunity,” the manager said.  “It just requires some careful preparation.”

“Good,” Rakim said.  “I need a shower, then bed until my time sense catches up with the rest of the world.  After that, you can detail your plan for me.”

“Yes,” the manager said.

Russian Command Bunker
Near Moscow, USSR
18th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Lapotin would never have admitted it to his colleagues, but he’d delayed their next meeting to avoid the whining from Premier Tao about the Alternative over flight of their airbases.  It had scared the Premier, and Lapotin had shared the feeling; if the Alternative aircraft could defy the Chinese air defences at their strongest point, they could do so anywhere in the Alliance.

Still, the news from New York and the scientists working on the recovered computer was something that needed a meeting.  Lapotin called one with mixed feelings; even if the key to victory was now in their hands.

“The traitorous Taiwanese are planning to declare their formal independence,” Tao snapped.  “We have to force them to return to the fold.”

“That might be difficult,” Homchoudhury observed.  “If the Americans intervene…”

“They have long declared that they would oppose a formal declaration of Taiwanese independence,” Tao snapped.  “We have to put on a military display that will remind them of their duties to China…”

“You plan to match the Alternative spacecraft?”  Homchoudhury said, rather snidely.  “Please, tell me how you plan to commit suicide.  Americans are weak, but they will fight if attacked.”

“It seems that we have an ally in the Alternative camp,” Lapotin said.  The other two stared at him.  “Our agent in New York was contacted just before the incident with the American criminals.  Our ally gave him a computer from the starship containing technical data.”

“On behalf of the Chinese people,” Tao said, “I must insist that the technical data be shared.”  Homchoudhury vigorously seconded that motion.

“I agree,” Lapotin said, watching their jaws drop again.  They’d expected resistance, not agreement.  “As it happens, their story is true; they really are castaways from another dimension.  However, not all of their data is useful, simply because we cannot match all of their technology.”

He pulled out a number of paper ring binders.  “The information, from the preliminarily notes, seems designed to help them to reconstruct their civilisation – I assume in the event of them falling into barbarism.  Much of it focuses on industrial techniques and space technology.”

He was amused to notice the greed in their eyes.  “Included in the information are diagrams of spacecraft, such as this one.  As you can see, it uses a composite material and a more powerful rocket fuel to place quite a large payload in orbit, based around the Big Dumb Booster concept.  I’ve passed these on to Sergei Baranidze, who assures me that building these is basically simple.”

Another diagram.  “This is a basic surge capacitor,” he said.  “It stores considerable power for a short period of time, then boosts it out.  There are a number of warnings; apparently they don’t consider this to be particularly safe.”  He smiled.  “There are many different ways we can use this; powering lasers, for example.”

“You have a plan, then?”  Tao asked.  “Perhaps if we built lasers on the coast, we could force the Taiwanese to remain where they are, if not surrender.”

Lapotin’s eyes gleamed.  “You always did think small,” he said.  “This, my friends, is for all the marbles.”

“Pardon?”  Tao said.

“Why should we seek to match the Alternatives when we could surpass them?”  Lapotin smiled darkly.  “We now have the keys to ensuring that our alliance dominates the Earth for the next thousand years, provided that the Alternatives are removed.  Without their technological support, they will be forced to catch up with us, rather than lead the way.  All we have to do is destroy the Alternative ship…and I think I have a way to do just that.

“However, for the moment, we will continue to press the UN,” he concluded, “while at the same time developing our own space capabilities.”

United Nations
New York, USA
18th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Charles Legrand had been a compromise candidate for the post of Secretary-General of the United Nations.  A Walloon from Belgium, he had been selected in place of the American or Russian candidates, both of whom were too politically ‘hot’ for the UN.  Legrand himself had not wanted the job; American indifference (if not outright hostility) to the UN and corruption charges being pressed had weakened the UN.  From what had been intended as a peaceful place to discuss international affairs, the UN had degenerated into a talking shop.  The Americans charged that the UN was dominated by smaller tyrannical nations, Legrand knew, and there was some truth to the charge.

It had probably been inevitable that a massive bureaucracy had grown up around the UN kernel.  Thousands of people who wanted jobs, or wanted to gain political influence, supported the UN in its present state, which made reform difficult.  The UN, the Americans charged, was too slow, too weak and failed to follow its own principles.  After all, who in their right mind would accept Sudan, Cuba and Libya as members of the United Nations Commission on Human Rights, let alone Libya's chairmanship of the Commission?

“Mr Secretary-General?”  Legrand looked up to see the French ambassador.  The French had been the most vocal over the issue of the Alternative starship, but many other nations had joined the chorus.

“Yes, Ambassador Foch?”  Jean-Paul Foch, the French ambassador to the UN, had been one of Legrand’s strongest supporters; he’d calculated that a Walloon would be more sympathetic to French interests than a Russian or an American.

“The final resolution has been prepared,” Foch said.  He held out a printed sheet.  “It moves against American arrogance and high-handedness.”

Legrand skimmed over the page and the signatures.  Israel and Britain had refused to be involved; Israel in particular distrusted the UN.  Russia and China were in support, as were many smaller third world nations.  Compared to America, it was formidable.  Compared to the Alternatives?  Who knew?

“We shall present it this afternoon,” Foch said.  “It will be before the General Assembly.”

“Doubtless,” Legrand sighed.  “I wish you luck.”

“You do not feel that this resolution will succeed?”  Foch enquired, every inch the arrogant man he was, confident in his power and place.

“Oh, I think it will succeed,” Legrand said.  “The question is: will the Americans take any notice?”

***
“This isn’t going well,” Raphael Rosensteel, US special ambassador to the United Nations, said thoughtfully.  The US had a fair idea of what was being planned in the UN; the problem was doing something that allowed the US to save face, or, more precisely, not to look like the biggest bully on the street.

“No,” Owen Fletcher, the British ambassador, agreed.  “We can count on the Israelis and the Aussies, but not anyone else.  They’re all buying into claims that Alternative technology is the birthright of the human race as a whole and should not be hoarded by the Great Satan.  Speaking of which…”

“The Alternatives insisted on sharing with Britain, Australia and Canada,” Rosensteel said, anticipating the next question.

“Good thing too,” Fletcher said.  “The Prime Minister, god rest his troubled body, is coming under strong pressure from the backbenchers.  They want access to Alternative technology as well.  Few of them think that we should risk out relationship with the rest of the world without a reward in sight.”

Rosensteel grinned.  “So do we,” he said, thinking of the Alternative technology.  “They insist on introducing it slowly; we tried to duplicate the Power Cells and ended up destroying a chunk of the Los Alamos laboratories.  I see their point, but…”

“I know,” Fletcher said.  “We talked constantly about alternative” – he grinned at the pun – “sources of energy, but we were a little scared too.  Still, escaping the oil dependence is worth it.”

“They placed a base on the Moon in a week,” Rosensteel said.  “That…scares me.  They casually do something that we would have needed ten years of solid commitment to do, without fuss or bother.  I checked with NASA; they don’t even understand our excitement.”

“The Wright Brothers’ plane was remarkable,” Fletcher pointed out.  “I’m sure that some found it scary too.  But nearly a hundred years later…we fly constantly and it no longer astounds us.”

A bell chimed.  “It’s time to go in,” Rosensteel said, changing the subject.  Even though he knew that Fletcher had a point, he still found the speed of Alternative activities astounding.

***
The United Nations General Assembly sat, assembled by nations, and rose for Legrand when he entered.  The American and British ambassadors took their places, watching the room.  There was a feeling of hostility, directed at the American ambassador, who bore it without apparent emotion.

“This meeting of the United Nations General Assembly is hereby called to order,” Legrand said.  “This meeting is to debate and vote on UN Resolution 1504; to whit the effects of the arrival of the American Alternatives.”

The French ambassador stood up.  “We have witnessed, in the preceding weeks, that a starship filled with highly advanced technology has arrived in America and has started sharing its technology with the Americans.  The Government of France, and many other governments, finds this unacceptable; the economic damage caused by the introduction of new technology is worse for those who have no access to it.

“Further, the technology, particularly fusion power and the Power Cells, could change the face of the world.  The undeveloped parts of the world, kept down by an American-run system of deprivation, could be transformed by cheap power.  Hardship, famine and want could all be swept away; the Americans are denying this to us!  We have a right to share in their good fortune!

“We call upon the United Nations General Assembly to demand that the Americans share the technology with all nations equally,” he concluded.  “Further, we insist that the United Nations authorise all necessary actions to force the Americans to share on an equal – UN-mandated – basis.”

“Would any other ambassador like to speak in favour of the resolution?”  Legrand asked.  The ambassador from the Sudan held up his hand.

“Honourable members,” he said.  “Over the past few years, we have been wracked by civil war and ethnic strife, because there are too few reserves.  If what they say about the capabilities of the starship are true, we could save all of our people; instead of starving children they could have all they needed to live.  My government votes in favour.”

***
Rosensteel watched through calm eyes as nation after nation rose to speak in favour.  The accents were different, but the theme was the same; massive deprivation that could only be averted by Alternative technology, withheld only by American selfishness.  It was a neat job, and he made a mental note to buy the French ambassador a drink.

It was his turn to speak.  “Noble delegates,” he began.  “We acknowledge that we made contact with the Alternatives – our own Alternatives – through a lucky chance.  While they have shared some of their technology with us, we have not been given access to all of it.

“They say, and our think-tanks concur, that unrestricted access to their technology would destroy the fragile global balance, plunging us into another war,” he concluded.  “We can and will pass along what we are given, but it is not within our power to give all of it to any government…”

He spoke calmly and carefully for twenty minutes, but the outcome was pre-ordained.  The resolution was nearly unanimous.  Only six nations voted against; America, Canada, Britain, Israel, Australia and New Zealand.  

The White House
Washington DC, USA
18th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“This is a public relations disaster,” Harry White, the White House Press Officer, said grimly.  “Already, we have demonstrations in the streets – it won’t be long until there’s violence as well.”

“Military-wise, there’s no real threat,” Campbell assured Jackson.  “We can stand-off attacks from any combination of nations on Earth, and they’d hardly go nuclear against us.  And then there’s the Alternatives…”

“True,” Gregory said.  “At least, it’s your field and I hope that you understand it better than I do.  However, the economic damage along could ruin us; already there are suggestions in Latin and South America that their debts could be cancelled.  France and Russia are offering some incentives to nations that start embargoing our goods.  Basically, we could win the military struggle while losing the battle itself.”

“Enough,” Jackson said.  “What about offering to talk about it?  Stalling things a bit?”

“The French and Russians, I suspect, will offer to talk about it under the table,” Rosensteel said.  “The main flow of the UN, however, wants inspection teams in Armstrong, tours of Enterprise and access to any further talks with the Alternatives.”

“Work on it,” Jackson ordered.  “See what they might agree to.  Meanwhile, Keith, what can we do to prevent debt cancellation?”

“Nothing,” Gregory said.  “We can refuse to send Peru, Brazil and Argentina the fighter jets they’ve purchased, and there are a few other ways we can tighten the screws, but there’s no way we can remove the threat short of unilaterally cancelling the debts ourselves.”

“Which is committing suicide,” Jackson said.  “It’s like the Power Cell crisis, but worse.”

“I know,” Gregory said.  “I have a recommendation.”

“Yes?”  Jackson asked.  There was a faint note of hope in her voice, very faint.

“We need the Power Cell technology distributed anyway,” Gregory said.  “Quite apart from jealously, it would help please the enviroweenies.  So I suggest that we offer to sell the Power Cells on the open market, at least to the bigger countries.”

“That would mean that we lost whatever strategic advantage we might gain from exclusive possession of Power Cells,” Pope said thoughtfully.  “However, don’t see that we have any choice.  There’s just one thing, though, how will Cozort react?”

“I’ll have to ask him,” Jackson said.  “We’ll meet again tomorrow; goodnight.”

***
The small transmitter had been a gift from Captain Cozort – a system that used neutrinos to carry messages across space to the Enterprise.  Almost undetectable, the transmitter included an encryption algorithm that – she’d been assured – was unbreakable by any Native technology.

Cozort’s face appeared in the screen.  “Good evening, Madam President,” he said.  “How are you this evening?”

“Stressed,” Jackson said.  “Have you been following the news on Earth?”

“I think so,” Cozort said carefully.  “Let me see; this organisation that has no real power, not even moral authority, is demanding that you share what we’ve given you, or else.”

“Yes,” Jackson said.

“What’s the ‘or else’?”  Cozort asked.  “Unless they’re prepared to launch ballistic missiles at you – which we’ll intercept and destroy in space – it’s hard to see what they can do to you.”

Jackson ran though a short description of the financial crisis.  “If they withhold payment of their debts,” she concluded, “almost all of our banks will crash and put thousands of people out of work, which will have a knock-on effect that will lead to a recession.”

Cozort raised an eyebrow.  “How did you get into this mess?”

“Long story,” Jackson said.  “The short version is that banks loaned lots of money to counties that were trying to develop themselves, but their corruption and the global economic hiccups made it hard for them to get their heads above water.  So now they’re paying their earnings to meet the interest charges; they can’t touch the original debt.”

“And I suppose that you cannot cancel the debts yourself,” Cozort said.

“No, that would still cause the crash,” Jackson said.  “Assuming that the government managed to get the bill through the Senate.”

Cozort sighed.  “I don’t believe this,” he said.  “I don’t think that a show of force would settle this problem, would it?”

“I doubt it,” Jackson said.

“Perhaps if you let it be known that if unfriendly states were to attempt to cause the crash, we would support you in military action,” Cozort said.

“Perhaps,” Jackson said.  “On a different note, I hear that your wife is going on a chat show.”

Cozort smiled.  “Yes,” he said.  “Two days.”

“Tell her to be careful,” Jackson said.  “These are call-in shows; she might get some really offensive questions.”

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
18th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Rollins called the meeting between Stuart and himself, with Taylor linked in through Shipnet.  It was an urgent conference, or else they’d have met face to face.  Rollins displayed the global predictions from one of the Washington think tanks, and then opened the discussion.

“This global economy is all screwed up,” he said bluntly.  “We need to change it.”

“I don’t think that we can dictate to them with force of arms,” Taylor said.  He frowned; “these people would take to it as well as we would.”

“Not very well,” Rollins agreed.  “We need to change their entire structure, completely.”

“You propose what?  Forming our own political party?”  Stuart asked.

“Yes,” Rollins said.  “Many of these Natives approved of young Revel’s actions in New York.  We can build on that; instead of their corrupt political system, we can offer them the Unity Party’s system.”

“Clever,” Stuart said dryly.  “Now, how are we going to fund it?”

“There are ways and then there are ways,” Rollins said.  “We could sell Power Cells ourselves, or perhaps sell diamonds formed in zero-gee.”

“And then we form a political party?”  Taylor asked.

“Yes,” Rollins said.  “I cannot believe that this confused state is what Americans want, even these Americans.  We can make them great!”

Chapter Twenty: Talking to the World

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Good morning America,” Langdon said cheerfully, as soon as the red filming light blinked on.  “Our top story tonight; the struggle at the United Nations is building as American diplomats hammer away at the coalition.  The agreement to share Alternative technology, however, is conditional upon stabilising the global debt crisis – an event that might not be possible.”

The picture changed to show a map of the world.  “The nations coloured in red,” she continued, “owe us and the other western countries billions of dollars.  This debt, it is generally agreed, is holding back their development.  As a result of the UN actions, many of those countries are renegotiating repayment with us, on pain of debt termination.”

A video of President Jackson addressing the world was displayed.  Langdon spoke over the silent movie.  “President Jackson today asked for calm and placed strict limitations on currency speculation; supported and enhanced by Japan, Germany and England.  It is hoped that such measures will act to stabilize the tremors in the global banking system since the UN resolution.”

The picture shifted again, becoming a map of Indonesia.  “Islamic extremists today attacked a number of army patrols and government buildings, in an attempt to take over the government.  As western lives are threatened, the Republic of Indonesia has requested military support; President Jackson has not commented so far.  The only western government to have acted is Australia, which has begun increasing its forces in East Timor.  The Chinese Government, however, has warned of the possible threat to Chinese nationals and has offered armed assistance to the Republic of Indonesia.

“The republican forces in the Iranian Civil War today reported the capture of a substantial quantity of radioactive powder in a stronghold held by the Mullah Government,” she said.  “The EU has offered to dispatch a French team to investigate, while the Government of Iraq has offered armed support to the Republicans.  The State Department confirmed that the Republican capture of the stronghold and defence sources indicate that the end of the Mullahs might just be in sight.”

She ran through the remainder of the program, than presented the item she had saved for last.  “The Alternative Interview, which has been delayed numerous times, has now been confirmed for tonight.  Tune in and watch, then phone-in questions to one of the Alternatives.  Your questions answered; tonight!”

***
“Well, that went well,” Zapata said, as she reviewed the audience responses.  “Do you realise that our main rivals are going to be running commercials and boring programs; certainly nothing famous.  We’ve just won the ratings war for this year.”

“Perhaps,” Langdon agreed.  “What about security?”

“The Atlanta Police Department insisted on sending along a squad, as did the FBI,” Zapata said cheerfully.  “I’m sure that the Alternatives will send someone along to cover whoever’s butt, as well.”

“Roberta Cozort,” Langdon said.  “I met her once at Armstrong.  She’s sweet and competent.”

“And nude pictures of her will be faked and on the net by tomorrow,” Zapata said.  She smiled.  “I wonder how she will react to that.”

“I’ve no idea,” Langdon said.  “But, like those poor models who were filmed having intimate relations, I don’t think her approval will make any difference.”

“True,” Zapata said.  “By the way, is it true that you slept with Billy-Joe?”

“No!”  Langdon said.  “Not that I wouldn’t do him, but he’s way above my class.”

“There’s faked footage of you and him, then,” Zapata said.  “It’s on the company intranet.”

Langdon glared at her.  “Can’t you remove it?”

“It’s a bit difficult these days, you know,” Zapata said.  She grinned.  “Freedom of information and all that.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Roberta brushed her hair carefully, with simple brushstrokes, until her hair was smooth and pulled into a ponytail.  Cozort watched as she pulled a simple tunic over her underwear, and then applied makeup.  It was a simple dress, refusing to detract from her personality or her face.

“You have your security tools?”  Cozort asked, as she twirled in front of him.  She looked stunning and he felt a stirring.  Down, boy, he thought.

“Yes, of course,” Roberta said.  “I’ve got bullet-proof strands in this tunic and a wristcom.  No lasers or pistols; these people seem to have some objection to openly carried weapons.”

“Strange,” Cozort said.  “It’s a pity you can’t cover your head; perhaps a bullet-proof headscarf.”

“No thank you,” Roberta said firmly.  She smiled; “I am not an Iranian woman.”

“Or one of these Saudis,” Cozort agreed.  He frowned.  “Are you sure you want to go?”

“We need to send someone,” Roberta said, “and I’m the logical choice.  Why?”

“Just worried,” Cozort said.  He stood up and paced.  “From Joshua’s description of this place, it’s a security nightmare.”

“The Natives have promised good security,” Roberta said, trying to reassure him.

“These people have the fear of lawyers hanging over their heads, paralysing their trigger fingers,” Cozort countered.

“Don’t I get a close protection detail?”  Roberta asked.  “I’m sure that Joshua will pick good men, and we have permission to use force if necessary.”

“Yes,” Cozort said.  “I’m just concerned about your safety.”

Roberta kissed him, smudging her makeup.  “Don’t be,” she said.  “The only danger I’ll face will be verbal barbs and enquires about my sex life.”

Cozort laughed.  “I’m very good, just tell them that.”  Roberta smacked him lightly on the head.  “Ouch.”

“Time to go,” Roberta said, after a short pleasant encounter.  “I’m really looking forward to this.”

***
Sergeant Revel, Private (1st class) McKenzie and Private (1st class) Rickman came to their feet and saluted as Wachter walked in; he saluted back in a simple motion.

“At ease,” he said, inspecting their clothing.  They were dressed smartly, in Native suits, with black ties.  “Enhanced clothing?”

“Yes, sir,” Revel said.  “Bullet-proof strands through the suits; extra head-coverings if necessary.”

“Not that we need them,” McKenzie said confidently.

“Don’t underestimate the Natives,” Wachter said sharply.  “I know that Marines are tough and eat bullets for breakfast” – there was a longstanding rivalry between the Marines and the Internal Security Agency – “but the Natives will have a good idea of your body enhancements from Sergeant Revel’s little…incident.”

“Yes, sir,” Revel said, before an argument could break out.  “We also have hand weapons, portable sensors and emergency medical kits.”

“Good,” Wachter said.  “Now, your mission.  You are detailed to accompany Mrs Cozort to the surface, where she is due to be … interviewed on one of their newsnets.  They call them television channels here and they’re far less user-friendly.”  He shrugged.  “Anyhow, your task is to keep her safe, at all costs.

“We don’t know what sort of threats you’ll face,” he said.  “We seem to have some enemies on the surface, from gangsters to foreign powers.  You are authorized to use all necessary force to defend her; the locals have promised cooperation, but if its anything like Beauport…”

They nodded.  Beauport Asteroid had sworn loyalty to the United States in the later years of the Wrecker War, but seventy percent of the population had supported the Wreckers.  When the attack came, almost all of the occupation force had been killed through treachery; far more than would have been killed in a simple assault.

“And, of course, we can’t crack Atlanta open with nukes,” Wachter concluded.  “Do you understand your mission?”

“Yes, sir,” Revel said.  The other two nodded vigorously.

“Good luck,” Wachter said.  “Dismissed!”

***
The shuttle, a standard E-type shuttle, was waiting for Roberta as she stepped out of the transit pod.  She nodded politely to Ensign Sanchez, who was standing by the control panel, and gave Cozort a final hug.  She found her seat on the shuttle, flanked by her guards, and took her place.  A dull hum echoed round the shuttle as its drive field activated, and then dimmed as the shuttle lifted up and flew out of the hanger bay, plunging towards Earth.

International Produce
Atlanta
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The American security agencies had attempted to cut off most of the supplies of illegal weaponry entering the cities, and they’d had some success, but the ever-increasing number of drug lords, criminals and people who wanted more weapons for self-defence created more conduits than could ever be closed.  The International Produce Company, specialists in food from the Middle East, had no official contact with weapon suppliers, but a private arsenal had been hidden underneath the building.

Rakim studied the group, twenty-one men in all, and smiled slightly.  They were a mixed group, some Arab, some Asian, some white.  Dressed smartly in western clothes, they would not attract attention.

“You have the route planned?”  He asked their leader, Sarfraz.

“Yes,” Sarfraz said.  “We have a police scanner operating; if they change their route to one of the alternatives, we can change position quickly.”

“It is vital that we take her alive,” Rakim said.  “Americans are sentimental about their women; if we hold her he will agree to all of our demands.  Understand?”

“Yes,” Sarfraz said.  “We’re armed with enough weapons to take on a platoon of American marines.”

Which was the same logic those who fought in Iraq used, Rakim thought, but did not say.  If it gave them confidence, well and good.  Unless they could make their way out of Atlanta, they would almost certainly be lost to the cause anyway.  Who cares?

“Good,” he said finally.  “I’ll watch the interview from here, and then meet you at the airport.  Speed is of the essence.”

“Allah will be with us,” Sarfraz said confidently.  “We’ll bring her to you.”

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The massive limousine drew up at the main entrance and Roberta stepped out, flinching slightly as the smell increased.  The taint of fuel-burning engines could be smelt everywhere, even within the lobby or the limousine.  She wished that she’d convinced Cozort to let the shuttle land directly within the city itself, but no, it had had to be the airport.  The sooner we get these people using Power Cells, the better.

“Roberta, I presume,” a bubbly voice declared.  A red-haired woman, still handsome at thirty-odd, ran over to her and gave her a hug.  Roberta stepped back slightly as she squeezed, and the woman blinked.

“Golly, you people are really formal,” she said, to the delight of the crowded lobby.  “I’m Eva Zapata – you may call me Eva – and I’m the Producer.  Right this way, dear.”

Roberta almost backed out, there and then.  Stubbornness drove her on; she had a reputation to uphold.  There had never been any place like this during her timeline.  “What do we do now?”  She asked.

“What can I call you, dear?”  Zapata asked cheerfully.  “Now we go to make-up, and then we get ready for the live broadcast.”

“You may call me Mrs Cozort,” Roberta said firmly.  Zapata shrugged and led her through a number of corridors until they reached a room marked ‘make-up’.  Zapata tapped on the door, and then stepped inside.

“This is Cary,” she said, waving to a plump blonde woman with a friendly smile.  “She’ll make you up until you look even prettier than you are now, then Caroline will meet you for pre-broadcast briefing.”

“Thank you,” Roberta said.  She endured the preparation; eyeshade, lip-gloss, and hair brushing without comment, for Cary was clearly good at it.

“We need to adjust your skin slightly so that the lights don’t make you look odd on television,” Cary said.  Roberta, used to perfect holographic imaging, made no comment beyond a snort.  “Now, don’t you look better?”

Roberta gazed into the mirror.  She had to admit that she looked good, but it felt strange.  She frowned; it seemed an awful lot of trouble to go to for a newsnet broadcast.

***
When she stepped onto the stage, she realised that it was far more than a newsnet broadcast.  There was a dull roar coming from behind the curtains, while Langdon was sitting on one comfortable chair.  There was another one, facing both her and the audience, and she waved Roberta to take a seat.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, shaking hands properly.  “We’re on in ten minutes; that racket you hear is the crowds taking their seats.  They’re not allowed to shout out questions, but when has that ever stopped them?”

Roberta shrugged.  “Anyway, you don’t have to answer any questions unless I put them to you,” Langdon continued.  “We’ll be concentrating on your life, your timeline, your people and perhaps a few policy things.  Then I’m afraid that people are going to start ringing us up and asking questions; you don’t have to answer, but it can look bad to refuse to reply.”

“No screening process?”  Roberta asked.

“Sometimes they don’t ask the same question when on air,” Langdon said.  She placed a small jug of water and a glass in front of her.  “If you need to go to the toilet, now is the time.”

“I don’t have to,” Roberta said.

“I’d go anyway,” Langdon said.  “You can’t leave the set.”

***
The curtain drew back, revealing over two hundred people staring at her.  Roberta stared back, performing some quick mental calculations, concluding finally that there were at least two hundred and fifty people in the room.  It was awe-inspiring; during the Wrecker War large groups of people had fallen out of fashion.  These people have no sense of danger at all, despite being at war themselves.

“Good evening America,” Langdon said.  “Today, we finally bring you our extra-special feature: an interview with an Alternative.  Roberta Cozort joins us tonight, from the USS Enterprise.  Give her a big hand, folks!”  There was a loud roar of applause.  “Now, Roberta, can you tell us what role you play on the mission?”

Roberta almost flinched as the attention of the entire room focused on her.  “I am the starship’s main librarian and historian,” she said simply.  “My role was to store all useful information for the colony and assist others in finding what they needed.  As it happens, I’ve been playing historian instead, because we’re here instead of Tau Ceti.”

“What do you think of our world?”  Langdon asked.  “It must be very strange to you.”

“Oh, it is,” Roberta said.  “The United States is smaller than it was in our timeline, even without exploration into space; we still don’t understand why you turned your back on space.  Your culture is different too; more American instead of British, and you still rely on oil instead of fusion and power cells.”

“How big is American in your timeline?”

“Apart from the normal states, we have Canada, Britain, Ireland, Australia, Japan, Iceland, part of Mexico, the Congo and assorted islands.  In space, we have the Moon, Mars, hundreds of asteroids, Venus, the Jovian moons, and so on outwards,” Roberta said.  “Our population is roughly twenty billion by now; the baby boom never stopped.”

“Fantastic,” Langdon said.  “Tell me, where were you born?  Can you tell us anything about your early life?”

“There’s not much to tell,” Roberta said.  Langdon smiled encouragingly.  “I was born on Tarka Asteroid, part of Ceres State.  I was able to win a scholarship to Manchester University, where I studied Librarianship, and then history.  On a trip to the Moon, I met my husband while he commanded the sloop Wilson.  That’s pretty much it.”

“A fairly typical experience?”  Langdon asked.

“I would say so, yes,” Roberta said.

“Now, rumours have reached us concerning your government,” Langdon asked.  “Is it a single-party state?”

“Not in the sense you mean,” Roberta said.  “From my studies of your history, your single-party states either get so wide that their aims are forgotten, or so elite that they get corrupt and then get overthrown by the others.  The Unity Party has managed to avoid either fate.

“Basically, there are two types of members; junior and senior,” she continued.  “Junior members only have to swear that they believe in the party’s values and then they’re in.  Senior members stand for governing positions in elections, but first they get their pasts investigated thoroughly by all sorts of different agencies; that information then being made public.  Membership only allows you to vote in party elections; it’s not a requirement for any other position.”

“I see,” Langdon said, who didn’t.  “Now, a question of some delicacy.  You have introduced some of your technology to us, but not all of it.  From what your people have said, you’ve missed out your drive technology, some of your weapons and quantum taps, whatever they are.  Can I ask why?”

Roberta nodded.  “The quantum tap generating stations are explicitly forbidden anywhere near an inhabited settlement,” she said.  “That and the ban on antimatter production near Earth are about the only governmental interference in commercial affairs off-planet.  On Mars, a quantum tap went badly wrong and blew a large chunk of the planet into space.  The Enterprise does not carry one; it’s too dangerous.

“As for weapons and the drive, why should we share those?  The weapons, at least, are not that superior to yours; it’s merely a matter of application.”

That was not – quite – truthful.  Roberta wondered if Langdon would understand that, but if she did, she gave no sign.  “So you plan to deny us the stars?”

“Have we shot down a rocket of yours?”  Roberta asked.  “We have never stopped you from entering space; that was your decision.”

“True,” Langdon conceded.  “Why have you not offered tours around the Enterprise?”

“We’re too busy waking up the sleepers and caring for them to have visitors,” Roberta said.  “It has been suggested and perhaps we will.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” Langdon said.  “Now, a topical subject; what do you think of gay marriages?”

“About what?”  Roberta asked in honest surprise.

“About male-male marriages, or pretending to be married,” Langdon said.  “Or don’t you have that?”

“We don’t care,” Roberta said, after a moment’s thought.  Older customs from before 1940 had frowned on that, hadn’t they?  “When we were forced to keep a very intrusive national security state in being, we removed most of the sin laws.  If a male couple – that’s our slang for them – should choose to live together, we don’t really care.  If they want to be treated as a married couple, we don’t care.  All they have to do is set their wills so there’s no problem after one of them dies.”

“A very simple solution,” Langdon said, who wasn’t sure if she approved or not.  “What about abortion?  The deliberate termination of a pregnancy.”

“It’s forbidden,” Roberta said.

“What about a woman’s right to choose?”  Langdon asked, as the audience gasped.  Abortion remained a contentious issue in America.

“The right to change her mind after making such a life-changing decision?”  Roberta shook her head.  “Our nanites inside our bodies prevent pregnancy until we’re ready to have children,” she explained.  “As the men have similar nanites breaking down their sperm, the partners have to agree to have children.  Don’t you teach children contraception?”

“Not all of us,” Langdon said, who personally disapproved of the ‘abstinence-only’ teaching method.  “Many states just say don’t have sex, which only makes it seem more exciting.”

“What a stupid decision,” Roberta said bluntly.  “A woman has the right to choose, but not the right to change her mind afterwards.”

“I see,” Langdon said.  “Last question from me.  Are you going to intervene further on the surface like you did over China?”

Roberta considered the question carefully.  It had been discussed at some length before she’d left the Enterprise.  “Possibly,” she said.  “It would depend on the level of importance and if we were asked to intervene.”

“Humm,” Langdon said.  “Now, according to my producer the lines have been jammed, so lets hear the first caller.”

A thick southern accent came over the speaker.  “How is you married to a white man, girl?”

Roberta blinked.  “Because we fell in love,” she said.

“But its wrong for a white man to sleep with a black girl,” the speaker said.  Roberta got the distant impression that his real problem was that he’d never slept with a black girl.  “Us whites are superior, as the Ku Klux Klan says.”

“We broke up the Ku Klux Klan in 1941 and sent most of its members to prison or punishment battalions on charges of treason,” Roberta said coldly.  “How dare they object to black men being mobilised for the war against those who had killed President Roosevelt?  All racial discrimination was simply abolished the year afterwards and we never developed a black underclass like you did.”

“Good answer,” Langdon said.  There was a snarl, rapidly cut off, from the speaker.  Langdon grinned.  “Next up?”

“How do you punish political corruption?”  A firm voice, one used to command.  Roberta was vaguely reminded of Cozort’s voice during manoeuvrings.

“Harshly,” she said.  “If a politician is exposed as being corrupt; which is defined as acting against the best interests of his people, he can be jailed for at least twenty years.”  She hesitated.  “We’d not have impeached Clinton for sexual misconduct, but we would have for not doing anything about the growing world disorder.”

“Earlier in the program, you referred to British culture,” a younger voice said.  “Why not American culture?”

“British culture hopped across the pond in the 1970s and stayed,” Roberta said.  “When England, Scotland and Wales joined the United States later, London and Edinburgh became the centres of culture.”  She laughed.  “Some Scottish group called ‘The McCalmans’ became immensely popular and have stayed that way.”

***
Question followed question, on and on, until finally Langdon called a halt.  Roberta checked her wristcom and was surprised to notice that almost two hours had passed.

“Thank you for watching,” Langdon told the world, and the curtain dropped.  Roberta’s hand found the glass of water and she sipped it gratefully through a suddenly dry throat.  “You did well, you know,” Langdon told her.

“Thank you,” Roberta said.  She yawned.  “I’m tired.”

“Your shuttle is waiting at the airport,” Langdon said, as they stepped into the foyer.  The three escorts were waiting for them; Revel nodded to her as he checked the path to the limousine.

“Come on,” he said, as soon as he was sure that there was no danger.

“I hope to see you again sometime,” Langdon said.  “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Roberta said, and she stepped into the darkened street.  The bright streetlights flickered as they climbed into the limousine, then five police motorbikes led the way towards the airport.  For five minutes, they drove through darkened streets, while she relaxed and closed her eyes…

And then there was a massive explosion directly in front of them.

Chapter Twenty-One: Kidnapped!

Police Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The first explosion destroyed the Clark Atlanta University, killing hundreds of students who had gathered for evening lectures.  The next two damaged Emory University and Georgia Tech, and then several more random explosions went off around the city.  Drivers, unaware of the cars bombs that had been attached to their cars, were blown up along with other cars nearby, adding to the chaos.

The Police Commissioner realised at once that the main threat was directed at universities.  Even as he watched, reports came in of another blast at Oglethorpe University, fortunately killing only a few people.  As he desperately struggled to dispatch officers to the other universities, warning them to evacuate, he realised that minor blasts had been targeted on communication systems.  Panic was already spreading through Atlanta.

Telephone calls came in, from many different sources, claiming credit.  As emergency services were mobilised, no one realised that the real focus of the attack was elsewhere.

Near Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport
Atlanta, USA
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

One moment everything was normal, then an explosion blew the car into the side of the road.  Revel tried to open the door and discovered that it was jammed, so he kicked out as hard as he could and smashed it open.  Beside him, McKenzie and Rickman smashed through their side of the massive limousine and jumped out.  Revel assessed the situation; their escort was down or dead and there were ominous pillars of smoke rising from the city.

Suddenly, he realised why some of the other cars were burning; innocent people caught it what was obviously a well-planned ambush.  These cars run on petrol, he reminded himself.  They can explode!  Reaching into the limousine, he yanked Roberta out and they started running towards the side when a massive explosion went off behind them, the blast knocking him to the ground.

“Look out!”  McKenzie shouted, as masked figures stepped out, guns in their hands.  He lifted his own weapon and shot two of them down before they could react, then a hail of bullets smashed into his body.  For a desperate moment, it looked as it he would survive, but then the bullets wore through the chinks in his enhancements.  McKenzie fell to the ground, twitching.

Too badly injured, Revel thought helplessly.  “Run,” he shouted, pulling a grenade from his belt and tossing it towards the enemy.  One of them tried to catch it, blown apart by the plasma blast.  Three more were killed, others blinded, but there were more.  Too many more.

“I’ll cover you,” Rickman said.  He fell to the ground and started to return fire with his plasma pistol.  Flickers of green light lit the darkness and there was a scream from one of the attackers.

Carrying a stunned Roberta, Revel ran as fast as he could, desperately activating his wristcom.  “We’re under attack,” he shouted.  “Send help…”

A streak of light flashed past him and slammed into the ground only a meter in front of him.  The explosion from the bazooka picked them up and threw them backwards; he heard a gasp from Roberta.  He reached for his pistol and swore; it had landed hard enough to start the Power Cell leaking.  Before it could explode, he threw it at the enemy as another bazooka shot landed on top of Rickman.  It exploded; revealing for the first time that there were at least ten men coming after them.

“This is Enterprise,” Wachter’s voice said.  “I’m scrambling marines, but it’s going to be at least ten minutes before they can get to you.”

The shots rippling through the darkness were getting closer.  “Call the locals,” he snapped.  “We’re in serious trouble.”

An explosion only ten meters away underscored his words.  “There’s been a number of bomb attacks…”

A grenade landed too close to him.  Before Revel could react, the blast picked him up and slammed him against a wall.  Badly wounded, his enhancements began to shoot painkillers and repair nanites into his body, but it was too late.  He felt a rush of tiredness, and then the blackness claimed him.

***
Sarfraz ran forward, AK-47 raised and ready to react, but there were no more of those dreadful green flashes.  He’d shot one of his men in the back as he ran from the plasma gun; the others had followed Sarfraz forward or had been killed.  It took only a minute to confirm that two of the defenders were dead, but he placed a grenade under each of the bodies, just in case.

Their target, a young black woman, lay only seven meters away.  She was unconscious, but still breathing.  “Bring her,” Sarfraz snapped, and quickly picked up the intact pieces of Alternate technology.  

“Let’s go,” one of his men said.  He manhandled a large crate and they shoved Roberta in it, pausing only to cop a feel as he did so.  Sarfraz slapped his hand away and closed the lid, and then they started to move it into a van.

“It’s time to go,” Sarfraz said, and made sure that everyone was ready.  “Abdullah, you and I will take this van, everyone else, take the other van.  We’ll meet you at the rendezvous – or in paradise.”

Carefully, he started to drive away from the burning limousine and watched through his rear-view mirror as the rest of the team climbed into their van.  As soon as they’d driven off out of site, he pressed a button on his mobile phone.  The explosion could be seen for a long moment.

“What was that?”  Abdullah asked nervously.  Strong and tough, he was not known for brains or commitment to the faith.  Sarfraz kept him around because he was unfailing loyal; he did not have the intelligence to understand the teachings.

“Oh, just removing inconvenient obstacles,” Sarfraz said.  “Come on, we have to reach the change point.”

Shuttle Hawk
Atlanta, USA
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Wachter piloted the Hawk himself, swooping down through Atlanta’s airspace without regard for the sensibilities of the air traffic controllers.  Panic and pandemonium began to set in; planes were vectored all over the sky.  Wachter cursed as a Boeing 747 flew by with only five meters between the jumbo jet and the shuttle; it was dangerous in such crowded skies.

“This is where the attack took place,” his navigator said.  “I’m reading only one set of life signs close to the incident location; several others scattered.  There are a lot of fires down there, sir.”

“Prepare for drop,” Wachter commanded.  Behind him, five of the Enterprise’s marines took their flight packs and waited for the Hawk to come to a halt; five meters above the incident.  “Go!”

Wachter watched as the five men, armed and armoured, fell out of the shuttle and landed gently on the ground.  They spread out, hunting for signs of their comrades.  “We’ve located McKenzie,” one of them said.  “He’s dead.”

Wachter swore.  “Same for Rickman, I think,” another marine said.  “Sir, they blew his body apart with high explosives.”

“Ha,” a third marine said.  “I’ve found Revel; he’s alive.”

“Good,” Wachter said.  “Where’s Mrs Cozort?”

“I can’t see her, sir,” the marine said.  “There’s no body.”

A nasty thought was starting to creep through Wachter’s mind.  “Check their car,” he said.  “I think we’ve got it wrong; they came to kidnap her personally.”

“There’s no body in the car, apart from the driver,” the marine said.

Wachter swore.  “Wachter to Enterprise,” he said.  “Captain, we need you to activate Mrs Cozort’s tracking implant.”

“Understood,” Cozort said.  His voice trembled slightly; Wachter didn’t comment.  “Implant activated.  She’s heading towards the airport.”

Wachter, an experienced security officer, saw the implications at once.  “They’re planning to move her out of the country,” he said.

“We’ll get the President to shut down the airport,” Cozort said.  Cold determination had started to slip into his voice.  

“No,” Wachter said.  “Let them move her into a plane; we’ll take her back once the plane is in flight.”

“You have the conn,” Cozort said.  “Commander Taylor will coordinate from the Enterprise.”

Standard procedure; all officers intimately involved with hostages were to have nothing to do with the attempts to recover them.  Wachter felt a spark of cold hatred; he was career military, but Cozort was a friend, as far as a commander could be a friend.  “We’ll get her back alive,” he said.  And if we can’t, we’ll boil the kidnappers in their own blood, he thought.

The White House
Washington DC, USA
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

President Jackson had been awakened by the desk officer as the first explosions appeared in Atlanta; by the time she was dressed and ready to act over seven hundred people – mainly students – had been killed.  Atlanta was in serious trouble and she ordered regular army units to assist.

The Alternative communicator chimed.  “Yes,” she snapped.  “This really isn’t a good time.”

“It’s about to get worse,” a voice said.  She recognised it as Commander Taylor’s.  “You see, those explosions were just a diversion; they wanted to kidnap one of us, and they succeeded – for now.”

“How can you know that?”  Jackson demanded.

Taylor’s voice darkened.  “Roberta Cozort’s car was attacked at the exact same moment that the bombs started to go off,” he said.  “The attackers killed two of her guards and wounded the third, taking her with them to … Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport.”

Jackson noted that he’d had to look the airport’s name up; clearly it had not existed in the Alternate timeline.  “We’ll order them to close down flights at once,” she said.  “We’ve already had to redirect flights away from Atlanta…”

“Don’t,” Taylor said sharply.  “We can’t take the risk of them being trapped at the airport itself; let them take a flight and we can track them.”

Jackson considered it.  “Understood,” she said.  “Will you be sending help to Atlanta?”

“If you want us to,” Taylor said.  “I’m sure that Captain Cozort would allow it.”

Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport
Atlanta, USA
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Like all good plans, the kidnap plot was extremely simple.  A flight to an Arab country would be very likely to be halted while it was searched, so Rakim had chosen a British Airlines flight to England.  The Americans, he judged, would be unlikely to shoot down a plane belonging to their greatest ally.

The box that held Roberta was unloaded from the van and quickly substituted for another box in the warehouse.  Rakim’s company had been sending exotic foodstuffs to Britain for years; the guards had grown lazy about searching the boxes.  An added advantage was that the guards allowed seven escorts to stay with the box for insurance reasons, which allowed some guards to relax.  What harm could they do on the lower half of a massive jumbo jet?

As the forklift truck picked up the box, escorted by Sarfraz, Rakim and their five assistants, the guards did not check it.  After all, they knew it was safe; they’d checked it once, hadn’t they?  Even the reports about massive explosions in Atlanta did not increase their alertness.

“Bad news over there,” one of the guards said to Rakim.  “Better get on your way fast.”

“That’s up to the pilot,” Rakim said.  He stepped up into the cargo hold.  “Come on, everyone, try to get some sleep.”

“Have a safe trip,” the guard said.

Ten minutes later, the plane was in the air, heading for England.  Rakim smiled to himself and checked the security arrangements.  Unbeknownst to the guards, they could slip out of the cargo hold any time they wanted, but he didn’t want the crew coming in.  Once that was done, he opened the box.

***
Roberta, her nanites working to repair the damage to her body, flinched backwards from the light as it poured in.  A second’s check revealed that her wristcom was broken, but the leering man removed it anyway, dumping it in the bottom of the box.  She stared up at him, feeling fear, but refusing to show it.

“Come on out,” he said, and reached down for her.  He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her upright, making her gasp in pain; her shoulder was still sore.  Her nanites began dimming the pain at once, but her body was so sore…

“Who are you?”  She said, as she stood upright.  The world spun madly for a long moment and she trembled on her feet, before catching hold of the box’s lid.

“My name is not that important,” the man said.  “I am currently called Rakim.”

“Never heard of you,” Roberta said.  His eyes flashed with anger, but he controlled himself.

“You will do everything I command,” Rakim said.  “You have a long trip ahead of you; it can be pleasant or unpleasant, as you choose.”

“You sound like a character from a bad drama,” Roberta said, drawing herself up as best as she could.  He slapped her, hard.  She tumbled down, back into the box.

“Bitch,” Rakim snapped.  “American whore.”

“I’ve never slept with anyone, but my husband,” Roberta said, truthfully.  Rakim tapped the side of the box and it folded into its component pieces.

“There’s no one here who will help you,” he said.  “Will you cooperate?”

“Even the Wreckers never tried to force themselves on people,” Roberta sneered.  It was true; in all the reports of Wrecker attack, there had been no rape incidents reported.  He reached for her and tore at her clothes, pulling at it; the bullet-proof strands refused to tear.

“Bitch,” he said again, and opened the tunic normally.  She tried to kick out, but he slapped her aside with ease, and then yanked down her tunic, exposing her legs.  He rolled her over on to her belly, and then he climbed on top of her.  She felt his member, already hard, pressing against her buttocks, and then he forced his way inside her.

Roberta screamed, and tried to disassociate her mind from the obscenity being perpetrated upon her, but it was impossible.  She could feel every bit of the man's hardness intruding into her.  His breathing was raspy as he raped her methodically, punctuated by grunts of pleasure.  Suddenly he stiffened, and Roberta could feel the intrusion in her guts begin to pulse and throb.  The man groaned obscenely and suddenly there was a torrent of warm liquid gushing into her uterus.

“Was it good for you?”  Rakim mocked, as he pulled himself off her.  She gasped in pain; grateful as never before for the nanites that protected her from pregnancy and sexual diseases.  

“Fuck you,” she said through clenched teeth.  Her body hurt.

“Now that’s not nice,” he said, almost conversationally, and slapped her again.  “One of the others will be here soon,” he continued, “so why don’t you get ready?”  He left, leaving Roberta sobbing in pain, but with one final thought in her mind as she blacked out.  I know what happens to people like this back home…

Shuttle Hawk
Over Atlantic Ocean
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“She’s now moving towards Britain,” Taylor said.  “We hacked into the airport security cameras – piss-poor set-up, by the way – and found her kidnappers.  So far, we’ve only got identification on one of them; an American Muslim called Adam.”

“Very helpful,” Wachter said.  “Point me in the direction of the aircraft.”

“Do you plan to force it to land somewhere?”  Taylor enquired.

“No,” Wachter said.  He’d considered it, but he knew that there was nowhere for it to land.  “I plan to board it.”

“Are you out of your head?”  Taylor demanded.

“No,” Wachter said grimly.  “We have to get her back fast, while they’re not expecting it.  How long will it take them to reach Britain?”

“At current speed, something like eight to nine hours,” Taylor said.

“Good,” Wachter said coldly.  “We can’t strike now; they’ll be alert and waiting for trouble.  We’ll strike at seven hours – mark.”

“Mark,” Taylor said.

“Set the sensors to track the jumbo jet,” Wachter suggested, ignoring the fact that he was practically barking orders to a superior officer.  “I’m going to return to Enterprise and have the shuttle modified slightly; then prepare the assault team.  Ok?”

“Yes,” Taylor said.  His voice dropped.  “Mrs Cozort is loved by all of us…”

“We won’t let her get hurt,” Wachter assured him.  “I’m on my way back up now.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
20th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Commander Taylor, why are you in command?”  Doctor Romeo was no longer playing games; the reports coming out of Atlanta had made her furious and determined to help.

“Doctor,” Taylor said carefully, “under USSF regulation 543-43-65A, Captain Cozort cannot be involved with an attempt to recover his wife.”

“Who we all like,” Romeo snapped.  “We have to recover her!”

“We’re working on it,” Taylor said.  “However, we have to wait for the precise moment to strike.”

“Then you can ship me down to Atlanta, along with most of my staff,” Romeo said.  “There are thousands of hurt people down there.”

“You’re needed here,” Taylor said.  “Mrs Cozort might be hurt; she’ll need a doctor.  Not to mention Sergeant Revel.”

“Sergeant Revel is in regeneration at the moment,” Romeo said.  “He’s bruised and battered, but he’ll be back at work in a few days.”

“Good,” Taylor said.  “What about the other two?  What killed them?”

“Lots of bullets and explosions,” Romeo said.  “McKenzie was full of bullets; I dug nearly two hundred out of his body.  They tore through enough of his insides to kill him, enhancements or no enhancements.”

“Now that’s an unpleasant surprise,” Taylor said.  “I’ll tell Wachter to make sure that the assault force wears armour.  You, however, are going with them.”

“What about Atlanta?”  Romeo snapped.

“We need to tend to our own first,” Taylor snapped.  He banged the conference room table.  “I promised the captain that I would get her back and I will, so stop arguing!”

“I will lodge a formal protest with the Captain and Governor Rollins,” Romeo said coldly.  “I take it you have no objection to me sending some of the other doctors down?”

“None,” Taylor said.  “Do not go yourself, understand?”

They locked eyes for a long moment.  “Understood,” Romeo said finally.  

***
On one corner of the Captain’s cabin, there was a small glass vase.  Cozort had been given it by an elderly aunt; a woman who had served with distinction in the USSF.  He snarled with pure fury and lashed out, shattering the vase with a blow of enhanced strength.  The dresser was next; he smashed it with his right arm.  It hurt, even though the enhancements, but he did stop for a moment.

“Fuck it,” he snarled.  “How dare they do this?”

A kick smashed the remainder of the dresser.  “My love,” he cried, pain overriding the rage.  “I should be on the bridge,” he said coldly, “fuck regulations!”

He knew that he could not be; the USSF banned husbands or wives from being involved when their partners had been hurt or kidnapped.  The planet-Wreckers had been in the habit of kidnapping important people – until the USSF had begin randomly blasting small towns in the nations hosting the Wreckers.  Cozort had forgotten what it was like; he’d never fought in the main Wrecker War.

We liked to have a romantic impression of the bastards, he thought coldly.  Not that that stopped us from killing them when we found them, but the ones living in the asteroids were not all bastards.  The ones who destroyed Wells, yes, but the others…?

A swell of pure pain.  “When we find their base and those who support them, we’ll raze it to the ground,” he swore.  “USSF regulations or none, I’m going to give that order.  Taylor and Rollins can carry it out!

“We’ll kill them all, kill them and burn them, until none will try that stunt ever again…”

Chapter Twenty-Two: Retrieval

Flight 7632
Over Atlantic Ocean
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

Rakim sighed with relief as the timer clicked five hours past departure.  As far as he knew, it meant that there was no way that the American authorities could order the plane to return to Atlanta or any other airbase.  A wary eye on the GPS system confirmed that they continued on their course towards Britain.

“They can’t catch us now,” he informed Roberta, who was lying on the floor, tied up.  He’d watched in awe and some fear as her bruises healed up in minutes, leaving her skin unblemished.  “Your life as you knew it is over.”

She gasped in pain; there were still sore spots where the ropes tied around her were too tight.  She hurt inside; every one of the kidnappers had used her body at least once.  “You’ll pay…”

“But we won’t,” Rakim said.  “You will be our tool to extract concessions from your people; a withdrawal from Muslims lands, for one.  Then your weapons, and then…”

“The Muslims of our timeline are far more civilised,” Roberta said.  He stared at her.  “Compared to them; anyone would think that you did not believe in god.”

He kicked her in the chest.  “Allah will grant the Muslims victory over the disbelievers,” he snapped.

“How unlucky for you,” she gasped.  “They won’t give you anything for me, you know.”

“Americans are weak,” Rakim said.  “They’ll give us whatever we ask for.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

The seventeen armoured combat personnel assembled in the main conference room, armed and armoured up in their black suits.  They stood to attention as Commander Taylor and Wachter entered and saluted sharply.

“At ease,” Taylor said.  “Joshua?”

“This was supposed to be a secret, so I’m sure you know all about it,” Wachter began.  Not a muscle twitched on their faces.  “Roberta Cozort has been kidnapped by forces unknown.”  That did draw a reaction.  “Our task is to recover her and as many live kidnappers as we can.”

An image of the Boeing 747 appeared in front of them, and then became a slowly-rotating cross-section.  “This is a our target; a medium sized jetliner proceeding towards England at subsonic speeds.  The crew are in the cabin here, the passengers in this section here, and the cargo underneath, here,” he said, pointing to the locations one by one.  “As far as we can tell, the aircraft is still under the control of its regular pilot and the kidnappers have not attempted to seize control.

“Mrs Cozort, as she has an implant, can be placed here, towards the rear of the aircraft,” he continued.  “One kidnapper is next to her; another six are in the front of the cargo hold.  They haven’t moved, so we think they’re sleeping.”

“How are we getting this information?”  Captain (Marines) Jameson asked.  He frowned; “sensors don’t work at under such conditions.”

Wachter grinned.  “Believe it or not, there’s nothing to stop a basic infrared scan, a neutrino scan or even x-rays, were we stupid enough to try to use them.  We have a drone floating near the aircraft, probing constantly.

“Anyway, we are going to come up underneath the jet and attach ourselves to the underside, using the magnetic docking systems on the Hawk.  Once we’re connected, we’ll use a debonder to get a hole in the deck and climb up.  We think they’re armed, so wear your proper armour.  Once we’re in, we snatch Mrs Cozort and as many kidnappers as we can grab, then fall back.

“In the event of the scanners being wrong and the plane indeed being under their control, we have to take all the kidnappers out – alive or dead – and get the regular pilot back in control.”

He took a deep breath.  They weren’t going to like this part.  “No heavy weapons,” he said, and held up his hand to stave off the outpouring of protest.  “These native airliners are not built to last; not like a shuttle or a battleship.  You’ll be armed with stun pistols and light plasma pistols…”

“But sir…” one of the marines began.

“If you start firing a heavy plasma rifle in that airliner you’re likely to blow the entire aircraft out of the sky,” Wachter snapped.  “It is not a safe aircraft.  Now, are there any other questions?”

“None, sir,” Jameson said.  “When do we drop?”

“Ten minutes,” Wachter said.  “Get armoured; all we expect to face are bullets and maybe grenades, so don’t bother with energy armour.”  There were sighs of relief; armour designed to counter plasma pistols and other energy weapons was both heavy and unreliable.  “Dismissed!”

***
“I don’t know what state she’s in,” Romeo said to Taylor, as they met by the shuttle.  “I’m bring basic repair kits and emergency supplies along, but if she’s wounded really badly we’ll have to drop everything and return to the ship.”

“Understood, doctor,” Taylor said.  Worry ran through his voice.  “After Mrs Cozort, don’t let any of the bastards die; we need to interrogate them.”

Romeo frowned.  “Do not use any of my equipment for your interrogation,” she snapped.

“Don’t worry,” Taylor said grimly.  “I’m sure that Wachter has sufficient equipment.”

Wachter stepped up and saluted.  “We’re ready to go,” he said.  “Doctor, if you’d care to board the shuttle?”

“Be seeing you,” Romeo said to Taylor, and climbed into the shuttle.

“Is it true about you and her?”  Wachter asked, as soon as she was out of earshot.

Taylor glared at him.  “No,” he said.  “Now get going,” he snapped.

“Yes, sir!”  Wachter snapped out in parade ground format, and spun around, marching towards the shuttle in his best military manner.  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Taylor had to conceal a laugh; Wachter’s performance was ridiculous.

“Good luck,” he whispered, as the shuttle lifted off from the deck and passed through the forcefield keeping the air inside.  “Godspeed.”

Flight 7632
Over Atlantic Ocean
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

Captain Parkinson, a veteran of British Airlines, signed off the radio conversation with the British air defence network with a profound sigh of relief.  It was bad enough that explosions had been reported in Atlanta, but to be warned not to deviate from his flight path by the RAF…  He sighed; like all the other aircraft pilots, he’d heard about the time that RAF Tornados had nearly shot down a civilian airliner that had been – incorrectly – reported as hijacked.

“Nothing new?”  He asked the stewardess, Molly Perkins.  The busty blonde was about the only bonus these days, what with the Alternative technology and the economic tremors that were damaging the airlines.

“Just those Egyptian guys in the seventh row,” Perkins said.  Parkinson frowned; the government forbade people to be searched merely because of their ethnicity or nationality; Parkinson knew pilots who’d lost their jobs over that.  It was a piece of political stupidity, he thought, and he knew that the Union was pressing hard to have such redundancies cancelled.  That reason, he thought, was why so many had cancelled; the 747 could carry upwards of four hundred people, but they carried only fifty-six.  The ongoing war on terror continued to hit airlines hard.

“We only have an hour and a half left before London,” he said.  “Did they like their food?”

“What do you think?”  Perkins laughed.  “Some old gent offered to eat me; but I turned him down.”

“Oh good,” Parkinson said.  “It’s that miniskirt of yours.”

She giggled.  “It’s more to do with the food,” she said.  “I wouldn’t eat on a plane if I paid me.”

Parkinson considered that sentence and smiled.  “You get to eat free,” he said.  “Any other problems?”

“One of the passengers, a really dotty young lady, swore that she could hear screams four hours ago, but I listened and I could hear nothing.”

“Probably just the engines,” Parkinson said.  “Sometimes people do hear things in them.”

“Or maybe just her imagination,” Perkins said.  “Or perhaps…”

There was a chime from the radar screen.  Parkinson held up a hand and glanced over at it; there was a dot moving on an intercept course.  “What the hell is that?”

“What?”  Perkins asked.

“It just appeared out of nowhere,” he said.  “Travelling at Mach One, it should not have just appeared there.”

“An American stealth bomber?”  Perkins suggested.

“That would never have just appeared out of nowhere,” Parkinson said.  The mystery aircraft was now closing from behind, lowering speed to match the jumbo jet.  “I’m calling the air force.”

“Are you sure?”  His co-pilot, Robbie Younghusband, asked.  “You know how many penalties the bastard hotshots will give you if it’s a false alarm.”

The entire jumbo jet shuddered slightly.  “It’s not a false alarm,” Perkins said, a hard edge of fear in her voice.

“This is BAF 7632, declaring an interception,” Parkinson said, over the radio.  “I repeat; an interception.”

“This is RAF Leeming,” a voice came back after a long moment.  The plane shuddered again.  “Report.”

Blasted military hotshot, Parkinson thought.  “One unidentified contact, within ten meters of my aircraft.  Intentions unknown.”

There was a long pause, during which Parkinson speculated on what the officer was doing.  “Attention, BAF 7632,” he said finally.  “There is no flight plan near yours by anyone.”

“I knew that,” Parkinson muttered.  He’d checked with the flight controllers before taking off from Atlanta.

“We are dispatching an intercept flight,” the officer said.  “Stand by.”

Shuttle Hawk
Over Atlantic Ocean
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

The monstrous bulk of the jumbo jet loomed above them, dark and strange.  Energy flickered around it as it brushed the drive field propelling the Hawk.  Wachter had toned it down as much as he dared; risking a collision, but it would still be a tricky manoeuvre.  Under normal settling, a drive field would have repelled contact, but that would hardly have helped the mission.

“Contact,” he said.  There was a dull thud as the shuttle’s top met the underside of the jumbo jet.  “Everyone ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Jameson said.

“Activating debonder,” Wachter said.  “Stand by to get up there.”

Flight 7632
Over Atlantic Ocean
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

Every alarm went off at once as a thud echoed through the aircraft.  The entire plane shook and pandemonium broke out in the passenger compartment.  Perkins went back to try to calm them, but she was clearly shocked herself.

“What the hell’s happening?”  Parkinson snapped, trying to stabilise the shaking aircraft.  His vision outside the plane was becoming blurred, like there was water floating in the air outside.

“We have a breech in the cargo hold,” Younghusband snapped back.  “I don’t know what’s happened to it!”

“Those fucking joy riders,” Parkinson said.  “Update the air force” – a thought struck him and he checked the telltales for the plane’s integrity – “we’re being bordered!”

***
The first shaking brought Rakim to his feet from a pleasant doze, in which he was dreaming of a girl he’d slept with while back in Saudi Arabia.  The girl had later been killed by her father for not being a virgin; a fairly typical occurrence.

“What the hell’s going on?”  He demanded, as the plane shuddered again.

“I don’t know,” Sarfraz said, as a dull thud rippled through the plane.  “There’s no bad weather reported…what the hell is that?”

An orange glow had appeared on the floor, only seven meters from where they were standing.  Before they could react, the orange glow – and most of the floor – had vanished.

“Merciful Allah,” Adam gasped, expecting for the air to rush out, pulling them all into the air for a very long fall into the sea.  No air rush occurred, but the plane’s alarms started to ring.

In an odd bounding motion, a man hopped up through the hole.  They stared at him; he was wearing a black shiny suit that covered his entire body.  No details of his face could be seen.

“Kill him,” Rakim snapped, and two of the team opened fire with their pistols.  In a shower of sparks, the bullets ricocheted off the suit and bounced around the cabin.  A few punched holes in the side of the aircraft.

“Missed,” the figure said, matter-of-factly, and lifted a weapon of his own.  There was a snap-hiss noise and a flicker of…something…flashed across and struck Adam.  Adam gasped and folded slowly onto to the floor.  Sarfraz turned to flee and was shot down as well.

“Fuck,” Rakim said, and dived for the floor.  Before he hit the floor, a bolt of energy hit him; his entire body jerked and froze, hitting the floor with a bang.  He was dimly aware, through the haze, of three other men appearing and moving fact through the cargo hold.  A quick outpouring of shots were heard, then more of the strange weapons being fired.

“Found her,” an unfamiliar voice said.  Rakim mentally cursed; there was only one possible ‘her’.  

“Good,” another voice – female – said.  “Bring her onboard Hawk.”

“Yes, doctor,” the first voice said.  “My God, what have they done to her?”

“We got trouble,” a third voice said.  “Two incoming aircraft, fast-jet fighters, armed and hot.”

Charlie One
Over Atlantic Ocean
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

The pilot of the Eurofighter Typhoon had pushed his plane as fast as it could go to reach the stricken airliner.  Now, only a bare kilometre from the airliner, he could see its attacker underneath it; a solid black aircraft only slighter shorter than the airliner.

“What is it?”  Charlie Two asked over the intercom.  “One of Pope’s UFOs?”

Flight Leader Redding scowled.  Nick Pope, the British ‘Fox Mulder’, had created a sensation within the British defence establishment by writing a thriller based around an alien invasion and government politics; an explosive mix through constant defence cuts.  The novel had been famous for its caustic comments on the defence readiness of the RAF and the reaction of the Military of Defence to anything even slightly out of the ordinary.

“I doubt it,” he said.  “It must be an Alternative craft.”

“It looks deadly too,” Charlie Two said.

Redding activated his radio and set it to the general frequency.  He assumed that the Alternatives could pick it up.  “This is Charlie One, British Air Defence,” he said.  “Alternative craft, you are hereby ordered to disengage from the airliner and prepare to be escorted back to our base.  Do you understand?”

There was a long pause.  “Uh, boss,” Charlie Two said.  “Do you think we can enforce that?”

“It’s our duty to try,” Redding said, after checking the frequency again.  “Alternative craft, do you copy?”

“This is Commander Wachter,” a voice came back.  Redding could not place the accent; it sounded vaguely American, but muted.  “We are engaged in recovering a kidnapped member of our crew.  Do not interfere.”

“What do we do now?”  Charlie Two asked, on the private frequency.

“You stay away from us,” Wachter said, proving that the private frequency was not as private as they’d thought.  “You can’t stop us and you must not attempt to try.”

Redding switched back to the headquarters frequency.  “Control, this is Charlie One.  Object is an Alternative craft, boarding the jumbo jet.”

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by hissing on the channel.  “Charlie One,” the controller said finally.  “You are ordered to hold.”

“Hold?”  Redding demanded over the private frequency.  “This is not a bloody telemarketer call.”

A new voice came on the line.  “Charlie One, you are authorised to fire a warning shot.  Use a missile.”

“Well, that’s something,” Redding said.  He had a nasty suspicion that it would be useless, but it was his duty to try.  He flipped the safety switch on his missiles to ‘off’ and locked onto the Alternative craft.  “Final warning,” he said, back on the general frequency.  “Will you comply?”

“No,” Wachter said.  “Stay away from us.”

Redding brought up an ASRAAM missile, selected a proximity detonation, and launched the missile.  The Eurofighter shuddered as the missile launched from the wing.

Shuttle Hawk
Over Atlantic Ocean
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Incoming missile,” Pilot Officer Struin snapped.

“I see it,” Wachter said.  He cursed under his breath; the missile was dangerously powerful against a hull without a shield.  An explosion too close to the jumbo jet might just destroy the jet as well.  Acting quickly, he brought up the main drive field, extending it around the jumbo jet as well.  The missile detonated against the drive field in a hail of strange light.

“Missile down,” Wachter said, more for the benefit of the listening crew.

“Commander, the jet,” Struin snapped.

Wachter stared at the display.  The drive field had sheared through the wings and the tail, causing the jet’s engines to start to fall apart.  The shuttle shuddered as the jet’s engines stopped working.

“The entire jet is breaking up,” Struin said coldly.

Wachter swore.  If the Eurofighters fired again, the jet might complete its disintegration with the passengers and his team on board.  “Captain Jameson, get your people and the captured kidnappers in here now,” he snapped.

“We have to do something for those still on the plane,” Struin said.  “We can take most of them on the shuttle.”

Wachter frowned, but decided not to argue.  Quickly, he accessed the jumbo jet’s communications.  “Attention,” he said.

“This is Captain Parkinson,” the pilot said.  He sounded panicky.  “What the hell is going on?”

“Your plane is starting to break up,” Wachter said calmly.  “We have the ability to take most of your people on our shuttle; if you want.”

“We do, damn you,” Parkinson snapped.

“Then get them filing through the cargo hold, quickly,” Wachter ordered.  “We’ll hold the plane up as long as we can.”

“I’ll bring us to a hover,” Struin said.  “We can start people on parachutes if we run out of space.”

“Good thinking,” Wachter said.  “Jameson, how is it going?”

“We’ve secured the prisoners in the shuttle,” Jameson said.  “The doc is tending to Mrs Cozort now; she’s in a pretty bad way, sir.”

“Things are going to get crowded now,” Wachter said.  “Stand by.”

***
It took seven minutes to move most of the fifty-six passengers onboard the jumbo jet to the Hawk.  During that time, the entire upper superstructure started to collapse, creating a danger that no one had thought of: explosion.  As the drive field fluctuated over the jet’s hull, the process of collapse accelerated, leading to its final shattering minutes.  Just after the last passenger was safely onboard, Wachter sliced the remainder of the hull with the drive field and drove for orbit.  From two kilometres above, they watched the remains of the jumbo jet fall into the sea, the two Eurofighter pilots helpless witnesses.  

“Inform Captain Cozort,” Wachter broadcast.  “We have recovered his wife.”

Charlie One
Over Atlantic Ocean
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

Redding watched as the jumbo jet shattered in the air and fell towards the water far below.  Massive splashes appeared as the larger chunks smashed into the water; others floated down.

“Send search and rescue crews,” he sent to the RAF communications station.  Privately, he doubted that anyone would still be alive inside what remained of the plane – the Alternatives had wreaked it beyond recovery.

“What do we do now?”  Charlie Two said.  His voice was stunned; the RAF considered the ASRAAM an extremely useful missile and to see one of them just brushed aside was…frustrating.

“We stay here until SAR crews arrive,” Redding said,  “Then we go home.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

The shuttle tore through the atmosphere at maximum speed and rose towards the Enterprise, coming in like a bullet.  The entire trip was completed in five minutes; it would have taken less time if there had been less junk in the atmosphere.  The shuttle decelerated just before the shuttle bay and came to a halt just inside the bay.

“Perfect flying,” Wachter said cheerfully, remembering that it would count as a record for a while.  “Start unloading.”

Roberta and the wounded passengers were taken off first, escorted by Romeo to sickbay, and then armed and armoured security guards took care of the six prisoners.  Two undertakes carried off the body of one of the kidnappers; hit and killed by his own bullets.  Wachter gave instructions to check them for suicide pills before securing them in individual cells.

“Get the interrogation machines ready,” he ordered, watching one of the paralysed figures eyes twitch; the only motion a stunned man could make.  Once the prisoners were out of the way, the remaining passengers were shown to their quarters.  “You’ll be our guests for a day,” he said.  “We’ll give you a tour of the ship tomorrow.”

As soon as we’re certain that none of you are in cahoots with the kidnappers, he thought.  I would have placed a few people on the plane, if I could have done so.  He spied Taylor coming to meet him and smiled tiredly.

“A good job,” Taylor said.  “A shame about the plane, but…”

“No real problem,” Wachter agreed.  “Now, I need a bath and some sleep.”

“You’re off duty for at least ten hours,” Taylor ordered.  “You need some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Wachter said.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Interrogations

The White House
Washington DC, USA
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Jackson said.  “We’ll take up the matter of this…ah, hijacking with the Alternatives at once.”

“Thank you,” Prime Minister John McLachlan of Great Britain said, as calmly as he could.  “It’s causing something of a bother here.  The RAF, in particular, wants to know why it was not informed of the…interception.  Not to mention the colossal danger to the other passengers.”

“I know,” Jackson said, sighing.  “The same Roberta Cozort who was on CNN was kidnapped,” she explained.  “They recovered her somehow…”

“And we don’t even know what’s happened to the other passengers,” McLachlan snapped.  “The SAR crews found some wreckage, but no bodies.”

“Perhaps they were taken onboard the shuttle,” Jackson said gently.  “We’re too busy with Atlanta at the moment to make enquires.”

“What’s the situation there?”  McLachlan enquired grimly; the BBC’s coverage had been pretty bad.

“Over two thousand confirmed deaths,” Jackson said.  “Three universities have been shattered by the blasts; people are not going in to their studies.  I’ve had to mobilise the National Guard to help with the recovery work.”

“I’m sorry,” McLachlan said, after a long moment.

“The hell of it is that we don’t even know who is to blame,” Jackson said.  “Unless it was a remarkable coincidence, the FBI is pretty sure that the attacks were meant to conceal the attack on Roberta Cozort; thousands of lives just sacrificed like that!”

“They want America to feel fear and terror,” McLachlan said, pragmatically.  “Don’t let them force you into doing something stupid.”

“Thanks,” Jackson said, dryly.  “Can I count on your support in the UN?”

“Of course, and as much medical help as we can provide,” McLachlan replied.  “God bless.”

The phone clicked and fell silent.  Jackson stood up from her desk and started to pace the oval office; America hadn’t suffered like that since…well, since September 11th.  Everyone thought that Al Qaida no longer had the ability to mount attacks within American soil, just the Middle East and Pakistan.  Who would do this to us?  Who would benefit the most from having an Alternative captive, one that might well not have any technical information, one whose only value would be as a hostage?

No.  Oh no…

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

Captain Cozort knew that USSF captains were supposed to be dignified and in control at all times, but he ignored the rule; running through the corridors of his ship to reach sickbay.  Crewmen and the newly woken sleepers gaped as he sped past them, too fast for a salute, and he finally ran into sickbay.

“Where is she?”  He gasped, breathing hard.  Romeo glanced up and pointed to a regeneration cylinder; glowing with a faint yellow light.  “How is she?”

“Her physical damage is limited,” Romeo reported, a hard edge of fury in her voice.  “She’s suffering from bruises, a broken wrist, and considerable vaginal and anal injuries.”  She reached out to squeeze his hand.  “She was raped, several times,” she said softly.

Cozort smashed his hand against the medical table in frustration.  “There are a number of tears and holes in her entire vagina,” she said.  “There is also scarring on the inside of her anus, which suggests that she was raped there as well.  The presence of a small marker pen…”

“I don’t want a catalogue,” Cozort snapped.  “Will she recover?”

“All the injuries can be repaired fairly easily,” Romeo said.  “The marker pen was releasing poisonous material into her body, but we can break it down fairly quickly.  I don’t know how long she would have survived if she’d stayed with them; her personal nanites aren’t military grade and would have had difficulties handling some of the injuries.  There should be no long-lasting physical effects.”

She paused.  “Down on the Native world, these sort of injuries would have permanently destroyed her ability to have children.  As it happens, we can repair her damaged organs and wipe out the unwanted sperm; but there might be more subtle injuries.

“Rape trauma syndrome is not one of my specialities, Captain, but I know the basics.  She may be fearful and scared, or she may bottle it up inside her.  She may be unwilling to see men again, or become scared of touch.  I don’t know enough to be certain, but MEDIC and I will go through the material to see what there is.  Fortunately, this was not an acquaintance or marital rape, so she should not be fearful of the crew.”

She tapped the regeneration cylinder.  “I’m going to leave her in there until her injuries are cured,” she said.  “I’ll call you when she’s ready to be woken up.”

“Thank you,” Cozort said.  An uncomfortable twinge of conscience reminded him of his duty.  “What about the passengers from the jumbo jet?”

Romeo smiled.  “The only major problem was a broken arm, so I regenerated the arm until it was set and then let the man experiment with it.  Three children were bruised and battered by the shaking, so we repaired the damage, one woman had sprained her ankle and made a lot of fuss.  I gave the children nanite packages – don’t bother to object, they needed it.  Captain, one of them had AIDS.”

“How?”  Cozort demanded.  The prospect of a child with such a vile disease was sickening.

“According to her mother, she caught it from sexual contact with her stepfather,” Romeo said.  Cozort looked sick.  “We scanned everyone on the plane and fixed a number of small problems.  Some of them want a tour; others want off the starship and back to Britain.”

“I’ll see to it at once,” Cozort assured her.  “Now, what about the bastards?”

“They were stunned, so we shoved them in the brig – separate cells – until they woke,” Romeo said.  “Joshua’s with them now.”

“Good,” Cozort said.

***
“So you see, Madam President, there was no significant damage or even loss of life,” Taylor said to the communications console.  An image of Jackson hung above it.  “By the standards of hostage rescue attempts in our universe, one hostile death is a great success.”

“There was also the danger to innocent bystanders,” Jackson snapped.  “A 747 carries at least two hundred people…”

“There were fifty-odd,” Taylor said.  “We had time to move them all into the shuttle; they’re onboard Enterprise.”

Was that a flash of envy he saw in her eyes?  “Fifty-odd?”

“We don’t understand it either,” Taylor said, deciding not to mention that if there had been a few more passengers some of them would have had to be abandoned.  “Still, if they’d managed to land in the State of England…”

“The independent nation of Great Britain,” Jackson reminded him.

“They would have been extremely difficult to track,” Taylor lied smoothly.  Yet, he knew, if they’d abandoned Roberta they might well have escaped capture.

“When will you be handing them to our custody?”  Jackson asked.  “What about the innocent passengers?”

“We will interrogate the prisoners and discover the how, the why and the when,” Taylor said.  “They killed two of our people and severely wounded two more.”

“Will Mrs Cozort recover?”  Jackson asked with genuine concern.

“I hope so,” Taylor said.  “The doctor won’t discuss such matters with me under privacy laws.  Anyway, I will not let them get away from us; we will know where they came from.

“As for the innocent passengers, we’ll return them in an hour or so,” he concluded.  “Some of them wanted a tour of the ship first and it’s the least we can do.”

“Understood,” Jackson said, crossly.  “Good day.”

The communications link closed and Taylor stared at it for a long moment, then his wristcom buzzed.  “Commander,” Wachter’s voice said, “we have the interrogation room prepared.  Are you going to want to observe?”

“Yes, I think so,” Taylor said.  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

***
Rakim awoke slowly from a nightmare of strange dark men to realise that he was no longer on the jetliner.  The dark room was like no place he’d ever seen before, but it looked oddly familiar.  It hit him in a moment of clarity; it looked like one of the interrogation chambers underneath the Saudi Arabian police stations.  He stared through the darkness, hearing breathing close to him, but he couldn’t move.  It took him a long minute, through his dazed head, to realise that he was secured to a chair.

The lights came up sharply and he flinched; the light was so bright.  He squinted through the brilliance and made out a simple room.  Seated on solid chairs, the five other members of his group were spread out in a rough semi-circle, secured to the chairs.  He tested the bonds and found them unbreakable.  Looking down, he realised that he was naked.

“Welcome back to the world,” an American voice said.  Rakim turned his neck to see a young white American male.  A black man stood behind him, arms crossed in front of his chest.  He did not recognise the uniforms.

“I want a lawyer,” Adam mumbled.  His voice was filled with fear; Rakim realised that he’d wet himself.  The stink rose up, but the American ignored it.

“Allow me to explain your position,” the American said, as calmly as if he was ordering dinner.  “You are on a starship orbiting the Earth in high orbit.  It is out of reach of almost all Native space capabilities; no one knows you’re here.  This compartment is sealed and only people with the correct bioelectric signature can pass through the airlock.  In short, you cannot possibly escape.

“Your only hope for surviving this situation is for you to tell us everything,” the American continued.  “You kidnapped and raped one of us, you injured another and you killed two more.  Each of those crimes carries the death penalty and there is no doubt of your guilt; we collected samples of your semen from her body.”

Rakim felt compelled to remind the American of the American rules concerning prisoners.  “I want a lawyer,” he said.  “You can’t do anything to us to force us to talk; we know your American rules…”

Casually, the American slapped him across the face.  “We are not the Americans you know and take advantage of,” he hissed.  “We – us Alternatives - do not let threats like you exist.  Now, will you talk?”

Adam broke.  “I don’t know anything,” he said.  “They said it was all necessary to preserve the ummah, they said that Allah would forgive us…”

“How can someone preserve Muslims by provoking people with the power to destroy you?”  The American asked.  He smiled.  “It so happens that those chairs are lie detectors as well; far more capable than yours.  Now, tell me about your involvement.”

Rakim glared at him, but Adam had broken completely.  “I converted in 2001 and lost my job as a result,” he said desperately.  “Don’t I deserve more?  They said that I could fight, but I had to fight in America, not Iraq or Iran.”  He broke down into sobs.  “My parents…”

The American shook his head.  “Which of this sorry lot is in charge?”  Adam pointed with his head towards Rakim.  “Thank you,” the American said.  “Tell me,” he said to Rakim, “are you going to talk?”

“No,” Rakim snapped.  “I want a lawyer.”

“Perhaps you misunderstood me,” the American said.  “Observe.”  He walked around the semi-circle until he was standing directly behind Adam.  “For the crime of high treason, murder, rape and kidnapping, I sentence you to death.”  Before Adam could react – not that it would have done any good – he put his hands on each side of his head, and squeezed.  Adam’s head popped like a grape; blood and gore flying everywhere.

“But you can’t do that,” Rakim gasped, in horror and disbelief.

“I can and I will do that to each and every one of you,” the American said.  The black man, who had remained still, nodded vigorously.  “You were taken in the act of hostile actions; that means that you have no rights at all.  Now, will you talk?”

Rakim stared at the remains of Adam’s body for a long moment, then felt something break inside.  “What will you do with us if I tell you everything?”

“We won’t kill you like that,” the American said.

“I want to be put off this thing,” Rakim said.

The American smiled.  “Tell us everything and we’ll let you walk out the door, free and easy.”

Rakim glared, but he started to talk.  “We were sent to kidnap one of you people,” he said.  “The target was up to us, but it had to be someone important and valuable.  You see, the plan was to take her back to our base and use her as a hostage.”

“Where is your base?”  The American asked.

“Saudi Arabia,” Rakim admitted.  The American’s eyes narrowed.  “The government funds us so we carry the fight to America and its allies, working to remove the crusaders from Muslim lands.”

“And just incidentally gets many of your people killed?”  The American asked dryly.  “This sounds depressingly familiar – the planet-Wreckers thought the same.  They gave up after we started blasting cities.  Who in Saudi funds this?”

Rakim winced.  “I never met him,” he began.  There was a loud beep from the chair and the American slapped him.  “It’s all of them, the ruling princes,” he said.  Pain was leaking through his entire face.  “They want the jihad somewhere else, anywhere else, so they fund us to encourage us to take it away.”

“They don’t care about American lives?”  The American said coldly.

“They know that America will do nothing to them as long as they hold a stranglehold on the oil,” Rakim said.  He felt tears on his face.  “We go to disrupt oil in Iraq so that the Iraqi oil is kept down.”

“And I bet they started the Iranian civil war as well,” the black man said.  “I was wondering how the religious barbarians could keep a war going.”

“We don’t help them,” Rakim said, “but I think they get funds anyway.”

“So this nation’s rulers have been supporting the enemies of America for a long time,” the black man said.  Somehow, he’d taken over the interrogation.  “Were they responsible for the attack in New York?”

“No,” Rakim said.  Some parts of that had never made sense until now; pain and terror concentrated the mind wonderfully.  “That was Osama Bin Ladin,” he said.  “They hated him because he was an ideal; they took over some of his group and wiped out others.”

“I see,” the first American said.  “Why did you kill two thousand people in Atlanta?”

“We needed a distraction,” Rakim admitted.  There was a slightly lower beep from the chair.  “And we hated the American students; some of whom would become our oppressors.”

“It strikes me that your oppressors are home-grown,” the black man said, rather sardonically.  “Do not worry; we will punish your people for hosting such criminals.”

“You said you’d let us go,” Rakim said.

“In good time,” the black man said.  “In good time.”

***
Once outside the interrogation chamber, Taylor and Wachter stripped off their blood-soaked uniforms and walked into the shower chamber.  Water was normally a valuable commodity on a spacecraft, but they felt that they needed to be clean.

“Interesting,” Wachter observed, as they were drying themselves.  “It makes sense – if the government is too weak to get rid of the criminals, export them somewhere else.  If they get killed by the others, who cares?”

“Me,” Taylor said, as he stepped naked out of the water.  He picked up his wristcom from the table.  “Captain?  We carried out the interrogation and we know the enemy.”

“Good,” Cozort said, his voice full of cold rage.  “Meet me in the conference room in twenty minutes.  I have to finish showing the jet’s passengers round.”

“Yes, sir,” Taylor said.

***
“Tell me,” Captain Parkinson said.  “How much does one of these babies cost?”

“Roughly twenty billion dollars,” Cozort said.  After all the horrors of the last two days, he found Parkinson’s obvious fascination with the starship a relaxing influence.  “She was built in components in yards all over the solar system, then assembled at the L1 point yard.”

“She seems rather big for a spaceship,” Parkinson said.

Cozort chuckled.  “The USSF knew that we would be on our own for at least two years,” he said.  “So it made sense to have us loaded for bear, as it were.  Size is not the issue; really, it’s the cost of the hyperdrive.  We had to have one capable of folding space around our large hull; Enterprise wallows like a drunken duck compared to the first starships.”

“As long as you don’t meet the Death Star,” Parkinson said.

“Your culture seems to have been more imaginative than ours,” Cozort said.  “We have nothing like the varieties of entertainment that you have; our cultural centre is in Edinburgh.”

“No room for an alien abduction of Elvis if you know the solar system is empty,” Parkinson said.

“Elvis?”  Cozort asked; the name meant nothing to him.  “Never mind; we knew that apart from a few odd fish in Titan’s sea there was no life in the solar system, but us.  We only had one hint of alien life and it never reappeared; a radio signal that interested our astronomers in 1970 – I think.  There are rumours of alien quantum taps operating near the solar system, but they could just be the remains of the Wreckers trying to escape the solar system.”

“You should build a hotel on the moon,” Parkinson said.  “Can you imagine the profits?”

Cozort grinned.  “If you like, I’ll put you in touch with our commercial representative,” he said.  “I’m sure he’d be interested to hear that idea.”

They reached the shuttle bay.  The final passengers, their journey lasting longer than they’d ever expected, were walking onboard the shuttle now.  “Get in touch with Armstrong if you want,” Cozort said.  “Until then, Godspeed.”

“Take care of yourself,” Parkinson said, and boarded the shuttle.  Cozort watched until the shuttle had left the bay, and then he started to head back to the conference room.

***
Cozort watched the recording of the interrogation session silently, occasionally jotting down further questions to put to the kidnappers.  They seemed a pretty incompetent lot to him; he said so.

“At a guess, I think that these people carefully do not promote the ones who are genuinely intelligent, because they might pose a threat,” Wachter said.  “It’s rather like a lot of people were worried about the Unity Party back home before the protocols were worked out and enforced; only people in the Royal Family get promoted.”

“And they control much of the oil supplies,” Cozort said.  “They timed this well; another year and oil would no longer be a problem for the Natives.  Still, we have to punish them for this.”  Cold hatred ran through his voice.  “Not just for Roberta and the others, but for those killed at Atlanta; we have to make sure that this never happens again.”

“I have taken the liberty of preparing an attack plan,” Taylor said.  He passed over the small computer; Cozort glanced through it.

“What sort of military threat do these people pose?”  He asked.

“Against us, or indeed anyone else, almost nothing,” Taylor said.  “They’re so scared of coups that most of their air force is unarmed.”  He shrugged.  “If we bombed them from orbit, they’d never be able to hit us anyway.”

“Yes,” Cozort said.  “Not yet, though.  Travis, have the Hawk and the Stillwell prepared for planetary bombardment.”

“Already done,” Taylor assured him.

“Good,” Cozort said approvingly.  “We need to make certain, however, that the world understands why this was done.  Have them ready to launch at half an hour’s notice.”

“Yes, sir,” Taylor said.

“Joshua,” Cozort continued, “I want Armstrong put into lockdown.  Check each and every car that goes in or out, warn every aircraft to keep at least five kilometres from the base.  Coordinate your efforts with local security forces.”

“Yes, sir,” Wachter said.  “What about the prisoners?”

“Keep them locked up for now, under listening watch,” Cozort said.  “Later, we can let them go through the door.”  He chuckled, then sobered.  “I’m going to talk to the President.”

Chapter Twenty-Four: Preparations

The White House
Washington DC, USA
21st April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Good evening, Madam President,” Cozort’s voice said through the communications device.

“Good evening, Captain,” Jackson said.  “How is she?”

“Recovering,” Cozort said grimly.  “She was raped by those animals.”

“The death toll is now up to three thousand,” Jackson said.  Her voice was cold.  “I want those bastards for interrogation.”

“Don’t bother,” Cozort said.  “We’ve already interrogated them.  I’ll transfer the video file to you; my communications officer swears blind that you can read it.”

“What would happen to her if she was wrong?”  Jackson asked.

“Everyone would laugh at her,” Cozort said.  “We’re not the Russians, to execute someone over a simple mistake.”  He sighed.  “Anyway, we now know which nation is supporting the terrorists.”

“Saudi Arabia,” Jackson said.  “We traced some money through a bank account in the Caymans to a known bunch of Saudi exiles.”

Cozort’s image frowned.  “You don’t realise the problem,” he said.  “It’s not a bunch of renegades, it’s the entire Saudi government.”

“We know,” Jackson said.  “We don’t have an alternative, but to take the blows; they have our oil economy in a stranglehold.”

“You have Alternatives,” Cozort said.  “Us.”  Jackson groaned.  “We gave you the technology to build Power Cells; we can and will give you fusion technology as well.”

“Won’t that take too long to change over?”  Jackson asked.  Hope and fear warred within her breast.  “What else will they do in that timeframe?”

“They knew that we had to be stopped from freeing you from the oil trap,” Cozort said.  “What will they do in that timeframe?  We are going to punish them for this little stunt; make sure that they never try this again.”

“You’ll damage our economy,” Jackson protested.

“You let this…dependence grow and you complain when you have a chance to get off it?”  Cozort snapped.  “These bastards have funded attacks that have claimed thousands of American lives.”

“What are you going to do?”  Jackson asked, ceding the point.  She considered protesting that it had not been on her watch, but she knew that Cozort had a point.

“We’re going to smash that government,” Cozort said coldly.  His voice said that he knew he had the ability to do just that.  “We have the firepower and the ability to deliver it to any point of Saudi Arabia.  What you have to do, in the three days we’ll give you, is prepare your forces in the Middle East to seize the oil wells.”

“We can’t just take them…”  Jackson began.

“You don’t have a choice,” Cozort said.  “Your only hope of avoiding major economic damage is to hold and use the oil wells for at least a year.  Then the power cells will be fully integrated into your society and you won’t ever have to worry about the Saudi barbarians ever again.”

***
Twenty minutes later, Campbell and Pope were standing in the Oval Office, listening to the recording of the conversation.  Their faces were grim; events were moving out of control.

“What do we do about it?”  Jackson said finally.  “What can we do?”

“We prepare to seize the oil wells,” Pope said.  “If they only deploy the craft that over flew China, the Saudi defences are outmatched.”

“They’re not worth shit in any case,” Campbell said.  He hesitated.  “Sorry, Madam President.”

“No matter,” Jackson said.  “Would it change things if we warned the Saudis?”

“The rulers would flee the country,” Pope said.  “No, Cozort has placed us – placed you – in a position that means that you have to do as he suggested.”

“The bastards have people on station to destroy the oil wells if we try to seize them,” Jackson said.  “It was the threat that they held over our heads if we tried brute force.  What can we do about that?”

“The Marines and the Special Forces can take most of the wells,” Campbell said.  “It’s just a question of timing.”

“I understand,” Jackson said.  “I want you to go personally to the bases in Iraq and brief the Marine commander there.  This stays a secret – just in case the bastards decide to blow up the wells anyway.”

“Yes,” Madam President,” Campbell said.

USS Enterprise
Earth orbit
22nd April 2009 (Time Line A)

The tactical chart of Saudi Arabia kept being updated as reports from reconnaissance drones and hacked computer banks kept flowing in.  Symbols for military, governmental and police stations were displayed, as were the oil wells and the areas of discontent.

“As soon as the captain gives the order, I want a salvo of ten minute area denial weapons on each of the oil wells,” Taylor ordered.  “It should take the Natives longer than that to reach them when the fireworks start, so we’ll clean out the Saudis on the oil wells for them.”

“Yes, sir,” Wachter said.  

“Good,” Taylor said.  “Now, we’ll lure the Saudi Air force up to smash it in the air; that should intimidate anyone who wants to try to fight it out conventionally.  After they’re falling from the sky, the Stillwell will drop kinetic bombs on their bases, neutralising any further threat.  If they don’t take the bait, or try to flee to Iraq, we’ll hit them anyway.  Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Wachter said.  “Should we target their missile bases?  According to the native records they could reach at least as far as France.”

“Yes, in the second attack, unless they open fire,” Taylor said.  “Once any possibility – no matter how remote – that they could hurt us is gone, we start striking the other targets.”  He adjusted the display.  “The army bases, particularly the ones in the south, near the discontented areas, are the first targets.  I want every military base smashed, then target the police stations, particularly the religious police.”

“Blasphemy,” Wachter said coldly.  The American Pope had declared the concept of religious police a blasphemy in 1965, at pressure from the then President.  The papacy had no longer been so powerful since 1945 with two rival Popes in existence; one American, one Russian.

“If they’re too weak to get rid of them, we’ll do it for them,” Taylor agreed.  “Then we move in on the governmental buildings; the princes’ palaces, the bureaucrats, the remaining police stations…everywhere that helps keep this pathetic state together.”  He smiled.  “Apart from their unpronounceable capital…ensign?”

“Riyadh,” Sanchez said helpfully.  “It’s largely an artificial construction, reliant on their water supplies.”

“Leave that city until last,” Taylor said.  “The special weapon has been prepared.  Finally, we target with ten-minute area denial weapons the terror camps Mr Rakim was kind enough to point out to us.  The flush of radiation will kill everyone there, then the Marines can secure the site and we can start sorting through any evidence that may be found there.

“Now, ensign, how goes the overseas hunting?”

Sanchez nodded.  “I have been digging through thousands of Native records,” he said.  “So far, I have located literally three thousand different sites in Europe and North Africa, mainly mansions, belonging to the royal family of Saudi.  I’ve programmed them into the targeting systems.”

“Very good,” Taylor said, sounding slightly condescending.  “Working with Mrs Cozort has clearly rubbed off on you.  What about their money?”

“They’re loaded,” Sanchez said.  “I’ve found billions in banks all over the world.  There is a very high rate of turnover – they seem to have bought whatever they wanted, whenever they want it.  However, the nation itself seems to be almost bankrupt.”

“Because the rulers have been stealing money from the people?”  Taylor asked.

“It seems that way, yes,” Sanchez said.  “It seems that the rulers have a habit of just taking money whenever they want and too bad for anyone else.”

“I see,” Taylor said.  “Can you steal the money?”

“Some of it, yes,” Sanchez said.  “I can play through the tax havens here and siphon off some of the money; I can issue fake warnings to get most of the other accounts frozen.  Not all of it, though, I’m afraid.”

“Get ready to launch your heist when we launch the attack,” Taylor said.

“Yes, sir,” Sanchez said.

***
Roberta felt a slightest touch on her skin and screamed; yellow light was shimmering over her.  She sat up sharper, bringing up her fists to defend herself, and then realised that she was in the Enterprise’s sickbay.

“Welcome home,” Romeo said.  She reached out with a medical scanner and held it in front of Roberta’s eyes.  “No effects of the sedatives; good,” she said.

Roberta realised that she ached all over.  “What happened?”  She asked, and then the memories came flooding back.  She heard whimpering and dimly realised that it was her voice.  An arm squeezed her shoulder and she pulled away.

“Don’t worry,” Romeo said, soft and comforting.  “You’re safe now.”

Roberta started to cry.  “There were so many of them, one after the other, and they forced me…they forced me to…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Romeo said.  “What you need now is bed.”

“How is he?”  Roberta asked.

“He’s worried about you,” Romeo said.  “He paced up and down so much that I banned him from my sickbay.  I’ll give him a call once you’re asleep.”

“What will happen to them?”  Roberta asked.

“I guess that the ones who are captives will be tried and executed,” Romeo said.  “One of them died in the battle to recover you; another was killed by Joshua.”

“Kiss him for me,” Roberta said.  “How badly was I injured?”

Romeo hesitated.  “There was some minor bruising around your hips,” she lied, “and some limited damage to your vagina.”  She saw the look of alarm and horror in Roberta’s eyes.  “Don’t worry; all the damage has now been repaired.”

“Thank God,” Roberta said.  She yawned.

“You need to sleep,” Romeo said.  “Don’t worry; I’ll stay with you.”

“Thank you,” Roberta said.  She lay back and closed her eyes, but sleep was a long time in coming.

Royal Palace
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
22nd April 2009 (Time Line A)

Prince Bakar was puzzled.  There had been a report of a mid-air collision between an Alternative craft and a jumbo jet over the Atlantic, but there was no news from Rakim.  That suggested, to Prince Bakar’s careful mind, that Rakim had been killed by the Alternative collision.

And yet there had been nothing from the Americans.  Prince Bakar had expected to face a few cruise missiles targeted on Saudi Arabia, or perhaps to watch (and encourage) an American intervention in Iran against the mullahs and their dangerously independent irregulars.  Despite being hurt worse than they been nine years ago, America was silent.

Prince Bakar had, naturally, extended the regrets and commiserations of the Saudi government, taking the opportunity to slip the American intelligence operatives ‘evidence’ blaming various anti-Saudi factions for the bombings, but there was only silence from the American government.  Reluctantly, he’d slashed the price of oil, which the United States was greedily drinking up, but there was still silence.

“What do I have to do to get a response?”  He asked Kelly, who only stared at him owlishly.  The drugs his senior wife had given her had had a limited effect on her; she no longer seemed to be in control of her mind.

“Your Highness,” his secretary said, bowing, “Prince Abdullah is here to see you.”

Prince Bakar frowned.  Abdullah was the controller – the word ‘commander’ was never used – of the National Guard.  The National Guard had only one mission; watch the regular army for signs of disloyalty.  That meant that Abdullah was one of the most important men in Saudi Arabia; therefore not someone to annoy.

“Send him in,” he said.  As the small Pakistani left, Prince Bakar waved Kelly back to the women’s quarters and took a seat.  Prince Abdullah entered and Bakar had to hold back a shudder; not only was his face horribly scared, but his eyes were a freakish blue.

“Salaam, Your Highness,” Abdullah said.  He picked up a glass of wine without permission and sipped.  “I’ll get right to the point.  One of my agents in the American bases has reported preparations to seize some territory in our holy lands.  I imagine you know which bits of territory?”

There were only a few possibilities.  “The oil wells,” he said.  “How do they plan to tackle our defences?  The last time I checked, there were only a few American combat planes in Iraq and they don’t have a carrier nearby.”

They shared a look, both aware that the restrictions on the armament of the Royal Saudi Air Force did not keep its planes in fighting condition.  “They believe that we are involved with the attacks on Atlanta,” Abdullah said.

“Then we must intensify our preparations,” Prince Bakar said.  “Order regular army troops to secure the oil wells – use the National Guard as back-up.”

“You do not feel that it is time to compromise with the Americans?”

Prince Bakar glared at him.  “You’re missing the point,” he said coldly.  “The oil wells are the source of our power; without them, the money dries up and we’re out of business.  There’s no other source of revenue; if we were to use every other business in our lands for a week, we’d ruin them and then we’d have a revolution on our hands.

“No, my brother, we play this out to the end.  To blink now would be fatal.”

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
23rd April 2009 (Time Line A)

He was medium height, with a face that was easy to forget, soft and comfortable.  Far too many people, to their cost, had trusted the face; they’d paid no attention to the man underneath.  John Bendix had arrived in Armstrong, invited in fact, by the Governor.  He’d gone because he thought there was a profit in it for him.

“Good morning, Mr Bendix,” Rollins said.  “How are you this fine morning?”

“Fine, thank you,” Bendix said, wondering what the game was.  Rollins got right to the point.

“Mr Bendix, you worked on various political campaigns,” he said.  “You were quite successful, but you left the service of one governor under a cloud and are currently having difficulties finding work in your peculiar speciality.  Right?”

Bendix nodded.  “Yes, Governor,” he said.

“We know why,” Rollins said flatly.  Bendix stared at him.  “Your secret bank accounts in the Caymans are well hidden from your local law enforcement, but we could find them with ease.  You left Governor Bagwell’s campaign because you were embezzling his money, right?”

Bendix gaped.  “I’ll take that as a confession,” Rollins said.  “As you can see, we can arrange for you to be exposed and arrested at any point we choose.  Understand?”

“Yes,” Bendix said tightly.  “What do you want from me?”

“We wish you to set up a political party for us,” Rollins said.  Bendix stared at him.  “We feel that the time is right for a new party; you will help us.”

“And if I don’t, you’ll expose me?”  Bendix asked.

“I believe we understand one another,” Rollins said cheerfully.  “Now, what is your choice?”

“How much do I get paid?”  Bendix asked.

Rollins considered the matter.  “We will pay you something on the order of one million dollars – in gold, if you want – each year.  We will also give you some of our medical technology, so you will live longer.”

And allow us to track you, he carefully did not say.  No point in revealing a tactical advantage until it was necessary.

“I agree,” Bendix said.  “When do you want me to begin?”

“As soon as possible,” Rollins said.  “You may begin outlining strategies now, if you wish.”

“I need some time to prepare,” Bendix said.  “A week?”

“Very well, a week,” Rollins smiled.  “I’m sure that working with you will be a fascinating experience.”

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“The reports of the death toll of the Atlanta bombings have now stabilised at three thousand and seventy-two deaths, mainly students,” Langdon said.  In deference to the situation, she was wearing black.  “The President has declared a day of mourning and all the major religions have planned services to remember the victims.

“On a different note, the reports that an Alternate spacecraft intercepted a British Airlines jet have now been confirmed,” she continued.  “The aircraft was intercepted above the Atlantic Ocean and boarded.  The Government of Britain has protested this violation of British territory, particularly given the total loss of the jumbo jet.  So far, casualties appear to be minimal.

“Governor Rollins has agreed to meet us through a hook-up from Armstrong Base to discuss the situation and – quote – provide an explanation for certain Alternative actions.  Governor, are you there?”

There was a long pause.  “Good afternoon,” Rollins said.  “It is my duty to confirm to you the loss of a British Airlines jet, with no loss of life.  The passengers were taken onboard the shuttle and carried to our starship.  We apologise for not returning them at once, but there were other considerations.

“The bombing of Atlanta was a cold-hearted plan to distract official American attention from something taking place under their nose,” he continued.  “Those lives were lost because terrorists chose to kidnap one of our people; Roberta Cozort, whom I believe made an appearance on your show, just before she was taken.  They successful killed two of her escorts and managed to get her onboard the plane.

“We saw only one option; an attempt to retrieve her directly.  This was launched and we managed to recover not only her, but some of her kidnappers as well.  We interrogated them, using our own techniques, and we managed to learn who they worked for.  Americans, the bombing of Atlanta was carried out by terrorists who were working for the Saudi Royal Family.”

Langdon gasped, but Rollins plunged on.  “We can only assume that they have been funding terrorists all along, playing a dangerous double game to keep themselves in power.  Only one of the terrorists we captured knew this; the others all assumed that one day they’d overthrow the House of Saud.  The Royals sent them to places where American troops would kill them, purely so they would not pose a threat.

“We – we Americans – will not tolerate this,” Rollins concluded.  “They have chosen to keep a government that has killed, raped and tortured.  We will punish the Saudi Arabians today.  If any of the other nations feel like complaining, feel free; we’re doing it for them too.  Active interference, however, will not be tolerated.  Stay out of our way.”

“Governor?”  Langdon asked, after she’d got her breath back, but there was no voice; the channel had been closed.  “People, we’ll bring you updates on this as soon as we can,” she said breathlessly.

Over Saudi Arabia
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Taylor brought the Hawk screaming in across the equator, decelerating and falling out of orbit over Algeria.  Before the air defences of North Africa could do more than stare at his path, he had crossed over Mecca and swooped down over Riyadh.  He made no attempt to conceal his presence – quite the opposite.  The drive field had been set to radiate energy – even a severely damaged radar sat should have been able to detected the Hawk.  Pulling up, he flew high over Iran, before buzzing down again to fly low over the capital city.  His sonic boom shattered windows and set off alarms all over the city.

***
“Allah is great, go, go,” the commander of Dhahram – one of Saudi Arabia’s front line bases, shouted.  Cursing in their minds, but not aloud, for they were not foolish men, the pilots of the Royal Saudi Air Force jumped off their prayer rugs and ran for their fighters.

Captain Kasif Saaid reached his Tornado jet first, and made a quick check of the weapons before launching.  More than once, the regime’s paranoia had led them to ‘forget’ to arm the planes – it was fortunate that Iraq had never challenged Saudi’s air force during the Gulf War.

“Ready,” Saaid said over the intercom.

“Launch,” the commander said, and the Tornado screamed down the long American-built runway and leapt for the sky.  Saaid watched grimly as the inexperienced pilots fought to maintain their formation and wished, not for the first time, that the Americans had not pulled most of their forces out of Saudi.  The Saudi forces looked impressive, but he would not have cared to bet on their chances against any enemy.

“Target is now swinging high over Mecca, now coming down,” the crew of the AWACS reported.  It was hardly a precise figure; Saaid cursed once again the decision to buy hardware that half the pilots could not operate.  Still, by trial and error, they were heading towards the enemy.

“Target now hovering over Riyadh,” the AWACS reported.  Saaid swooped up for a long moment and he could see the Alternative craft, rising slowly away from the city.

“Moving to intercept,” he said, and kicked the afterburners in.  A check of his radar revealed that not all the pilots had done so; one seemed to be flying too low.  The elite, however, was with him.  As he watched, they started to close in on the Alternative craft from all directions.

“The Americans are too scared to fight,” gloated one of the pilots, a known fanatic.  A burst of agreement came over the channels as the Alternative craft started to rise.  The Saudi pilots congratulated themselves on their victory; they had chased off the American craft.  Why, the Americans were clearly too scared to fire a single shot.

Their rejoicing, for the record, lasted exactly seventeen seconds.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Butcher and Bolt

Over Saudi Arabia
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

A single flicker of red-orange light burst from the tip of the Alternate craft’s nose.  In an instant, it crossed through dozens of miles and touched one of the AWACS craft.  A billowing explosion marked the death of the AWACS and its crew.  A second later, another burst of energy flickered out and killed the second AWACS, blinding most of the Saudi Arabian airborne defences.

Captain Kasif Saaid gaped; fear rapidly turning to anger.  Swiftly, for the attacking craft was making no attempt to hide, he launched a spread of missiles at it.  Smoke trails blazed through the sky, speeding towards the attacking craft.  They nearly reached it…then it vanished.  The missiles lost their lock and flew on aimlessly.

Saaid stared at the empty space, and then he saw a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye.  An F-15 had been hit, exploding into a ball of fire.  More missiles were launched, but the craft vanished again.  Suddenly, Saaid realised what was happening; the craft was moving so fast as to be unseen.

“Move it,” one of his comrades shouted, but it was too late.  Before he could react, the dark shape of the craft appeared above him.  A flicker of light reached out…and Saaid was blasted into the merciful arms of Allah.

***
Taylor watched dispassionately as the Saudi pilots panicked and blundered around the air battlefield, too scared to fight and too scared to run.  One by one, he blasted them out of the sky; it was not a serious offensive, but there were no need to mount one.  The computers on the Hawk moved him every time enough missiles to be dangerous closed in; unless the Saudi’s mounted nukes on their SAMs, it was unlikely that they could even hit him.

“Enough,” he snapped.  A quick switch of the computer to rapid-fire, directed by the targeting computers, saw the remainder of the Saudi aircraft brought down in seconds.  Two large airlines, escorted by Tornados, were trying to flee towards Sudan, but a flurry of plasma fire brought them both down.  “Computer, deploy tactical area-denial weapons,” he ordered.

“Complying,” the battle computer said.  Dozens of small drones separated from the Hawk and headed off towards their targets.  Taylor watched them go with mixed feelings; he understood this part of the mission, but he did not like it.  None of them did.  

Oil Refinery
Saudi Arabia
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The massive pumping station had once been built by the Americans and run by American technicians, but those days were long gone.  In the hopes of appeasing the tide of radical Islam, the Saudis had embarked on a policy of placing their own people in positions of power, such as the refineries.  It saved money as well, for American wages were higher.  On this day, nearly seven hundred ground combat troops were deployed around the refinery, hoping to deter an American attack.

The drone, unnoticed in the heat haze, found a location roughly in the centre of the refinery and detonated.  In a blaze of energy, it released a wave of high-order radiation, covering roughly two miles of ground with enough radiation to kill anything.  Before they could react, before they even knew that they were under attack, every person within the blast radius died.  Every living thing, plant or animal, was wiped out of existence in a split second.

***
The aircraft, a strange cross between an aircraft and a helicopter, flew low across the desert, followed by five more of its kind.  Their plan to avoid Saudi air defences was working, but according to the secured link from the observation satellites the defences had other things to worry about.  Ranger Captain Tomas Kratman heard the reports on the military channel and found them unbelievable; a single aircraft had wiped out the Saudi air force in minutes.

“Stand by,” he warned his team as they approached the oil refinery.  The Saudi regular forces might be incompetent and carefully not trained, but the Americans had far too much experience of suicide tactics in Iraq.

They crested a sand dune and came face-to-face with an American made ground-to-air system.  The pilot yelped and yanked them up into the air, performing evasive manoeuvres, knowing that even an incompetent crew could hit them if they reacted in time.  

Nothing happened.  The guns on the armoured ground-to-air did not fire at them; they did not even try to track the incoming planes.  The lights of the refinery glowed, even in daylight, but there was no sign of life.  Kratman felt a chill run down his neck.

“Land us,” he ordered.  The aircraft settled to the ground and the rangers started to disembark, taking up defensive positions.  “Squad one, squad two,” Kratman ordered, “take the refinery.  Squad three, check out the defenders.”

Kratman followed as the men of squad three ran towards the defending vehicles, weapons raised and ready to fire.  Many of them hated the Saudis; others had had family in Atlanta.  They reached the first trench, prepared quickly, and looked inside.  One of the Rangers was sick.

“What is it?”  Kratman snapped, and looked down himself.  A body, no, dozens of bodies, lay in the pit.  They were dead; their faces contorted with shocking agony.

“Gas?”  One of the Rangers asked.  He reached for his BW mask.

“I don’t think so,” Kratman said.  “Medic!  Get the medic over here!”

The Ranger Medic ran over, carrying a bag of medical tools.  He spent only one minute examining the bodies.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “Gas is possible, but wouldn’t it still be around to affect us?”

Kratman’s radio buzzed.  “Captain, we’ve secured the refinery.  Everyone inside is dead.”

Kratman’s sergeant jumped into the trench, dislodging something that Kratman had taken for a rock.  It rolled to the bottom, exposed as a scorpion – also dead.  “Sir, Private Stalls conducted a special weapons test; there’s a fading level of radiation here.”

“They nuked the place?”  Kratman said.  “But it’s still here.”

“Stalls was talking about enhanced radiation weapons,” the sergeant said.  “They snuffed out all life within the building.”

“Serves them right for Atlanta,” Kratman said.  After seeing the carnage, he found it hard to be sorry for the Saudis.  “I wonder how the rest of the attack is going.”

Stillwell
Earth Orbit
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Wachter watched as the icons representing the Saudi air defenders vanished from the screen; high blooms of radiation appearing for long moments before fading.  He tracked the movements of the Native troops, moving in to occupy the oil refineries.  Everything was going well, so far.

“Deploy tactical impact weapons,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the Stillwell’s tactical officer said.  A small ball of heavy metals, formed to survive a trip through the atmosphere at high speed, was launched into the drive field.  Seconds later, the computers calculated the precise launch trajectory and focused the drive field, propelling the kinetic bomb through the atmosphere.

“Hit,” Wachter said dispassionately, as Prince Sultan air force base was struck directly on top of the control tower.  The blast ruined the airfield completely; although there were few planes left after Taylor’s flight.

“Fire two?”  The tactical officer asked.

“Proceed with the attack plan,” Wachter ordered.  One by one, kinetic bombs fell through the atmosphere to strike their targets.  Resistance was hopeless; the defenders could not even see the projectiles, let alone hit them.  Systematically, the infrastructure that kept together one of the most despotic – perhaps the most despotic – state on the Earth was shattered beyond repair.

All except Riyadh.  The capital city was left alone.  For now.

Defence Headquarters
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Information was power.  Not all the Saudi rulers understood that, but they hired people who could and they encouraged the Saudi development of a private information infrastructure.  Unlike the public system, it had no filters, no firewalls and connections to every Saudi defence base in Saudi Arabia.

Prince Bakar stared at the monitor.  One by one, connections were blinking out; bases and police stations vanishing.  Reports of explosions and fires were coming in from all the cities and military bases; those that still responded to communications.

“We’re losing,” Prince Abdullah said.  Bakar started and tried to cover it up; the controller of the National Guard moved like a ghost.  “The entire air force is gone, our bases are being destroyed and even army units are being picked off from planes flying so high as to be undetectable.”

Bakar forced his brain to think.  “Disperse the military into the cities,” he ordered.  “The Americans will not fire on them.”

Abdullah hit the table.  “The Americans have bombed targets within Mecca itself,” he shouted.  “The religious police have been decimated; the Shias are in revolt!  We need an end to the bombing!”

Baker felt fear, true fear, for the first time.  “I will contact the American president and ask for terms.  She is a woman; she will shrink from further killing.”

“Make it fast,” Abdullah said.

The White House
Washington DC, USA
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“The attack has begun, Madam President,” Campbell said.  “It’s hard to track the Alternative craft, but a small spacecraft has been dropping projectiles on Saudi bases.  We estimate that something like 90% of the Saudi defence forces have been wiped out.”

“Project Thor,” Jackson said, staring out of the window.  “I read Niven once, when I was younger.  An alien invasion novel.”

“Footfall,” Campbell said.  “I re-read it recently.  Also a novel by a British author; The Peacekeepers.  What to do if you are faced by an utterly overwhelmingly powerful opponent.”

“And the conclusion?”

“You need luck, judgement and a patriotic script,” Campbell said wryly.  “But it won’t be a problem; we won’t be fighting the Alternatives.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow.  “Oh?”  She asked.  “How can you be sure of that?”

“Because they’re Americans,” Campbell said.  “They won’t be a threat to us.”

“I wonder,” Jackson said grimly.  She watched a bird fly past the White House.  “These may be Americans, but they’re not our kind of Americans.  They’re not from the future, but an alternate timeline.  Their attitude to life is different; look what they’re doing in Saudi right now.”

“Captain Kratman reported that they deployed enhanced radiation weapons,” Campbell said.  “Neutron bombs, in other words.”

“My point,” Jackson said.  “We’d never use such weapons, we’ve never used nukes since the Second World War.  These people are totally different, with a different mindset.  General, what happens when they start interfering in politics?”

“Why would they?”  Campbell asked.

“Oh, don’t be obtuse,” Jackson snapped.  “General, why does anyone get into politics?  Most of the time, they want to change things so that it’s in their favour!”

“How can they get into our politics?”

“What if one of them tried to run for president?”  Jackson asked.  “We might say that they had to have been born on American soil, but from their point of view they have been on American soil.  Do we disenfranchise anyone in the navy who sails away?”

“Of course not,” Campbell said.

“No,” Jackson said.  “It might or might not get through the Supreme Court, but how would they react to being effectively disenfranchised?  They have money, or the ability to obtain it, and they can put us several hundred years ahead of anyone else.  They will have plenty of supporters.”

“Madam President,” Marlene injected, “you have an important phone call from a Prince Bakar.”

“The devil himself,” Jackson muttered.  “At least if you believe the Alternatives’ claims.  They tortured that poor man.”

“Madam President,” Campbell said, “we could not have obtained that information so quickly and completely.  We owe them something; what rights do terrorists have?”

Jackson glared at him, but held her peace.  “Patch him through,” she said, activating the speakerphone.  “Good day,” she said.

“Salaam, Madam President,” Prince Bakar said.  “I wish to discuss a truce with your forces attacking Saudi Arabia.”

He sounded…innocent.  As if there was nothing wrong, as if he were the innocent party.  “Do you?”  Jackson said.  “Why should we consider this offer?”

“We are willing to discuss terms,” Bakar said, his voice smooth and oily.  “We can reduce the price of oil shipments…”

“I don’t care about oil,” Jackson snapped.

“We can make changes to our government, to our treatment of women,” Bakar said.

“Does that matter now?”  Jackson asked coldly.

“I can give you names and details of a thousand terrorists operating within the United States,” Bakar said.

Jackson felt a blaze of pure anger.  “So we now get down to the nub,” she said.  “You have sheltered beneath our weapons, while allowing those who hated us to plot our doom!  We made mistakes, bastard prince, in agreeing to protect you.  I don’t know why Bush the first supported you and I don’t know why Bush Two never held you to account, but now you reached too far!

“You used terrorists against us,” she snapped.  “Thousands of women and children lie dead and dying in Atlanta, thousands more are filled with hatred for you and your works!  Already, there are demonstrations; they want you nuked!  Your brother Muslims are being hounded through the streets, being killed by Americans torn with grief and rage – not that you care about such things, do you?

“And what makes you think I can do anything to stop it?”  She demanded.  “You chose to kidnap and rape an Alternative, one of the most powerful people in the world.  Whatever they do to you will be approved by most Americans, for you’ve shown your true face today.  Even your brother Muslims will approve of what was done to you – how many of them were dead or enslaved because of you?”

She banged the phone down hard.  “I could spit,” she snarled.  “When did the President of American become impotent?”

“I think it was Clinton, spending too much time with his interns,” Campbell said.  He’d never liked Clinton; few military officers had.  “What now?”

“I guess we wait and see,” Jackson said.  She smiled.  “Perhaps we should watch CNN.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

As the remains of the Saudi defences were smashed from orbit, the targeting moved on to different priorities.  Kinetic bombs fell precisely, smashing police stations, religious police stations and the army units trying to hide in the cities.  At first, radio transmissions were ignored, but as priorities changed the kinetic weapons started targeting radio transmitters.  The torrent of religion, broadcast over almost all the Middle East, fell silent.  So did a live feed from Riyadh; the BBC blamed the Saudi censors who held a ten-minute filtering period before broadcast.  None knew, until later, that the transmitting tower had been destroyed.

Once the main dangers were removed, the targeting moved on to the terrorist bases, operating near the military bases.  Tactical area denial weapons were launched, creating plumes of radiation, killing all within the bases.  Later, shuttles would visit; landing teams to sift through the remains for documents and clues as to the location of other bases.

The entire Saudi social structure collapsed.  In the big cities, the underpaid and overworked immigrants – Pakistanis and Palestinians – rioted against those who had oppressed them.  Many had been promised a better life, but had been treated as slaves; unable to escape.  Terror cells, cut off from their leaders and unaware of who it was that they really served, launched attacks on government targets, while rousing the students to rebel against the government.  Later, people would blame the Alternatives for the deaths of thousands of students, but only a few would remember that the alternatives never deployed ground forces.  The religious police shot them down in the streets.

Then the people turned on the religious police.  They were hated and feared, people lashed out as their support structure collapsed.  Women, especially, were very inventive; no member of the religious police survived when they were found by packs of women.  Mosques were damaged, often destroyed, as the people set fire to the buildings, for what good is a prayer if it is forced?

The Shias rose in revolt, sensing weakness, and overran the few remaining army units.  This let to misunderstandings when Shia tanks were targeted from orbit, but few cared.  Entire areas became no-go areas for Sunnis, who had oppressed the Shias.  Saudi Arabia was dying.

***
“Not bad,” Cozort said, as yet another royal palace was smashed.  The Saudi royals seemed to have spent most of their time building palaces; if they’d spent the money on defence, it would have made the attack harder.

“Sir, should we deploy the special weapon?”  Wachter asked over the communications link.  “Most of the bastards are fleeing to their capital.”

Cozort had seen and laughed at how stupid the people were.  Did they not understand how artificial their capital city was?  If something were to happen to the water supplies, and ground the airliners, they’d die slowly in the desert.

“Give them ten minutes,” he said, “and then deploy the weapon.”

Defence Headquarters
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Prince Bakar sat back in his seat, breathing heavily, and waited until his breath returned to normal.  The American President was unable to help; even if she wanted to help them.  Bakar was shocked; like all of the Saudi royals he had assumed that the Americans would be there for them whenever they were needed.

Which means that sooner or later they’ll target here, Baker thought coldly.  Time to leave, I think, he thought, and fled towards the women’s quarters, mentally cataloguing the list of asserts he’d placed in various western counties.  Once I get out of here, I can hide from the Americans and one day put my organisation back together.

“Kelly?”  He shouted, as he entered the women’s quarters.  There was no reply, just muttering from the direction of the prayer room.  “Forget your prayers, bitches,” he shouted, just before a chair slammed into his head.  Before he could react, Kelly smashed a chair hard across his back and he tumbled to the ground.  Kelly stood atop him, looking down.

“Please,” he started to say.  She brought the chair up once more and smashed it onto his head.  In a sound of shattering bone, Prince Bakar departed the world.  Kelly sat down on the broken chair, spat on the body, and wondered what she would do next.

Shuttle Hawk
Over Saudi Arabia
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Taylor looked down upon the bleeding land and found it good, bar one minor detail.  The capital city was still intact, hardly touched.  Royals, the remaining army and their hangers-on were fleeing towards the city, propelled by their faith that the Americans would never touch it.

“Request permission to deploy special weapon,” he sent to Enterprise.

“Permission granted,” Cozort replied.  There was a coldness in his voice.

Taylor nodded and typed in his command codes, displaying a computer menu that was carefully secured from unauthorised access.  The weapon glowed in his mind as he linked directly to the shuttle’s computers; a perfect pearl of deadliness.  Taylor selected the detonation coordinates, just above the main government complex in Riyadh, and fired.

The missile arced away from the shuttle and flew over the city.  It’s passage passed unnoticed; the street battles distracting the people from noticing the silent killer overhead.  It reached the royal palace and detonated.  In a long second, the warhead in the weapon fused into a pulse of energy and a massive blast of fire tore across the city.  The tacky architecture of Riyadh, the modern skyscrapers and the traditional houses, was blown away by the blast, followed rapidly by the firestorm.  Flames leapt up, blown along by the unholy wind, until most of the remaining city was ablaze.  Prince Abdullah and Kelly died without ever knowing what had hit them; thousands more suffered the same fate.  The only mercy was that the weapon, designed to change the course of an asteroid, left no radiation behind.

The White House
Washington DC, USA
24th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Alarms rang though the White House, causing panic and disruption.  The alarm, one linked to Cheyenne Mountain, was only triggered if a nuclear war had broken out.  President Jackson, conferring urgently with the French president, was yanked out of the Oval Office by the secret service and rushed to the bunker beneath the White House.  Similar measures, well planned and carefully rehearsed, were activated across the United States, as staff sought safety in various places across the infrastructure.

“Madam, I have the duty office from NORAD,” the officer on duty said, holding up the phone.

“This is the President,” Jackson said.  “Report.”

“Madam, we have a confirmed NUCFLASH,” the duty officer said.

“Where?”  Jackson demanded.  She had a nasty suspicion that she knew.

“Central Riyadh,” the duty officer said.  “At least 5 megatons; it’s blinded some of the satellites.”

“Anything incoming on the United States?”  Jackson asked.

“Nothing,” the duty officer said.  “The Russians are going to alert status themselves, from the communications traffic, but no missiles are being launched.”

For now.  Jackson waved at a secret service agent.  “Get my cabinet down here,” she said.  She stared at the images being displayed on the big screen.  “This changes everything.”

Interlude

From:  America: Truthful or Hypocritical?  Ackbar, Shahan.  University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, 2004.

Americans can justly be proud of their long-standing anti-imperialism, but in practice the US is considered to be an imperialist – and hypocritical – nation by many people in the world.  Americans boast of their democracy, but America aids many oppressive regimes in order to keep the world stable.  As examples:

-America backs the Saudi Royal Family, an act that led to the attack on New York in 2001.

-America treated Saddam Hussian as an ally until he invaded Kuwait.

-America supported the corrupt South Vietnamese government until they withdrew from Vietnam.

From this, we can see that America’s ideals, those of freedom and democracy, are not pressed on the world.  America could have insisted that the South Vietnamese engage in government reform and solve its problems; it did not.  America could have insisted that the Iranian Shah allow democratic reform; it did not.  Indeed, when America tried, from the highest moral principles, to remove Saddam, millions protested because they suspected that America would force an undemocratic government on Iraq.

Perhaps worse, American Governments do nothing to avert the looming debt crisis and probable financial collapse.  Western – mainly American - corporations, banks and governments are creating a financial black hole, in which the monies of the people of the Third World are sucked in as interest on foreign loans.  Any single change in government leads to the west pressuring the new governments to keep paying, or else.  The monies cannot be repaid – what is happening now merely makes the coming crash worse.

In essence, America needs to live up to her proud tradition.  The problem is that most of the American people just don’t care.  It’s not malice; they just don’t care.  Given America’s position in the world, this can only be considered grossly irresponsible.  

Chapter Twenty-Six: Horror

USSFT Sherman
Mars Orbit
30th April 2009 (Time Line A)

The huge asteroid swung towards Mars, travelling an orbit that brought it within twenty million kilometres of the planet every seven years.  Normally, it would make its close approach along its strange orbit, and then leave Mars for seven years.  This time, things were going to be different.

An explosion appeared, for a long moment, in the timeless depths of space.  Almost imperceptibly, the asteroid’s course altered, plunging down towards the planet.  Over seven hours, it looped round the planet, before being caught firmly by the gravity and pulled closer.  Two hours later, the asteroid burnt a trail through the atmosphere, adding heat and water to the atmospheric mix, before impacting along the equator.

Commander Jacob Sherman, commanding officer of the tender Sherman, watched as the asteroid’s impact registered on his sensors.  A senior admiral had assigned his ship, named for a war hero, to his command as a joke, for they shared the same name.  It never failed to cause a snigger at meetings; even before Sherman was loaded onboard the Enterprise for what was meant to be her last voyage in the solar system.

“Success?”  He asked Paul Sheller, now the Mars Development Officer.

“It’s too early to tell,” Sheller said.  “The asteroid contained thousands of tons of water ice; we used it in our own solar system.  However, we have no information on how successful it would have been, due to the Wreckers.”

Sherman nodded.  Apart from Pluto, Mars was the only single-state planet.  The Wreckers had opened the war by dropping an asteroid on what would have been Troth State.  “How long until Mars becomes habitable?”

Sheller laughed.  “At this rate,” he said, “roughly ten years before we’ll have a proper atmosphere.  We’ve already begun seeding the planet with genetically modified plants, but it will still take time.  We really need to find more asteroids.”

“We’re looking through the records now,” Sherman said.  “The main problem is that we found most of the asteroids years after now, so some of them aren’t where we knew them.”

“Plenty more where that came from,” Sheller said.  “The base on Phobes is being assembled, even now.  Once we have that up and running, we can begin the construction of a second industry here.”

“Yes,” Sherman agreed.  “That does leave one question, though.”

“What?”  Sheller asked, distracted by a report from the survey team on Mars’ other moon.

“Why has the Captain and the Governor ordered this particular piece of terraforming now?”  Sherman asked.  “Why the insistence on a second home?”

CNN Studios
Atlanta, USA
30th April 2009 (Time Line A)

Langdon, tired and haggard, stared at the camera.  “Recovery teams from the United Nations, supported by American troops in Iraq, have roughly placed the death toll at Riyadh at approximately fifty thousand lives.  The UN team warns that Saudi habits of secrecy when it came to their population renders it impossible to issue an accurate estimate, but some sources claim that the death toll might be ten times higher.  The Arab Council has issued a statement condemning the devastation, particularly since there was a revolution taking place.”

An image of the Egyptian foreign minister appeared on the broadcast.  He sounded shaken.  “The Saudi people were finally seizing their freedom, and they were blown away like nothing,” he said.  “The Americans have gone mad; was it really worth the death toll merely to punish the royal family, who exploited the people and hid behind the Americans’ skirts.”

“The Governments of Spain and France have registered official complaints against the destruction of a number of Saudi-owed villas in the south of their nations,” Langdon continued.  “The Alternatives have not bothered to respond.  So far, the only major nation to come out in univocal support is Israel, which has been witnessing a Palestinian exodus to the remains of Saudi, where some parts of the north are held by Palestinian factions.

“The Government of Iraq and both governments of Iran have formally recognised the state of Shiastan, occupying the south of Saudi Arabia.  This is disputed, however, by the United Nations, which has refused to grant the new state recognition.  Egypt, Libya, and many nations that depended on Saudi money have refused to recognise the state; calling instead for a pan-Muslim force to garrison the holy cities.  Fighting between different factions has been reported in Mecca; so far no one has intervened.

“The government of Indonesia has finally collapsed under an Islamic insurgency,” she continued.  The members of the Government, controlled since 2007 by General Makado, have fled to East Timor.  The Government of Australia, faced with a refugee crisis as the militants begin a killing spree, has declared a ban on illegal immigration.  Prime Minister Atwell stated in Parliament that the Australian Navy would prevent immigrants from reaching Australia.  However, he refused to be drawn on the subject of General Makado, whose anti- Australian tirades were legend.”

She sighed.  “Riots directed against America and American property have erupted in France, Germany and Britain.  Prime Minister McLachlan of Britain declared martial law in London, Bradford and Birmingham, while Muslims and neo-nazi groups clash on the streets.  The French and Germans followed suit; America so far has seen little rioting due to a high police presence and a strong pro-Alternative viewpoint.  Senator Danegeld spoke in favour of their actions, causing anger among Muslim groups.”

The image became a video of Senator Danegeld addressing the senate.  “We have suffered greatly,” he said.  “The Alternatives have shown the world what happens if you mess with the US of A.”  He received a standing ovation.

“President Jackson has so far issued nothing beyond an agreement for some US forces to take part in the recovery efforts,” Langdon concluded.  “The Alliance of China, Russia and India has not commented, although there are reports of fighting in the Muslim regions of China and Chechnya.  We will bring you further updates as they appear.

“Finally, the funeral for the reporters who died in the nuclear blast over Riyadh will take place in London, next Tuesday.  Reporters from all over the world have sent their condolences to the families of the reporters.” 

***
“What the hell were they thinking?”  Ullah demanded afterwards.  “Do you know how many died?”

“Which estimate would you like?”  Zapata asked.  “The one from that exile prince in the Netherlands?  He thinks that nearly one hundred million died.  The one from the Shias who’d have cheered if every city got the same treatment?  The one from the people who lost family at Atlanta?  Face facts; three-quarters of the population of American approves of the strike.”

“It won’t last,” Ullah said.  “They’ll soon see how wrong it was.”

“Yeah, like those whingers who moan about bombing Germany and Japan,” Zapata said.  “What was the other choice?  Leaving the bastards in power?  Launch another invasion that would be sure to unite the Muslim world against us?  No offence-”

“None taken,” Ullah said, who knew that he could lose his job quite easily.

“-But what they did might have deterred others from coming after us,” she concluded.

“The government of Indonesia has already fallen,” Langdon said thoughtfully.

“It would have fallen anyway, sooner or later,” Zapata said.  “How many terror cells have lost their leadership in the strike?”

“Not all of them are Saudi dupes,” Ullah said.  “I’m sure that a few of them had cell leaders who lived elsewhere.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Zapata said.  “Still, Caroline, I want you to take a team to Armstrong.  See if you can get an interview with the Governor; see what they’re planning next.”

“Yes, oh noble leader,” Langdon said.

“Can the sarcasm and move it,” Zapata snapped.

The Kremlin
Moscow, Russia
30th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“Well,” Lapotin said, “one really has to admire their method of solving problems.”

“Smashing large parts of Grozny hardly solved your problem,” Tao snapped.  “The Muslims in the west are in revolt; they think that Mecca was destroyed.”

“Well, tell them its not,” Homchoudhury said dryly.

“Why do you think that they believe us?”  Tao asked coldly.  “They’re causing considerable trouble for us; I’ve had to deploy the army into the regions with indiscriminate kill-orders.  You know how bad that looks in the west’s public eye.”

“Fuck them,” Lapotin said coldly.  “We might use such methods ourselves now, for how could they complain?”  He sighed.  “However, we now know just how far they are prepared to go.  Have you read the brief from Doctor Rogov?”

They nodded.  Rogov had written a long and boring paper on the subject of weapons deployed in near-earth orbit, before concluding that their military position was unassailable.

“We were planning to move into space ourselves in a big way in the next five years,” Lapotin said calmly.  “Once we were up there, we would dictate terms to America and the world.”

“Well, that plan is useless now,” Tao said.  “We can’t win now.”

“Why not?”  Lapotin asked.

“The Alternative Americans dominate space,” Tao said, as if to a child.  “As long as they’re up there, we can’t touch them.  If we try and fail, they’ll destroy most of our lands.”

“Then we’d better not fail,” Lapotin said.  “Have you met Doctor Kutsnov?”

“No,” Tao said.

“I’ll call him in,” Lapotin said, tapping his computer console.  “Doctor Kutsnov is one of the scientific researchers exploring the data that our friend gave us,” he explained.  “He has some rather unusual theories about their technology.”

Doctor Kutsnov entered.  He was a short dumpy man with pure white hair; he spoke in a cracked voice.  “The Alternative technology is complicated,” he said, “but the computer records were designed for people starting from a much lower point than ourselves.  It explains, bit by bit, how to build up a modern technological society.”

There was a hiss of excitement from Tao.  “We could match them!”

“Maybe,” Lapotin said.  “Please continue, doctor.”

“Yes, Mr President,” Kutsnov said.  “One of the interesting parts of their instructions concerns space flight and the methods that they use to power their remarkable craft.  Now, they don’t go too much into theory – I suspect because their society seems to concentrate more on hard science and achievement than soft science – but I think I have a general idea of how their drive fields work.

“They seem to generate a field around them that they…surf on, for want of a better term,” he explained.  “The field provides thrust for anything inside it, forming an artificial rocket jet that can be rapidly adjusted to send them in any direction.  Instead of antigravity, as some people have theorised, it’s a non-existent rocket system that appears around the craft.”

He beamed at them all.  Tao shook his head in disbelief.  “Are you saying that they don’t have a drive at all?”

“No,” Kutsnov said.  “It might best be described as a super-turbine; it generates a field that the craft runs on, but instead of sucking in water, it constantly recycles the water.”

“I’m confused,” Tao admitted.  Science was not his strong point.  “How does this help us?”

“Well, the drive field is not impenetrable,” Kutsnov said.  “This, I must admit, is guesswork, but I think that the missiles and bullets launched at the flying battleship were shoved aside and detonated by the drive field, as if they had been water drops fired into a waterfall.  Breaking through it would take tremendous force, but it can be done.

“Apparently, the field absorbs energy that impacts on it,” he continued, very enthusiastically.  “From the hints in the data, I suspect that the energy is either fed into a Power Cell, or a number of Power Cells, or dumped into space.  Unfortunately, there seems to be an upper limit on how much can be absorbed.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Lapotin said.  “What we have to do,” he said, “is find a way of hitting the field with enough force to burn through it and wreak havoc on the target.”

“Clever,” Homchoudhury said.  “How many nuclear weapons do you think that would take?”

“From the reports we…um, ‘borrowed’ from Washington, they can detect nukes,” Lapotin said.  “No, my idea was somewhat more devious.  Doctor?”

“One of the little tricks they include in their data dump is instructions for producing Power Cells,” Kutsnov said.  “They told us that you needed stuff manufactured in orbit, but it seems that you can make a basic one on Earth.”

“Once we have enough Cells,” Lapotin said, “We’ll use them to hit the Enterprise, force down its shields, then hit it with nukes.”  He smiled.  “And that will be the end of the Alternate threat.”

“What about an extreme reaction from President Jackson?”  Tao asked.  If such a reaction were to come, China would be the most logical target.

Lapotin grinned.  “Between you and me,” he said, “I think that Jackson is starting to have second thoughts about the Alternatives…”

The White House
Washington DC, USA
30th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“The government of Australia has invoked the bilateral defence treaty,” Jackson said, as Campbell and Pope sat down.  “They want military support to help stem the tide of refuges.”

“Ouch,” Pope said.  “Are you going to send in the navy?”

“I’m not sure that I have a choice,” Jackson said.  She sighed.  “It gets worse; the government of the Philippines and Brunei are screaming for help.  Apparently hundreds of Mahdis have appeared, claiming to be sent to free the people from their corrupt government.  Fortunately, nothing is coordinated yet.”

“Perhaps the Alternatives took out the leadership of most of the cells,” Pope said.  “All the attacks we’ve seen so far have been badly coordinated.”

Jackson walked over to the window and stared at the Marines guarding the White House.  “They don’t have to launch many attacks,” she said.  “So far, the global economy has shuddered badly.  People are scared to fly, scared to walk to the ships, the only positive change is that more people are buying guns.”

Pope blinked.  “I’m not sure that that is a good thing,” he said.

“It annoys hell out of the anti-gun lobby,” Jackson said.  “Still, what do we do about Australia?”

“If we have a commitment to help, then we must,” Campbell said.  “We can easily spare a few frigates and destroyers, perhaps even a carrier can be moved down from Taiwan.”

“At least the Chinese won’t be feeling like causing a fight, not after Saudi,” Pope injected.

“True,” Jackson said.  She slammed her hand down on the table.  “I’m starting to wish that they’d never come.”

“Madam President, there were times during the Iraq Insurgency that people wished that we’d never overthrown Saddam,” Pope said.  “It took five years to get it right, but we did it.”

“I’m not sure that it’s the same situation,” Jackson said.  “We need the technology they’re offering, true, but is it worth the price?  A lot of people think that we concurred with Cozort’s decision in some way.”

She sighed.  “The Prime Minister of France has been burning the cable to me, demanding that we force Cozort to share his technology, or at least restrain him from ‘further disrupting the international system’, his words.  The EU has loudly condemned the decision and refused to send any troops to help out, which means that Mecca is likely to be torn apart by competing factions.”

“Is that our problem?”  Pope asked.

“It might be if it gets blamed on us,” Jackson said.

Pope nodded.  “I think I’m starting to get an idea of how our Alternates think,” he said.  “We tried hard to build a global economy; they – from what they’ve told us – staked our their boundaries and guard them very well indeed.  They don’t see the point of regime change, economic sanctions or a global forum – they believe in peace through superior firepower, very superior firepower.  Instead of trying to reshape the world, they went into space and drew their resources from there.

“I don’t know if you were thinking of asking Cozort for help with Indonesia, Madam President,” he said, “but I suspect that he would refuse.  If we send troops in, it will almost certainly become a second Vietnam.  If he agrees, his solution might include nuclear attacks against their population.”

“There is a growing problem,” Jackson snapped.  “What happens if Cozort disagrees with us on an internal matter?”

“Good question,” Pope said.  “I wish I had a proper answer.  Probably their government would have frowned on influencing events through the military.”

“Madam President,” Campbell said, “this is not Egypt or Saudi, somewhere where the army could never be trusted.  We had a civil war, but it was not a military uprising.  Many army officers remained loyal under strong pressure to go south.”

“True,” Pope agreed.  “I don’t think that Cozort’s world is – was – that different from ours.”

“Still, what happens if he does try to influence our politics?”  Jackson asked.

“We’ve discussed that before,” Campbell said.  “I don’t think he will, short, perhaps, of trying to convince people to vote for his candidate.  Beyond that, it’s hard to see what he could do.”

Armstrong Base
Nevada, USA
30th April 2009 (Time Line A)

“I must say, Governor, that when you people tackle a problem, you don’t mess about.”

“Thank you, Mr Bendix,” Rollins said.  “Your approval means so much to me.”  He frowned.  “Have you thought of a few ideas?”

“Yes, Governor,” Bendix said.  “The first problem, however, is funding.”

Rollins picked a black briefcase off the floor, placed it on the desk, and opened it.  Bendix gasped.  “Diamonds?”

“Uncut diamonds,” Rollins said.  He decided not to mention that they’d been made by compressing lunar carbon down in a fabricator.  It would only upset Bendix.  “I trust that you have the skills to turn these into money?”

“Yes,” Bendix said, his eyes shining with greed.  “However, you need other sources as well.  I was going to propose licensing some of your technology; you establish a company and sell the rights to some of your technology.”

“Set one up,” Rollins ordered.  “We’re also planning some money-making ventures with Mr Brennen, so there might be more.”

Bendix waited for him to elaborate, but Rollins merely looked impatient.  “The next step is tricky,” he admitted.  “You want a political party, right?”

“Yes,” Rollins said.  “I believe that we’ve been over this.”

“Yes,” Bendix said.  “However, doing that here is difficult; the Democrats and the Republicans have the political arena between them.  Abandon all hope, anyone else.”

“Strange way of doing things,” Rollins commented.  “Why can no other party be set up?”

“Because the two other parties have the media on their side, although the media is often split between Republicans on one side and Democrats on the other.”

“You mean that one group of media supports one party and the other supports the other?”  Rollins asked.  Bendix nodded.  “So how do we get them supporting us?”

“You need to start buying media companies or by convincing them to run political adverts for you,” Bendix said.  “That said, you can also use the Internet; both political parties have had their problems with the Internet.”

“And perhaps we could dig up dirt on the media producers,” Rollins said.  Inside, he felt sick; the Unity Party, for all its flaws, had never exercised this level of dominance.

“You bet, with your people’s computer skills,” Bendix said.  “What sort of campaign will you promise?”

Rollins had considered that at some length.  “Less foreign involvement, expansion into space, more local democracy, less oil pollution, and so on.”

“Good,” Bendix said.  “What will you say when people start saying that they should ban ownership of handguns?”

Rollins stared at him.  “Ownership of handguns is a constitutional right,” he snapped.  “It makes being a thief an unpleasant experience, which is all to the good.”

“So you’d be hard on law and order,” Bendix said thoughtfully.  “We can work with that.  Now, who is going to lead the party?”

“Me,” Rollins said.

“Is that possible?”  Bendix asked.  “Are you an American citizen?”

“I was born in the Commonwealth of Wells, on Mars,” Rollins said.  “That was part of America.”

“But not in this timeline,” Bendix said.  “I’ll have to ask about that; but we might want someone else.  Would Brennen be interested?”

“I’ll have to ask him,” Rollins said.  “Until then, you get started on converting the diamonds into money.”

“Yes, sir,” Bendix said, wondering if he’d backed a winner this time.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Security Alert

Science City Zero
Siberia, Russia
5th May 2009 (Time Line A)

Eighteen seconds after activation, the superconductor started to destabilise, drawing energy from the small nuclear reactor that powered the hidden city.  Power drained into the superconductor as its internal structure warped under the pressures, starting to heat up rapidly.  Twenty-seven seconds after activation, the superconductor released all the energy in one massive blast.  Five seconds later, the wave front struck the aircraft fuel tanks and ignited them, causing an explosion that devastated a large percentage of the underground city.  The secondary explosions completed the city’s destruction, smashing the investment of billions of Rubles by the Soviets and later the Russian Republic.

“Well, that was interesting,” Doctor Kutsnov said cheerfully.  He stared across the steppe to the billowing ball of fire that had once been a research site into laser weapons.  Putin had not only continued the secret city project, he’d built more.  “Did we get a full download?”

“How can you call this ‘interesting’?”  Ludmilla Korachova demanded.  “Do you know how much one of those cities costs?”

“More than I have to worry about,” Kutsnov said.  “Now, let’s see the download.”  They spent five minutes studying the readings they’d picked up before the sensors and monitoring computers were vaporised.  “Ah, look,” Kutsnov said finally.  “We attempted to overload the superconductor when the fuses failed.  Interesting?”

“Interesting?  It will be interesting to see how calmly the President takes this,” Korachova said.  She smiled to see Kutsnov gulp.  Precisely on cue, the telephone rang.

“Hallo?”  Kutsnov said nervously.  There was a long moment of outraged shouting from the other end.  “Yes, Mr President, the Power Cell absorbed power faster than it should have,” he explained.

There was another long moment of shouting.  It sounded nastier this time.  “We do think that we understand the process better now,” he said.  “We can’t duplicate their ability to take an overcharge, not yet.  That needs better materials; at the moment we have to charge them slowly.”

More shouting, the voice much colder this time.  “Yes, Mr President, we can have enough power cells ready.  Yes, I understand what will happen if we fail.  Goodbye, Mr President.”

“Trouble?”  Korachova enquired, lifting an eyebrow.

“I think we’d better get on with it,” Kutsnov said.  “The President wants results.”

“But we can’t make them with enough capacity,” Korachova objected.  “Nor can we charge them fast enough…”

“Then we charge them slowly,” Kutsnov snapped.  “Once the Cells are stable, they’re no longer our problem.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
5th May 2009 (Time Line A)

Hovering high over the Russian Federation, the small sensor platform noted the explosion and compared it to its files of similar incidents.  Very rapidly, its expert programming decided that the incident deserved further investigation and a whole host of sensors were focused on the billowing fire.  The clouds of smoke were scanned by stereoscopes, looking for telltales of their cause, and concluded that an explosion had triggered a second explosion from stored materials.

The expert programming compared the incident with others in its memory, completing the task far faster than a human being could have hoped to do.  It concluded that the incident matched several other records; from the Alternate timeline.  A human might have been surprised, but the programming merely forwarded the data to the Enterprise and kept one electronic eye firmly on the location of the explosion.

***
Jill Stirling, engineering officer of the starship, and descendent of the famous president, sipped her coffee as the report scrolled over her screen.  The captain had sent it to her, commanding her to read it before the general meeting that evening.  Sighing, she clicked on the document and opened it.

“Although the destruction of the vast majority of the Saudi armed forces has prevented any coordinated response to US occupation of the oil fields, the security situation must be regarded as extremely dangerous,” it began.  “The majority of the Saudi oil workers, trained by American companies as part of the policy of ‘Saudisation’, were killed in the Alternative attack.  Of necessity, US companies have supplied their own personnel to run the oil fields.

“Unfortunately, the oil fields present an impossible defence problem,” it continued.  “The US occupation has been supported by ‘Shiastan’, but not by any major Middle East state, bar Israel.  Already, small attacks have begun on the oil pipelines, while a major attack on a tanker – and the consequent devastating ecological effects – is almost certain to occur in the near future.  Practically speaking, the only good outcome of the whole affair is the destruction of ninety-plus percent of the House of Saud.

“It is therefore of the utmost importance that we deploy as many Power Cells into the economy as we possible can,” it said.  Stirling sipped her coffee thoughtfully.  “The production of an experimental model of electric car, powered by a Power Cell, has already begun.  The design of a fusion reactor, one small enough to be fitted in a refuelling station, has been completed, however the plans to supply these on a free basis to any pump owner who wants one have met heavy opposition from environmentalists, who are used to thinking in terms of fission reactors.”

Just below that part was a note from Cozort.  “Jill, I need some arguments that will defeat the environmentalists.”

Stirling nodded to herself and continued reading.  “Towards the end of the introduction period, we can expect to see further demands on the technology, as well as bitter resistance from people with a stake in the oil industry.  We must…”

Her computer blinked up a private message.  Stirling minimised the document and read the message, rooted to her from JEEVES, about the explosion in Russia.  Attached to the information was a comparison chart; detailing the similarities and differences between the explosion and other recorded explosions.  It looked very familiar indeed; a massive burst of heat, contained within a small area.

“Fuck me,” she said slowly, and started to run several more tests.  She no longer had any doubt as to what she would find, however, and the tests confirmed it.  She felt a thrill of fear as she lifted her wristcom to her mouth.  “Commander Wachter?  We need to talk.”

***
The explosion, monitored by the sensor platform, displayed on the wall screen.  “You’ll observe the sequence of events; first there is a period of rapidly increasing heat, then there is a blast of fire and finally a second explosion, destroying the complex.”

“I see,” Wachter said, “but I don’t understand.”

“I believe that the Russians were trying to duplicate a power cell,” Stirling said.

“I thought that was impossible to do inside a gravity well,” Wachter said.

“It’s not,” Stirling said.  “That it can be done is not commonly advertised; it can be very dangerous.”  She waved a hand at the screen.  “As you can see.”

“Too bad for them,” Wachter said.  “Still, they won’t manage to master the technology that way, will they?”

“Maybe,” Stirling said.  “That’s not the point.  You see; we have seen explosions like that before.”

“Well, I dare say that we’ve had our own disasters…”

“Yes,” Stirling snapped.  “Ones exactly like these.  The sensor records are not complete, but this matches the Tacoma Disaster in far too many ways.”  Wachter lifted an eyebrow.  “Back when they were experimenting with superconductors that operated at room temperatures, they had an accident at Tacoma Asteroid, with pretty much the same results.

“But that’s not all of it,” she continued.  “After two more explosions, they reached what they thought would work, but failed – the same design as the one that exploded down there.  In fact, I would go so far as to hazard a guess that their design is identical to a Mark III power cell design.”

Wachter’s eyes narrowed.  “Is that possible?”

“On the face of it, no,” Stirling said.  “We went through several different designs before we found one that did not explode on activation.”

Wachter laughed.  “I never realised how dangerous your job was before.”

“Yes,” Stirling said.  “The point is that somehow the Russians got their hands on the designs.”

“I see,” Wachter said slowly, concealing his shock.  “You mean that someone slipped them the information?”

“Yes,” Stirling said.

“Who could have done that?”

“Good question,” Stirling said.  “I’ve been wondering about that for the last five minutes.  There might well have been a copy of the information somewhere on Armstrong – we can check that – or…oh hell!”

“What?”  Wachter snapped, seeing trouble brewing.

“We’ve been assuming that we got here by accident,” she said.  “What if it was sabotage?”

“I don’t know much about hyper-theory,” Wachter said, “but how does it predict that we would be shoved into another dimension?”

“It doesn’t,” Stirling said.  “The general theory was that it was impossible to bring up a hyper-field inside the hyper-limit, or that if you did the ship would be destroyed by the gravity stresses.  The sabotage was probably planned to destroy the ship, which would set the colonisation process back years.”

“True,” Wachter growled.  “It took five years to build Enterprise, after all, and even for the USSF that’s a pretty big investment.”

“So logic dictates that we have a spy on board, a Wrecker agent,” Stirling said.  “You need to track him down.”

“Or her,” Wachter said.  “Who could it be?”

“It’s never the obvious suspect, right?”  Stirling grinned.

Wachter nodded.  “The Wreckers did manage to slip a few agents into our ranks,” he said.  “One of them must be onboard.”

“But why?  Why slip information to Russia?”  Stirling asked.

“I’ve no idea,” Wachter said, “but I plan to ask him when I find him.”

***
Paradoxically, the security around Armstrong might have been increased, but the security around the Enterprise had not been altered.  The security personnel knew that no ship could reach them from Earth without being detected and a hijacking of one of their ships would be bound to fail.  Even though thousands of semi-Wreckers now hated the Alternatives with every inch of their dark hearts, they had no way of reaching the starship.

Sanchez, considering the possible dangers of detection, studied the computer file with some interest.  Of the crew of eight thousand, two thousand remained in suspension, which meant that Wachter would automatically dismiss them as possible suspects.  Being in stasis was an excellent alibi.  That left six thousand, some of which had not been awake long enough to be considered suspects.  That left roughly five thousand possible spies; an extremely difficult problem for anyone to sort through.

It’s time, he thought, for another meeting with the Russians.  

***
The Enterprise had originally carried ten semi-automated orbiting factories, designed to meet the requirements of a small colony for ten years.  By then, the USSF planners told themselves, the small fleet of starships would include a number of massive transports carrying thousands of colonists and their equipment.  Never in their worst nightmares had they expected to have to satisfy an entire world’s demand for Power Cells, or indeed any of the other technological demands.  There was, in fact, a very large bottleneck on the production of almost any Alternative technology.

“We have finished the activation of factory nine,” Taylor said.  “Now in Mars orbit, it can begin constructing the parts for the lunar bases and for duplicating itself.”  They nodded; a factory could produce all the parts for a second factory in a month.  It would be less time if there were more than one, of course.

Cozort nodded.  “What is the status of the Mars terraforming mission?”

Sheller, somewhat bemused by his inclusion in this meeting, displayed an image of Mars above the table.  “We located seventeen ice asteroids and dropped them onto the planet,” he said.  “Fortunately, we already knew which ones were the best for the purpose.  The total water content of Mars’s atmosphere has increased by seven hundred percent.

“We have continued the process of dumping oxygen-producing bacteria,” he continued.  “It’s hard to obtain accurate readings, but it seems that there has been a perceptible increase in the level of oxygen in the atmosphere.  So far, it’s too early to tell if it will last without further intervention.”

“Very good,” Cozort said.  “How long do you think it will be until Mars becomes habitable?” 

“At least ten years before we have a viable atmosphere,” Sheller said.  “After that, something like fifteen more years before the planet is completely Earth-like, at least.  There are simply too many variables; we never got that far because of the Wreckers.”

“Thank you,” Cozort said.  “Mr Stuart?”

“Tonight, we will hand over Factory One to the new American Energy Concern,” Stuart said.  “The American Energy Concern is a joint effort between Americans – their Saudi allies seem to have disappeared – to introduce Power Cells into the local economy.  We gave them a year’s grace before we started introducing the equipment needed to construct it locally, but there’s no reason why Mr Brennen or one of his competitors cannot put up an orbital factory of their own.

“For many other small technical items, we have opened a limited company, called AltTech,” he continued.  There were chuckles.  “I thought you’d like the name,” he said, before returning to the subject.  “AltTech will licence the rights to constructing technology by local companies, rather than build it ourselves.  Not only will we earn considerable amounts of local tender, but also we will not wreak parts of their economy.

“Finally, we have arranged the transfer of one small shuttle to Brennen’s company,” he concluded.  “That will allow him to recover satellites for selling to museums; we get a percentage of the profits.  The shuttle has been sealed, so there’s no chance that we’d lost our control of the secrets of the drive.”

“Thank you,” Cozort said.  “Commander Taylor?  Post-battle analysis?”

“As far as we can tell, we killed something like two thousand terrorists in camps across Saudi,” he said.  “Many of them were wanted in America and Europe for bomb attacks; their hosts claimed that they were not in Saudi.  We’ve made quite a few friends in the anti-terrorist departments.”

“The bastards could have looked forward to a nice restful spell in a comfortable prison,” Stuart growled.

“On the tactical side, we took out most of the defence capabilities in the first ten minutes,” Taylor continued.  “In essence, we won.”

There were a few sniggers.  “Any problems?”  Cozort asked calmly.

“One,” Taylor said, “although I hesitate to mention it.  A number of journalists and their companies are trying to sue us.”

“Why?”  Cozort snapped.

“We killed a number of them in the attack,” Taylor said.  “They seem to think that there is something wrong with that.”

Cozort stared at him.  “Let me get this straight,” he said.  “They chose to put themselves in harms way, presumably knowing the risks, and then their families try to sue us?”

“That’s about right,” Taylor said.

“Tell them to go to hell,” Cozort said.  “Now, any further business?”

“Can I talk to you afterwards?”  Wachter asked.

“Yes, anyone else?”  Cozort looked around the room.  “Dismissed!”

***
“We have a spy onboard,” Wachter said bluntly, as soon as the last person had left the room.  Swiftly he ran through the facts that Stirling and himself had discovered.  

“What could the Russians offer one of us?”  Cozort asked.

“A life of unimaginable luxury?”  Wachter suggested dryly.  “I dare say they could find lots of temptations.”

“Then it’s got to be someone who went down to the surface,” Cozort said.  “Would we not have noticed a radio call up here?”

“Well, yes,” Wachter said, “but several people have friends – if not more than friends – down there.  Both Benjamin Osteen and Olga Crowell have … Native partners at Armstrong.”

“Perhaps we should consider detached duty for them,” Cozort said.  “I want this spy found.”

“Yes, sir,” Wachter said.  “I’ll begin at once.  Can we activate the implants?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Cozort said.  “People would complain if they were being monitored while on shore leave.  Send a note round explaining that there have been reports of a planned second kidnapping and that people should agree to have their implants activated.”

“Yes, sir,” Wachter said.

The Alamo
Texas, USA
7th May 2009 (Time Line A)

The senator was something of a mystery.  An independent senator, he campaigned on the basis of his earnings from a small technological company and donations from his friends and supporters.  Unlike the stereotypical Texan, he was calm and cultured, loving America softly.  His political views rarely sat well with either of the political parties; disliking abortion, he promoted freedom of choice.  Disapproving of contraception and pre-martial sex, he encouraged sex education and freedom of choice.  Hating guns and the harm they caused, he supported the right to bear arms, and – naturally – freedom of choice.  ‘Freedom of Choice’, in fact, was his slogan.

He had opposed invading Iraq, because he’d foreseen a constant, never-ending, war in the Middle East.  He had advocated spending money on the space program, while pushing for limiting American commitments to the rest of the world.  NATO and the UN, he claimed, had had their day.  Apart from Britain, no NATO counties had helped the US when it was necessary; let the alliance break up, he said.

Bendix had known people who’d worked for the senator - Julian Hernandez – and knew that he would be willing to join.  It had cost more money than he’d expected, but that hardly mattered; what mattered was that the senator would have the funds to take his campaign to the highest levels.  Challenging both political parties was rare; would the American public love the underdog?

“My fellow Americans,” he said, to the crowd of reporters and supporters who had gathered at the old monument.  “Over the last two weeks, we have witnessed remarkable events; ones which the government has totally failed to cope with.  We have had a fantastic opportunity dropped in our lap – are we going to let it go?”

There were shouts of ‘no, no,’ from supporters.  Cameras clicked and whined, recording the event for posterity.

“We now have seen how different America could be,” he continued.  “Imagine an America that crosses the solar system, imagine an America without a terror problem or an immigration problem, and imagine one where the air is clean, for there is no oil crisis.  That, my friends, is what we have been shown!”

More cheers.  “The government, the Republicans, the Democrats, have cost us that prosperity,” he said, to yet more cheering.  “They have fought wars for oil, when we could have taken power from the stars themselves.  They have surrendered moral authority to the UN; would we have kicked the Spanish out of Cuba if the UN had gone on and on, while people died?  Do you trust that government?”

The crowd yelled ‘no’ again.  Hernandez smiled; his supporters in the crowd were not that loud.  His speech must be working.  “How many criminals remain on the streets?”  He asked bluntly.  “Why does the government not crush them?  They don’t have to worry about crime; they live in the safest place in the world!”

He prepared himself for the final part of his speech.  “Well, I cannot take this state of affairs anymore,” he shouted.  “Today, I and many others of like mind introduce the Independent America Party, which will be competing in the coming election.  If you want an independent and free America, one safe from crime, vote for me!”

He closed to vast cheers.  “Thank you for coming,” he said.  “Vote for me!”

***
“It’s at least two years until the next election,” a reporter said.  “Do you really plan to hold your new party together until then?”

Hernandez nodded.  “Yes, Garry, we plan to compete in all the states.”

“Well, that’s a big organisation,” a female reporter said.  “Might we ask as to how you’re being funded?”

“Fund-raising,” Hernandez said.  “We have supporters all over, ones who send their money to us and trust us to do the best for America.”

“Have you chosen a running mate yet?”  Garry asked, as silence fell for a moment.

“Yes, as it happens,” Hernandez said.  “It’s hard to find someone who can be trusted to have no connection to the current parties – but I did.”

“And who is this paragon?”  Garry asked.

“Governor Rollins, of the Alternates,” Hernandez said.  He’d been dreading this bit; a wave of questions promptly assailed him.

“Can an Alternate stand in an election?”  An older reporter – one who’d covered the Monica Affair, asked thoughtfully.  “It requires someone born on American soil or who’d lived here for a long time.”

“Tell me,” Hernandez said, “do we deprive someone of citizenship if the place they were born reverts back to another country, like a military base?  Of course not; an Alternative was born in America, so he’s an American!”

“Are the Alternatives providing any funding?”  Garry asked.

“None beyond some of Governor Rollins’ own funds,” Hernandez said, as far as he knew truthfully.  “They, at least, do not have any connection with the Saudis.”

“Do you approve of the bombing of Riyadh, where dozens of reporters died?”  Yet another reporter demanded.

“I object to the whole chain of events,” Hernandez snapped.  “Who thought that it would be a bright idea to chain ourselves to such barbarians?  We paid for the bombs that devastated Atlanta!”

“A good question,” Garry said.

“Courtney Rascal,” a female reporter shouted.  “Will you really withdraw from the UN?”

“Yes,” Hernandez said.  “What good did the UN do when we needed it?  How much help did it bring to Indonesia, even before the masses rose in revolt against their government?  Those bastard bureaucrats let Saddam get away with murder, and then howled when we disposed of him for good.  It’s a waste of our resources – let the French subsidise it if they think it’s worth the effort!”

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Storm Warning

The White House
Washington DC, USA
8th May 2009 (Time Line A)

“So that’s the angle of attack,” President Jackson said to her cabinet.  “Can Rollins stand in an election as a running mate?”

All eyes turned towards the Attorney General.  “I confess I’m not sure,” Terry Westphal said grimly.  “As Hernandez points out, he is an American citizen – just one of a different America.”

Campbell chuckled.  “Perhaps we can do him for tax avoidance, on the grounds he was paying the other Americans.”

Westphal glared at him.  “The chairman of the Democratic Party has approached the Supreme Court, asking for a ruling.  The judges are divided; some of them agree that he’s not a citizen of our America, but others reason that it’s the same as a person born on extraterritorial soil, such as an army base in Japan.”

Jackson nodded.  “So, then, has Hernandez recruited Rollins, or the other way around?  If the latter, why?”

“If the former, why?”  Westphal asked.

“Probably because Rollins has plenty of proof that he’s unconnected to the main parties,” Jackson said.  “But why would Rollins recruit Hernandez?”

“Perhaps they plan to change our politics,” Pope injected.  “It makes sense; they don’t like a lot of bits of our culture.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Jackson said.  “We can do without nukes going off all over the world.”

“I don’t think that Hernandez would approve either,” Westphal said.  “His policy calls for abandoning much of the world; now we’re getting Power Cells it might just be possible to do that.”

“Which would cause chaos across the globe,” Jackson snapped.

“I don’t think that Hernandez would care,” Westphal said.  “His entire platform is based around American disengagement from the world at large.  It is, sadly, going to be quite popular.”

“Then we need to counter it,” Jackson said.  Inside, she smiled at the oddity; she was planning a political action with military and intelligence personnel.  “Still, when was the last time a newcomer succeeded?  He’d have to stay in the race until at least 2012, unless something goes badly wrong.”

***
Later, in a small annex, Campbell and Pope met for a quick meeting.  They were both grim faced, even as they tucked into special White House burgers.  Pope ran a quick check for electronic surveillance devices, before sitting down and munching on a French fry.

“I’ve been trying to trace the funding behind Hernandez’s new movement,” Pope said.  “It’s rather tricky, but I can’t find any direct trace of Alternate involvement.”

“There has to be something,” Campbell said.  “Where are the funds coming from?”

“Hernandez himself is worth over twenty billion,” Pope said.  “He was a very successful entrepreneur.”

“How did he make that much?”  Campbell asked.  “I think I’m in the wrong line of work.”

“Computers and various other technological gadgets,” Pope said.  “In fact, the only real link with the Alternatives is that Hernandez Technologies is one of the companies developing Alternate technology, in this case some advanced computers.

“Anyway, a lot more funds are coming in from supporters, for he’s making better use of the internet than many other politicians,” Pope continued.  “So far, most of the independent politicians and even a few Republicans have joined his coalition.”

Campbell shrugged.  “Politics was never my concern,” he said.

“Than make it your concern,” Pope snapped.  “For all we know, Rollins’ real plan is to allow Hernandez to do the heavy lifting, and then kill him after he wins the election.”

“Can he win the election?”

“I don’t know,” Pope said.  “You see; President Jackson will face re-election in 2012.  That means that the Republicans will have dominated our politics for twelve years – already some democrats are publicly saying that its time for a change.  However, the democrats themselves are in trouble; their party is splitting into two halves.”

He sighed.  “If they each put forward a candidate for president, then counting Jackson and Hernandez we’ll have four candidates, not to mention four for each senate and congress election.  It could get nasty.”

“You mean…civil war?”

“You read Kratman’s book too?”  Pope laughed.  “I don’t think so,” he said, “but we could end up with one large party and three smaller ones.  We’d be constipated!”  Campbell laughed.  “I think we’d better find proof that the Alternates are involved, and then…”

“And then?”  Campbell asked.

“Oh, we’ll think of something,” Pope assured him.

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
8th May 2009 (Time Line A)

Armstrong Field had expanded in the month since Langdon had been there.  Seventeen large buildings provided accommodation for both Alternatives and Natives; small shuttles moved constantly and reporters thronged through the streets of what was rapidly becoming a major town.  Langdon frowned; there were fewer reporters than she’d expected, the news about the loss of many reporters in the nuclear attack had reduced enthusiasm about being too close to Alternatives.  Most of the reporters present at Armstrong were freelancers – reporters without a big news company to fear lawsuits.

A faint humming reached her ears and she turned around on the pavement, seeking the source of the noise.  A car motored by, humming, and she realised that it was an electric car, powered by a Power Cell.  Suddenly, she understood what was familiar about Armstrong – it was Small-town America.  A baker’s shop, one built by Natives, emitted a smell of bread; she half-expected to see Apple Pie being made.  

“My god,” she said aloud.  “This place is…”

“Help you with something?”  A male voice - strangely accented - came from behind her.  She turned around to see a tall Alternative man; wearing a black suit with a Native police cap.  She assumed that it was for the convenience of Natives – even though she had no difficulty in recognising a cop.

“I’m trying to find my way to the governor’s office,” Langdon said, only half-truthfully.  “Where is it?”

“Building one, over there,” the cop said.

Langdon looked at the building.  Many of America’s politicians would have insisted on a massive building testifying to their high status; building one was practically identical to the other buildings.  “Not very distinctive,” she said.

“We don’t believe in giving politicians special perks,” the cop said, as if he’d read her mind.  She felt a flash of paranoiac fear; could he read her mind?  Quickly, she dismissed the impossible thought.

“What do you think of the election campaign?”  She asked, changing the subject slightly.

“I don’t mind,” the cop said, relaxing.  “My name is Dan McPherson, by the way.”

“Caroline Langdon,” Langdon said, shaking hands.  “Are you going to seek American citizenship?”

“I thought I had it,” McPherson said.  “I was born in the Commonwealth of Scotland.”

Langdon blinked.  Now she realised what was odd about his accent; it sounded half-Scottish.  “What sort of place is Scotland like in your timeline?”

“Boring,” McPherson said.  “Three quarters of the place has been converted into a gigantic tourist attraction.  Lochs, the monster and whiskey are all on tap, at least according to the tourist brochures.  Ireland’s no better; it’s like a bloody theme park there, all potatoes and beer.  So I decided at fifteen that I wasn’t bumming round Edinburgh with a gaggle of American tourists, but I was better off in space.  Ten years later I applied for the colonisation program – and here I am.”

“I see,” Langdon said slowly.  “What do you think of this timeline?”

“It smells,” McPherson said bluntly.  “All the petrol in the air; how can you live like that?”

“We manage,” Langdon said dryly.  “Is there anything you actually like about it?”

“You’ve got some interesting music,” McPherson said, after a small thought.  “Those black babes who sing, Booty-Shaka, now that’s like nothing back home.”

“You people seem to have a more united culture,” Langdon agreed.

McPherson grinned.  “The thought of girls singing – if you can call it singing – like that would give people heart attacks.”

“I don’t think that anyone listens for the music,” Langdon said.  “Anything else?”

“You have one hell of a crime problem,” McPherson said.  “Why do you make so much fuss about drugs anyway?”

“You never had a drug problem?”  Langdon asked.

“Not until some idiot figured out how to simulate the pleasure centres of the brain,” McPherson said.  “There was no problem until someone realised that it was an extremely good way to commit murder and not get caught.”

“How did they manage that?”

“Ever heard of la petit mort?  To much pleasure is bad for people, it seems,” McPherson grinned.  “The entire process became rather discredited after people started dropping dead of it.  But tell me; why don’t you put your criminals in work camps?”

“Because it would violate their rights,” Langdon sighed.

“Do those rights include the right to rob, maim and kidnap?”  McPherson asked dryly.  “We don’t have a particularly high repeat crime rate.”

“I wonder if…”  Langdon began.  She checked her watch.  “I have to move,” she said.  “Would you like dinner later?”

“Why not?”  McPherson asked.  “Here’s my number; call me.”

***
Governor Rollins sat back in his chair and opened the secure link to Enterprise.  After a short pause for the entire link to be checked and re-checked, Cozort’s face appeared hovering in front of him.  Cozort looked tired; even for a Captain.

He needs a holiday, Rollins thought with unusual sympathy.  “Good afternoon, Captain,” he said.  “How is Roberta?”

Cozort’s eyes focused on him; he definitely looked tired.  “She’s recovering,” he said.  “We have another problem.”

Rollins nodded to himself.  If Cozort was worried about something else, that meant…what?  Trouble?  What if he knows what we’re trying to do to the political system here?  Would he approve?

“We have a spy on the Enterprise,” Cozort said.  “A Wrecker, perhaps.”

“A Wrecker?  Here?”  Rollins gasped.  “How is that even possible?”

“I think – Stirling thinks – that we brought the Wrecker with us,” Cozort said.  “She thinks that we were sabotaged and destined to die – except we got here instead.”

Rollins nodded.  “Perhaps we did die and this is a particularly nasty afterlife,” he suggested.  It was a weak joke, he knew, but funny in a way.

“Be serious,” Cozort snapped, glaring at him.  “I’m sending you a secured file, for your eyes only.”  His face moved, indicating that Cozort’s hands were working underneath the holographic camera’s field of view.  “Once this is done, I want you to quietly check out the location of everything that could possibly have tipped off the Russians to this particular form of Power Cell technology, ok?”

“Yes, captain,” Rollins said.  The file arrived and Rollins studied it with growing concern.  “Do we have anything down here that could tip them off?”

“I don’t know,” Cozort admitted.  “Incidentally, how many people are out of Armstrong at the moment, on shore leave or technical assistance, or whatever?”

Rollins consulted his memory implant.  “Two hundred and seven,” he said.

“I think that it would be a good idea to check up on them, discretely,” Cozort said.

“Yes, captain,” Rollins said.  “Will you be sending help down here?”

“Not until we’ve finished the inventory up here,” Cozort said.  “Good day.”

“Good day, captain,” Rollins said.  As soon as Cozort’s face had disappeared from thin air, he let out a sigh of relief.  Cozort might just have objected to his and Taylor’s plans for forming a political party and he wanted the ball to be moving too fast to stop when Cozort found out about it.

His wristcom chimed.  “Governor,” the clipped and extremely precise voice of JEEVES2 intoned, “you have a Ms Langdon here to see you.”

“What, again?”  Rollins said to himself.  JEEVES2, a subset of JEEVES, replied in the affirmative; distributed intelligences lacking the intelligence to recognise a rhetorical question.  “Open the door.”

The door hissed open and Langdon stepped into the room.  She’d altered her hair from the last time Rollins had seen her; curling it up into a Rasta style.  It looked quite spectacular.  “Good afternoon, Governor,” she said.

“Good afternoon,” Rollins said.  He stood up and extended a hand.  “What might I do for you?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you a few questions about the latest political developments,” Langdon said.  Rollins waved her to a seat.  “I also have some other questions; the environmentalist pressure groups are worried about you damaging Mars’s pristine ecology.  Do you have any comments?”

Rollins laughed.  “You’re acting as if Mars had an ecology,” he said.  “It did not; all it had was some traces of gas in the atmosphere.  In ten years, humanity in this star system will have a second home.”

“So your basic response is ‘bah humbug’,” Langdon said.

“In essence,” Rollins agreed.  “Why don’t they get busy encouraging the employment of more Power Cells and fusion reactors?”

“Which leads quite nicely into my next question,” Langdon said.  “You’re encouraging the wholesale adoption of nuclear reactors across the United States.  Is that safe?”

“Oh yes,” Rollins assured her.  “Our reactors break down material to generate electricity,” he explained.  “It’s almost impossible to get one to explode, and if you did the blast would not be serious; in fact, quite small.”

“What about radioactivity?”  Langdon asked.

“None,” Rollins said.  “All the released energy particles are converted into electricity.  The entire process leaves no waste of any kind.”

“Sounds almost perfect,” Langdon said dryly.  “Next question; I understand that Senator Hernandez has invited you to run as his vice-president candidate?”

“That’s correct,” Rollins said.

“Can I ask why he picked you and you accepted?”  Langdon asked.

“He said that he knew that I had no connection with the major parties, nor any connection to a corrupt establishment,” Rollins said, only part-truthfully.  “He was also interested in employing an Alternate – if you’ll pardon the pun – view on global events.”

“I see,” Langdon said.  “Senator Hernandez has announced that he will take America into political and commercial isolation.  Why does he want that and why do you support it?”

“Well, there are two parts to that question,” Rollins said.  “America should not waste time and lives on trying to impose peace on the rest of the world; as long as it does not interfere with us.  What would be the point?

“Why do I support it?  America needs to build up its space capabilities, so that its many social problems can be solved,” he continued.  “We need to increase the pie, if you’ll pardon the comment, and that means economic expansion.  Space, in my timeline, made the United States very rich indeed.”

“You don’t think that we should try to fix the social problems first?”  Langdon asked.

“By doing what?”  Rollins asked.  “We cannot split up the pie evenly because the rich would fight and the poor would want more and more, eventually leading to disaster.  If we make the pie bigger, however, and increase participation in wealth-creating activities, people get wealthier and more people are happy.”

“Many business scientists have stated that a US withdrawal from the world economy would cause a crash,” Langdon said.  “What do you say to that?”

“Quite frankly, Ms Langdon, the entire global structure is uneven anyway,” Rollins said.  “It is a disaster waiting to happen – and the longer before it explodes the worse the explosion will be when it happens.  American disengagement and expansion into space can only have a beneficent effect on American businesses.”

“But what about businesses in the Third World?”  Langdon asked.

“You mean the places where their governments are so corrupt that they steal money and goods from business men?  What could we do about that?  We don’t have the manpower to force honest dealing on the bastards, so let’s not add to their profits.”  Rollins sighed.  “If they want a democratic government, let them fight for it!”

“Changing the subject slightly,” Langdon said, “Senator Chipperman, Democrat, has raised the issue of you not being an American citizen – at least not of this America.  How do you respond?”

“I think that Senator Chipperman should be aware that I was born on American soil and have served the government of America – the Alternative America – for most of my life,” Rollins said tartly.  “What have I done to deserve such discrimination?”

“The supreme court plans to debate the matter,” Langdon said.  “Will you attend?”

“I am an American citizen,” Rollins said.  “That is indisputable.”

Langdon dropped the issue.  “As you are doubtless aware,” she said, “a number of reporters were killed in your military action against the Saudis…”

“Is anyone going to blame the Saudis for being such evil bastards?”  Rollins snapped.  “How long did you let them threaten America?  We knew that the only way to defeat them was to hit them so hard that all the other enemies would take notice and stop planning a war against us.”

“The point is,” Langdon snapped, “that you killed innocents…”

“Reporters are never innocent,” Rollins said coldly.  “Did any of the ones who were killed file a story about the evils of the Saudis?”

“Well, no, but…”

“But what?”  Rollins said.  “Let me put a question past you.  If you walk into a burning building, and you get killed by the smoke, who is to blame?”

“Me, I suppose,” Langdon conceded.  “But…”

“If you choose to go to a dangerous area on Earth, you can hardly blame anyone if you get killed,” Rollins said.  “If you put yourselves in harms way…”

“You could have issued a warning,” Langdon said.

“Oh, yes, a splendid idea,” Rollins said sarcastically.  “I know; let’s broadcast the target so that the real targets will escape.  Is that how you failed to bring down Saddam?  No, Ms Langdon, we have no sympathy for your reporters.  This is war; such things happen.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
9th May 2009 (Time Line A)

Rakim had lost track of time; it seemed like years since the almost-Americans had brought his six – five now – men onboard their starship.  Logic told him that it could only have been a week or thereabouts, but logic was hardly a comfort.  The Americans had asked him thousands of questions and shocked him everything he lied or refused to answer.

“Once we’re out of here,” he told his men, “we will bring these crimes to the eyes of the world.”

The door hissed open and seven guards, dressed in black, stepped in.  Rakim felt a shudder of fear; he knew from grim personal experience that each of those guards was stronger and faster than he was.  Behind the guards, Wachter entered, smiling.  Rakim hissed under his breath.

“Good morning,” Wachter said.  “Are you feeling fine?”

Rakim glared at him.  “We have told you everything we know, American,” he snarled.

“We know,” Wachter said.  “Now that you’ve sung like canary birds, we’re letting you go.  We promised that we’d let you walk out the door, did we not?”

“Yes,” Rakim said.

“Come along,” Wachter said, as the guards unlocked their restraining seats and pulled them to their feet.  Staggering, they were dragged through the corridors – seeing no one as they walked – until they reached a big door.  Wachter opened it; there was a similar door at the end.

“Goodbye,” Wachter said, and they were shoved into the small room.

“Won’t they open the other one?”  Sarfraz asked.

The door hissed open.  As soon as it began to open, air started to rush out into the blackness beyond.  Rakim stared as the stars began to appear; glittering balls of light.  They did not sparkle in space, he noticed.  The temperature dropped rapidly as they tried to cling on to the walls, but there was no proper place to grab on to.  Helplessly, they were sucked out into airless space.  Rakim felt the air fade from his lungs and darkness descended upon him.

***
“There they go,” Cozort said, watching the video from the camera mounted on the hull.  Roberta clung to him as the last of her kidnappers died; their bodies losing temperature rapidly.  Cozort lifted his wristcom; “have the bodies picked up and fed to the bioreactor,” he ordered.

“That’s the end,” Roberta said.  “I’m sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Cozort told her, and they kissed.  It was slow and gentle, almost like their wedding night again, but afterwards Roberta slept soundly for the first night in weeks.  For the night, the pressures of the world faded away. 

Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Rumour of War

Central Park
New York, USA
12th May 2009 (Time Line A)

The sunset was speculator; according to the protesters because of the nuclear attack on Saudi Arabia.  Sanchez watched from underneath his hood as they marched round and round the park, chanting ‘no more nukes’, ‘no more nukes’, until the police finally responded to complaints from the residents and evicted them.  There was a brief struggle and most of the protestors fled.

He spotted Boris Lapotev, standing next to a female protestor, trying to chat her up.  Sanchez smiled as she felt Lapotev’s groin through his jeans, then felt a stab of pain as she took a ten-dollar bill from him.  His sister, like many other Mexican women, had been forced into prostitution merely to stay alive.

“I’m sorry, Magda,” he whispered.  Lapotev looked up, saw him, and nodded towards a park bench under a shaded tree.  Sanchez wandered towards it as Lapotev finished chatting to the protester/prostitute, and ambled over to the bench.

“Mind if I sit down?”  Lapotev asked.

“Suit yourself,” Sanchez said.  “I’m just activating this.”  He pulled out a small box, which unfolded into a complex series of antennas.  “This jams up bugs and other recording systems,” he said.

“Very clever,” Lapotev said.  “I have a lot to ask you.”

“One question first; how are you getting along with the information I shipped you?”  Sanchez asked.  “By now, you should have been able to start along the path to extremely high technology.”

“We hit some problems,” Lapotev admitted.  “There are problems with the Power Cells; they explode if too much power is pumped in.”

Sanchez shook his head.  “They have near-unlimited capability,” he said.  “I suspect that your problem is that you’re trying to force power in too fast.  The system needs to adapt to the pressures you’re placing on it.”

“How much technical knowledge do you have?”  Lapotev asked.  “You must know things that we can barely grasp.”

Sanchez laughed.  “Less than you might think,” he said.  “The Captain ordered me to research your technology and see how it might be improved.”

“Do you have any ideas as to how we could make the process quicker?”  Lapotev asked.  “We really need lots of cells.”

“I don’t think you could, unless you start manufacturing them in orbit,” Sanchez said.  “I gave you the plans to build an orbital manufacturing plant.”

“As good as the ones your starship has placed into Earth orbit?”  Lapotev asked.

“No,” Sanchez said.  “However, those platforms are defenceless; they don’t have drive fields to interdict missiles, nor plasma guns to deter borders.  Hell, their crews aren’t always armed.  If you took out Enterprise, you could just walk in and take over the platforms without any difficulty.”

“And what happens when President Jackson starts World War Three over it?”  Lapotev asked thoughtfully.  “I can’t see them just giving up the advantage…”

“If you build the small missiles that I included in the data pack, you’ll be able to deploy a working anti-ballistic missile system,” Sanchez explained.  “Once that’s completed, you’ll be safe and able to dictate your own terms to America.”

Lapotev looked at him sharply.  “What’s in this for you?”  He asked.

Sanchez shrugged.  “Revenge, mainly,” he said.  “Anything else?”

“We need some of the Alternative Power Cells,” Lapotev said.  “We were wondering if you could find a way to get us some.”

Sanchez shook his head.  “Not easily,” he said.  “There are none of the colony ones remaining on Enterprise.  Even if they were, I can’t take them to the planet without being noticed.”  He thought for a long moment.  “You might want to steal some from Britain.”

“Britain?”  Lapotev asked in surprise.  “Why Britain?”

“In my timeline, Britain is part of the United States,” Sanchez explained.

“And Russia?”  Lapotev asked, not certain if he wanted to know.

“A radioactive wasteland,” Sanchez said.  “They called it the Hot War, remember?”

“I see,” Lapotev said.  “But what’s happening in Britain?”

“The British Government is the first non-American government to be given access to Power Cells, in this case five hundred small cells,” Sanchez explained.  “All you have to do is work out a way of stealing them.”

“We’ll do it,” Lapotev said.  An idea occurred to him.  “What happens to Mexico in your timeline?”  The look of pain on Sanchez’s face gave him the answer.  “American-controlled?”

“They raped Mexico for everything they wanted,” Sanchez said, cold hatred spilling through.  Thousands died in the futile rebellion, thousands more were made permanently homeless.  Our women became whores for their pleasure – some of our so-called leaders even helped the Americans trade for our women.  Then they built the orbital tower, which makes Mexico far more important to them; they’ve even begun a process of settling the region with their own people.”

“When we rule the world, Mexico can go its own way,” Lapotev said.  He decided not to mention that the current Mexican government was as corrupt as governments ever became.

“Thanks,” Sanchez said.  He passed over a slip of paper.  “I funnelled some funds from the destroyed Saudis – what they did to them should tell you how ruthless the Alternatives are prepared to be – to set up a private internet storage cache on one of the data havens.  On that paper are details of a basic code; do not place any reference to me on your computer systems at all!  The Americans are very good at hacking into your computers.”

Lapotev swore.  The Russians – and their Chinese and Indian allies – exchanged countless secrets over their Internet.  If it had been compromised, it was a disaster beyond calculation.  If they were also decrypting the radio and telephone landlines…

“Don’t trust your radios either,” Sanchez said, as if he’d read his thoughts.  “Their quantum computers can perform decryptions at an extremely high speed.  Send whatever messages you need to keep hidden by courier, rather than radio.”

“I see,” Lapotev said grimly.  “What about the private internet storage cache?”

“I gave you the address there,” Sanchez said.  “Once I’m back in space, I can and will leave messages for you there.”

“Can’t they decrypt them?”  Lapotev said; it sounded…wrong after his dire warnings.

“Not without a copy of the key I gave you,” Sanchez assured him.  “It can’t, however, be used for really complex messages.  Give me time to work on it.”

“I will,” Lapotev assured him.  He was interrupted by sirens from a building on the other side of the park.  “I wonder what that is,” he said.

“It hardly matters,” Sanchez said.  “Be seeing you.”

***
Across the way from Central Park, a small building had been built, designed to cater to the sufferers from humanity’s scourge – AIDS.  In the Howe Institute, in cosy surroundings and luxurious living rooms, the richer victims could spend their days until the virus finally dragged them down into the darkness.  The clinic held nearly ninety patients, with fifty staff, but it only held a small percentage of the AIDS sufferers in the city, let alone the world.

Doctor Romeo paused as the car, carrying her, Doctor Wallflower of the Howe Institute and her two attendants, reached the end of the road.  A mass of protesters stood there, waving banners.  She brought up her enhanced eyesight, useful for watching disease cells, and read some of the banners.  TREATMENT FOR ALL, one read, POOR PEOPLE HAVE RIGHTS TOO, the second read.

“What is this?”  Romeo demanded icily, as her attendants reached for various weapons.  Primed for another kidnap attempt, they were unprepared for a mob – although the possibility that it was a cover for a kidnap had crossed their minds.

Wallflower hesitated.  By nature a mild-mannered man, Wallflower had easily given in to the demands from the richer people in the city that the Howe Institute’s patents receive the first anti-AIDS treatments that were commonly available.  “Well, they feel that the AIDS treatments should be distributed on an even basis,” he began.

“And why should they not be?”  Romeo, who had lived in an American that was almost universally middle-class, demanded.  

“Well, many of the AIDS victims in the city are poor and whores, who are likely to catch it again…”  

His voice trailed off under Romeo’s glare.  “You may be an excellent politician,” she snapped, “but you know very little about basic human treatment.  Doctors are meant to be neutral – we treat everyone, even Wreckers!  I sent my people down to aid at Atlanta, doctor, and we never stopped to check a credit balance first.”

“You said you would perform the treatment at the Howe Institute,” Wallflower said desperately.  He knew that if the people in the institute did not receive their treatment, he’d be lucky to keep his job and benefits.

“I will,” Romeo said.  “Frederick, open the door,” she ordered.

Frederick, one of Wachter’s security guards, blinked, but obeyed.  The roar of the crowd and the stink of the streets grew more present as Romeo stepped out.  Flashbulbs went off as the swarm of reporters took photos; she was very well known as the doctor who cured AIDS.  Romeo laughed to herself; she’d had nothing to do with the design of nanites, she’d merely used them.

The crowd surged towards her.  “What about us?”  A student girl shouted.  Fresh-faced, but dressed in the most ridiculous outfit, Romeo found herself wondering how she’d gotten AIDS.  Indeed, did she have AIDS?

“We have enough nanites to go around,” Romeo said, and a hush fell.  It was broken by some members gasping.

“But you’ll give them to the rich fucks first,” another student said.  “Just because they have money, you’ll cure them of the disease they got through carelessness.”

There was a hiss of anger directed at the hapless student.  His statement might have been true, but it was unpopular.  Unwelcome truths often are.  “We can and we will cure everyone here with AIDS,” Romeo snapped, just as the sirens began sounding.  Expecting a riot, New York’s finest turned up, armed to the teeth.  Romeo ignored them.

“Now,” she said.  “How many of you have AIDS?”

Of the crowd that she estimated as having more than five hundred members, fifty-seven came forward.  “Good,” she said.  “Now, if any of you think that you have AIDS, my assistant Frederick” – passing a blood sampler to Frederick from her medical belt – “will perform a quick check.”

“But what about the people in the clinic?”  Wallflower asked, wringing his hands together with panic.  The crowd hissed and he shrank back towards the advancing policemen.

“I said everyone and I meant it,” Romeo said.  “Go get them in the queue as well, then get the nurses out to help.”

Wallflower, glad of a chance to start doing something that would look good, complied.  Romeo beckoned the first victim, a hulking black man, forward.  “Your name?”

“Wolfstone, Madam,” the man said.  Romeo reminded him too much of his only teacher.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Wolfstone,” Romeo said.  She passed over a small wristband.  “Wear this for at least half an hour after I inject you,” she ordered.  She pointed to one of the nurses and ordered her to lay out the rug.  “Lie on that for at least ten minutes.”

“Yes, madam,” Wolfstone said.  Romeo injected him and pointed to the rug.  Behind her, New York’s finest were sealing off the street, while her remaining guard kept a wary eye on proceedings.  “Next?”

Safe House
Paris, France
14th May 2009 (Time Line A)

The French Government, which claimed descent from the French Revolution (completely ignoring the two empires, five republics and one occupation that had passed in the two centuries), vested most of its power in the hands of the Prime Minister, Jean Mauroy.  The President, whose main purpose was to look good, had far less power, although many Presidents had held considerable influence.

Prime Minister Jean Mauroy sat at the desk in the safe house and waited for the Russian visitor.  Like many Frenchmen, he disliked Russians, regarding them as uncivilised barbarians.  Mauroy, who liked to consider himself cultured, found the Russians distasteful as well.  Still, the main problem facing France today could only be handled with Russian assistance.

It was intolerable!  The French had been the driving force behind the European Union – had they not prevented the British from joining until the stage had been prepared under French dominance? – but now their influence was waning.  The Germans, strong and powerful, were beginning to take control of the Union.  Instead of working towards France’s dream of multi-polar power politics, the Germans would work towards a world where international law was supreme.  In theory – Mauroy was aware that there were darker strains in German politics, ones that might lead them towards European dominance again.  Henrik Krog, the current German chancellor, was an uncertain factor.  He smiled too much when he spoke about European unity.

The Russian, their President, entered and shook hands.  Mauroy felt his hands as hard and firm, almost colder than ice.  I’m probably imagining things, he told himself.  The things I do for the glory of France.

“We have a problem,” Lapotin said, after the formalities had been completed.  Neither of them had been in the mood for the long drawn-out formalities so beloved of the United Nations.

“So do we,” Mauroy said, wondering which of the Russian problems was this important.  Very little that bothered the Russians was of concern to a good Frenchman.

“The Americans have acquired a source of technical knowledge that far outstrips out own,” Lapotin said.  “Their politics have also begun to get darker.”

Mauroy nodded.  The prime French, and to a lesser extent Russian, strategy had been to tie down the American Gulliver with thousands of Lilliputian ropes.  The entire strategy had begun to come apart when the Americans invaded Iraq, but it had prevented any intervention in Iran.  That civil war seemed to be coming to an end as the Mullahs started to wonder if the Alternates would treat Tehran the same way.

“What you may not realise,” Lapotin continued, “is that the Americans are planning to abandon Saudi entirely in 2010.”  Mauroy stared at him.  “Even if President Jackson continues the occupation, she may well lose the next election; either a Democrat or this new Independent America Party would withdraw.  In that case, the occupation will come to an end in 2012.”

“Interesting,” Mauroy said, affecting to be unconcerned.  “Why should this bother us?”

Lapotin was too old a politician to be fooled.  “These days, most of your oil comes from the Gulf; Saudi, Kuwait and Iraq.  Iraq remembers how you supported Saddam; they won’t sell to you unless it’s absolutely necessary and with their improvements and American investments it won’t become absolutely necessary, at least not for some time.  Kuwait and Saudi, for different reasons, are both having troubles.”  He smiled; ‘troubles’ was such an ironic description for Saudi.

“So that will, in a year or so, leave you without a proper supply of oil,” Lapotin concluded.  “Then what will happen to your European economic miracle?”

Mauroy scowled.  Unlike most of the European leaders, he understood just how fragile the European ‘miracle’ really was.  If the oil were to dry up, it would come to a shuddering halt.

“You see my point,” Lapotin said, watching the Frenchman’s face carefully.  “We believe, however, that there is a solution to the problem.”

“How can you help solve the problem?”  Mauroy asked.

“We are aware of something most of the West is not,” Lapotin said.  “The Iranian Mullahs are controlling a multi-stage missile, with a nuclear warhead.”

Mauroy shook his head.  “If they had such weapons,” he said, “they would have used it on the reformers.”

“No,” Lapotin said.  “You see, the Mullahs position is quite weak; they know that if they use it they’ll be torn apart in the streets.  Years of indecisive warfare will do that to people.  However, they’re thinking about using it on a harmless Russian army base in Armenia.”

“Oh really,” Mauroy said dryly, and then it hit him.  “If they nuke this army base, what are you planning to do?”

“Well, if they were to do this – clearly under pressure from the Chechens fighting with the Mullahs, the government of Russia would see its way to suppressing both sides in the dispute and scouring the nation for more nukes.”

“I see,” Mauroy said.  “And our role in this?”

“The Government of Russia would prefer not to do this alone,” Lapotin said.  “It might just be misinterpreted by certain elements in the West.”  Their eyes met for a long moment.  “The UN security council, we believe, will press for a swift and multinational occupation and peacekeeping force, which, as the wounded party, we will insist on having command of.  We would like you to send an infantry division or two to help out.”

“And the occupation would last for a long time?”  Mauroy enquired.

“Indeed,” Lapotin said.  “In five years, my scientists assure me, we’ll have duplicated the Power Cells and the fusion reactors.  Then we can bid goodbye to the sand niggers.”

The phase he used was French; Russians were often ruder about their southern neighbours.  “Without the oil, their outdated social structures will collapse and we won’t have to worry about them ever again.”

“We have too much to worry about now,” Mauroy said.  “The Muslims in the south of France are rioting; we declared martial law and shot far too many, but the bomb attacks just keep on coming.”

“Perhaps we can resettle them in Saudi or Iran,” Lapotin suggested.  “Anyway, I’d like to take back a comment from you, so what do you think?”

Jean Mauroy, Prime Minister of France, knew the golden rule about offers.  Turn one down and you never knew when you might get another one.  Greater French influence in the Middle East, even allied with the barbarous Russians, could only be a good thing.  Stamping out the source of funds going towards terror groups could hardly make the Muslims unhappier than they already were.  And besides, if the Germans saw the French getting into bed with the Russians, they might stop trying to alter the European Union to their tastes.

Mauroy nodded slowly.  “I’ll have to convince the President” – both men knew that the real power lay with Mauroy – “and the cabinet, but I think that France will support you.  When are you planning to begin?”

“Next week,” Lapotin said.  “Time waits for no man; it would be a shame if the reformers won before we could impose a settlement, right?”

“Right,” Mauroy said, shaking hands.  They did not feel quite so cold this time.

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
15th May 2009 (Time Line A)

The report, from Stuart, was long and complicated.  Cozort dunked a chocolate biscuit in his tea and nibbled while he read.  The AltTech Company had managed to sell licences for a new brand of electric car to three different major American automobile companies.  This, Stuart assured him, would increase the choice available to consumers across the United States.

Cozort shook his head and turned to a second report, from Rollins.  After a careful inventory, Armstrong had been unable to find any missing sources of information on Power Cells, particularly not ones that could be constructed on a planet’s surface.  That meant that the leak was on the Enterprise itself – hardly unexpected, but alarming.  Who knew what else was leaking out of the starship?

A chime at the door made him look up.  “Come in,” he said.  JEEVES considered the command and opened the door.  Cozort, expecting Taylor, raised an eyebrow when Flight Sergeant Mike Revel and Lieutenant Theresa Wiggins entered.

“Sir,” Revel said, saluting.  Cozort stood up and returned the salute; Wiggins, who was not technically a military officer, nodded.

“Good afternoon,” Cozort said.  “Might I ask why you wanted to see me?”  In his experience, lower-ranking officers never wanted to see higher-ranking officers – they interfered too much.

Revel looked uncomfortable for a long moment.  “Sir, Theresa - Lieutenant Wiggins – and I would like to get married.”

Cozort grinned.  “Really?”

“Yes, sir,” Wiggins said.  She smiled; Cozort noticed that the signs of her attempt a suicide had vanished.  “We both made our minds up last week, but we waited until now to ask you to perform the ceremony.”

“I’d be delighted,” Cozort said truthfully.  “Would you mind waiting another week?”

Wiggins frowned; beside her Revel stared at Cozort.  “Might I ask why, sir?”  She asked.

“The President of the Native America has been wanting a tour of Enterprise,” Cozort explained.  “It might make a good opportunity to invite her up here.”  He smiled.  “We do need something to celebrate as well, so if we have a week to prepare…”

“Sir, we don’t want anything special,” Revel started to say, but caught the look in Wiggins’s eyes.  She wanted a grand wedding and had been wondering how to pay for it.

“She does though, don’t you,” Cozort said, matter-of-factly.  Wiggins blushed.  “Don’t worry, I dare say that the piggy bank won’t be broken; everything will be fine.”

“Thank you, sir,” Revel said.  He sounded a little stunned; Wiggins smiled openly beside him, hanging on to his arm.

“See you in a week,” Cozort said.  “Let me know if you want to write you own vows, or if you want anything else special.”  They left; behind them Cozort smiled openly.  A wedding party was just what the hard-pressed crew needed.  Putting down the reports, he began to make the arrangements.

Chapter Thirty: The Best Day of Her Life

Gus Grissom
Earth Orbit
20th May 2009 (Time Line A)

The blue of the atmosphere fell away as the Gus Grissom, a modified version of the John Glenn-class SSTO, rose above the Earth on a pillar of flame.  Brennen smiled; the assistance that Stirling had given him and his company had been very useful, as had the investments from various companies interested in exploiting space.  The Grissom, built using advanced materials, was working like a charm.

“Now entering orbit,” he informed ground control, before slipping into the orbit.  The blue-green globe of Earth appeared in his little porthole, an awe-inspiring sight.  My God, he thought, why do people hate the thought of being up here?  

“Your target is directly below you,” ground control said after a long silence.  “Burn for five seconds to match course and speed.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Brennen said.  “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Red,” Andrew Roscoe assured him.  The co-pilot of the Glenn had expected the question.  “I’m suited up.”

Grissom was built in three sections, designed by Brennen and constructed from off-the-shelf parts.  In total, the design cost less than five million dollars to produce and Brennen expected the price to shrink still further.  The first section was the cockpit, where Brennen sat.  The second section – half of the craft - was the cargo bay, linked to the cockpit through an airlock.  The third and final section held the rocket engine that drove the craft into space.

Brennen, with careful taps of gas from the thrusters, brought the craft close to its target.  Floating in space was an old Russian spy satellite, one that had entered a stable orbit, much against the wish of its controllers.  Its cameras, designed to re-enter the atmosphere with their films, had never been able to return their images.  Who knew what they might have seen?

Brennen planned to find out.  The Smithsonian had pointed the satellite out to him and offered a sizeable sum of money for it.  Planning a retrieval mission had been easy; avoiding lawyers had been slightly more difficult.  Once the precedent was set, however…

“Opening airlock,” Brennen said.  Outside, Roscoe’s form appeared, moving towards the massive satellite.

“I’m attaching the tether now,” Roscoe said.  “Start hauling her in.”

Brennen nodded and started to reel in the satellite, pulling it into the cargo bay.  Roscoe guided it into its cradle.  “I’ve secured it,” Roscoe said, after a long pause.

“Excellent,” Brennen grinned.  “Come back into the cabin and we can land.”

“Coming right up,” Roscoe said.

***
Twenty minutes later, the Grissom started its controlled fall back towards the Earth, landing gently and perfectly at Armstrong.  Brennen was the first to study the satellite, before handing it over to the curator.  The pictures had been of the sea; more had gone wrong than the soviet controllers had thought.  Brennen had to laugh.

Supreme Court
Washington DC, USA
20th May 2009 (Time Line A)

The justices of the Supreme Court stared blearily at one another.  In the course of the three-day debate, they’d heard opinions from many different people and pressure groups; trying to find a precedent that applied to the situation that America faced.  At first, they’d wondered if it would ever come to the point where it would really be important, but quiet investigations had revealed that the Independent America Party had serious money behind it.

“We may as well be honest with ourselves,” Associate Justice Melanie Ducat said, looking around the table.  “If we move against the Independent America Party, it could have serious repercussions.”

There were tired nods.  Not only the possibility of making an unpopular decision, which could affect the senate’s reaction to the Supreme Court, but the prospect of highly-paid positions after they resigned.  Lifetime membership of the Court did not sit too well with all of them.

“And besides,” Associate Justice Russell Jones said, “we don’t have much of a precedent against it.  At best, he can be viewed as a person who was born on foreign soil under American control, such as a military base.”

Which is exactly the argument that his supporters are putting forward, Chief Justice Christopher Morris thought coldly.  “There is the little matter of him not paying taxes, social, Medicare or otherwise.”

“All of which was hardly his fault,” Jones said.  “It is hardly a crime to not pay due to circumstances beyond your control.”

“Yes, we’d have to arrest all the unemployed,” Associate Justice Leonard Dunaway said cheerfully.

“A show of hands, then,” Morris said.  All in favour of treating him as an American citizen?”

The Justices extended their hands.  Morris counted; seven in favour, two opposed.  “He should have to pay back taxes,” one of the dissenters said.

“Another show of hands?”  Morris said.  This time, eight were in favour.  “The motion is passed,” he said.

***
Three hours afterwards, spent over a large lunch while the speechwriters worked to compose a proper judicial statement, Morris stood on a podium in front of the Supreme Court.  “It is the decision of the Supreme Court,” he read, “that Gilbert Rollins of the Alternatives is an American Citizen, once he pays his back taxes.”

There were titters from the reporters.  “Therefore, we see no reason why he should not be Hernandez’s running mate in any election race.”

The White House
Washington DC, USA
20th May 2009 (Time Line A)

The Secret Service, which had worried and objected to Jackson’s trip to Armstrong, had come as close to open rebellion as they could over her proposed trip to the Alternative starship.  They’d wanted her to take along a protection detail and her protectors had argued strongly for that, even though they were aware that the Enterprise – for them – would be the ultimate fish out of water situation.  Finally, Jackson had declared the argument closed and pointed out that she would be escorted by Campbell and Pope, both of whom had combat training.

As the shuttle came to a halt over Washington, Jackson cast one eye towards CNN.  The news that she was going to a combined tour and wedding on the Enterprise had been overshadowed by the decision of the Supreme Court.  Jackson had expected that outcome; the amount of funding behind the Independent America Party made that outcome certain.  Politicians liked to claim that the Supreme Court was independent, but Jackson knew that that claim was flawed.  Everywhere in Washington was linked to everything.

“Madam President?”  Pope said.  He sounded excited.  “It’s time to go.”

Jackson followed the Secret Service agents onto the lawn.  The shuttle, a white box-like vehicle, sat gently on the lawn.  A man dressed in a vaguely British outfit stood near the hatch.  As Jackson approached, he snapped to attention and saluted.

“Madam President, my name is Lieutenant Benjamin Osteen,” he said.  “It is my pleasure to welcome you onboard the Captain’s Gig.”

“Thank you,” Jackson said, as he pointed the way into the small shuttle.

“This is the main passenger area,” Osteen said.  “A refresher compartment is in the rear, so if you need to freshen up, that’s the place.”  The hatch hissed shut behind them as Osteen beckoned the way into the cockpit.  “This is the cockpit,” he said.  “We depart in three minutes.”

“Should we strap in or anything?”  Campbell asked, looking around with wonder.

“No need,” Osteen assured him.  “The compensators will prevent you feeling any more than a slight tug.  May I have your permission to depart?”

Jackson nodded.  “You may,” she said, as formally as possible.

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
20th May 2009 (Time Line A)

Throughout the gigantic starship’s corridors and sections, there was a feeling in the air.  The crew, tired and stressed by their experiences, were taking the opportunity to relax.  Small parties were taking place around the ship; in one of the shuttle bays the Marines had organised a massive fighting competition, in another a ship-wide chess tournament was taking place, in a third a poker competition.

“No badges,” Taylor said, removing his at the door to the second shuttle bay.  It was an old USSF tradition, for the USSF crews had no way of escaping their commanding officers, for a place to be declared rank-free.  Anything that happened there stayed there – the only forbidden action was sexual intercourse.

“Yes,” the guard at the door said.  “You just look like Commander Taylor.”

“It’s a plot,” Taylor said.  He looked across the room until he spied a chessboard where the black player was about to deliver the winning move.  As he watched, white’s last desperate fumbling failed and black moved the queen forward.

“Checkmate,” the black player announced.  He shook white’s hand.  “A good game,” he said.

“A game?”  Taylor asked.  Black did not reply directly, but indicated the seat in front of him.  Taylor sat down and started to replace the white pieces, placing them back in the start position.

“White or black?”  The black player - Terry Francois – asked.

“White, I think,” Taylor said.  He advanced a pawn; king’s pawn forward two squares.  A fairly typical opening move.

“Humm,” Francois said.  He moved his own king’s pawn forward and prepared for a long game.

***
“How are the happy couple?”  Cozort asked, as he waited with Roberta outside the only shuttle bay still in use for its real purpose.  He’d spent most of the previous day granting permission for the various ideas that the crews had had.  A and B Crews were off-duty, C Crew were on half-duties.  D Crew was supposed to be asleep, but Cozort had already spied some familiar faces hanging around the various parties.

“Nervous, as always before a wedding,” Roberta said.  “Remember ours?”

“I remember the wedding night,” Cozort said.  Roberta elbowed him.  “That was magnificent.”

“Jerk,” Roberta said.  “But you were nervous about walking up the aisle in front of thousands of people…”

“And your mother kept looking at me,” Cozort said.  “I think she thought that I was not good enough for you.”

Roberta kissed him softly.  “I think you’re good enough for me,” she said.

Cozort’s wristcom buzzed.  “Captain, the President’s shuttle is about to land.”

“Understood,” Cozort said, as the honour guard began to enter the shuttle bay and form into a proper row.  He watched as the bay’s forcefield flickered and the shuttle passed through, the slight drop in atmosphere typical of the technology.  The shuttle landed with a slight bump.  Cozort watched as the shuttle’s hatch began to open.

***
President Jackson was finding the entire journey a fantastic experience.  She’d watched as the Earth fell away into a beautiful ball, floating in space, and then gasped as they passed a satellite.  Pope had frowned; he’d figured that there’d be no need to pass so close to a satellite.  Ahead of them, the Enterprise started to take shape; a massive hulking shape in space.  Running lights gave the hulk shape and form, a massive city hanging against the stars.

“My God,” Campbell whispered.  He’d read Brennen’s report with some care, but it had completely failed to prepare him for the reality.

“These people are fantastic,” Jackson whispered.  Her half-expressed doubts began to crystallise – the Alternatives would change the world by their very presence.  “If Hernandez could bring us this, is it not worth having him as President?”

“I don’t know,” Pope said.  He still suspected that there were more links between Hernandez and the Alternatives than he’d found.  “But we have a democratic mandate for a reason.”

“A Republican mandate,” Jackson corrected, feeling a smile hover on her lips.  Enterprise grew closer and closer until it became an object; a square of light on the starboard hull resolving into a shuttle bay.  The shuttle passed into the starship and landed smoothly on the deck.

“Right this way, Madam President,” Osteen said, as the hatch hissed open.  Jackson stepped out to be greeted by a honour guard of marines – the uniform was different, but she had no difficulty in recognising them.

“Present arms,” their leader roared, and the Marines stuck the traditional pose.  Jackson and Campbell inspected the pose, before shaking hands with Cozort, who stood at the end of the line.

“It’s good to see you again,” Cozort said, smiling.  Jackson shook his hand firmly and then shook Roberta’s, enquiring if she’d survived her ordeal.

“Yes, I did,” Roberta said.  “I’m fine now.”

“That’s good,” Jackson said.

“Ready for the tour?”  Cozort asked.

“Oh yes,” Jackson said.  “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

***
“This is the bridge,” Cozort said, after an hour’s tour of the starship.  “As its name implies, we control almost all of the starship’s functions from here.”

“It’s impressive,” Pope said.  Of the three Natives, he’d been the least talkative on the tour.  “Why don’t you have a spare bridge?”

“We do,” Cozort said.  “However, any accident that burnt through the four hundred meters of hull between us and open space would probably destroy the entire ship.”

“I see,” Pope said.  “How would Enterprise handle in a battle?”

“Depends on the enemy,” Cozort said thoughtfully.  “In a stand-up battle with a USSF battleship, I’d bet on the battleship.  If we had time to deploy the tenders, we could make a fight of it, but at the speeds battleships can go, Enterprise is essentially a gigantic sitting target.”

“Compared to a battleship?”  Campbell said.  “Our battleships are huge.”

“A USSF battleship is roughly sixty meters long,” Cozort said.  “About the same size as a tender.  We did try to build a dreadnaught-class, but it was too big a target for the Wreckers.  The techs keep talking about a modification to the drive fields called Battle Screen, but until they get it to work we have to balance power and size.”

“I see,” Pope said.  Cozort ushered them into his office.

“This is my day cabin,” he said.  “Most of the paperwork I have to do gets done here, next to the bridge.”

“Just like an admiral’s cabin,” Campbell said.

“We have half an hour before the wedding,” Cozort said, “so if any of you need to freshen up, use the room over there.”

“Thank you,” Pope said.

Jackson took one of the seats.  “Captain, you’ll be pleased to know that the Supreme Court has ruled in favour of your Governor Rollins.”

Cozort blinked.  “What?”

“Governor Rollins has been invited to stand for vice-president beside an independent candidate who’s building his own party,” Jackson said.  “Didn’t you know?”

Cozort shook his head.  Jackson frowned; it looked real, but was it?  “I’ll have to have a word with him,” he said.  “I don’t mind him running for office, but he has responsibilities on the surface base.”

“I see,” Jackson asked.  “Can’t you order him to stop?”

Cozort and Roberta exchanged glances.  “My authority over the Governor is somewhat limited,” Cozort said.  “He’s not on the Enterprise, so I don’t really have the final authority.”  He smiled.  “I have the right to make a fuss if he negates his duties or causes a war, and there’s a limit to how far I can back him up, but I don’t have final authority.”

He sighed.  “Half of the USSF is civilian, so the authority of a Captain is limited whenever civilians are involved.  It was a lot easier when I was commanding the Onslaught.”

“A battleship?”  Campbell guessed.

“The happiest years of my life,” Cozort said, grinning.  “If he breaks US laws, I can drop a hammer on him, but otherwise…”

“I see,” Jackson said.

“Tell me, what do you think of the integration of some of our technology into your society?”  Cozort said, changing the subject.

“Well,” Jackson began, and ran though a long list of discussion points.  Cozort listened with some awe, reminding himself not to underestimate the President again.

***
The game had lasted nearly two hours, drawing an audience from many of the other players in the room, but finally Taylor had to concede defeat.  He thought that he might have forced a stalemate, but honesty compelled him to admit that it would be unlikely.  Standing up, he shook hands with his opponent.

“How long until the wedding?”  He asked one of the watchers.

“About ten minutes,” the watcher said.

“I’d better go get ready,” Taylor said.  “Good game.”

***
Ensign Sanchez, as one of the people not invited to the main wedding, had some freedom of action.  He was leery about using the computers too much, as he suspected that the security personnel would have caught onto the explosion in Russia and figured out the cause, but there were plenty of isolated paper and electronic notepads to draw on.  Finding out where in Britain the Power Cells were stored was easy; no one had worried about keeping that a secret.

Carefully, he encoded the information into a very simple message and slipped it through one of the downlinks to the Native Earth.  Hopefully, no one would notice the compressed message hidden in the data stream to Armstrong.  The native server in one of Brennen’s buildings would forward it to the correct location.

***
Cozort tugged on his dress uniform, designed by a British fashion designer, until it fell into what he considered a good shape.  Roberta fussed about him until she had it in the proper position, which just happened to be uncomfortable.  As soon as they were done, they stepped into the main shuttle bay and took their places.  Silence fell over the bay.

Cozort nodded to Stirling, who blew three short blasts on her horn.  Everyone’s eyes moved to Cozort, standing at the end of a long red carpet.  “Dearly beloved,” he said.  “We are gathered here today to witness the joining in holy matrimony of two of our number; Michael Revel and Theresa Wiggins.  Let them enter.”

On cue, the main doors to the shuttle repair room opened, revealing Revel in his dress uniform.  Walking beside his best man, he walked slowly up towards Cozort and stopped in front of him.  Five minutes later, Wiggins entered, wearing a long white dress.  She looked beautiful; her hair was hanging down in a shiny stream.  Beside her, Commander Taylor held her arm; the executive officer was standing in for her father.  Together, they walked to the end of the carpet.

“Wow,” Cozort heard Revel breath.  His best man elbowed him.

“Do you, Michael Revel, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to care for her and cherish her, until death do you part?”

“I do,” Revel breathed.  Cozort had to use his enhanced hearing to hear him.

“Do you, Theresa Wiggins, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to care for him and cherish him, until death do you part?”

“I do,” Wiggins said.  Her voice was firm.

“Does anyone here know any reason why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony?”  Cozort asked the room at large.  “If he or she knows, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

There was a long silence.  “I now, with the authority vested in me by the United States Space Force, pronounce you husband and wife.  You may kiss the bride.”  The couple kissed, to cheers from the crowd.

“And now you can have your wicked way with one another,” Taylor whispered to Wiggins’s back.  She ignored him as the party began.

***
“Interesting,” Jackson said, as she led Campbell round the dance floor.  “Notice that most of the tunes and dances are really olden style, or Scottish.”

“I wonder why,” Campbell said, who was concentrating on trying to place his feet properly.

“Most of our popular culture comes from Scotland,” Cozort said, as he and Roberta whirled by.  He seemed to have no difficulty conducting a conversation and a dance at the same time, even if it was accompanied with a band whose enthusiasm outmatched their experience.  “We have been less…inventive than you have.”

“And all the Bollywood stuff never even had a chance in our universe,” Roberta added, who’d spent a couple of days going through the Indian movie scene.  “India is torn apart between warlords.”

“They still whinge about the British occupation,” Jackson said.  “Are you going to tell them just how bad it could have been?”

“It would only upset them,” Cozort said.

***
Almost alone among the crew, Joshua Wachter was not celebrating.  He’d taken part in the stag party for Revel, cheerfully presenting the sergeant with the traditional gag gift for a married officer – a box of condoms – but the wedding itself had not interested him.  He had a more important task to accomplish.

Sitting in the tactical control room, he started to draw up a list of potential sources of information on the Enterprise.  He’d considered the main computer files, but they would identify anyone who accesses the network.  A person could not be penalised for anything they wrote on the computer network, but there were strong privacy protections anyway.  The system had noted everyone who’d accessed the file, but no one stood out as a suspect.

Which left…what?  Wachter knew that there were other sources of information on the starship – they just had to be identified.  Carefully, he worked to complete his list, so that his people would have a task to complete as soon as they arrived.  Suddenly, an alarm sounded on the tactical console.

Wachter cursed, put down his list and headed over to the console.  The duty officer was already putting up the data on the big holographic display; a rocket missile had been launched.  Even as they watched, time seeming to pass quickly, the rocket rose above Iran and started to head north, before plunging down over a Russian base.  The screen flickered.

“Nuclear detonation,” the duty officer snapped.  She angled two other reconnaissance satellites over to cover the explosion.

Wachter lifted his wristcom.  “Captain,” he said, “we have something of a situation here.  Someone’s just nuked Russia.”

Chapter Thirty-One: The View from the Gallery

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
20th May 2009 (Time Line A)

“Are you sure that this is a good idea?”  Zaptata had asked, but she’d finally agreed to let Langdon begin assembling the video footage and information necessary.  Their rivals, deprived of the direct access to Rollins that Langdon had managed to obtain, had started to concentrate on the political issues that Hernandez had raised.

Langdon, in a bid to outflank the opposition, had suggested an alternative.  There were thousands of people whose lives had been affected by the Alternatives, so surely there was room for a giant series on the changes in their lives.  She’d begun gathering the interviews, but it had only been today that she’d finally received permission to use it.  Three hours of taping and slicing had followed, but she was now in the studio.

There was no audience this time, only her and her script.  “Good afternoon, America,” she said.  “Today, we bring you The View from the Gallery, a show exploring how the Alternatives have changed our lives.  We bring you information and recordings of ordinary people whose lives have been changed by momentous events.  Watch, learn and enjoy.”

***
The camera panned over a simple small town, identified as Springfield.  “This is Springfield, where one lucky family was selected as the first to receive an electric car powered by Alternative technology.  And before you ask, it’s not the Simpsons.”

A middle-aged man with long brown hair appeared in the camera’s view.  “My automobile company rang up one day and offered to trade me my old banger for an brand-new electric car.  I was suspicious at first, for the darn electric bills keep on going up, but they signed a paper that promised to pay for charging the car and provided a long link to the car from the socket in the house.  And darned if it don’t work right smooth.”

He pointed to the car, a long black car that reassembled a Porsche.  “That’s it,” he said, “and she moves like a charm.  She makes hardly any noise and no smell, and I don’t have to go to the gas station anymore.”

“What about the electricity?”  Langdon’s voice asked.

“Well, she takes about an hour to charge up completely, but it took me a week of heavy driving to drain the battery and I had the recharge line with me all the time.  One day, I was at work and I just plugged her into the wall and darned if she powered up very fast.  She’s a lovely car – and damned be the Arabs.”

***
“Mr Thompson, for the record, would like us to mention that he works at a distillery, not a nuclear power plant,” Langdon laughed.  “And a pleasant wine it makes too.  Now, the next person who we met was Bryan Hendricks, an air force F-22 pilot.”
***
A picture of an F-22 taking off from Ellis Air Force base was displayed on the screen, and then it switched to Captain Bryan Hendricks.  Hendricks was a young brown-skinned man; someone who had more than a trace of Indian blood.  What kind of Indian was a subject he refused to be drawn on, only hinting that he liked curry.

“Well, when their starship turned up, we were terrified that we were about to go into battle against some alien force, such as the books that Nick Pope or John Ringo wrote,” Hendricks said.  “We – the air force – would have been in the front line, but instead they were humans from the future.  It took us a while to get over our feelings of relief long enough to actually grasp that they were from an alternative history instead of straight time travel.

“I really want to try to fly one of their ships,” he continued.  “I can make an F-22 sit up and dance, but one of their craft could outfly me with ease.  I want one of them; I also want to join the new space companies.”

“What did you think of the destruction of Saudi?”  Langdon asked.

“Well, we’ve let those bastards run all over us for years, the filthy women-hating bastards,” Hendricks said.  Viewers on certain stations noticed beeps instead of the swearwords.  “They deserved it; perhaps if we’d been more resolute after 9/11 Atlanta would never have been bombed.”

***
Abu Ali Bakr, who never knew that he shared a name with the mastermind of the bombing of Atlanta, was less sanguine.  He sat in the centre of a mosque that – he assured Langdon – had not been funded by the Saudis and was not hostile to women.  He stroked his neat beard as he talked; sipping herbal tea.

“To be quite frank,” he said, “many of us Muslims are uncertain of how to feel.  We knew, you see, that the Saudis were complete and total hypocrites, but we wanted to raise mosques to the greater glory of Allah, and they were the only ones funding us.  Mosques that refused to cooperate sometimes lost all the funding.

“And then, there is the issue of nuclear weapons being used near Mecca and precision weapons being targeted in Mecca.  I’ve never been one to comment the grievous sin of associating anything with Allah – and He certainly does not need a police force – but it seems to many of us that they would have smashed the main shrines if the defenders had been dug in around them.”

He sighed.  “We could not confront them, for they had far more power than we had, and we were crippled by loyalty to those many of us believed to be fellow Muslims.  Perhaps we should be grateful, for the Alternatives ended the Islamic Civil War, something that we could not do.”

Langdon felt an odd flicker of sympathy.  “Do you feel that the United States and the rest of the world did enough to help out?”

“No,” Bakr said firmly.  “There are millions of tons of food and water that could have been sent to the caldron of hatred that is all that’s left of Saudi – the small amounts of help they received was nothing like enough.”

***
William Wagner, commanding officer of USS Enterprise – the aircraft carrier – was less happy about the Alternatives than the air force.  “I spent twenty years in the navy,” he said to Langdon, while images of the massive aircraft carrier were displayed.  “I commanded destroyers, cruisers and I even spent a year on the battleship, before being given command of Enterprise.  Now, it’s worthless.

“Those weapons they drop from orbit could sink Enterprise in seconds,” he growled.  “Want to sink a carrier?  Drop a flying crowbar on the flight deck.  If some bastard Japanese or Russian beats us into space, the entire navy will be rendered obsolete.”

“But would that not have been true anyway?”  Langdon asked.

“Hell, yes,” he growled.  “I’ve never gone into combat, you see; the most we’ve ever done under my command was bomb a few terrorist training camps in the middle of nowhere.  Now the Lady E will be scrapped without ever having faced a real fight – same for all of the navy’s ships apart from the submarines.”

“Don’t you think that there might be a place for you in space?”

“I don’t think they’d want me,” Wagner said.  “On the other hand, should there be new construction in space, I’d love to go there.  I wanted to join NASA, but we weren’t going anywhere; all those shiny craft went to orbit and never went anywhere interesting.”

***
“We go now abroad,” Langdon said, back in the studio.  “The international community has been buzzing with a mixture of excitement and fear; now lets hear some of it in their own words.”

***
“Well, the Church has never fully accepted the idea of separate Creations,” Pope Peter said calmly.  He smiled; he knew that he’d been selected as Pope because he lacked any connection to the rumoured Vatican-mafia dealings.  “However, it seems somewhat of a mockery of God’s statement that he knows everything that we do.

“A second question, of course, is that of sin.  If I commit a sin in their timeline, where a version of me, but not me, might exist, will I be punished for it in the afterlife?  Are there already multiple versions of myself in heaven and hell?”

He frowned.  “Then there is the ethics problem,” he continued.  “These people are willing and able to tinker with the genetic heritage of mankind, something the Church has done everything in its power to ban.  They forbid abortion, but they deploy a perfect contraceptive; something that the Church has been reluctant to accept.  Indeed, our very limited condoning of the practice came only after the number of believers in the Church began to fall.”

“You feel that more teenage pregnancies are somehow a good thing?”  Langdon asked, who’d once – secretly – had to abort a child.

“No, but we also believe that pre-marital sex is a bad thing,” Pope Peter said.  “We had to take stands based on the Word of God; even though many of us are made of flesh and fail to face the temptations and master them.”

“The paedophile priests,” Langdon said accusingly

“Indeed,” Pope Peter said, seemingly unbothered by the question.  “Had I the full and unquestioned authority of my predecessors, I’d have re-launched the Inquisition and burnt them all out of my Church.  As it happens, the Inquisition has such a bad reputation that the Church would only be hurt worse by the attempt.”

He shrugged.  “Then it is the duty of every Christian to provide assistance to people who are suffering.  That you inflicted the injury does not change that – but they did nothing to assist the poor people enslaved under a brutal religious regime, but slaughtered the ones under the nukes and let the rest suffer as their country crashed.  They could have done wonders to save countless lives, but they did not.

“I feel grave concern that they were prepared to fire a nuclear warhead so close to one of the world’s most important religious cities, even though we do not recognise Islam as such.  It sets a bad precedent.”

***
The Chancellor of Germany, who’d enjoyed watching Langdon, had been more than willing to be interviewed.  “Ever since the Iraq War, it has been the objective of the German Government to keep the United States within the international system, not as a lone ranger-type figure outside the system.  All of us, Americans and Europeans, blundered badly during the war, but now America is beginning a process of disengagement from the world.”

“You do not feel that you can defend yourself?”  Langdon asked.

The Chancellor shrugged.  “We have striven to avoid building a big and powerful military for as long as we could, but now we have need of one.  Without America, the amount of military presence that we’ll have to add to our own society will have a destabilising effect.  Already, sides are taking shape; the Greens who hate the thought of a military and the Nationalists who want Germany to be strong again.

“And then, of course, we’re having to deploy the army to suppress Turkish rioting, faced by the far-right youths, which is damaging our nation still further,” he continued.  “The pressure to begin evicting Turks by the box load is getting stronger, and they know it.  Now they fight; some of them hoping to intimidate us.  Meanwhile, the far right begins its own attacks against them; looting, rape and murder.”

“You feel that all this is the Alternatives fault?”  Langdon said slowly.

“No,” the Chancellor said.  “A lot of these problems were building up under the skin, as it were.  But now it’s exploded; the Nationalists demand that we gain access to Alternative technology, while the Greens demand that we abandon it and disarm completely.

“It’s a right mess, Ms Langdon, and I wish that it had never happened.”

***
“I’m glad they came,” a young girl in London said.  “I’m a Green myself, you see, and they brought us clean fusion energy.  No more oil, no more wind farms, no more nuclear power.”

“But fusion is a form of nuclear power,” Langdon objected.

“Fusion power is nuclear power?”  The girl asked.  “But then it’s filthy!”

***
On a more sober note, Marcus Jones, a famous British alternate history writer, found the entire business fascinating.  “For the last two hundred years, mankind has played around with the idea of ‘what if’, from Harry Turtledove to Changing The Times.  Now we know that alternate timelines are real, we can start to speculate about the prospect of actually crossing to visit them on purpose.”

“Don’t you think that might be dangerous?”  Langdon asked.

“Of course,” Jones said.  “We might discover that the Earth has been invaded by little lizards from Tau Ceti, even if the Alternates say that Tau Ceti has no intelligent life at all.  We might run into a nazi-dominated world, for example, or a world where the Cuban Missile Crisis led to a war.”

“You do not worry about what else might pop out of an inter-dimensional transit?”  Langdon enquired.

“Before, no.  Now?  Yes, of course I do,” Jones said.  “We might run into the Draka – I’d have said that that Alternative timeline was less improbable, but not by that much – and that would be very bad.  Steve Stirling did a book on that and us poor puny normal humans did badly.”

“Are you serious about going…well, spelunking in alternative universes?”  Langdon asked.  “Personally, I think it’s a mad idea.”

“So was flying, one hundred and fifty years ago,” Jones said.

***
“It is a trick, formed by the Zionist-communist-internationalist-globalisation conspiracy,” a middle-aged homeless man said.  He was carrying a sign reading: THE END IS NIGH!  “The right-wing conspiracy is determined to rid the world of everyone who disagrees with them!  Already, they’re building their internment centres up near Edinburgh!”

“No, they’re alien invaders in disguise,” another man shouted.  His sign read: REPENT, LEAST YOU BE CAST INTO THE FIRE!

“A pretty good disguise,” Langdon muttered.

***
“The Government of China regards the interference by the Alternatives in our internal domestic matter as a matter of the gravest concern,” Song Ling, the Chinese mouthpiece for their foreign relations, pronounced.  Her face, somewhat to Langdon’s surprise, was more Japanese than Chinese.  “The issue of Chinese Taipei is an internal matter only, not for foreign interference.  How would Americans feel if we aided Puerto Rico to escapes from your imperialistic grasp?”

“So the Chinese Government’s stance on the technology is…?”

“The Chinese Government demands that the Americans share the technology with the global community, or else the Chinese Government reserves the right to protect its interests around the globe,” Ling pronounced.

“Is that an ‘or else’?”

“The Chinese Government will take whatever action it sees fit,” Ling stated, and closed the interview.

***
“We are greatly encouraged by the existence of technology for heating houses that does not rely on oil,” Fedya Molotin, the Russian Foreign Minister, remarked.  He was a gentle old man, hardly suited to a life under Lapotin.  Langdon suspected that it was an act.

“Vast tracts of Russia remain useless, for they are cold and harsh,” he said.  “With Alternative technology, we could inhabit Russia as she was meant to be inhabited; thousands of people in the warm for the first time in their existences.”

***
As the show began to conclude, Langdon displayed a picture of the people she’d spoken to about the Alternatives.  “They have changed our lives in so many ways,” she said.  “Should we be grateful?”

She paused, theatrically.  “On the plus side, they have provided us with the ability to escape the oil dependency, as well as a working exit strategy from the Middle East.  On the minus side, they have killed thousands of people for having the wrong kind of government, even though it was corrupt and truly horrible to everyone it disliked.

“We have seen remarkable events in the last two months,” she continued.  “I personally can’t wait to see what’s next.”  The prompter began to flicker and she gasped in horror.  “I take it back,” she said.  “An unconfirmed report from the UN nuclear surveillance service has informed us about a nuclear attack in Russia.”  The prompter flicked up more details.  “The Mullah Government of Iran has just launched a nuclear weapon at a Russian Base.

“The Mullah’s have accused the Russians of planning to invade when the civil war burns out; is this a pre-emptive strike?  Keep watching us, for the latest updates.”

Silent Club
New York, USA
20th May 2009 (Time Line A)

There were seven of them; seven men.  Women had served on the council before, but few of them had stayed qualified for a post.  To be qualified, a person had to have not only a proven track record of making money through the financial markets, but he must possess a sense of restraint.  Financers – the really capable financers – understood that smashing the game board, or causing an economic crash, would ruin the game for everyone in the long term.  Failing to keep earning money, acting irresponsibility as defined by the majority of the council, each could lead to a person being removed from the council.

The council’s purpose was simple; to keep the world’s financial markets stable.  It was, as they ruefully acknowledged, an extremely difficult task in a world where a run on the Thai Baht could ruin dollar holdings in America and franc holdings in Germany.

“We know – have know for the last twenty years – that a global financial crisis was brewing,” David Weiland, the current chairman, said bluntly.  “We may have to face the fact that we are the ones who will suffer the coming storm.”

There were frowns around the table.  Unable to force a solution, even with their considerable resources, the councillors had worked to keep the disaster from occurring.  Trembles in Korea and Europe showed their weakness and their only strength.

“We came close to facing it during that stand-off at the UN,” Weiland continued.  “We may face it soon if Hernandez manages to redirect American investment towards space and internal matters only.”

They nodded.  All of them were American citizens, but they considered themselves to be of the world.  “We must prevent that from happening,” he said.

“With all due respect, Mr Chairman,” a voice said without a trace of respect, “the crisis will happen anyway.  All that is needed is for someone to point out that the emperor has no clothes.”

Weiland glared at Bruce Arnett, scion of a powerful Washington family and earner of twenty billion dollars.  The first was hardly qualification for a council seat, the second clinched the deal.  “People have been pointing out that the emperor has no clothes for years now,” he said.

“We have been shovelling money down into the black hole for years,” Arnett said.  There was a mummer of agreement.  “What happens when banks start refusing to follow our advice?  It’s not like we have any way of enforcing our advice.”

“True,” Weiland said.  “However, a global crash now would be a potential disaster for all of us.  By our very nature, we would be swept away by the crash.”

“Then we must prevent Hernandez from becoming President,” Glenn Ehrlich said.  He shook his corpulent belly.  “We fund both of the main political parties, do we not?”

“Indeed,” Weiland said.  “However, at the moment it would be dangerous to fund either half of the Democratic Party, as they themselves are trying to court the extremists in their former ranks.  We hardly want someone devoted to ending third world debt.”

“If we had to,” Arnett asked suddenly, “how long would it take to disengage our assets from the regions?”

“More time than we’d have,” Weiland said.  “No, such an action is unthinkable.  Between us, we control sizeable resources – we can end this plan to wreak the global economy.”

There was a sudden knocking at the door.  Jeeves, an English butler that Weiland had hired and insisted that he took the name ‘Jeeves’, entered.  “Sir, I beg pardon for the interruption.  However, nuclear war has just broken out in the Middle East.”  

Jeeves laid a paper in front of his master and withdrew with a bow.  Weiland stared at it.  “The Iranians have nuked a Russian base,” he said.  “You know what this means.”

There was no need to say it.  They all understood that, against a shock of this magnitude, that their position was weaker than ever.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Tsar Peter’s Plan

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
20th May 2009 (Time Line A)

“What?”  Cozort demanded.  “Who’s done what?”

“The Iranians have launched a nuclear rocket – a short range surface to surface missile – at a Russian army base,” Wachter said.  “Flight time was roughly fifteen minutes.”

“Understood,” Cozort said.  “I’m on my way.  Bring all the orbital surveillance systems to full alert and track any more missiles that might be launched.  Order the Stillwell to move into position to intercept any missiles launched at America or the rest of our sphere.”

“Yes, sir,” Wachter said.  “Sir, we’re picking up signs of increased alertness from the Native America.  They’re calling; demanding to speak to the President.”

“I’ll bring her with me,” Cozort said.  “Set up a secure link for her.”

Wachter nodded and went back to the tactical display.  Where a Russian army base had been was now a rolling ball of fire; scorching everything in its path.  Wachter saw the radiation counters start to climb – the nuclear warhead had not been clean.  

“Captain on deck,” JEEVES announced.  The crew, well used to emergency procedures, did not salute.  Wachter looked round to see Cozort entering, followed by President Jackson.

“The communications link is set up over there,” Wachter said.  Jackson nodded gratefully and headed over to the communications console.

***
“Madam President,” Vice-President Jake Darcy said, “we have an explosion in Armenia.  The Russians have lost a base.”

“Who launched the missile?”  Jackson demanded.

“The Mad Mullahs, we think,” Darcy said.  “The missile rose from the north of Iran; territory we think they control.  But given the difficulties both sides have been facing…”

Jackson nodded.  The civil war had been sealed off from most sources of weapons, although both sides had access to some of Iran’s defence industry.  Neither side had been able to push for a decisive campaign, but Jackson had thought that the reformers were winning; slowly but surely.  

“What’s our defensive position?”  She asked.

“I activated the standard limited nuclear war plan,” Darcy said.  “We’re dispersing our boomers and air force bombers, but so far there’s no sign of any other missile launches.”

“None from Russia?”  Jackson asked.

“None,” Darcy said.  “The Government of Russia has called for an emergency meeting at the United Nations, supported by China – no surprises there – and France.”

Jackson blinked.  The French seemed the least likely of the Security Council powers to support the Russians.  “Any idea why the French are cooperating?”

“I’ve no idea,” Darcy said grimly.  “Perhaps they’re finally scared of nuclear warheads in Arab hands.”  He frowned.  “Anyway, how are you?”

“I seem to be fine,” Jackson said dryly.

“Might I recommend that you and General Campbell return as fast as possible,” Darcy said.  “We need you back here safe.”

“The Enterprise is safe, I think,” Jackson said, “but you’re right.  I’ll make the arrangements.  Until then, tell the Russians that we’ll support a meeting in the UN, as soon as possible.”

Darcy glanced down at a piece of paper he’d just been passed by someone outside the camera’s field of view.  “The Secretary-General, Charles Legrand, has just called for an emergency session in two hours.”

“That was quick,” Jackson said.  “Do they want me to attend?”

“I guess so,” Darcy said.

“I’ll be back soon,” Jackson said.  “Keep the alert status ready; stand by to try to shoot down any missiles coming our way.”

***
Cozort watched as the President finished her communication call with her Vice-President.  As soon as she finished, he stepped in.  “Do you wish to leave at once?”  He asked.

“Yes,” Jackson said.  “I have to be back in Washington.”

“Why?”  Cozort asked.  Jackson gaped at him.  “This is not an important crisis.”

“Yes it is,” Jackson snapped.

“Does it really matter if Iran and Russia go to war?”  Cozort asked.  “They’ll only kill each other off.”

“If Russia gains dominance over the region,” Jackson said, “the entire region will be destabilised.”

“So what?”  Cozort shrugged.  “You’re on your way to space and all the resources that brings.  Does it really matter what they do to each other?”

“Hating Iran is something of an American national sport,” Jackson said coldly.  “That, however, does not mean that it would be safe to let the Russians run rampart over the region.  We were hoping that the reformers would win the civil war.”

“Then why didn’t you help them?”  Cozort said.  He changed the uncomfortable subject; marvelling once again at the Native capability for self-delusion.  “Do you want us to drop you in New York?”

“Yes, please,” Jackson said.  “That will save time.”

United Nations
New York, USA
20th May 2009 (Time Line A)

The United Nations was packed, for one of the few times in its existence; delegates from almost every nation in the world had appeared in the chamber.  No one wanted to pass up the chance of influencing events, or of picking up foreign aid by voting the right way.  

President Lapotin, flown in on a supersonic Russian fighter, looked tired as he took the stand, watched by the world.  Iran, almost alone, had no representative in the chamber; neither side qualified for a seat.  Taiwan, also, had no representative, although that was because neither Russia nor China would accept a Taiwanese seat in the UN.

“We have been greatly harmed,” Lapotin said.  “It is with a heavy heart that I must inform the world of the death of twenty thousand Russian troops, invited into Armenia by the government, under a nuclear blast from the Iranians.  Thousands of troops, helplessly unprepared, were killed in a split second.  The damage to our ally, the Government of Armenia, is considerable.

“Therefore, we, the Russian Government, see no option, but to launch a peacekeeping mission into Iran, one designed to force the warring sides to stop their increasingly futile bloodletting, to strip them of their weapons of mass destruction and to ensure that there is a stable outcome acceptable to all parties.  We ask the United Nations for the mandate to take such action, and for the command of the mission.”

The French Prime Minister, Jean Mauroy, rose to speak.  “The Government of France expresses its deepest condolences to the Russian Government for the deaths of its soldiers,” he said.  “We support the Russian Government’s request for a UN mandate to terminate the fighting in Iran and for their possession of tactical control.  We will consider what help we can send.”

***
Jackson felt a blaze of fury.  America had protected France ever since they’d lost World War Two – and they’d hampered America ever since.  Now, with the Russians poised to do the exact same thing, the French were supporting them.  One by one, other states stood up to speak; the Finns agreed with the idea of a peacekeeping force, but not with the idea of Russian command.  The Germans shared their view, as did the Poles.  Spain, Austria and Italy supported Russia.

It was her turn to speak.  “The American Government deplores the use of nuclear weapons,” she said.  “However, we must oppose Russian command, for the Russians have long wanted control of Iran.”

It was a losing gambit and she knew it.  “You claim, then, that your invasion of Iraq on trumped up charges of nuclear weapons was more valid than the Russian claims, who have suffered a nuclear attack from Iran?”

You’ll get yours, Jackson thought with cold rage, as Mauroy delivered the final blow.  “We will only support any action provided that there is a firm timetable for withdrawal afterwards,” she said.  It was a weak position and not a little hypocritical.

“We will now have a general vote,” Legrand said.  The counters flickered.  “Eighty-two percent of the voters” – meaning world nations of every different type of government – “support the Russian mandate.  Under such a circumstance, we hardly need to check the Security Council, do we?”

Jackson fought hard to control her expression, feeling burning rage mixed with cold fear blasting through her.  She shook her head reluctantly, not watching Lapotin’s expression of triumph.

“The motion is carried,” Legrand said.

***
“What clever bastard thought that one up?”  Jackson demanded later, as she sipped a glass of whiskey.

“The French, we think,” John McLachlan, Prime Minister of Great Britain, said.  “The Russians found something to convince them to join them.”

“Bastard frog-eaters,” Jackson snapped.  “After this, NATO is pretty much doomed.”

“Maybe,” McLachlan said.  “The Germans may press the French to repent.”

“With what?  Unless they launch an attack, how will they force the French to change their tune?”

“Good point,” McLachlan conceded.  “What now?”

12th Tank Regiment
Tabriz, North Iran
23rd May 2009 (Time Line A)

With a final prostration, Colonel Lalia Ackbar completed her morning prayers and stepped off the prayer rug.  Already, one of the other soldiers – a male infantry officer – was holding out his rifle; the dangers of attack from insurgent forces meant that the mixed combat group – a fancy name for the remains of the Mullahs’ defensive forces in the North – could not pray together.  Lalia held the rifle ready to repel attack as the infantry officer prayed himself, then handed it back, walking over to her command tank.

At one point, the Mullahs would have had a collective heart attack at the thought of a female tank battalion, but their desperate position had led to them relaxing the rules.  Lalia, whose father had known of her affinity for such unfeminine pursuits as motorcars and weapons, had been nominated for a test battalion.  Surprisingly, as she’d objected at the time, she’d enjoyed the military life.  Once the women battalions had come through two battles with the Reformers, the male soldiers had become used to fighting alongside women.  A few who’d never become used to it had been transferred to the border with Pakistan, where they’d been killed in the ongoing skirmishes with the Pakistani tribes.  The bloody collapse of Pakistan had led to Indian occupation of some of its territory – the rest was Mad Max land.

She looked over at her ‘battalion’.  The high command of the war, called – ironically – the Revolutionary Council – had decreed it a battalion.  Unfortunately, they’d hardly been able to send her all she needed; ten Chieftain tanks, seventeen Scorpion light tanks and thirty BMP-1’s were all she had.  The 77th Infantry Division, which was nominally under her command, had barely enough transport and fuel to move all of its soldiers.

“Colonel,” a male voice called.  Captain Kashif had once been unwilling to serve alongside her, but he’d been convinced after they’d won a battle.

“Yes, Captain?”  She called.

“Can you hear that noise?”

Laila listened carefully.  Now her attention had been called to it, there was an odd rumbling off in the distance.  She concentrated…and then a screaming noise of jet engines appeared in the air.  Before she could react, seven large aircraft screamed across the sky, banking over the battalion.

“Air raid,” she shouted, and dived away from the tank.  The command was unnecessary; the remaining worshippers were abandoning their prayer rugs and falling to the ground as the bombs began to fall.  Lalia saw one of her support vehicles, an irreplaceable tanker, explode in a ball of fire.  The bombardment went on forever, and then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

“Report,” she shouted.

“We lost most of the supply line,” the fussily precise Captain Sultana said.  Alone of all the women in the force, she wore no headscarf.  Lalia used a word her father would have beaten her for; that meant that they were trapped here.

“Or at least the tanks are,” she said aloud.

“We’re being invaded,” Kashif shouted.  He’d climbed the small hill they’d used to shelter from the heat and was using binoculars to scan the horizon northwards.  Lalia scrambled up beside him and stared into the distance.  Black shapes were appearing on the horizon.

“Get into your vehicles,” she shouted.  Privately, she suspected that they were doomed; they had nothing like the number of tanks bearing down on them.  She counted at least twenty tanks – Russian, she thought – coming their way.  

***
Seven minutes afterwards, the Russian tanks had entered firing range.  They seemed totally unprepared for resistance – did they think that the bombing raid had killed all the defenders?  Laila watched as they grew closer.

“Fire!”  She commanded, and the division fired as one.  Seven Russian tanks exploded; two more skidded to a stop, but the others came on, starting to return fire.  Raggedly, the Iranian tanks executed their plan; withdrawing in the face of Russian firepower.

The Russian commander came on and on, realising that the Iranians had made a mistake, not realising that the ‘mistake’ was a trick.  As he approached, his forces ran into the infantry, who opened fire with rifles and anti-tank weapons.  Five more Russian tanks exploded, but their return fire only intensified.  A hail of rockets came down on top of the Iranian infantry; killing far too many of them.  The rest broke and ran, often mowed down by machine gun fire from the Russian tanks.

“Fall back,” Laila commanded, just before an explosion hurled her from the top of her tank.  She was blown across into the hill, breaking her leg.  Pain flared, but she kept shouting for retreat.  Darkness fell for a long moment across her eyes; when she opened them she faced two young Russian soldiers.

One of them reached for her breast, squeezing it crudely.  She felt her hand grasp her knife as he started to tear open her trousers, and she lunged upward in one smooth motion.  The knife entered his throat.

“Bitch,” the other soldier said, and shot her through the head.  As darkness fell for the final time, she was aware of him completing the task of stripping her body.  She died before he could begin, but he went ahead anyway.

Backfire Bomber
Over Tehran
23rd May 2009 (Time Line A)

Flight Captain Katya Lapoteva watched as explosions blasted through the ancient city.  Russian troops had occupied it once before, she thought, but this time they would be here to stay.  She’d lost her brother when the nuclear missile went off.

“Lead-1,” her commanding officer said, “satellite reconnaissance reports a convoy of trucks heading south.  Deal with them.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, bringing up the daunting array of weapons the Backfire was equipped with.  There seemed to be no need for electronic countermeasures; so far the only anti-aircraft measure had been soldiers firing blindly up into the air.  The only bomber lost had crashed because of system failure.

Her co-pilot prepared the cluster bombs as the massive Backfire swooped over the city and crossed over the suburbs.  Outside the city, she could see lorries and cars, escorted by military personal.  Five tanks led the way, drawn off from the defence of the city to escort…whom?

“They have to be important,” she commented.

“Bombs ready,” her co-pilot said.

“Bomb them,” she said.

Although she never knew it, a chain of high explosives wiped the entire Revolutionary Council out of existence.  The Fundamentalist side of the Iranian Civil War had been decapitated.

The Kremlin
Moscow
24th May 2009 (Time Line A)

“A short victorious war,” Lapotin announced to his two allies.  “We have taken Tehran and are pressing against the other side now.”

“The Reformers,” Homchoudhury said.  “We” – by which he meant the Indians – “have been bombing their side from bases in Pakistan.  Some of the bases have come under terrorist attacks.”

Tao nodded.  Pakistan had finally collapsed into a total meltdown in 2007.  The Indians had seized the nuclear missiles and established safe zones before any of the dozen warlords could seize them.  “Our losses?”

“About five hundred,” Lapotin said.  “Peanuts, as the Americans put it.”  He smiled.  “We’re acting as the Americans did in 2003 – bombing the hell out of any command and control centre and slipping in small fast forces.  Fortunately they had no air force worth the name; we have total air dominance.  Half of their forces are just staying in place until we can get around to dealing with them.”

“The one problem will be insurgent activity after the war,” Homchoudhury said.

“We can deal with that by clearing safe zones,” Lapotin said confidently.  “If necessary, we can send thousands of them fleeing into Iraq, or poison the water.”

“Genocide,” Tao said.  “The international community will go nuts.”

“Who cares?”  Lapotin said.  “Anyway, Molotin is going to tell us about the diplomatic situation.”

Molotin entered.  “The French, Syrians and several African nations have agreed to send troops to help out.  America has volunteered some Marines, but we rejected them; they might be upset.”

Tao smiled.  “Have the Americans reacted in any way?”

“There are increased air patrols over Iraq and Saudi,” Lapotin said.  The Alternatives have done nothing; they don’t even seem worried.  They might change their minds soon, though.”

The White House
Washington DC, USA
31st May 2009 (Time Line A)

“The Russians are pushing hard against the few remaining pockets of Iranians,” Campbell reported.  “They’ve clearly improved their army by several orders of magnitude; even if they have been having supply difficulties.  Some of their divisions have gone into a ‘circle the wagons’ kind of mood – apparently they ran out of fuel.”

He showed a display.  “It’s extremely daring, but so far it seems to have paid off,” he said.  “They’ve been shipping in supplies from Azerbaijan through their improved railways and transporting them to the units in the theatre.  The Iranians seem to have lost almost all of their command and control – many of their units have broken up.

“The Reformers have been trying to flee into Bahrain, but not all of the natives are happy to see them,” he continued.  “However, baring a miracle, the Russians have conquered Iran in all, bar the shouting.”

“I see,” Jackson said slowly.  “What sort of reinforcements are they moving in?”

“Very powerful anti-aircraft systems,” Campbell said.  “They seem determined to control most of the airspace around the gulf – in many ways their systems are far more powerful than ours.  Combined with the Indians, they will dominate much of the Middle East’s airspace, backed up by some of the most sophisticated ground to air missiles in the world.”

“International reaction?”  Jackson asked.

“The Turks have gone ape shit,” Joan Davidson said.  “They’ve basically promised anything we want if we place a division in Turkey.  The Iraqis and the Saudi safe zones have requested the same, even asking us to deploy an Alternative craft to help defend them.”

“Make a note to ask Cozort,” Jackson said to Marlene.

“The Europeans seem to be in conflict,” Davidson continued.  “Israel is pleased – you know they were worried about Iranian nukes – because there’s now another place for the young Muslims to go and die that’s not Palestine.  Speaking of which, there is a exodus from Europe to go fight; the Europeans are letting them go.”

“So basically the Russians have successfully grasped one of their main ambitions,” Jackson said.  “Can’t we force them out using economic measures?”

“We can try,” Davidson said.  She frowned.  “The problem is that the entire world is no longer at our beck and call.  France and indeed most of Europe might not go along; India and China certainly will not.  If we call for sanctions, the Russians will take their business elsewhere, which will hurt us.”

“There’s nothing we can do?”  Campbell said.

“Tell me, General, can the US forces in the gulf evict the Russians?”  Davidson asked.  “Because if we can’t, then there is nothing we can do about it.”

“Give us a month or two to prepare,” Campbell said.  “Then I can guarantee you a victory.”  He scowled.  “Unfortunately, that will make them consider a preventive strike as there would be no obvious reason for our build-up apart from the obvious.”

“And the causalities would be horrifying,” Jackson said, watching the American Century draw to an end.

“We could ask Cozort…”

“He doesn’t care,” Jackson said bluntly.  “From his point of view, Iran is an irrelevance.  It does not threaten the Continental United States if Russia controls the region, or not.”

Baikinor Cosmodrome
Kazakhstan
31st May 2009 (Time Line A)

Baikinor had suffered badly during the years of Yeltsin, but Putin and later Lapotin had moved in the military force and investment needed to completely refit the space base.  Instead of building costly space shuttles – the Buran was forgotten about and left in its museum – the Russians had concentrated on Big Dumb Boosters.  They had the advantage of being – relatively – cheap, easy to build for the still primitive Russian industry and well understood.  Although few Americans apart from Brennen appreciated it, the Russian lift capability was several times that of NASA’s, even counting Brennen’s SSTO production line as well.

Sergei Baranidze, director of the joint space program, examined the rocket that sat on the launch pad.  Unlike the other Big Dumb Boosters, it was designed with Alternative technology; a massive cargo pod supported by two rockets.  The materials it was constructed from were also Alternative; materials that could take more heat than the natural materials.  Already, massive factories were being redesigned all across the Triple Alliance.

“Director?”  The Base Commander asked.

“Clear to launch,” Baranidze said.

The Russians did not bother with a countdown when there were no western media present.  “Launch,” the Base Commander ordered.

Slowly, upon a towering pillar of fire, the massive rocket and its precious cargo lifted into the skies.  Baranidze watched as it carried the automated factory, food supplies for the ISS, and several other pieces of equipment into space.

“Contact the President,” he said finally.  “Report a success.”

Chapter Thirty-Three: Treason Prospers

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
31st May 2009 (Time Line A)

“Interesting,” Lieutenant Michael Terns said, as they watched the rising spacecraft.  “Unless I’m much mistaken, it is a perfect LeMay-class design.”

“I don’t think you’re mistaken,” Wachter said.  He frowned; clearly the spy had managed to slip the information on the design to the Russians as well as the information on Power Cells.  He lifted his wristcom.  “Jill, I’m sending you the sensor records of the flight of the LeMayski.”

“What’s a LeMayski?”  Stirling asked.

“A Russian copy of one of our boosters,” Wachter said.

There was a long pause.  “Hellfire,” Stirling said finally.  “That thing may look primitive, but it’s a quantum leap ahead of anything else they have.  Notice that no part of the engines is burning off?  That’s an advance in material science that they can’t develop without…ah ha!”

“What?”  Wachter asked.

“Well, for a start, I know what our little traitor gave them,” Stirling said.  “They must have one of the colony information packets.  That explains the Power Cells as well; they’re covered in the information packet.”

“Clever,” Wachter said.  “I think I’d better go check the ones left against an inventory.  If there’s one missing, we’ll go over the room with a fine-toothed comb; we might find traces of our spy.”

“Good thinking,” Stirling said.  “Do it carefully, then the bastard won’t know that we know.”

“I know, he knows that I know, but does he know that I know that he knows,” Wachter said.  Stirling laughed.  “Meet me down in the colony supply rooms and we’ll go looking.”

“Yes, sir,” Stirling said.

***
It took forty minutes to go through all of the colony rooms to check the inventory, but finally it was confirmed; a main computer unit and a number of basic tools were missing.  Stirling replaced the box with a curse.

“Interesting,” Wachter said finally.  “Tell me, would it be possible to track the computer and destroy it?”

“I doubt it,” Stirling said.  “The units were designed to operate under very hostile conditions, so they’re tough and they have no link to the main computer, or JEEVES.  Unless they’re dumb enough to hook it up to their computer network, we’ll never find it.”

“Sir,” one of the security officers said, “we’ve found traces of seventeen unauthorised people.”

“Let me see,” Wachter said.  He ran an eye down the list, alighting on a particular name.  “Amy of these look likely?”

“This one,” Stirling said, pointing to a name.

“Let’s not do anything yet,” Wachter said.  “First, I’m going to talk to the Captain, and then we’re going to lay a trap for our spy.”

International Space Station
Earth Orbit
31st May 2009 (Time Line A)

Captain Leonid Gurov of the Russian Space Force – an organisation that was devoted to exploring the military potential of space – carefully performed a final check of his space suit and stepped into the void.  Below him, Earth floated serenely through space.  Activating his manoeuvring unit, he jetted away from the space station, towards the massive pod that had been launched into space.  It dwarfed anything else that Russia had launched into space.

“Control, I’m locking onto the pod now,” he radioed.

“Understood,” the space station commander - Viktor Terikov – said.  “Remember, be careful; this is a military project.”

Gurov cursed mentally.  Terikov had been assigned on the grounds that it was the Russians year to nominate a commanding office for the ISS, not on grounds of his security experience.  Unlike Terikov, Gurov knew exactly what the Russian Space Agency was launching into space – it violated any number of treaties with the Americans, let alone their Alternatives.

“Beginning burn now,” he said, as he spliced his onboard computer unit – an American invention – into the pod’s controlling unit.  The tiny thrusters on the pod fired; pushing it towards the space station.  As they finished their burn, he was on an intercept orbit.

“Gurov, you are cleared to make the dock,” Anna Leonovia, the station’s flight officer – a term that NASA had insisted upon for no apparent reason – said.  Gurov acknowledged and started to match orbits; the space station looming overhead.  Ten minutes of careful manoeuvring later, the pod was attached to the space station.

***
“A very clever design,” Terikov said, half an hour later.  “Look, we can open the top and float the supplies out – and the secret equipment – and then convert the cylinder into extra living space.”

“For the moment,” Gurov said firmly, “we will leave the equipment in the cylinder.”  When he spoke, he spoke with the authority of the FSB – the renamed KGB.  Terikov managed to look repentant.  “There are a number of other components to assemble.”

“Yes, sir,” Terikov said.  Now, he was under no illusions as to who was really in charge.  “Should we continue with normal operations?”

“Yes,” Gurov said.  “It was hard enough to get the American scientists off the stations; we can’t afford to raise suspicions.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
31st May 2009 (Time Line A)

“You’re telling me that Ensign Sanchez is a traitor,” Cozort said slowly.  His office had more people in it than he felt comfortable with.  “He saved thousands of lives.”

Wachter shrugged.  “Have you heard of how people insert enemy agents?  One way of doing it is to have the agent take credit for something useful, or to chase him into your lines, shooting merrily at their backs.  For all we know, whatever Sanchez betrayed for us would have failed anyway.”

“He would hardly have planned to leave Mexico unless he had no choice,” Cozort said.  He frowned; it all made a great deal of sense.

“In this timeline,” Roberta said, “Mexico is infinitely better off than it is in ours.  Perhaps he hopes that it can prosper here.”

“Then why help the Russians?”  Cozort asked.

“They might be more inclined to support Mexico,” Wachter said.  “I don’t pretend to know his reasoning; just that he’s the only one with the means, motive and opportunity.  Hell, for all we know the Russians are planning to launch an ABM system, force President Jackson to surrender, and then give the southern US to Mexico to rule.”

“Clever,” Cozort said.  “So, what do we do?  We could snatch him at once, or we could let him run free for a while longer.”

“If I may suggest something,” Wachter said.  Cozort nodded.  “I think that we should let him run free for the moment.  We know who he is and what he’s up too; he doesn’t know that we know.”

“We think,” Stirling injected.

“So now we know who he is,” Wachter continued, “we can use it.  Slip him some false information; pass him defective technology, or something.”

Cozort looked sharply at him.  “Are you certain that we can prevent him from getting his hands on vital tactical information?”

“Yes,” Wachter said.  “Oh, there’s an element of risk – there always is in wartime – but we can handle that.”

“Then take care of it,” Cozort said.  “Jeeves?”

“Yes, Captain?”  JEEVES said.

“Jeeves, record; security code Cozort-toecap-theta-gamma-delta,” Cozort said.  “Activate all surveillance systems, concentrated on Ensign Sanchez.  Forward all information to Commander Wachter.”

“Secondary confirmation code and time period required,” JEEVES said.  “Regulation 6745-5W states…”

“I know,” Cozort said.  “Second code; tango-gamma-beta-zebra.  Time period” – he looked at Wachter for a moment – “one month.  Remind me on the last day to renew it if necessary.”

“Yes, Captain,” JEEVES said.  “Surveillance systems active and running.”

“Where is Ensign Sanchez now?”  Wachter asked.

“Ensign Sanchez is in his cabin,” JEEVES said.

“Now we wait,” Wachter said.  He rubbed his hands together.  “The game’s afoot, Watson.”

***
Sanchez had accessed the basic orbital recordings and was relived to confirm that the Russian booster pod had made it to orbit.  Quite apart from boosting the capabilities of the space station, the pod would hold enough material to put the Russians in space forever.  He smiled; assuming that the plan to destroy the Enterprise works.

Carefully, he accessed the vehicle logs and brought up a list of what shuttles were currently active.  When they time came, he’d need one for his final, ultimate mission.

Buckstone
Edinburgh, UK
5th June 2009 (Time Line A)

Buckstone was a mistake, town planners admitted later; a small region of houses, supported by a handful of shops.  But for Mrs Alice Kirkpatrick, such admissions were no help.  Without her legs working – they refused to support her old body for more than a few minutes – she was forced to clamber into her wheelchair and wheel down towards the shops.  It was dangerous; Edinburgh had high wings blowing down the road to the park beyond – and the local louts found it funny to watch her struggling back up the hill.  None of them lifted a finger to help.

Mrs Alice Kirkpatrick managed to reach the small slope that led to the shops, paused a moment…and heard a noise.  Behind her, seven large army lorries, five police motorbikes and three jeeps were pounding their way down the road towards the centre of town.  What is the world coming to?  She asked herself.

“It is the will of Allah,” Mr Patel of the corner shop informed her, as she paid for her groceries.  It was at that moment when the shooting broke out.

***
Captain Petr Kozlev watched as the British vehicles came down towards Morningside, unaware of the ambush in the city streets.  He’d heard that some British cities forbade recruiting, something that the Russian authorities would have laughed at, and that they travelled unarmed.  Kozlev did not believe that story; who in their right mind would escort a highly valuable cargo with unarmed troops?  Still, the British had lost their empire – perhaps they no longer felt that they needed an army.

“Fire,” he snapped, and the concealed weapons spoke.  Heavy machine gun fire poured from the trees into the jeeps and the motorbikes, while bazookas tore up the road.  The convey skidded to a stop.  Kozlev swore as rifle fire broke out; clearly not all of the escort were dead, or unarmed.

“Move, move,” he shouted.  The Russians – a crack FSB infiltration force – ran forward, ducking and weaving.  Two fell, but the remaining British were killed.  “Get into the lorries!”

Kozlev jumped into the lead lorry and restarted its engine; then started to drive along up Braidburn Road.  Changing streets rapidly, they ended up near one of Edinburgh’s hospitals, hidden under the trees.  Five of their lorries waited for them there; they would load them onboard and ditch the British lorries.

***
When the public called in with reports of the attack and heavy gunfire, the police immediately informed the SAS unit based at Colinton.  Fear of a terrorist attack had led the British government to place small units in the major cities; Jack Younghusband commanded one such unit in Edinburgh.

“Move it,” he commanded, and half of the unit raced towards the incident, while the rest boarded the detachment’s helicopters.  As they drove, they received a call from the police SWAT team.

“Army, this is Lieutenant Swansea,” it said.  “Sir, there are no signs of the attackers, but one of the escorts remained alive.  He thinks that they took the lorries.  Sir, he’s badly wounded.”

“They must have taken the lorries somewhere to make a switch,” Younghusband said.  “Lieutenant, secure the site; keep all civilian traffic away from it.”

“Sir,” a new voice said, “what do we tell the media?”

“Who is this?”  Younghusband demanded.

“Chief Constable Barney Phillips,” the voice snapped.  

Oops, Younghusband thought.  “Sir, I recommend that you tell them that there are armed terrorists loose within Edinburgh.  Don’t you have plans for this?”

“Yes, but…”  Phillips suddenly seemed to remember that he was asking advice from a subordinate.  “Captain, under MACA rules, I believe that I am in charge here.”

Younghusband bit down the reply that came to mind.  “Yes, sir,” he said.  Goddamnit, this is no time for a turf fight.  “Sir, do you have any idea where we should be going?”

“Well, no, but…”

A new voice broke in.  “This is the dispatcher,” it said.  “A member of the public has reported the lorries at lower Morningside, near the golf course.  They seem to be loading other lorries.”

“We’re on our way,” Younghusband said.  “Order the police to stay back; we’re armed, they’re not.”

“Yes, sir,” the dispatcher said.

***
Kozlev checked the final lorry and sighed in relief.  It had taken them nearly forty minutes to transfer all the Power Cells, packed in their boxes for secured shipping, into the unmarked lorries.  He’d taken the risk of sending one lorry on its way; even though it would have brought unwanted attention down the quiet street.  Suddenly, he glanced up.  It was too quiet.  The hairs on the back of his head stood up.

A single shot rang out and one of his men fell.  “Sniper!”  He shouted.  Incompetent or not, the British had clearly found them.  More shots rang out, two more of his men fell.  He emptied his pistol in the direction of one of the snipers, but there was no sign he’d hit anyone.

“You are totally surrounded,” a voice shouted through a megaphone.  “Surrender!”

“Hell, no,” Kozlev muttered.  “Grenades!”

His men threw grenades into the trees.  So far, there’d been no shots from the hospital itself, but he knew that that could not last.  As explosions wracked the trees, more shooting broke out.  As a bullet whipped past his head, he turned to see advancing British soldiers.  It was the last thing he ever saw.

***
Younghusband watched as the final explosions died away.  The attackers, who ever they were, seemed to have stopped shooting, but he waved his men forward carefully.  As they advanced, two more shots rang out, but there were no others.  Quickly searching the lorries, they recovered the boxes, then…

“Oh shit,” the man on one of the lorries shouted, and then he fled towards the hospital.  Younghusband ran too, as did the rest, and explosions billowed behind them.  In a tearing explosion, the Power Cells and most of the evidence vanished in a ball of flame.

Fort Meade
Maryland, USA
7th June 2009 (Time Line A)

The British Prime Minister, to say nothing of pretty much the entire British establishment, would have been horrified to know how many of their secure communications were open to the NSA’s electronic eavesdropping.  Entire highly classified conversations were recorded and dissected by the NSA, such as one between the Prime Minister and the Secretary of State for Defence, Vigil Allen.

“So you’re saying that you think they were Russian freelancers,” McLachlan said.

“Yes,” Allen said.  “The equipment was Russian, the personnel were Slavic, and the tactical operations mindset – according to the SAS – was vintage KGB.”

“I thought the KGB went out of fashion,” McLachlan said.

“Not all of it,” Allen said dryly.  “Many stayed on when it became the FSB; others became freelancers.  They’ve been implicated in a number of nasty scams here before.”

“Is there any chance that this was a real Russian operation?”  McLachlan asked.

“I don’t think so,” Allen said.  “We’ll probably never know for sure, but the criminal fraternity has been very interested in obtaining Alternative technology.  After that scare we gave them in Ireland, last year, they may have felt that doing something like this would teach us a lesson.”

“Terrible,” McLachlan said.  “I’ll have MI5 and MI6 working to uncover the masterminds.  Until then, keep as much as possible out of the press; blame it on Al-Qaida, if necessary.”

***
“Your assessment?”  Pope said to Darius, after they’d finished reading the transcript and the other information that the NSA had collected.

“I think that this was a covert Russian operation,” Darius said.  Pope raised an eyebrow.  “Before and after the mission there were a series of calls from Moscow to army bases – calls that have increased in number since the incident.”

“Very good,” Pope said.  “Now, read this.”

Darius read the paper carefully.  “Is this for real?”

“Yes,” Pope said.  “It seems that the Russians are planning an attack on the Alternative starship.”

“And we’re going to warn them?”  Darius asked doubtfully.

“No,” Pope said.  “We’re going to help the Russians.”  Darius stared at him.  “Sooner or later, we will clash with Cozort and his crew – they’re too alternative.  We think that the Russians have been building their own power cells – there was a suspicious explosion in Siberia some time back – and it is the conclusion of the NSA analysts that they plan to discharge the collected energy into the Enterprise’s shields, or drive field, or whatever.  The point is; as it stands the plan cannot work.”

“So you want to risk America by joining the Russians?”

“If we work it correctly, we can avoid being implicated ourselves,” Pope said.  “If the Russians fail, they take the fall…”

“And the nuclear attack?”

“Precisely,” Pope said.  “The Russians are our enemies; you should have seen how they were acting when they thought that the Enterprise was an alien ship.  If we help them now, we’ll have access to any of the surviving small craft, as well as a working theory of their drive fields.  That, my friend, will give us a decisive military advantage.

“If the Russians fail, the Alternatives will destroy Russia; removing once and for all the threat of Russian nukes.”

“And if they do catch us?”  Darius enquired.

“Well, could you destroy America?”  Pope asked.  “My little group will take the blame and the President can deny all knowledge of the plot.”

“Clever,” Darius admitted.  “When do we begin?”

“As soon as possible,” Pope said.  “The Russians have launched two more of their new boosters into space; placing the pieces in their jump-off points.  If we don’t reach them first, then they’ll launch their current plan.”

“So how do we reach them?”  Darius asked.  Pope told him.  “Good God.”

Central Park
New York, USA
7th June 2009 (Time Line A)

Boris Lapotev had fallen into the habit of making regular visits to Central Park.  Ever since the Iran War, the US intelligence services had followed him and the other ‘diplomats’ wherever they went, so he was careful to create an impression that he enjoyed the park.  It was not all pretence, he admitted to himself, but as long as he was in New York, rather than Gorky… 

“Mr Lapotev?”  A voice said from behind him.  Half-expecting Sanchez, he spun round, to behold an ordinary-looking American businessman.  A careful examination convinced him that the man was an intelligence agent; he walked the right way.

“Yes,” he said finally.  If the man was with the CIA, he’d know who Lapotev was anyway.  The question, however, was what did he want.  Lapotev ran through all the possible scenarios, from defection to misinformation, and found a blank.  None of them seemed to fit.

“I have a proposal for you and your nation,” the man said.  He held up a card.  “I am Agent Darius, of the NSA.”

Unlike Brennen before him, Lapotev did know what an NSA card was supposed to look like, so he gave it a careful scrutiny.  It looked right.  “We are always interested in American proposals,” he said finally.  “You do realise, however, that I am hardly empowered to speak for my country?”

Darius nodded.  Lapotev suddenly realised what he was dealing with; an under-the-table approach by the American Government.  It had happened before, during the Balkan and Iraq wars.  “It concerns our friends from the other America,” Darius said.

Lapotev blinked.  “Go on,” he said finally.

“Your government is planning a mission to destroy the starship,” Darius said bluntly.  “You must be aware that it will fail.”

“I can neither confirm or deny,” Lapotev said.  “I know very little about such projects.”

“Your government sent you here back when everyone thought that they were bug-eyed monsters,” Darius said.  “At the very least, you have a link to your government.”

“I’m listening,” Lapotev said.

“The American government would like to be rid of the Alternatives,” Darius said.  “We are offering our assistance to help you accomplish that task.”

“Indeed?”  Lapotev asked.  “Why do you want to be rid of them?”

“They’re a destabilising influence,” Darius said.  He passed Lapotev a folder.  “Send that back to Russia, as fast as you can.  There’s a contact point in the file for when you’re ready to talk to us.”

“And if we decide to launch the attack – however we plan to do it – on our own?”  Lapotev asked carefully.

“Then may God be with you,” Darius said.  “The attack will be detected before it can get anywhere near the Enterprise.”

Chapter Thirty-Four: Russian Roulette

The Kremlin
Moscow, Russia
8th June 2009 (Time Line A)

The high council of the alliance – Lapotin, Tao and Homchoudhury – read the proposal from America with mounting disbelief.  After they had finished, they stared at one another.

“It is a trick,” Tao said finally.  “They want to force us to confront the Alternatives.”

“I don’t see how they mean to trick us,” Lapotin said.  “At almost any point, we could abort the operation; leaving only suspicions behind.”

“But why would the Americans wish to destroy their pet Alternatives?”  Tao asked.

Homchoudhury frowned.  The Indian Intelligence Service had been watching events in America with some concern.  “It is apparent that the Alternatives have been funding a new American political party.  President Jackson perhaps feels that her position is threatened.”

They nodded.  It was logical.  “In that case, is it worth the effort of linking our plans to those of the Americans?”  Tao asked.  He was still suspicious; a lifetime of scheming to recover Taiwan had led him to distrust America.

“We would be delivering the main blow,” Lapotin pointed out.  “There is no danger that this, the most risky part of the American plan, could lead to the Americans seizing the Enterprise and turning it against us.  At worst, our nuclear missiles would complete the task of destroying the starship.”

“President Jackson is weak,” Tao agreed.  “She has not pressed us to remove ourselves from Iran.”

“Now the French are our allies, in fact if not in name,” Lapotin said coldly.  “America is becoming isolated; once the star-allies are gone, Jackson will find that America will become weaker than us and one day America will be an occupied land.”

“Perhaps,” Homchoudhury said.  “Until then, we really need to keep the pressure up in Iran.”

Lapotin nodded.  The Russian troops, reinforced by Chinese, Indian and French regiments, had seized the most important regions of Iran.  While there were irregulars still fighting the invaders, Iran had been firmly subdued.  Away from Western reporters, poison gas and kill-sweeps had been used to clear Iranians from sensitive regions.  Iraq was being flooded with Iranian refugees; the Russians had let them go to increase the pressure on Iraq and their American masters.

Lapotin smiled.  Already, Russian generals were talking about marching into Iraq and Saudi, claiming the oil fields for themselves.  They didn’t know that oil was about to become obsolete, but the pleasure of a large empire…

“We will rule,” he said softly.  “All of us; our empire will cover the Earth.”

“Let’s hope so,” Homchoudhury said.  “For the moment, we have insurgents in Pakistan, Iran and Kashmir to crush.”

“True,” Lapotin said.  “I propose that we join the Americans.  Any dissenters?”

“As long as we hold tactical control,” Tao said.  Lapotin nodded.  “Agreed.”

“Agreed,” Homchoudhury said.

“I shall issue orders to Boris Lapotev,” Lapotin said.  “He can tell the Americans that we accept their plan.”  He looked carefully at them.  “In three more days, the Power Cells we took from Britain – despite the near-total loss of the assault team – will be here.  When that happens, we can proceed…with or without the Americans.”

Fort Meade
Maryland, USA
9th June 2009 (Time Line A)

“The Government has communicated with me,” Lapotev said, his eyes staring around at the vaunted NSA headquarters.  The room was disappointing; bare walls and tattered carpet.  He smiled to himself; it had been foolish to expect the Americans to show him the heart of their intelligence services.

Pope smiled, recognising the subtle disappointment in Lapotev’s face.  He’d have given his right eye for a guided tour of the FSB’s headquarters himself.  “And it has decided…?”

“We will join you,” Lapotev said.  While in Russia, he’d been briefed on the astounding plan.  Combined with the Americans, it could not possibly fail.  “Might I ask when your part of the plan will be launched?”

Pope nodded slowly.  It had been harder than he’d expected to put all the pieces in place, even with the authority of the conspirators.  Maintaining plausible deniability made a difficult job harder and harder.  “We should have everything prepared within a week,” he said finally.

“Excellent,” Lapotev said.  “When can we launch?”

“NASA – under my old friend David Lorain – has managed to convince the Senate subcommittee that it should be allowed to transport supplies to the International Space Station, using Atlantis,” he said.  He frowned; he vaguely remembered reading a science-fiction story where the Russians had sabotaged NASA to prevent the United States moving into space.  Had they done that in real life, but not in the Alternatives universe?

He shrugged.  “Atlantis will carry the special items into space, where your experts can mate them with your equipment and provide some extra fuel to the shuttle.”

“You do realise that this might well be a suicide mission?”  Lapotev said.  “Even with the Enterprise in high orbit, it might not be possible to get the shuttle out of range before the nukes start exploding.”

“We understand,” Pope said.  “Our pilots know their responsibilities.”

“It is a honour to be working with you,” Lapotev said.  He smiled.  “Here’s to many years of Russian-American cooperation.”

“Indeed,” Pope said, taking the hint.  He pulled out a bottle of vodka.  “I was in Moscow a few years back,” he explained.  “I developed a taste for it.”

“The finest,” Lapotev said.  He knew that Russia sold her finest vodka for foreign currency.  He held a glass for Pope to pour into.  “I will enjoy this.”

“I’ll give you my spare bottle,” Pope said.  He smiled; perhaps the whiskey would loosen the Russian’s tongue.  

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
11th June 2009 (Time Line A)

“Mr Red Brennen, famous astronaut, today made history by recovering a defunct early American communications satellite,” Langdon informed the world.  “In an interview today, Mr Brennen informed potential bidders that the pricing for the satellite begun at ten million American dollars; unconfirmed reports that have reached this reporter suggest that a Japanese consortium has put together at bid for the satellite, starting at one billion dollars.

“In related news, the Russian government has demanded that Mr Brennen crease and desist salvaging Russian satellites, regardless of their condition,” she continued.  “Following the increasing Russian activity in space, the Russian government has become more assertive as to its rights under various space treaties.  What they’ll do when Brennen salvages another satellite, however, has not been explained.

“On international news, the Government of Iraq has appealed for American and Britain help in sealing the borders between Iraq and Iran.  The tide of refugees from Iran, following the Russian ‘peacekeeping’ invasion, has increased sharply.  Iraqi sources place the incoming flood at over five million, although UN aid organisations state that this claim is too high.  Iraq is apparently preparing to announce a military build-up, following a report of a clash between a Russian aircraft and an Iraqi F-15.

“Citing ongoing insurgent attacks, the Russian government has refused to permit American or United Nations observers, humanitarian aid or reporters to enter Iran.  Seven independent reporters, entering without permission or military escort, have been reported dead.  Russian authorities have refused to comment; explaining that they cannot guarantee security.  Exiled Iranian personalities, however, have blamed the Russians for the deaths of the reporters – concluding that the Russians are killing reporters on purpose.”

Cape Kennedy Space Centre
Florida, USA
13th June 2009 (Time Line A)

I wish that this wasn’t necessary, Campbell thought grimly.  The bright tones of the space centre – no matter how outdated it was compared to the Alternative craft – had always excited him.  Now, however…

He stared out of the window for a long moment, examining Atlantis – repaired and reloaded – sitting on the pad, and clenched his fist.  He’d always hated giving orders that would lead to deaths – particularly suicide missions.  He pulled down the blind in one convulsive motion and turned to face the five men sitting around the table.

“Have you all read your mission orders?”  He asked; watching carefully for any reactions that signified dissent.

“Yes, sir,” Captain Ernest Russell said finally.  “This will be…tricky.”

“Yes,” Campbell agreed.  “Did you read the political analysis?”  They nodded.  “Then you understand why this must be done.  If it were to be done, best that it be done swiftly.”  He frowned; he’d only remembered part of the quote.  “Do you understand you role in the mission?”

“Yes,” Russell said.  “Sir, I volunteer to be the pilot for the final approach.”

Campbell nodded.  “Granted,” he said.  “Captain Chassell, will you fly the SSTO?”

“I’ve wanted to fly that craft ever since I saw it,” Chassell, forgoing his customary reticence.  “I know it’s dangerous…”

“Yes, it is,” Campbell said, somewhat understating the case.  “The other three might survive, if the mission succeeds, but the ISS is likely to be the first target if the attack fails, or even if it is not immediately successful.  However, if any of you want to back out, now is pretty much your last chance.”

“Sir, respectfully suggest that we get on with it,” Russell said.  He smiled.  “Preferably before I get an attack of brains to the head and realise how dangerous this is going to be.”

“Very well,” Campbell said.  “In that case, let’s go over the plan one final time.  On the day preceding the launch day…”

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
15th June 2009 (Time Line A)

Brennen watched and lifted a glass as Yuri, the fourth SSTO his company had built, lifted off towards the stars.  What had once been wonderfully glamorous, he reflected, had become almost routine.  He was still making a profit selling tickets to people who wanted to watch the launchings, but the numbers were declining in absolute terms.

“Not a moment too soon,” he commented to the bartender, who was wiping the table.  It was a lovely sunny day, even for Nevada, and he was sitting out under the sunshade.

“Indeed?”  The bartender asked.  He too was enjoying the boom in trade; not only did the Alternatives enjoy some of his weirder concoctions, but the reporters and intelligence agents were more than willing to get Alternatives drunk.  He’d never seen an Alternative drunk, but at least they knew the words to the older drinking songs.

“The Russians are moving into space in a big way,” Brennen said.  “I don’t know how they came up with the idea of that massive booster – NASA would have had a fit it something as risky as that had been proposed – but it’s paid off for them.  They’ve broken a record for launching Big Dumb Boosters into orbit – god only knows how much cargo they’ve transported to the space station.”

He slammed his hand down on the table.  “Damn NASA,” he snapped.  “We could have had our own space station by now!  Colonies on the moon, instead of an Alternative base…”

“Sir,” the bartender said, “with all due respect, you are currently in charge of America’s main space corporation.  Unless you lied on your figures, you have orders for over two hundred SSTOs, thousands of offers for space tourism and…”

“I get the point,” Brennen smiled.  “Still, it galls me to know how much we lost…”

“It galls me too,” a voice said from behind him.  Brennen spun round, one hand going to his gun belt, to see Darius standing in the sunlight.

“Marcel,” Brennen exclaimed.  “What are you doing here?”

Darius grinned and took a seat in the shade.  “Anyone would think that you were unhappy to see me,” he said cheerfully.  He waved to the bartender.  “Can I get a large Lilt?”

“No beer or wine for you?”  Brennen enquired.

“No, thank you,” Darius said.  “On an NSA salary, I’m not able to develop any expensive tastes.”

“I remember reading a theory,” Brennen said irrelevantly, “that nations that drink beer, such as the Germans, the British and ourselves, always do better at war than the wine-drinkers, such as the French and Spanish.”

Darius shrugged.  “There was nothing military wrong with the French at Suez,” he said.  “They just got stabbed in the back by us.”

“And now they’ve stabbed us in the back by helping the Russians,” Brennen said.  “Why doesn’t the President throw them out of Iran?”

“Because the Iranians nuked Russia,” Darius said.  “Because the Iranians are our enemies.  Because it would be a nightmare to get them out in a theatre where most of the advantages are theirs.  Take your pick.”

“This is giving them control of a vital region of Earth,” Brennen snapped.

“I am aware of the dangers,” Darius said.  “The problem is that there are no proper grounds for demanding a withdrawal; nor the military strength to evict them.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Brennen snapped.  “Surely we could reinforce Iraq and then evict them.”

“If we reinforced Iraq,” Darius said, “The Russians would see what we were doing and they’d probably launch a pre-emptive strike.”  He shrugged.  “But I’ve gotten away from the subject; you remember the agreement you signed with the air force?”

“Of course,” Brennen said carefully.

“Then I must inform you that the air force is invoking part of the contract,” Darius said.  “Specifically, the air force would like to borrow one of your SSTOs for a short period.”

“Why?”  Brennen asked.  He frowned; with three other SSTOs, it would hardly put a crimp in his operation, but it would be annoying.  So far, no one else was running a satellite recovery operation, but he knew that some of the bigger aerospace corporations were building their own SSTOs.

“The air force wants its own launch capability,” Darius said, truthfully.  “They don’t trust NASA to give them the service they need, not in these troubled times, so they’re turning to you.  They’ll flight test whatever craft you send, learn how useful it could, and then place a large order with you.”

“Sounds good,” Brennen said.  A military order could help the company further, particularly when it came to deploying military equipment.  Some of his designers were already talking about orbital weapons platforms.  He thought for a moment.  “I’ll let them have Grissom,” he said.  “It finished its last mission a day ago, so it’s just being checked over.  I assume they’re sending a truck for it?”

“A spacecraft on a truck,” Darius said, shaking his head at the mental image.  “Yes, they’re sending it to Edwards Air Force Base, which is not too far from here.  A shame it can’t make the hop itself…”

“It could,” Brennen injected.

“But they’re worried about spacecraft landing on their heads,” Darius continued.  Brennen laughed.  “So we’ll pick it up tomorrow…?”

“That should be fine,” Brennen said.  “I’ll have it moved to a better position for pick-up.”

“Thank you,” Darius said.  He smiled.  “Between you and me, the NSA might be offering contracts soon for a SSTO of their own.”

“Everyone wants one,” Brennen said.  “Business is looking up.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
17th June 2009 (Time Line A)

Sanchez had never quite gotten used to the global telecommunications network that spanned the Native Earth.  It was confusing; each and every nation had to have its own Internet server, its own domain name, but they seemed to take great pride in linking them all together.  Sanchez, using search programs designed to surf through a telecommunications network designed by ultra-paranoid Americans, had been able to collect thousands of gigabytes – even terabytes – of tactical information that would never have been placed on a public network in his own universe.  Anything anyone wanted kept private would never be linked to another computer – computers had ears, or so the American saying went.

Still, he understood the system enough to manipulate it.  He’d already moved several billion American dollars of Saudi money into a series of tax havens – something else that was unknown back home – which would provide him with a slush fund for later use.  He’d also hidden considerable technical data in a data haven; preparing for the day that he would abandon Enterprise.  He hoped that day would come soon, then he could use the technical data to rebuild Mexico.

Wistfully, he checked the secure data store; there was a message!  He read it quickly; it read TEATIME7.  He smiled.  ‘Teatime7’ was a pre-arranged message; ‘jump ship in seven days’.  The Russians must be preparing to make their move, he thought.

***
Unbeknownst to Sanchez, his every computer activity was being monitored by JEEVES, who was forwarding the information to Wachter.  JEEVES was not designed to operate over such a network as the Native network, but he was able to read the messages that Sanchez said.  Despite careful effort, however, neither the distributed intelligence nor Wachter could figure out the one-time code.

Cape Kennedy Space Centre
Florida, USA
23rd June 2009 (Time Line A)

It was a very different shuttle flight to the one that had launched to meet the ‘alien’ ship.  Captain Ernest Russell looked at his co-pilot and the two other weapons experts, and sighed.  It seemed a pity to waste a shuttle on this mission, even if there was a slim chance that they’d survive.

“Are we all ready?”  He asked, and was relived to hear the sound of ‘yes, sir’.  “Ground control, this is Atlantis,” he said.  “We are ready for lift off.”

“You are cleared to depart on mark,” ground control said.  “Ten…nine…eight…”

At blast-off, the shuttle’s main engines fired.  Slowly, ponderously, the shuttle lifted off from the ground and headed towards the orbiting space station, high overhead.

International Space Station
Earth Orbit
23rd June 2009 (Time Line A)

Captain Leonid Gurov studied the American space shuttle as it docked with the space station and growled.  He’d wanted the honour of destroying the Alternative craft for himself.  As he watched, the first of the Americans entered the space station’s main hatch.  He listened to their indiscreet conversation, mainly centred around the massive new chambers that had been added to the station; the shells of the Alternative booster designs had come in very useful.

At this rate, Gurov thought, we’ll have a space station large enough to do some real work.

“Welcome aboard,” Terikov said, greeting the Americans warmly, too warmly for Gurov’s liking.  “I’m the current space station commander, Viktor Terikov.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the lead American said.  “I’m Captain Ernest Russell, special low Earth orbit missions department.”

By which he means he’s military intelligence, Gurov thought coldly.  “I suggest that we begin work at once,” he said firmly.  “We have to hook the special weapon up to your Power Cells and their surge capacitor.  Once we’ve done that, we can run a basic test of the weapon.”

“A very good idea,” Russell said.  “We have to be ready to move onto our special orbit by tomorrow.”  He frowned.  “The fuel did come up?”

“Yes,” Gurov said.  “The fuel is indeed in orbit, as supplied by your supervisors at NASA.”

“Good,” Russell said.  “Tomorrow, we blow the Alternative ship away.”  He lowered his eyes.  “And may God have mercy on our souls.”

Chapter Thirty-Five: All or Nothing

Edwards Air Force Base
California, USA
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

The blunt cone of the Grissom sat on one of the runways, surrounded by a crowd of doting pilots.  F-14’s were in a combat air patrol over the airbase, although why none of the pilots could say.  Others were on stand-by position; fuelled and ready to launch on warning.  The damage done by terrorists to Atlanta had removed the complacency that the defenders of America had suffered from, even after 9/11.

Captain Dean Chassell looked around for the final time at the airfield, and its aircraft, before reaching the lift.  Saluting the base commander, the small lift pushed up towards the hatch; he stepped off into the SSTO.  The small spacecraft seemed to hum with potential.

“Ground control, this is Chassell,” he said.  “Everything looks good.”

“Good,” Campbell’s voice said.  The General sounded tired.  “You are cleared for lift-off.”

“Thank you, General,” Chassell said.  He checked the SSTO’s radar link with Edwards’ radar and confirmed that the F-14’s were moving out of the area.  “Lift-off in fifteen seconds.”

***
One second before launch, the cone was unmoving on the runway; one second after ignition it was climbing on a dark orange flame.  The fuel, invented by Brennen for extra thrust, had been extremely dangerous to engines made from normal materials, but the Alternative advances in material sciences had allowed them to show Brennen how to design a new improved drive.  The engine could burn all day – it would not burn through the drive.

“He’s now at one thousand feet and rising,” the flight control officer reported.  Campbell nodded; he knew the plan.

“Any sign of trouble?”  He asked, knowing just how vague the question was.  Any reaction from the targets of the mission would be very noticeable.

“None,” the officer said.  “The combat air patrol reports no contacts of any kind, apart from a civilian airliner.”

“Good,” Campbell said, staring up at the disappearing contrail.  He picked up the secure telephone link.  “Pope?  The craft has launched.”

“Thank you,” Pope said.  “I’ll get on with the next part of the plan.”

Fort Meade
Maryland, USA
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

Pope had not shared one possible flaw in the plan with Campbell, on the grounds that it would only upset him.  Like all problems, if it were to be properly expressed it would hold its own solution; after some thought Pope had a solution.  The problem, of course, was how to convince the Alternatives to accept the Trojan horse.  Pope’s solution was simple.

“This is Red Brennen,” he said, into the computer link.  As he spoke the words, the computer converted the data stream into words spoken by Brennen – faking his voiceprint - and routed them through a secure line to Brennen’s communicator at Armstrong.  Arranging for Brennen to be spending time with a FBI agent with remarkable personal statistics had been easy.  “May I speak to Commander Taylor?”

“This is Commander Taylor,” a voice came back after a long pause.  “A pleasure to talk to you again.”

“You may have noticed that we have launched an SSTO into orbit,” Pope said.  “Onboard is one of my people; a Captain Chassell.”

“Its just entering low orbit now,” Taylor said, after another pause.  Pope frowned; was there a delay in the line?

“He needs to confer with you about a new space project,” Pope said, still in Brennen’s voice.  “Might he be permitted to dock with the Enterprise?”

“We’ll have to send a tender out to meet him,” Taylor said.  “Other than that, I see no objections.”

“Same as the first time?”  Pope asked.  If the SSTO were left floating in space, the entire plan would have failed.

“Yes,” Taylor said.  “We’d need to pull the ship inside the Enterprise – just like last time.”

Pope relaxed.  “Thank you,” he said.  “I’ll inform Captain Chassell.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting him,” Taylor said, and broke the connection.  Pope smiled; the plan was working – so far.  Quickly, he tapped out a message to Captain Chassell, and then forced himself to relax.  Whatever happened next was out of his hands.

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

The tenth and final orbital industrial station floated free of Enterprise and was nudged carefully into its position orbiting the Earth.  Cozort watched as a shuttle transferred the remaining crew into the living quarters of the station, before returning towards its mother ship.  Cozort turned to look directly at Earth; high orbit was far clearer than lurking out at Lagrange One.  He felt a tear in his eye; he’d never expected to see the Earth – any Earth – ever again.

“Sir, Brennen’s SSTO is approaching us,” Lieutenant Simpson said over the intercom.

“They made high orbit?”  Cozort asked.  He’d expected to have to send a shuttle to pick the SSTO up from low orbit.  A pity that the tenders were at the Moon or Mars.

“Yes, sir,” Simpson said.  “He injected himself into a converging orbit ten minutes ago – a neat bit of flying.”

“Order the Skylark to pick the SSTO up and drop it in shuttle bay one,” Cozort ordered.  “Commander Taylor can meet the pilot there.”

“Yes, sir,” Simpson said.  Cozort lifted his wristcom and gave certain orders to Taylor, and then returned to staring at the Earth.

***
The Enterprise, in all its glory, was truly a fantastic sight to Captain Dean Chassell.  It’s sheer size and sophistication defeated the imagination of the planet-bound; for the first time on the mission Chassell felt true fear.  Not the fear of death, but the fear of failure.  The starship was so powerful, so inconceivably huge, that its destruction seemed impossible.

“Welcome onboard the Enterprise,” a man said.  Chassell identified him as Commander Taylor.  “What do you think of our little ship?”

Little?  Chassell stared around him.  “This is amazing,” he said.

“You’ll be building your own before too long,” Taylor assured him.  “Once you’re in orbit, the only difficultly in building anything is logistics.  Back home, we built a massive fifty-kilometre long space habitat in orbit around Venus.”

“Why Venus?”  Chassell asked.  It seemed an odd place to put a habitat.

“Just to see if we could,” Taylor explained.  “Venus…well, there was a party that wanted to try and colonise the planet, and another party that wanted to conduct research on the sun, and yet another party that wanted to see if we could build such an object – and we could.  It’s a state now, with twenty thousand permanent residents.”

“How did you get new states?”  Chassell asked, as they walked along the corridors.  Chassell was acutely conscious of the humming power all around him.  “There are a lot of people who wanted to make Puerto Rico a state, but it keeps being defeated.”

“It seemed obvious, as we expanded into space, that there was a limit to how much planet-bound politicians could command in space,” Taylor explained.  “Once the moon had over one hundred thousand people, the original arrangements were on the point of breaking down.  So when the Moon demanded statehood, few people bothered to object.”

“No attempt at independence?”

“No,” Taylor said.  “After the civil war, everyone knew that we would fight to preserve our territorial integrity.  I imagine that if Britain seceded, your President Jackson would fight.”

“Britain is not a state to us,” Chassell reminded him.  “Still, I take your point; a Baen author some time back wrote a novel about a Texan secession.”

Taylor grinned.  “Would this be the legendary Travis Taylor?”

Chassell smiled.  “Are the two of you related?”

“I don’t think so,” Taylor said.  “I’m black; he’s not.  There’s no other Travis in my family tree – at this point in time my grandfather was living on the moon.”

“I see,” Chassell said.  “Tell me, how many extra states do you have?”

“In space?  We have the moon, two – well one of them is defunct - Mars states, the moons of the gas giants and numerous asteroid coalitions.  The only world that is inhabited and is not a state is Pluto – no one wants to live there long enough to qualify as a permanent resident.  The entire planet is run by the Governor, whose main problem is people wanting to leave.  Miserable place.”

“Clever,” Chassell said, as they reached a door.  It slid open; revealing a conference table and one older man sitting at the head of the table.

“This is Captain Cozort,” Taylor said.  Chassell nodded; he’d recognised the captain from his photographs.  Cozort stood up and extended a hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” Chassell said, shaking it.  “This is a fantastic ship.”

“Glad you like it,” Cozort said.  “I’m afraid I don’t have much time, so might we move straight to business?”

“Certainly,” Chassell said, keeping one eye on his watch.  “You may be aware that the Russians have in fact increased their space launch capability considerably.”  Cozort nodded.  “The possibility of them achieving a strategic superiority bothers the government, therefore I have been asked to enquire about the prospect of purchasing assistance from you for constructing a stronger antimissile system.  We think that…”

Atlantis
Earth Orbit
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

When he was younger, Captain Ernest Russell had owned a Lego model of the space shuttle, an amazingly accurate replica.  Now, seeing the Heath Robinson construction half-hanging out of Atlantis’s cargo bay, he wondered if the designers had known something at the time.  The massive block of American and Russian construction looked like one of the older satellites – or indeed a Lego model.

“I am coming with you, orders of the President,” Gurov said firmly.  “You will need a weapon operator.”

“How complex can it be?”  Russell asked.  “Someone needs to supervise the nukes, should we only damage the target.”  He didn’t mention what would happen if the target were to be unharmed; both men knew that that could be the end of their respective governments.

“It is important for the sake of Russian pride that this be seen as a joint mission,” Gurov said, half-truthfully.  “Launching the nuclear-tipped missiles is only the back-up; hitting the first blow must be a joint mission.”

Russell smiled weakly.  “I’d give up my slot to you if I could,” he said.  “Still, get onboard.  We leave in twenty minutes.”

***
Gurov was unimpressed by the American shuttle; it looked like nothing less than an airliner designed to fly in space.  He’d read intelligence reports on the shuttle and knew that its lift-capability was nothing compared to one of the new boosters.  The shuttle’s only value had been in the field of personal transport; one that it had failed at due to NASA’s fear of losing lives.

NASA, Gurov thought.  A basically civilian organisation – could it be trusted to launch the sneakiest pre-emptive strike in the history of humanity?  Gurov didn’t think so – which was why he’d not mentioned his other reason for wanting to come on the flight.  If the Americans chickened out, Gurov would shoot them and complete the mission himself.

“Separating from the station,” Russell said, informing ground control.  “Firing orbital manoeuvring thrusters now.”  Atlantis shivered slightly as she started to move faster around the Earth than the space station, moving ahead and away from Earth.

“How long?”  Gurov asked, feeling the tension in his heart rise.

Russell shrugged.  “Twenty minutes,” he said.  “Then we’ll be at firing position.

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

“I confess that the idea of securing control of the orbital space around Earth is a very good one,” Cozort said.  Taylor nodded beside him.  “I don’t understand, however, why you’re willing to share control with the Russians, or even permit them to put up their own system.”

“Because if we did, the Russians would threaten war,” Chassell said.  “As I understand it, we would still be vulnerable to stealth bombers and submarine-launched missiles.  The public would hardly face a threat of nuclear war without demanding appeasement.”

“Your people have a strange terror of nuclear power,” Cozort commented.  “You could design gravimetric sensors to track stealth craft, or plant laser cannons on the coast for submarine-launched missiles.”

“That’s not the point,” Chassell snapped.  “The American people would object to us claiming unilateral control of space…”

“Would they not rather be safe?”  Cozort enquired.  “Don’t get me wrong; we’re more than prepared to help, but you’re not taking it to its logical conclusion.”

“But…”  Chassell began.  Cozort’s wristcom buzzed.

“Captain, this is Terns,” it said.  “The space shuttle that entered orbit yesterday is on an intercept orbit with us.”

“That’s odd,” Cozort said.  “Why would they be on an intercept course?”

“Perhaps they just want to look at your starship,” Chassell suggested.  He knew very well what the shuttle was doing.

“Well, we’ll wave as they go by,” Cozort said.  “Commander, have two shuttles prepared in bay two.  As they pass, we’ll launch and fly past them.”

“Yes, sir,” Taylor said.  “Will you be watching from the bridge?”

“Yes,” Cozort said.  “Would you like to see the bridge?”

“Yes,” Chassell said.  “I’d love to.”

***
The shape of the shuttle could be seen on the holograph as it approached; distance and speed conveniently displayed beside the image.  Chassell counted carefully, until the shuttle was almost at firing range, and clicked the transmitter in his watch.  Obedient to the signal, the Grissom’s modified Power Cells started to overload.

“Sir, there’s a signal passing through the ship from the bridge,” Terns said in alarm.

“What?”  Cozort snapped.  “Where from?”

Before Terns could trace the signal back to Chassell, the entire starship shuddered.  The American researchers had figured out how and why the Russian Power Cells had overloaded, and then had figured out how to duplicate it – gambling that the Alternatives would not recognise the danger because their Power Cells did not explode.  The blast smashed shuttle bay one and shook the entire starship.

“Explosion in shuttle bay one,” Terns shouted.  “Fire on decks seven, eight and nine!”

Cozort spun round to face Chassell.  “What have you done!”

Chassell laughed and jumped at Cozort, but before he could reach the captain Terns tackled him.  They rolled on the floor, Chassell struggling against Terns’s enhanced strength, before Terns brought him down.

“Hold him,” Cozort ordered.  “Commander Taylor, get out in the shuttle and give me a damage report.  We’re under attack!”

“Too late,” Chassell gasped, and swallowed the suicide pill in his rear tooth.  He died quickly, before Enterprise shook again and the entire hull screamed in pain.

Atlantis
Earth Orbit
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

“Stand-by to fire,” Russell said.

“Ready,” Gurov said.  One of the Americans started to say something, and then stopped, muttering under his breath.  Gurov ignored him.

“Fire,” Russell said, and the lights on the shuttle dimmed slightly as power was fed to the weapon. The Russian plan had been diabolically clever.  If what was required to overwhelm Enterprise’s drive field was a massive pulse of energy, then they would find a way to deliver such a pulse.  The Power Cells, storing vast quantities of energy, could be all discharged at once into a laser beam, like an x-ray laser.  In five seconds of firing, thousands of gigawatts was discharged into the drive field.

Russell watched as the Enterprise was surrounded by a glowing yellow field for a long moment, and then the field collapsed.  The laser beam cut into the underside of the starship’s prow.  He felt tears coursing down his cheeks as the starship’s hull became illuminated with explosions; believing that the starship was doomed.

“Incoming contact,” Elbert, one of the other Americans, said.

Gurov looked down at the radar and noticed the contact sweeping in on the shuttle, defying the laws of physics.  “Success,” he gloated, before the Hawk blew the Atlantis apart.

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

Ensign Sanchez had travelled once on a Wrecker ship that had been attacked by the American’s accursed USSF.  Enterprise felt the same way as a laser beam cut into her prow, burning through the metal hull.  It was resisting, but the laser would not be denied.  Enterprise shuddered as explosions began to break out on the underside of the prow.

Sanchez abandoned stealth and ran towards the shuttle bay.  He ran into a technician coming the other way and stunned the unfortunate woman with his personal weapon.  Two more technicians passed him and he stunned them, telling himself that fewer hands would make repairing the starship far more difficult.  Finally, he reached the shuttle bay; the shuttle Raptor was sitting there.  Quickly, he jumped through the hatch and started the power-up sequence, knowing that it would only take a few minutes.  Under damage-control protocols, the shuttles would already be warming up their drives.

“Shuttle, what are you doing?”  Wachter’s voice demanded.  Sanchez felt his blood run cold.  “Who’s in there?”

“Die, you bastard,” Sanchez snapped, activating the plasma cannon.  Explosions ran through the bay, but Wachter had jumped out of the way just in time.  Sanchez brought the shuttle’s drive fields up, knowing that doing that ran the risk of damaging the shuttle, and aimed for the opening hatch.  Before anyone could react, Sanchez was out of the bay doors and heading towards Earth.

***
“Where do you think you’re going?”  Wachter snapped, pulling himself off the deck.  “Shit, he must be planning to turn that shuttle over to his Russian masters.”

A thought occurred to him.  “Computer, override Raptor’s computers,” he ordered.

“Unable to comply,” JEEVES said.  “Raptor’s computers have been separated from this distributed intelligence.”

“Fuck!”  Wachter glared at the shuttle bay, smoking from the explosions.  “Jeeves, is there a separate shuttle in the repair bay?”

“Yes, Commander,” JEEVES said.  “Shall I bring it up?”

“Yes,” Wachter said.  “Inform the bridge; I’m going in pursuit.”

***
Enterprise heaved once more, lights flickering on and off the ceiling.  Cozort grabbed on to his command chair and hung on for dear life.  A console exploded as power ran rampart through the starship.

“Damage report,” he shouted, as soon as most of the shaking stopped.  Silently, he blessed the fact that this incident had not rendered them all unconscious again.

“Major damage to primary hull,” Stirling said, gasping.  Smoke was pouring out of one of her consoles.

“Commander Taylor, report,” Cozort snapped.

“Captain, I can see damage to the underside of the primary hull,” Taylor reported.  “I’m sending the sensor readings to the bridge.”

“Hellfire,” Cozort snapped.  “Who could do this to us?  Taylor, did you take out the shuttle?”

“Yes, captain,” Taylor replied.  “Blasted it in half with a plasma cannon.”

“Sir,” Terns broke in, “Commander Wachter reports that Ensign Sanchez is fleeing to the surface, and he’s in pursuit.”

“Good,” Cozort snapped.  “Archie, call back the Stillwell from the moon, then contact Governor Rollins and update him – tell him to be careful of any armed attack on Armstrong.  Stirling, seal off those sections, then begin pulling injured crew out as fast as you can.

“Jeeves, Cozort gamma-ray-seven-zed,” he continued.  “Activate all implants; report on crew status.”

“Two hundred and seventy-three implants do not reply,” JEEVES said.  “Three hundred and two report major injuries.”

“Archie, order all personnel to leave the lower primary hull,” Cozort snapped.  “Jeeves, relay all implant data to Doctor Romeo.”

“Sir, we have inbound missiles,” Terns said.

Cozort cursed as the display suddenly bloomed with malevolent red dots.  “Where are they coming from?”

“The space station,” Terns said.  “Those filthy Russians must have hijacked the shuttle!”

“Commander Taylor, shoot down those missiles,” Cozort ordered.  If one of them hit the Enterprise now…

“Killing missiles,” Taylor reported.  “Missiles dead.”

“Sir, the Stillwell is preparing to engage the station,” Archie said.

“Tell them to hurry,” Cozort snapped.

International Space Station
Earth Orbit
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

As soon as it became clear that the Enterprise had survived the shuttle’s attack, Terikov had ordered the launch of the rockets carrying nuclear warheads.  One by one, they’d been fired up towards the hulk, only to vanish when the Alternative shuttle started shooting them down.

“Sir, large incoming contact,” Anna Leonovia said.  Her voice was filled with dread.  “Off the starboard bow.”

Terikov floated over to the portal and stared at a massive starship out of his worst nightmares.  The tender spacecraft had been included in his briefing, but he’d not fully grasped their speed and capability.  How could he have?  It was quite beyond anything that his Earth had ever seen.

“Contact them,” he ordered finally.  “Tell them we surrender.”

Leonovia worked her equipment.  “Sir,” she said, her voice fading to terror; “they said … no.”

“That is a violation of the laws of warfare,” Terikov began, and realised that it was hopeless.  “Oh dear god, please…”

A single beam of bright yellow light emitted from the prow of the Stillwell.  It cut the International Space Station up like a roast; shoving it down towards the planet below.  Terikov and his crew died without knowing what had hit them.  

Chapter Thirty-Six: Vendetta

Over USA
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

Sanchez brought the Raptor down hard, plunging straight towards the Atlantic Ocean.  Bare seconds before he would have plunged into the water, he levelled the shuttle off in a tight turn and sped towards America.  Speed was his only defence now.

It had failed, he thought glumly.  The shuttle was still receiving the download from Enterprise; the starship was obviously still intact.  Judging by all the excitement when he’d departed, the starship had clearly been damaged, but not destroyed.  Sanchez cursed the Russian incompetence – they’d messed up the Hot War in his timeline and now the only chance of averting American global dominance was about to be destroyed.

“At least I can still give Mexico a fighting chance,” he said aloud.  The Raptor was an assault shuttle, armed with weapons that the Marine Corps had considered to be useful for assaulting a planetary target.  Sanchez, used to a world where Wrecker bases were bombed from orbit, had found the traditionalist view hilarious, but now he was only grateful.  Revenge would not be long delayed.

His radar chimed.  Three aircraft – jet fighters by the engine signature – were clearly attempting to intercept him.  He altered course to meet them; increasing his drive field even as he rose to gain more height.  The Americans were coming on confidently – did they not know how powerful his craft was?

***
“Ground Control, this is Black Knight One,” the pilot of the F-14 said.  “We have a visual on the contact – one Alternative shuttle moving to intercept us.”

“Moving to intercept you?”  The controller demanded.  F-14’s did the intercepting, not the other way round.

“Yes,” the pilot said.  “Target at mach four and increasing.  Course intersection in one minute.”

***
Sanchez could have shot down the three Native aircraft almost as soon as he’d seen them, but he waited, drawing out the pleasure, until they were almost in their own weapons range.  As soon as they crossed the imaginary line, he fired plasma pulses at the first F-14.  Unaware, it exploded into a ball of fire.

***
“Alternative craft has destroyed Black Knight Three,” Black Knight One reported, feeling horror and outright terror run through his veins.  “Taking evasive action.”

It was not a moment too soon as purple flashes blasted though the space his aircraft had occupied.  “Ground Control, the target is hostile!”

Ground Control seemed to be stunned.  “Black Knight One, continue taking evasive action,” the controller ordered.  “We are scrambling fighters to assist you.”

“Returning fire,” Black Knight One said, as another burst of plasma shot past his plane.  He fired a single AAMRAM at the Alternative craft, as did Black Knight Two.  As the missiles were launched, Black Knight Two was struck by a plasma bolt.  The missiles struck the Alternative craft’s drive fields and exploded harmlessly.  Then another flurry of plasma bolts flashed past him, hitting the Alternative craft.

What the hell?  “Ground Control, another craft has appeared and is trying to bring down the first one.”

***
Sanchez enjoyed the pretty colours as the missiles exploded harmlessly against his drive fields, and then the Raptor shook.  A quick glance at the scanner revealed another assault shuttle, one that was armed and dangerous.  Sanchez threw the Raptor into a dive, dodging more plasma bolts, before firing a salvo back at the attacking craft.

“Sanchez, surrender at once and I promise you a fair trial,” came over the radio.

“Wachter, you’re too late,” Sanchez gloated.  He knew that taunting the American was hardly a wise thing to do, but he hated the security officer with every fibre of his being.  “You beloved starship lies in ruins; your beloved nation is about to go the same way!”

“You’re deluded,” Wachter said.  More pulses blasted down; the security officer held the higher ground.  “The Enterprise is damaged, but remains intact.  The space station where the missiles were launched from is gone; the Russian ability to attack us reduced to nothing.”

“And you must have killed some of your fellow Americans,” Sanchez said, flipping the shuttle over and firing a missile towards Wachter’s position.  “The Russians took an American shuttle, remember?”

“And did they subvert one of Brennen’s people?”  Wachter asked.

“I know nothing about that,” Sanchez said, truthfully.  “Your nation is about to die, Wachter, you’re too late.”

***
Black Knight One watched the duel between the two aircraft, riveted to his cockpit.  The cloud of USAF, USN and USMC aircraft that have been launched were staying well back from the battlezone, watching the combat without the ability to affect it one way or the other.  When he was a teenager, Black Knight One had watched a movie about a modern aircraft carrier going back in time; for him, the high point had been a duel between F-14’s and Japanese Zero planes.

“And now I know what the Japanese must have felt like,” Black Knight One said to himself, just as the original Alternative craft reversed course and flew straight towards America – and straight through the cloud of aircraft.  Missiles were launched, but the Alternative simply outran them – its plasma weapon destroying twenty-seven American aircraft.

***
Another explosion billowed in front of Sanchez as an F-14 went up in a ball of fire.  He’d set the plasma cannon to fire at targets of opportunity, and there were hundreds.  Under the circumstances, however, he had no time to complete the destruction of a large part of America’s air force.  Boosting the craft as fast as it could go, he sped towards Washington.  An air force base dared to lock ground-to-air missiles on him; he fired back a missile designed for space combat.  The blast destroyed the base completely.

***
Wachter watched in horror as the Native aircraft were destroyed, then set his own craft to pursue Sanchez.  The explosion on the ground was easy enough to follow – so were the contrails of air-to-air missiles aimed at Sanchez.  Several aircraft locked onto Wachter’s craft, but he refused to fire; it was unnecessary.  In minutes, he’d locked on to Sanchez’s craft again, just as it unloaded the first of its missiles on Washington.  The Pentagon vanished in a massive blast – the Senate building and the Supreme Court were destroyed by plasma fire.  Sanchez was firing randomly down on Washington; a plasma pulse smashed the White House’s west wing.

“Die, you bastard,” Wachter shouted, and fired plasma blasts towards Sanchez’s craft.  He had the pleasure of seeing the drive field begin to overload before Sanchez dodged, flipping over to return fire at Wachter.  Sanchez flashed low over the city, rippling his drive field to smash buildings and cruse more devastation, before spinning round and firing back at Wachter.

“Your capital lies in ruins,” Sanchez sent back.  “You will be destroyed here; all you bastard American whores will be destroyed.”

Wachter had been doing some sums in his head.  “Give up,” he snapped.  “You don’t have any more missiles left; you can’t cause too much more damage with only a plasma cannon – and soon you’ll run out of charges for that.”

“I have all the weapons I need,” Sanchez said, dodging a hail of purple bolts.  The Raptor began to climb; gaining height.  Wachter followed, unsure of what the traitor was up to.

“What are you thinking?”  He asked.  “There is no escape.”

“You’re right,” Sanchez said.  “There is no escape, so I’ll go out in a blaze of glory.”  Before Wachter could react, Sanchez put the Raptor into a sharp dive, targeted precisely on the White House.  “The city is doomed when I hit,” Sanchez gloated.  “Goodbye, you cocksucking bastard.”

“Goodbye,” Wachter said coldly.  He’d already seen the only solution.  Pulling his own craft into a dive, he pointed it on an intercept course.  Only one kilometre above Washington, the two craft came together and vanished in a deafening explosion.  Fire and debris rained down on Washington.  

***
Black Knight One, pushing his afterburners as hard as they would go, flashed towards the Alternative craft.  Before he could do anything, one of the Alternative craft rammed the other; destroying both of them.  Black Knight One felt an odd bond with the second pilot – he’d given his life to save Washington.

He’d never know it, sadly, but Black Knight One, whose name was Wachter, was a very distant relation of the former security officer.  In the Alternative timeline, he’d been his grandfather.

Fort Meade
Maryland, USA
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

There was no doubt at all, from the NSA base at RAF Feltwell to the Space Tracking Station; all swore that Enterprise had survived the attack.  The running battle over Washington proved that the Alternatives were still active, even if one of them had rammed the other.  Washington was saved, but at what cost?

The Alternatives were silent, licking their wounds.  Pope had no doubt, however, that sooner or later they’d come looking for answers and then a world of hurt would descend upon him.  Carefully, he brought up a heavily encrypted computer file, checked to make sure that it was properly edited, and forwarded it to the President.  Campbell’s involvement would remain forever unknown.  His own, however…

“It’s a beautiful day,” he hummed to himself.  Washington was as polluted as ever, but for a long moment Pope fancied that he could hear nothing, but birds in the sky.  Reaching into his drawer, he pulled out his pistol, put it to his head, and pulled the trigger.

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
24th June 2009 (Time Line A)

Langdon felt sheer terror running through her veins as she read the script for the news broadcast, but she forced it down with an effort.  This was no time to have a nervous breakdown on stage.  “It has just been confirmed that a Russian-hijacked shuttle was used to attack the Alternative starship.  Images from observatories have reported explosions and fires on the hull of the starship, but so far there has been no communication from the starship itself.

“NASA director David Lorain confirmed that the Russian crew of the International Space Station hijacked the shuttle, loading it with an experimental weapon and sending it to high orbit.  According to the download from the flight recorder, the shuttle was destroyed in the course of the attack.

“Apparently the Russians also managed to hijack an Alternative shuttle, because one flew over Washington and damaged the city quite badly.  Twenty-seven senators and congressmen are dead, as is Vice-President Darcy.  President Jackson is alive and well, according to White House sources.”

She glanced at her prompter as it blinked.  “Governor Rollins has issued a statement from Armstrong,” she said, mentally cursing the fact that she wasn’t there to ask her own questions.  “In a tense interview, Governor Rollins confirmed that the Enterprise had been attacked – and that suitable retaliation would be taken as soon as repairs had been completed.  The Governor refused to name names, but global suspicion has focused on Russia.

“The Government of Russia, while it has refused to be drawn on their part in the attack, has refused reporters from western media outlets permission to leave.  The reporters have been desperately trying to leave, but no reporter has been able to leave.  However, the relatives of the government ministers have been fleeing the country, suggesting that an attack is imminent.

“Our prayers go with the reporters and civilians in Russia, as they prepare to face nemesis,” she concluded.  “May God have mercy on us all.”

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
25th June 2009 (Time Line A)

The air scrubbers had worked hard, but there was still a faint smell of burning as Cozort called a general conference.  The starship was battered, damaged beyond anything they’d ever expected to deal with, but they’d survived.  A testament to the institutional paranoia of the USSF.

We never expected that they’d find a new use for our technology, Cozort thought coldly.  Post-battle analysis of the sensor recordings had confirmed that Native-designed Power Cells had powered the super-laser; exactly what had destroyed the Grissom was unconfirmed, but Cozort suspected the same.  If they’d managed to slip a nuke past our sensors, we’d be space dust now.

He thought grimly of Roberta.  His wife, despite being slightly wounded herself, had flung herself into the rescue effort.  Crewmembers who would have died owed her and Doctor Romeo their lives; others had passed beyond all help.  I’m sorry, he thought, I hoped that I could look after you.  He remembered their brief kiss, before catching five uncomfortable hours sleep.

“Captain?”  Taylor asked gently.  Cozort jumped slightly; he’d been lost in his thoughts for too long.

“Sorry,” he said softly.  “Jill, how much damage did we take?”

“A lot,” Stirling said grimly.  “The entire lower prow is damaged; seven decks are open to space.  Fortunately, the laser beam did not interfere with the stasis chambers, or the death toll would be higher.”  She winced.  “Even more fortunately, the laser failed to punch through the armour into the secondary hull, or the shuttles would have been destroyed.

“With a few more hours work, I can give you a stable ship again,” she continued.  “However, it really needs a shipyard to get the Enterprise truly spaceworthy again.  In fact, we might want to evacuate some of the crew to the lunar base or Armstrong; many of the living quarters were destroyed.”

“Commander, please make the arrangements,” Cozort ordered.  “Doctor?”

“The death toll is now three hundred and one,” Romero said.  Cozort cursed and wondered at any USSF captain, anywhere, had ever lost so many of their crew in one attack.  “Seventy-two cases of severe laser burn have been placed in stasis; we’ll regenerate them over the next two weeks.  Fortunately, I think we’ve managed to catch up with all the serious injuries.”

“Thank you,” Cozort said, and meant it.  “Tactical?”

“Ensign Sanchez – that traitor – and Commander Wachter are both dead,” Terns said.  “The last few seconds of telemetry from their shuttles confirms a mid-air collision.  No amount of enhancement could save someone from that kind of blast.”

Cozort closed his eyes in mourning.  They’d hold a proper ceremony for the dead later, but he felt each and every death, even Sanchez’s.  “What about our position?”

“Since the Stillwell took out the space station, we’ve not been attacked,” Terns reported.  “We destroyed a number of suspicious-looking Russian satellites, but I don’t think they can hit us at this range.”

“We’re pulling away from Earth now,” Simpson put in.  “So far, there’s been no sign that they can get this far out from Earth.”

“Good,” Cozort said.  “Now tell me; do we have someone to blame yet?”

“I think it was quite clearly a Russian attack,” Taylor said.  He scowled.  “The news channels down on the planet are screaming about the hijacking of the American shuttle and its use in warfare – there are apparently anti-Russian demonstrations everywhere.  We intercepted a secret message that stated that Captain Chassell was a deep-cover Russian agent from their Cold War.

“Meanwhile, down on the surface, the Russians and their allies have begun preparations to face a nuclear attack – so they’re in no doubt as to who is to blame.”

“Or they think that they’ll be blamed for this,” Cozort said.  “Commander, how do we stand on weapons?”

“The Hawk is armed and ready,” Taylor said.  “We also have the Stillwell, and we can call back the other three tenders if we have to.”

“Start preparing an attack on Russia and its allies,” Cozort ordered.  “I need to talk to Rollins – I’ve been ignoring his calls and I bet he’s feeling frantic.  Dismissed!”

***
“Captain,” Rollins said in relief.  “How are you?  How’s the ship?”

“Bruised, battered, but otherwise intact,” Cozort said.  Rollins’ image sighed in relief.  “How’s Armstrong?”

“Nothing important happened,” Rollins said.  “We sealed the place off as soon as we heard that the starship was under attack; no one challenged the defences.  Some very bemused local cops wanted to know what we were doing, but otherwise nothing.”

“Thank God,” Cozort said.  “Listen, I may need to send down about five hundred people,” he continued.

“What on earth for?”  Rollins demanded, feeling the pressure on him rise.  Was it not enough to be assisting with the coordination of a political campaign when the rules were so strange?

“The attack took out many of the cabins and living quarters,” Cozort said.  “Basically, we have people sleeping in places where there’s no real room to sleep.  I need to get all the non-crewmembers somewhere else.”

“Understood,” Rollins said.  “I’ll start making preparations – we should be able to house at least two hundred in the buildings, then we can start erecting tents and other buildings.”  He thought a bit.  “If we abandon the medical school and the technical institute, we could put another hundred in their buildings.”

“Thank you,” Cozort said.  “I’ll send down what combat troops I can spare; sadly several marines were among the dead.  Keep the security precautions – one single nuke would be enough to ruin Armstrong.”

“What about asking the Natives for assistance?”  Rollins asked.

“We will, if we have to,” Cozort said.  “However, I’m not sure I entirely trust them any longer, so we limit what we do with them.”

“Yes, Captain,” Rollins said.  “One other thing; President Jackson wants to talk to you.”

“I imagine she does,” Cozort said.  “I’ll call her tonight.”

“Take care, captain,” Rollins said.  “How is Roberta?”

“She’s fine,” Cozort assured him.  “She’s been helping with the wounded.”

The White House
Washington, USA
25th June 2009 (Time Line A)

President Jackson was feeling frustrated.  For once, a call from the most powerful person in the world – unless, perhaps, one counted Cozort – was ignored by almost all the players in the current drama.  Lapotin, Tao, Homchoudhury and even Cozort had ignored her calls – Rollins had been the only one to talk to her and he’d been unable to offer much in the way of reassurance.  She looked around the White House bunker – the plasma blast from the rogue Alternative craft had smashed the Oval Office along with Jake Darcy, her old friend.

“Madam President, this secured email just arrived for you,” Marlene said.  “It’s from Pope.”

Jackson blinked.  Pope’s death by suicide – at least it looked like suicide – had stunned almost everyone.  “Decrypt it and put it on my screen,” she ordered, and picked up her cup of coffee.  She read the first line and choked.

“Madam President?  Are you all right?”  Marlene asked in alarm.

“Yes, thank you,” Jackson said.  She wiped the screen clean and started to read again.  She swore softly – it detailed nothing less than a NSA conspiracy to aid the Russians in the attack on the Alternative starship.  Pope’s writing – and here it became almost frantic, so unlike the poor man – was detailed on the threat that the Alternatives posed, simply by being anywhere near the Native America.

“Call General Campbell,” Jackson ordered, as soon as she’d finished.  Campbell was working in the tactical room two doors down, so she was certain that he would be by her side quickly.  Indeed, he reached her office in fifty seconds.

“Read this,” Jackson said, and watched as he read it.  Campbell’s face blanched, then turned white.  “What was he thinking?”  She demanded.

“I don’t know,” Campbell said.  “He names some names – all NSA.”

“We have to cover this up,” Jackson said sharply.  “If the public learnt that a NSA director turned traitor, any confidence in the organisation would be lost forever.”

“There is a more important problem,” Campbell said, regaining his balance.  “We have to prevent the Alternatives from learning about our involvement.”

“We weren’t involved,” Jackson said, only partly correctly.

“Neither was ninety percent of the population of Riyadh,” Campbell pointed out.  “This has to be buried.”

“Call McDowell,” Jackson ordered.  “Have the FBI round up everyone on this list, quickly!  If Cozort demands their heads, we’ll have to give them to him.”

“Yes, Madam President,” Campbell said.

“Madam President,” Marlene said, “Captain Cozort would like to talk to you.”

“Speak of the devil,” Jackson said.  “Warren, see to the arrests, I’ll take this call privately.”
***
“Good evening, Captain Cozort,” Jackson said.  “How bad was it?”

“Three hundred of my crew are dead,” Cozort said flatly.  “The Russians hijacked your shuttle.”

“We know,” Jackson said, lying.  “Tell me, what are you going to do now?”

“The Russians will be punished for their crimes,” Cozort said coldly.  His voice promised fire and death and suffering.  Jackson shuddered.

“No,” she said.  “First, we need to talk.”

“We are talking,” Cozort said.

“No, I mean face-to-face,” Jackson said.  “Please would you come to Camp David first?  We have matters to discuss.”

Cozort hesitated.  “What is there to discuss?”

“A lot,” Jackson said.  “Will you come?”

“Yes, on the 27th,” Cozort said finally, and broke the connection.  Jackson let out a breath she hadn’t known that she was holding.  Now, deep inside, she knew what she had to do.

“The stakes keep getting higher and higher,” she said to herself.  “If we survive this crisis, I am not standing for re-election; let a black man try and make the party leadership’s point.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Truth

The Kremlin
Moscow, Russia
27th June 2009 (Time Line A)

There was silence.  Lapotin checked his desk every day, but there was nothing from the Alternative ship.  Since the Alternatives had started destroying Russian satellites, he’d ordered the space program director to keep Russian spy satellites away from the Alternatives; they were being targeted before they could send back anything useful.  All he knew was from CNN and the ground-based radar – the starship had survived.

Lapotin would have cursed if he’d felt it meant anything.  If the starship survived, Mother Russia’s destruction was certain.  The Americans, having managed to shift the blame onto his people, would be likely to escape destruction.  Russia – and perhaps China and India – would not be so lucky.

He’d given orders to prevent the headlong flight of western reporters – most of whom had not expected a war zone when they’d travelled to Russia – in hopes that they would serve as human shields.  Even if the Alternatives killed them anyway, it would hardly matter; he hated reporters.  Always prying into things that were no concern of the West, like the brutal methods that crushed Chechnya and now Iran.

And the starship was just hovering there.  Lapotin almost wished for a nuclear strike, just to end the tension.  Russia was at a standstill – despite attempts to control the intrusion of western media, enough people had radios and satellite dishes to let them learn what was going on in the outside world.  Panic, rioting and chaos had already gripped Moscow and Volgograd, until he’d sent in the army.  The number of people trying to flee the country had skyrocketed.

“What the hell do we do now?”  He asked the empty air.  Not surprisingly, it did not reply.  For the first time since the Mongols, a Russian leader knew what it felt like for his country to fall prostrate before an outside foe.  A person almost incapable of empathy, Lapotin understood for the first time that the weak must often feel ashamed.

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
27th June 2009 (Time Line A)

“Captain, permission to speak freely?”  Taylor asked, following Cozort into his office.

Cozort blinked.  He’d always felt that he ran a very informal ship – certainly he was no martinet.  “Always,” he said finally.

“Going down to this Presidential Retreat is unwise,” Taylor said bluntly.  “Sir, we need you; if you go to the surface you might be attacked.”

“What harm could happen to me down there?”  Cozort asked.  “The President herself has guaranteed my safety.”

“We were attacked in orbit,” Taylor said grimly.  “We thought that that was impossible.  Sir, to be honest, I’m not convinced that the United States here is an innocent dupe in the attack.”

Cozort gaped at him.  “What else could they be?”

“A co-belligerent?”  Taylor suggested.  “Given Rollins” – and mine – “new presence in their politics, some of them will see us as a threat.  These are not our people, sir.”

“I hope that you’re wrong,” Cozort said.  “Look at how some of them reacted to Sergeant Revel’s action in New York.”

“Look how many more claimed that Revel should be put on trial,” Taylor pointed out.  “These people may look like us, talk like us, but they’re not Americans.”

“Not our kind of Americans,” Cozort said coldly.  “Commander, I have to see what the President wants – that’s common politeness.  I’ll take Sergeant Revel and a personal protection detail.”

Taylor frowned.  “Take care of yourself,” he said.

“Have you prepared the attack plan for Russia?”  Cozort asked.

“Yes,” Taylor said.  “Seventeen major cities, all their military installations, and then carry the offensive into the territory of their allies.  We’ll destroy enough of China and India’s industry to knock them back a long way.  A pity that we don’t have enough weapons to repeat the Hot War, but we could always go find a nice large asteroid.”

Cozort shook his head.  “I think we’ll go with the first plan,” he said.  “We’ll move as soon as I get back.  Now, I need to go board the shuttle.”

Taylor watched him go.  “Good luck, Captain,” he said softly.

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, USA
27th June 2009 (Time Line A)

“Tension is continuing to rise across Russia and China,” Langdon said.  “Reports have been transmitted of riots and desperate fighting across Russia, but so far the military appears to have maintained discipline.  A tide of rich refugees has been flowing out to Spain and France – poorer citizens are trying to flee into Belarus and the Ukraine.  The Government of Belarus has declared – re-declared, I should say – its independence from Russia, expelling the Russian ‘advisors’.

“Taiwan, taking advantage of China’s paralysis, is moving towards a declaration of independence,” she continued.  “The Taiwanese Government is convinced that China is about to be attacked by the Alternatives and fears – perhaps rightly – that the Alternatives will consider Taiwan to be part of China.  The Government of China has threatened certain unspecified extreme measures if Taiwan breaks away.

“The brutal civil war in Indonesia and the Philippines may be coming to a half,” she said.  A picture of a fleet of refugee boats appeared.  “In a coordinated operation, members of the Australian SAS, backed up by the British SBS, captured ‘General’ Dokana, the leader of the insurgent force.  The new leader of the organisation, now styled the ‘Islamic Jihad for Peace and Freedom’ – their fourth name change since appearing on the stage – has indicated his willingness to talk with his opponents.  This hopeful sign, however, does nothing to migrate the sufferings of the millions of refugees.

“The aircraft carrier USS Enterprise, under the command of Captain William Wagner, has been aiding in refugee support efforts.  However, the UN has demanded that all efforts be coordinated through its international system, causing considerable confusion.  The Australian Prime Minister has refused to cooperate – citing UN incompetence with the damage five years ago.  Australia has also refused to allow refugee camps on its soil – there have been several incidents where Australian ships have sunk refugee ships that were trying to land.

“On national news, Republican Senator Tam Mountjoy of Alabama announced his conversion to the Independent America Party.  That gives the IAP a total of seventeen senators and fifteen congressmen.  The Democratic Party is reported to be seeking legal advice as the party split only gets bigger – several Democratic right-wingers have been known to be seeking out the Independent America Party.”

***
“None of this is news,” Langdon said, after the broadcast was finished.  “It’s just, well, filler.”

“Filler?”  Zapata enquired.  “You don’t think that the Russian position – sitting under the sword of Damocles – is newsworthy?  When was the last time we had a picture of how people acted under such pressure?”

Langdon banged the table.  “This is not a game,” she snapped.  “People are going to die, lots of people, people who had nothing whatsoever to do with the decision to attack the Alternative starship!”

“This is news,” Zapata said.  “Look, what can we do about it?  Broadcast messages of peace and love to the Alternatives?  People have been doing that ever since the finger was pointed at Russia – there’s been no response at all.  Some nutcase was even arrested in Japan for suggesting that Tokyo should offer itself as an alternative sacrifice.”

“But something is happening somewhere,” Langdon said.  “Someone out there is changing things – and I don’t know what.”

“You are a presenter and interviewer, not a reporter,” Zapata pointed out.  “The reporters will bring the news to you, when it comes.”

“The people have a right to know what’s happening out there,” Langdon said.

Zapata shrugged.  “Sometimes they’re better off not knowing,” she said.

Camp David
Maryland, USA
27th June 2009 (Time Line A)

Jackson watched as the shuttle fell out of the night sky, to hover precisely a metre above the ground, before finally gently touching the ground.  She tried to smile in welcome, but it was hard.  The shuttle’s hatch opened and three men stepped out – she heard an indrawn breath from her secret service protectors.

The secret service, which had nearly been driven to a collective heart attack by the places that their President had insisted on visiting recently, had been relieved for her to ‘only’ visit Camp David.  They weren’t so happy about Cozort’s own personal protection detail – they knew about Sergeant Revel’s enhancements and doubted their own ability to stop him if necessary.  Quietly, they called for extra backup; armed with anti-tank weapons.

“Captain Cozort,” Jackson said, greeting Cozort.  She was shocked by his appearance; he looked as neat as ever, but she could see stress in his eyes.  “How are you?”

“I’m alive,” Cozort said.  “Many of my crew are not.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson said, and meant it.  Her maternal instincts activated.  “Come on, out of the cold.”

Cozort followed her into the Presidential sitting room, waving at his guards to take up positions outside the room.  There was a small cup of coffee placed on the table; another empty one standing next to it.  Jackson picked up a jug and poured a small cup.

“Thank you,” Cozort said, as she passed it to him.  He sipped gratefully.  “Why did you want to talk to me?”

Jackson nodded slowly.  She was in no hurry to begin the most important negotiation in the history of America.  “What are your intentions towards Russia?”  She asked.

“We plan to punish them for their attack upon us,” Cozort said.

Jackson frowned.  “How do you plan to punish them?”

“We will smash their military and many of their cities,” Cozort said coldly.  

“Why?”  Jackson demanded in horror.  This was what she’d expected, but it was till shocking.  “You’ll kill millions of innocents.”

“Innocents?  A people always have the right of rebellion,” Cozort said.  “If they chose to live under a government that launched a treacherous attack…”

“It’s not that easy to rebel and you know it,” Jackson snapped.  “The Russians have always faced a government with an extremely capable security service and a powerful army.”

“There’s always non-compliance with the bastards,” Cozort said.

Jackson fought down her anger and fear.  “Why don’t you just destroy their governments?”

“You can’t do that without wrecking the entire system,” Cozort said.  “Tell me, how long did it take sanctions and random bombing to bring down Saddam?”

Jackson nodded.  “Ten years of trying never succeeded,” she said.  “It took an invasion to remove the bastard.”

“The thing about you people,” Cozort said, “you Americans, is that you don’t realise just how nasty a place the world really is.  You waste time worrying endlessly about silly matters, or nuisance lawsuits, while the world is threatened.”

“You’re the people who destroyed an entire nation,” Jackson said.

“Let me get this straight,” Cozort said.  “You – the American government – funded these barbarians and let them spread hatred and malice over the globe.  When one of their enemies decided – very logically – to target you, you saw what barbarians they were, but you did nothing about them.  You let them take control of global terror merely to save their miserable necks, not even out of hatred– and you did nothing!

“Problems do not go away simply by ignoring them,” he continued.  “If you’d nipped it in the bud, you’d never have lost so many lives at 9/11 or Atlanta.  You can have global empire or you can have isolation – you can’t have a half-assed combination of the two.”

“Are you still going to try to destroy Russia?”  Jackson asked.

“There is no try,” Cozort said, making Jackson grin despite herself.  “We will succeed.”

“You will not kill millions of people,” Jackson snapped.  “I will not stand by and watch Americans commit mass-murder!”

“Why should we stop?”  Cozort snapped.  “We know the guilty parties, we must punish them!”

“No,” Jackson sighed, “you don’t.  It was a joint effort, you see.”  Cozort stared at her unflinching gaze.  Jackson took a deep breath and began.  “The shuttle was not hijacked,” she said, “nor was there a Russian agent in the SSTO.  Some elements of American society wanted you gone.”

Cozort gaped.  “Why?”

“You people are a disruption,” Jackson said.  Having gotten past the first words, the first truth, she found it easier to speak.  “We have an international system that, I suspect, is far more complex than yours.  Thousands upon thousands of lives are threatened by the global system – the one that America created.”

“The one that’s breaking down,” Cozort said, his voice slightly shaky.  “We offered you hope of escape!”

“Some of us believe that the only way to win the ongoing way is to drain the swamp by introducing democratic ideals into the Middle East and the rest of the world,” Jackson said.  “Your technology would have made people less interested in the Middle East – perhaps allowing Russia to overwhelm it.”

“Control of space would let you defeat the Russians with ease,” Cozort said.  His voice shivered.  “We were attacked by Americans?”

“Yes,” Jackson said.  “Captain – Dale – you people are too different.  You appeal to the darkest parts of the American soul, not to the one we have been trying to build.”  She reached out and squeezed his hand.  “I’m sorry, Dale, but you people don’t belong here.”

***
Travis was right, Cozort thought glumly, through the mental haze.  We were attacked by our … cousins.  She’s right; they’re nothing like us.  He looked up at her.  “What happened to the people who planned this attack?”

“Pope himself is dead, suicide,” Jackson said.  “You may have the others, if you wish.”

“We have to do something to the Russians,” Cozort said.  “Perhaps a single city…?”

“Will you also smash Atlanta, or New York?”  Jackson asked.

Cozort shook his head, feeling all the weight and responsibility of a USSF captain falling on his shoulders.  “I rather wish I’d taken that offer of a Governorship,” he said softly.  “Someone else, Weber or Chalker, perhaps, would have been offered the command of Enterprise.  Or perhaps, we might have made it to Terra Nova – I could have been happy there.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson said, and he knew that she meant it.  “What are you going to do?”

“That, I think, will have to be discussed with my officers,” Cozort said.  “I trust that you will not object if we smash the Russian military and their space installations?”

Jackson knew when to back off.  “No,” she said.  “We would not.”

Cozort stepped out of the room towards the shuttle, his protective detail falling in as he walked.  He stopped at stared at the night sky as they walked out of the lodge; it was bright and clear.  “You never quite realise how beautiful the stars are when you live in space,” he said.  “Good night, Madam President.”

“Good night, Captain,” Jackson said, and he stepped onboard the shuttle.  As soon as it had lifted off, Cozort lifted his wristcom to his mouth.  “Governor, please meet us on board the Enterprise in three hours.”

“Yes, Captain,” Rollins said.

USS Enterprise
Earth Orbit
27th June 2009 (Time Line A)

It was almost the end of the starship’s day, insofar as such a term could have meaning in space, but Cozort knew that there was no time for sleep.  Roberta, Rollins and Taylor sat at the table; he paced around the room.  They listened carefully as he laid out the entire situation – the American support of their attackers, to the fact that their presence was hurting people.  Then there was a long silence.

“They … our … the native government did this?”  Rollins said.  “They feared us so much?”

“It makes sense,” Taylor said.  Alone of the three, he was unsurprised.  “We are people from an America that is – was – will be – far more powerful than them.  They must fear the prospect of people seeing our power – the Enterprise alone is far beyond their capabilities – and rushing to become like us.  We’re competition, as far as they are concerned.”

“But we only wanted to help them,” Rollins protested.  “We helped them fix many of their problems, like the Power Cells to cure their dependency on oil.”

“Their global system depended upon that dependency,” Roberta commented.  Her eyes followed Cozort worriedly.  “It kept their economies ticking over; even now many world nations still need gallons upon gallons of oil.  Japan, China, even states that were part of the United States back home, all depend upon oil.

“And we expose their political posturing for the lies that they are,” she continued, on firmer ground.  “We have no truck with claims that crime is the fault of the victim – Sergeant Revel made that quite clear for them.  One of their major political parties is very fond of the claim that criminals are nice people who need care and support; we expose that for a lie.  The other wants far more American involvement in the world, something that we see as unnecessary and we have the tools to make it happen.

“And one of the parties wants to exploit the depraved condition of many ethnic groups and black Americans for votes, instead of tackling the real problem.  The other wants to cut any aid to the bare bone; trying to move money around instead of building something permanent.  I mean; would we tolerate a subculture existing beside our own, in our own land?”

She shrugged.  “It’s stereotypical, of course, but the two parties have to act against us, or they will lose their power permanently.  President Jackson may or may not be the dupe that she claimed to be…”

“If she was a dupe, then she’s incompetent,” Taylor injected.

“But her own party moved against us – for they had no choice!  Sooner or later, our nature as Americans is going to clash against their nature as Americans!”

“So what do we do about it?”  Cozort asked.  “We can’t just sit here in orbit.”

“We take over,” Taylor suggested.  “We have the firepower to make resistance hopeless.  Remove Jackson, remove the leadership of both parties and start issuing orders.  With our firepower, the rest of the world would be unable to interfere.  Brennen and the people like him can help us push technological integration forward as fast as possible – putting this United States permanently in space – and we can ensure that no other nation would pose a threat.”

“And how many of the Native military would die in the coup attempt?”  Roberta asked.  “Let’s not lie to ourselves – we’re talking about a coup d’etat.  American politics – even these Americans – don’t work that way; we had a civil war but it was not a military uprising.  Indeed, let us remember that quite a number of southern-born regulars stood by the President in the face of intense social pressure.”

“Not that many,” Taylor said slowly.

“Too many,” Rollins said.  “They tried to stop Sanchez; they would try to stop us.  We would be killing them by the thousands, but they would still try – hell, we would!  Captain, I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s only one thing we can do,” Cozort said.  “Commander, draw up a bombardment plan for Russia and its allies – I want their military and nuclear capabilities smashed beyond repair, then target their space facilities, and finally their government facilities.  Governor, you and I have some planning to do.”

“Yes, Captain,” Taylor said.  He watched as they left the room.  “I wish we’d never come to this place,” he said to himself.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Endgame

The Kremlin Bunker
Moscow, Russia
28th June 2009 (Time Line A)

The attack began precisely at dawn.  Small kinetic bombs, projectiles dropped from the tender hovering high overhead, fell on military bases, smashing them beyond easy repair.  The commanders of the bases had taken some precautions, such as billeting their men in the nearby towns, so the death rate was lower than expected, but it was still bad.  The loss of the air force bases and the naval ships was worse – and the destruction of most of Russia’s remaining nuclear arsenal was the worst, almost disastrous.

Some parts of the air force attempted to fight, but the shuttle Hawk cut through them like they were nothing, before moving over to China and then India.  Iran, with most of the Russian forces destroyed or scattered, rose in revolt.  Russian commanders attempted to use the most brutal methods, only to discover that their entire chain of command was in ruins.  By the time the commanding general knew what he had left, kinetic bombs were already screaming down onto his location – it was death to use a radio transmitter.

Mercifully, there were few civilian casualties.  Millions of people had fled the big cities, but the only attacks directed into a city were small kinetic bombs targeting police centres and government buildings.  The Government of Russia was damaged, badly, but it would survive.  Lapotin emerged from his silence long enough to declare martial law across Russia and order the army to squash rioters, looters and common criminals.

Then he returned to the bunker deep underneath the Kremlin.  It was a new addition to the building, which was his only reason why it had not been destroyed.  Certainly the bunkers underneath the space centres and the missile silos had been torn open and destroyed by strange missiles from orbit.  The Chinese Navy, which had sailed when Taiwan finally declared independence, had been sunk without ever catching sight of its enemy.

They must be running out of missiles by now, he thought, irrelevantly, and then there was an explosion.  Quick as a flash, he ducked under his desk, then his thoughts caught up with him.  That wasn’t one of their bunker-busters, he thought, that was…

Running feet came pounding along the corridor and his door was kicked open.  “Hands up,” roared the man who charged in; holding an assault rifle in each hand.  Lapotin climbed unsteadily to his feet and held up his arms; a second man patted him down, removing a knife and a small revolver from his jacket.

“Ah, Mr President,” an old voice said.  Lapotin glanced up at the old benign face of Fedya Molotin, Foreign minister.  Behind him stood Tolya Kirpichin, the Commander of Strategic Weapons.

“What is this?”  He finally managed to ask.  Molotin had always seemed harmless; it was why he’d not removed him long ago.

“This is a coup,” Molotin said.  “A strike designed to remove certain criminal elements within the government.  It took this long to plan with allies in China and India.”

“And then what?”  Lapotin demanded.  “What will you do with me?”

His voice had become a whine; he could feel the contempt of the guards.  “We will hand you over to the Alternatives,” Molotin said.  “They can have you.”

“Go to hell,” Lapotin said.  A guard smacked him on the head with his rifle and he fell into darkness.

USS Enterprise
High Earth Orbit
5th July 2009 (Time Line A)

Caroline Langdon had dared to dream, after her first space shuttle flight, that she might have a chance to visit the International Space Station.  After its destruction, she’d given up on that hope, but she’d been invited to cover the funeral service high above the Earth.

Floating out in space with a group of Alternatives, Langdon felt awe as they formed themselves into a row.  She was very much aware that her control of her spacesuit was limited; she’d nearly gone into a spin once already.  Cozort had offered to let her stay on the shuttle, but she’d insisted on joining the ceremony.  She’d sensed a flicker of pleasure in the captain’s eyes before he’d started making the arrangements.

She rotated slightly, following the others, and saw the first of the coffins floating out of the Enterprise.  She hurriedly plugged in her microphone and started to describe the scene as the coffins floated past.  As they passed Cozort, he started to speak.

“We are gathered here today,” he said, “to bear witness to the lives of those who we lost; to honour them and to understand their journey towards the next world.  Today, we honour Emily Testerman, Natalie Copenhagen, Douglas McAllister…”  Cozort spoke for nearly two hours, ending with; “Jimmy Hemingway and Joshua Wachter.”

She watched as the coffins floated towards the planet, finally falling into the gravity well and plunging through the atmosphere.  “Today, we pass them back into the air of their native world, the place where humanity arose to conquer the stars,” Cozort said.  “In their name, we go on – in their name, we survive to claim the stars.”  She could hear a tear in his voice.  “They were cruelly taken from us, by men who hated us, but we shall remember their sacrifice – we will not forget.”

One by one, the coffins became streaks of light against the earth, then burning up in the atmosphere.  Langdon felt tears running down her eyes as the last one vanished, and then the shuttle came to pick them up.  She hated it when she cried, but she could not help it, for it had been a very emotional scene.

***
An hour later, once the feast had been eaten and many toasts to the dead drunk, Langdon came to Cozort’s office and tapped the door chime.  Upon his invitation, she stepped into the room; it was neat and orderly.  Despite all the great events that had happened in the room, it bore no sign that they ever had; the only decoration was a row of medals – Cozort’s, she presumed.

“Yes,” Cozort said, following her gaze.  “I won that one for saving lives in orbit.”

Langdon nodded.  “You wanted to see me, sir?”  She asked.  The ‘sir’ came naturally when talking to Cozort; he acted like a ‘sir’.  

“Indeed,” Cozort said, looking carefully at her.  “My crewmen and myself have been deciding what we should do, particularly in light of recent events.”

“You did bombard Russia,” Langdon pointed out.  “Do you feel that more is necessary?”

Cozort nodded.  “We do not fit in here,” he said.  “That, I suspect, must be self-evident to you.  We are a profoundly different culture, even to the other Americans – the Native Americans, if you will.”

“I should say so,” Langdon giggled.  Cozort looked at her.  “Never mind, old joke.”

“We cannot return to our home universe,” Cozort said.  “Even without the damage the Russians and their allies” – carefully not mentioning who some of the allies had been – “caused to my starship, it would be impossible to return.  However, we don’t fit in here either.”

“So, what does that leave?”

Cozort smiled sadly.  “Ever heard of the Mayflower?”

“Of course,” Langdon said.  Understanding set in.  “You’re going to travel to another star system?”

“No,” Cozort said.  He ran a hand along the cabin wall.  “My old lady” – indicating Enterprise – “would not survive the trip; not at the slow speed we have left.  Without hyperdrive, a journey to the nearest star would take at least nine years – assuming that nothing went wrong on the journey.

“Instead, we’re going to colonise Titan and Ganymede,” he continued.  “Mars will take at least ten years to develop – perhaps longer depending upon how much help we get from Earth – but then we’ll open it for colonisation.  The very ambiguous response that the Native Americans had to us shows that there will be a lot of immigrants.”

“You plan to colonise two worlds with just your crew?”  Langdon asked.

“You have a better solution?”  Cozort asked.  “One possibility that was discussed was taking over your nation – would you have enjoyed that?”

“No,” Langdon said, once she’d recovered her ability to speak.  “I don’t.  When are you going to announce your decision?”

Cozort smiled.  “I thought that you’d like to know first; another scoop for your network.  You make the announcement – we’ll confirm it afterwards.”

“Thank you,” Langdon said.  “Thank you for the scoop.”

Armstrong Field
Nevada, USA
10th July 2009 (Time Line A)

When the Alternatives began something, they did not mess about with bureaucratic nonsense.  Within an hour of the decision to move to Titan, half of the assembled city had been torn down and prepared for transport back into orbit.  The remainder of the city, the school and technical college, had been left for AltTech to use as they saw fit.  Stuart had been permitted to remain behind on Earth to wrap the final issues up.

“You people move fast, don’t you?”  Campbell asked.

“We try,” Stuart said.  “The battle goes to the quick and well-prepared.”

Campbell, who would have been astonished if Stuart had ever seen a battlefield, shrugged.  “You wanted to talk to an emissary of the President?”

“Yes,” Stuart said.  “I’m due to remain behind on Earth, just to assist in the integration of some of our technologies into your tech base.  However, Sanchez has left us with a significant problem.”

“Sanchez?”  Campbell inquired.

“He was a Wrecker agent, someone who was inserted into the crew and attacked Washington,” Stuart explained.  “Among his many acts of treason was in giving the Russians a portable technical database – something designed for use in the event of the colony slipping back into barbarism.  The Russians used it to build their new boosters and the weapon they used to attack us.”

“But that still gives them an enormous advantage,” Campbell said in horror.

“Yes,” Stuart agreed.  “Even with the loss of most of their nuclear arsenal, they’re still a powerful nation.  With a guided map to the stars” - he paused to allow Campbell to consider the implications – “they would swiftly become the most powerful nation on Earth.”

“What are you going to do about it?”  Campbell finally asked.

“Us?  Nothing,” Stuart said.  He passed him a small case.  “That’s up to you.”

“This is a tech database?”  Campbell said, hefting the case.  It didn’t seem very heavy.

Stuart nodded.  “Guaranteed to survive fire, flooding and medium-range nuclear blasts,” he said.  “The Russians had no trouble in figuring the system out; you should have none either.”

“Thank you,” Campbell said.

“A word of advice, if you will,” Stuart said.  “This information will not remain exclusive, not now that the Russians are trading all they have to anyone who’ll help them recover from the short war.  I strongly advise you to distribute the information as well.”

“We will,” Campbell said.

“And further, now that democracy seems to have the upper hand in China and Russia, I suggest that you work to make sure that they stay that way,” Stuart continued.  

“That’s odd,” Campbell said.  “You take us to task for meddling, but now you encourage us.”

“We have some interest in you eventually developing a peaceful world,” Stuart said.  “Your only hope to do that is to make the entire world a good place to live – something that you can do with our technology.”

“We’ll try,” Campbell said.  “One last question – will Governor Rollins be running as Hernandez’s running mate?”

“I thought that might come up,” Stuart said.  Rollins, in fact, had anticipated it and given him very clear instructions on what to say.  “Governor Rollins will be far too busy with his role as colony supervisor – probably on Mars – to run in your election.  He wishes Mr Hernandez the very best of luck.”

“Thank you,” Campbell said.  “Will Mr Hernandez receive other Alternative support?”

“I do not believe so,” Stuart said.  “Your politics are not ours – Hernandez might be someone we like, but we will not interfere.”

“I wish you the best,” Campbell said.  “Perhaps I’ll come visit you on Mars.”

“Perhaps,” Stuart agreed.

USS Enterprise
High Earth Orbit
10th July 2009 (Time Line A)

“I want to go with you.”

“Why?”  Cozort asked.  “It seems that you have everything you wanted here.”

“Do I?”  Brennen shrugged.  “Down on earth, many people are already talking about your offer to let people live on Mars, provided they live by your laws.  Captain, many Americans are already moving to places that offer strict tight security; they’ll flock like doves to Mars.”

Cozort frowned.  “Call me Dale,” he said.  “I fail, however, to see the implications.”

“No,” Brennen said.  “As I understand it, your culture is far more homogenous than ours; if you lost a quarter of your population the rest would just continue.  Ours, on the other hand…

“Dale, if you take the most productive part of our economy, there will be a collapse,” he continued.  “Like it or not, we’ve reached a position where not all of our people can work for anything – does Ayn Rand exist in your universe?”

“No,” Cozort said.  The name meant nothing to him.

“No matter,” Brennen said.  “The point is; the situation on Earth is going to get worse and worse.  Fear, hatred and terror are still with us; you burnt out the heart of one source, but there are plenty others.  You might end up with more Americans on Mars and wherever else you go than on America itself, because you can offer security.  I want to go with you.”

“What about your corporation?”  Cozort asked.

“I can run it from Mars,” Brennen said.  “You, at least, won’t try to tax me out of existence – I understand that you have a legal limit on how much a person can be taxed.”  Cozort nodded.  “I can do that until the crash comes – the world is a very unstable place right now, Dale, and you’ve offered a lot of people a chance to get away.”

Cozort studied him over his fingers.  “I believe that we could accommodate you,” he said finally.  “Are you sure that this is what you want to do?”

“Yes,” Brennen said.

“And you have personal reasons as well, right?”  Cozort asked.  Brennen flushed.  “Try not to have a break-up on the colony,” Cozort continued, grinning.  “It’s very close quarters.”

“Thank you,” Brennen said.

“Thank me in five years,” Cozort said darkly.

Camp David
Maryland, USA
15th July 2009 (Time Line A)

The excitement, at least some of it, might be over, but governments and politicians strove to control, or at the very least influence, the outcome of events.  While the White House was still being repaired, Jackson had been moved to Camp David.  It made the perfect place for a secret meeting between world leaders.

“I understand that they are inviting any American who wants to emigrate to go to Mars,” Chancellor Krog said.  Enough had leaked out about the French involvement in the invasion of Iran to ruin that nation’s international standing.  Krog, in his role as the most powerful man in Europe, had removed the French leadership of the EU – Germany was now in the driving seat.  “What about the rest of us?”

Jackson shrugged.  “As I understand it,” she said, “they will accept anyone provided that he or she meets their criteria.  It’s hardly a new form of apartheid.”

“Maybe,” Molotin said.  The new president of Russia seemed older somehow – confrontations between the fascist factions and the democrats were taking their toll.  “I do note that Americans and Britons will do better, simply because they come closer to meeting the conditions without effort.”

“It won’t be a paradise, not at first,” McLachlan – Prime Minister of Britain and perhaps the only other European leader of any consequence – said.  “As the British space agency explained to me, it will take generations before Mars is a garden.”

“I still don’t like it,” Homchoudhury, the only one of Lapotin’s council trio to have kept his office, said.  “They will do as they please up there, and we won’t be able to stop them.”

“Which is why I called you here today,” Jackson said.  She looked around the group; the leaders of the most powerful nations in the world.  America, Britain, Europe, Japan, Russia, China, Israel, India, Australia and South Africa – all were represented here.  The others would be told later; this was the important meeting.

“We are the most powerful people in the world,” she said.  “Compared to the power of the Alternatives, we are at their mercy.”  She paused to gage reactions.  “Nor are the Alternatives the only possible threat,” she continued.  “If the history of their space exploration efforts is mirrored here, we will end up with a number of independence seekers in space and serious difficulties in enforcing our will.  I submit to you that that is unacceptable.

“We can also be honest here, with ourselves,” she said, watching them carefully.  “The United Nations is a corrupt institution, worthless for anything important – there’s not a one of us who has not ignored them when we felt that it suited us to do so.  However, we need a central authority, at least for dealings with the Alternatives.  We must create such an authority.”

“Are you suggesting the creation of a world government?”  Homchoudhury said finally.

“In a manner of speaking,” Jackson said.  “A supra-national organisation, one that will serve us all and control space affairs.  Not, I wish to make clear, a place for the poorer nations to dictate to us, but a practical organisation that serves our ends.”  She smiled.  “To show how seriously the American government takes this need, I am prepared to offer major economic benefits to the nations that join us on this project.”

***
The argument went on for several days, until finally Jackson emerged with a draft treaty.  The bargaining had been hard, until they’d conceded the principle of no interference in each other’s internal affairs.  The case of Palestine and Kashmir, no matter how annoying and tempting for meddling, would remain Israel and India’s concern.  Agreeing on a multi-national force to provide security for Iran while the Iranians put their country back together had been easier – Germany and Japan would provide the troops.

The final issue had been on what the group was to be called.  After much more argument, they’d finally settled on something simple; G10.  It would excite the conspiracy theorists, but at least it honoured no one.

USS Enterprise
High Earth Orbit
30th July 2009 (Time Line A)

“The starship is now activating its main drive fields,” Langdon reported.  The camera’s mounted on the SSTO floating nearby would provide a picture for the millions of viewers.  On the display, a faint shimmering could be seen, and then the massive starship began to rotate.

“We’re now moving fast enough to leave Earth entirely,” Langdon said.  “This, I am assured, is a fairly slow speed by their standards at sublight velocities, let alone the hyperspace speeds.”  The image showed Enterprise slowly fading into the distance, escorted by two of its tenders.  “I have chosen to go with them,” she said, “to send you reports of what is happening on Ganymede and Titan.  Look for my transmissions, people, and enjoy them.”

Enterprise, her hull now shimmering with eerie light, rolled over and started to pick up speed sharply.  At this speed, it would only take them a day to reach their new home.  Langdon shut off the speaker, turned to Taylor, and smiled.  “What happens now?”  She said.

Taylor grinned.  “I dare say we could think of something.  Mr Brennen?”

“Perhaps a game of Risk,” Brennen said.  “It will teach you a game that’s not chess.”

“Ah, you’re just mad because I beat you seven to none,” Taylor said cheerfully.  “Enjoy the break while you can – once we get to Ganymede and Titan, we’ll have to work like mad minks.”

***
Towards the rear of the mighty starship, two figures stood together in an observation blister.  As Earth fell away behind them, they held each other tightly; their arms held around each other.

Roberta sighed.  “It’s a strange world we’re leaving,” she said.

“I know,” Cozort said.  “It will be a pain, trying to convince a lot of people who thought that they were going to be farmers to work on Ganymede and Titan instead, but many of them will enjoy the challenge.”

Roberta giggled.  “The remaining sleepers are not going to believe us,” she said.

“I think they will,” Cozort said.  He smiled; “they might insist on a truth-testing, but they’ll believe us.”

“I wonder what they’re doing down there,” Roberta said.  “How will they change, now that they know about us?”

“Does it matter?”  Cozort asked.  “The important question is how our future will develop.”

Roberta leaned up for a kiss.  “Dale,” she whispered, “do you want a child?”

Epilogue – Five Years On

Stirling City
Ganymede
23rd March 2014 (Time line A)

“You may come in now,” Romeo said cheerfully, so Cozort stepped into the private medical room.  Roberta was lying on the bed, covered with a sheet, holding something in her arms.  She held it out to him and he felt weak at the knees,

“She’s beautiful,” he said.  He took his baby girl in his arms.  “How do I hold her?”

“Gently,” Romeo said firmly.  “She’s a healthy child; I’ve already injected her with her first nanological helpers.  She’ll be a credit to you, I think.”

“Thank you,” Cozort said.

“What are you going to name her?”  Romeo asked.

“Felicity,” Roberta said.  “After the president.”

They remembered.  Felicity Jackson had won re-election in 2012, barely beating Hernandez, but then she had been assassinated by a lone madman.  Cozort had offered what help he could, but the madman remained at large.  He knew that certain people had suggested that there were some reasons for his successful evasion of the law – ones to do with friends in high places.

“A good name,” Romeo said finally.  “It’s nice to have something to do that’s not common; little Felicity is only the fifth child born here.  All the immigrants are healthy, or they get rejected.  The only excitement from there was that riot in Wells City.”

Cozort cursed to himself, remembering.  In 2013, among the immigrants had been a man who’d later sold his daughter to another man – and had been shot for it.  Instead of realising that the man had broken his settlement contract, which included obeying the laws of the Unity State, his fellows had rioted.  Rollins had crushed them with due dispatch and considerable brutality, causing some demands in the G10 for the treaty to be revoked.

Roberta Cozort had not expected the G10 to last, but it had, simply because it was the only alternative to chaos.  The collapse of the UN had come within a month of the announcement of the G10’s existence, as if the world could not support both organisations.  Roberta had watched a steady decline of living conditions below the equator, even as the settlers on Mars and the other Unity worlds rose above one million.  The Moon, a joint province of the G10 – although Roberta did not expect that to last for long – had passed two million people, mainly Americans and Russians.

“Let’s hope it stays peaceful,” Cozort said.  “I was enjoying the peace, myself.”

USS Ronald Regan
Earth Orbit
23rd March 2014

Captain William Wagner, former commander of an aircraft carrier, looked down at the ‘bridge’ of his new command.  It looked like a normal control room, not at all like the bridge of his aircraft carrier – or the Alternative spacecraft.  Still, the Ronald Regan was the most powerful spacecraft build by the world.

Wagner, like many other Americans, had considered emigrating to the Unity worlds, even as the social life of America began to break down slowly.  Instead, the USN had offered him a transfer into the new United States Space Force – and command of one of the first spacecraft to leave the Earth-Moon system.

“Captain, the station has cleared us to depart,” pilot officer Jack Gormley reported.  Wagner nodded; the massive construction in Earth orbit that the G10 space agencies had placed in orbit now controlled Earth space.

“Then fire up the drive field,” he said, “and take us out.”

Regan shuddered, and began to move; generating a drive field that propelled it through normal space.  It was not quite as efficient as the Unity’s drive, but it would do what was necessary – capturing an ice asteroid to supply the orbital construction facilities.  The ongoing war against the Wreckers – the Alternative term having entered common usage - was forcing the government to place more and more industry and power systems in orbit.

At least I don’t live in Europe, Wagner thought.  The German-led EU had put up strong barriers against immigrants; gun battles were common in the streets every day.  Thousands of people – Africans, Asians and Turks – had been unceremoniously dumped in Africa, or the small successor states that had sprung up out of the wreckage of Pakistan and Saudi.  America, at least, was spared that agony.

“Clearing lunar orbit,” Gormley reported.

”Keep her steady,” Wagner said, and they sailed on to the future.

USSFT Sherman
Triton Orbit (Time line A)

The massive moon of Neptune floated beneath them as the tender completed its survey.  Cozort had dispatched the Sherman to investigate an odd report of an artificial energy pulse that the Enterprise had picked up – coming from near Neptune.  

“This is a wild goose chase,” Commander Jacob Sherman snapped, and no one disagreed.  “Here we are, a long way from anywhere, and there’s nothing.”

There was a ping from one of the sensors.  “Commander, we have something,” Lieutenant Tenet said.  

“What?”  Sherman demanded.  “Where?”

“On the surface of Triton,” Tenet said.  “Sir, I’m swinging a drone across now, to take a look.”

Slowly, too slowly to suit Sherman, an image appeared on the screen.  A spacecraft lay, half-buried, on the ice of the cold moon.  “Whose is that?”  He asked.  “Alien?”

“I don’t think so,” Tenet said.  “It’s one of ours.”

“Send a team down on the shuttle,” Sherman said.  He scowled.  “Ridiculous,” he said.  “We’d have known if we’d lost a ship, right?”

“Right,” Tenet agreed.  No ships, shuttles or drones had been reported missing

***
It took the shuttle team thirty minutes to dig enough of the ship out of the ice to identify it.  When he read the report, Sherman almost fainted; the crew had found the nameplate – the part of the hull that carried the name of the spacecraft.  It read, quite simply, USS Pathfinder.

“Impossible,” Sherman breathed.  “How can it have reached here?”

“How did we get here?”  Tenet asked.  Unlike the commander, he was excited by the discovery.  “Sir, this means that there is a link between this universe and ours.”

“Poor bastards,” Sherman said, not listening.  “The Pathfinder was lost seventeen years before we came here.  They must never have known what happened to them, only that they were lost without hope of rescue.  The Pathfinder must have appeared in the gravity well and crashed before any of the crew recovered.”

Tenet shivered and took consolation in one thought.  It could have been a lot worse.

Author’s Note

Larry Niven, one of my favourite authors, was once heard to remark, “We in the writing profession have a technical term for people who believe that the authors believe everything their characters believe.  We call them 'idiots'.  None of my best friends are idiots.”

I don’t agree with all the solutions as practiced by Cozort and the Alternatives.  Certainly, action must be taken to reduce the level of tension in the Middle East, and to reduce the devastating burden of Third World debt.  As Jackson concludes, American withdrawal is not the answer.  Wishful thinking will not make the problem go away; nor will random nuking.  President Bush’s strategy, introduce democracy slowly, is the right one.  The only question, however, is that it may be too late…

I am obviously no fan of President Clinton.  Suffice it to say that he was a failure as President – simply because he missed countless opportunities to save the world from the horrors of 9/11.  Amusing as the details of his relations with interns were, they provided a distraction from world affairs.  The slow slip towards Fascism of Russia, China’s bludgeoning confidence, Europe’s disengagement from America, Pakistan’s military government, and the rise of the Taliban … all could have been averted by a President who understood what he was doing.  He was a professional politician, who understood that grasping the nettle could be fatal to his career, but he failed to grasp that failing to grasp (hah) the nettle could be worse for the country in the long run.

For those of you who are interested in my sources for future predictions, the first place to look would be Global Disorder (Robert Harvey).  This book gives a clear overview of the growing trends in world politics.  For Saudi Arabian information, Harvey’s book is also good, but I would recommend Sleeping with the Devil (Robert Baer) and The rise, corruption and coming fall of the house of Saud (Said K. Aburish).  Other helpful books were The Iraq War (John Keegan), The March Up: Taking Baghdad with the 1st Marine Division (Ray Smith, Bing West), The Iraq War: A Military History (Williamson Murray, Robert H. Scales) and Allies: The US, Britain, Europe and the War in Iraq (William Shawcross).  Mead’s theory on America’s place in the world and the ‘heaven/hell’ parties are in his book; Power, Terror, Peace and War.

As always, I welcome comments and discussion.  For the record, this book took just over a month to write.

Christopher G. Nuttall
Edinburgh, 2005

Appendix One - Dark America (Time Line B)

Note:  The original concept of Dark America (http://www.changingthetimes.co.uk/samples/ww2/dark_america.htm) and the Wrecker War (used in the context of the war on terror) was designed by Scott Palter and used here with his permission.  Any changes to the original are my fault, not his.  This timeline merely details events; see the original for the rationale behind them.  

Nov 1940	FDR nominates Truman as Vice President, winning election.  Truman becomes director of the American War Production effort; takes up post as VP when his predecessor resigns early.  
	
Dec 1940	One of Hoover’s enemies within the FBI slips Truman info on Hoover’s sexual habits.  Truman blackmails Hoover into not opposing the formation of the OSS and ISA (Internal Security Agency)

In response to the American War Production program, Adolf Hitler places development of the Reich’s economy in the hands of Speer, and strategic planning in the hands of the general staff.
	
Jan 1941	Germans cajole/blackmail/force Italy and Vichy France to add their economies to Germany’s.  
	
Feb 1941	Rommel promoted to take command of one of the army groups for the invasion of Russia.  Hoth takes control of North African front, concentrates on a holding action after taking Tobruk.  Malta falls to German paratrooper assault.
	
June 1941	Germans attack Russia.  Considerable amounts of Russian military material are gathered up by German-allied armies.  
	
Dec 1941	Japanese attack Pearl Harbour.  The day afterwards, a German submarine sinks an American ship carrying FDR.  Truman becomes president amid popular outrage; war declared.

Germany attacks Moscow and is driven back.  Soviet regiments bled out in the bitter winter fighting.
	
Jan 1942	Macarthur and other American commanders ordered into redoubts.  American fleet prevents Japanese from taking Wake Island.  Japanese decide to solidify their defensive perimeter after the Battle of the Coral Sea turns into a draw.  Singapore falls, but Japanese do not pursue British troops in Burma.

On the advice of General Stillwell, America abandons China following the nationalists’ refusal to build a proper army.
	
Feb 1942	Americans begin build-up in Australia.  British begin similar build-up in Burma.  
	
March 1942	Truman begins national security state in the wake of panic over German infiltrators.  Most restrictions on black participation in combat removed.  KKK, American Communist Party, et all, offered choice between the labour camps or service in the army.
	
April 1942	Manpower Act passed – US will allow immigration of a family if the male members join the armed forces.  General Stillwell becomes director and commanding officer of the Manpower Program.

US begins space program.

Leningrad falls to combined German/Finnish attack.
	
May-Sept 1942	Battle of the Atlantic won as US puts effort into a combined ASW effort.

Britain concedes US strategic dominance in exchange for Lend Lease debts being written off.
	
Dec 1942	Germans push again for Moscow and are beaten back again.  Stalin proclaims intention to ‘liberate’ all of Europe.
	
Feb 1943	Anglo-Americans land in Algeria.  French colonies occupied by US/UK.  Hoth pulled out along with his army, digs in to Italy.  SS sent to keep the Italian government on side.
	
Mar 1943	Discovery of Katyn Forrest increases US/USSR tensions.  US is sending aid, but with no promises on territory or future relations.
	
May – Dec 1943	Axis forces driven back to line Vokolov – Vladi – Bryansk – Vyazma – Kursk – Kharkov – Belogrod – Mius by December.  Russian numbers and equipment quality are slowly beating down a German army starved for reinforcements by fronts in France and Italy.  However, the Allied (Italian, Hungarian, Rumanian) armies are given enough German corset stays plus SS and local fascist police in the rear so they don’t run or dissolve.  They also fight only from entrenched positions with adequate artillery, AT and air support.
	
June 1943	Invasion of Italy.  Brutal stalemate.
	
July 1943	Japanese fleet destroyed by superior US firepower.
	
Sept 1943	Americans begin bloody re-conquest of Pacific islands.  Manpower battalions bled heavily.
	
Mar 1944	First payload delivered to orbit.
	
May 1944	Invasion of Normandy.  US troops push Rommel back towards Germany.  
	
June 1944	Germans retreat from most of France, destroying as much as possible as they go.
	
Sept 1944	Finland switches sides.

US launches first recon satellite.  
	
March 1945	Soviets push into Poland.

US (with declining UK support) pushes across the Rhine.

First (American) man in space.
	
May 1945	Japanese move as much as possible from the home islands into Manchuria.  Japanese home islands are starving – millions will die before the war ends.
	
Nov 1945	Germans force a halt due to Russian army problems.  Russians lose thousands of men to disease – German bioweapons suspected.  US refuses to send help, citing fears about infection.
	
March 1946	US strikes remaining German cities with atomic weapons.
	
May 1946	Germany surrenders following military coup led by Rommel.  Japanese home islands surrender to US following the destruction of several cites.  Japanese military in Manchuria and Korea offers alliance with Soviet Union, becomes Japanese Soviet Socialist Republic.  Population of the home islands is at 20% of pre-war level.
	
June 1946	Potsdam Conference.  USSR annexes Eastern Europe.  Mass deportations of Poles to gulags.  US declares that it owns space and atomic weapons, will fire on any installations.
	
July 1946	South Africa begins inviting German refugees from Germany to live in South Africa.  Apartheid regime effectively begins.

US becomes de facto single-party state: Unity Party is the only major political party allowed.  Chairman David Allen codifies the unwritten ‘second constitution’ into the Unity Party’s rules.

US begins resettlement of Japan with war veterans, including nationalised survivors of the Manpower Act; Latinos, Africans, Filipinos, etc.
	
Late 1946	US launches first space station

British Raj in India formally ends in a tide of bloodshed.  Ceylon remains British – ICS personnel and their families flee to the small dominion.
	
1948	Plata War – US takes over Argentina following a nationalist coup.
	
1950	Lunar colony founded

Fusion Power developed.
	
1951	Stirling Bloc founded.  UK, Canada, Australia, South Africa, South Iran, Iraq and New Zealand primary members.  The remains of the British Empire form the rest.

French Communists take over France.  US threatens war if USSR forces move into France.
	
1953	Stalin dies.  Beria takes over, formalises Soviet hold on East Europe, Red China, North Iran and Japanese China.
	
1957	South Iran declares independence from Stirling Bloc.
	
1959	Islamic Civil War begins.
	
1960	South African formal rule reaches as far as the Congo, colonised by Germans, Englishmen and Poles.  Native movements crushed.
	
1965	Mars base.  First asteroid capture mission.  Offworld population: 100000.
	
1970	Colonies on every major solar system body, except Pluto.  Development of commercial space initiative.  
	
1975	A group of hard-liners, led by a young Putin, takes over the USSR.
	
1979	Offworld population: 1000000+
	
1980	Hot War – USSR faction smuggles nukes into several US cities.  US security catches on, destruction of Denver, San Francisco and Manhattan.  USSR destroyed in orbital bombardment.

Japanese China and Red China declare independence.  French communists declare war on UK and get crushed by British nukes.
	
1982	Islamic Civil War ends with Iran dominating the Middle East.
	
1990	British scientists develop the Thornleigh Drive.  War scare between Stirling Bloc and US.  President Stirling brokers Amalgamation Act.  Stirling Bloc states accepted as new US states.  South Africa declares independence from Stirling Bloc.

Mexican Revolution brutally crushed.
	
2019	Construction of first orbital tower completed.

First known Black Colony founded.

Offworld population: 100000000+
	
2020-2040	Wrecker War – US conflict with various freedom fighters across the globe and in space.  US victory.
	
2020	Wreckers bomb Mars with asteroids.
	
2025	Battle of Luna – Wreckers bombard lunar bases.
	
2030	Battle of Ceres – USSF defeats main Wrecker fleet
	
2040	USSF destroys final Wrecker shipyard/industrial base outside Pluto’s orbit.
	
2056	A NEO object comes too close to Earth for comfort – orbital patrol system begun.
	
2070	Third Orbital Tower – Mexico
	
2075	An accident with a Quantum Tap devastates a quarter of Mars, already damaged by the Wrecker attack.  Ban on the use of Quantum Taps anywhere near a large settlement.
	
2078	Hyperdrive invented.  Launch of first experimental hyper ship
	
2081	USS Pathfinder disappears under mysterious circumstances while testing the new hyperdrive.
	
2084	Discovery of the hyper-wall, providing an explanation for USS Pathfinder’s disappearance.
	
2085	Launch of USS Truman – first extra-solar colony established
	
2090	Deep-space monitoring station detects signs that a quantum tap has been active two light years from Earth.  The users of the system remain unknown.
	
2093	America-class starship plans finalised.
	
2095	USSF begins construction of USS Enterprise.
	
2098	Launch of USS Enterprise.

Appendix Two – The Unity Party

The Unity Party is the dominant - indeed the only - political party in the Alternative USA.  It has achieved its position, held since 1949, without major degradation or corruption, which is a remarkable achievement.

It's easiest to think of the Unity Party as a state of mind, rather than something similar to the CPSU.  In general terms, a person who joins the Unity Party must be committed to the party's goals, which boil down to: a) maintaining American supremacy, b) maintaining the tools to do 'a' and c) ensuring that 'a' and 'b' are not neglected.
 
In general terms, the Unity Party manifesto can be described as an alliance between the Republicans and the right wing of the Democratic Party.  It supports a national security state that protects the safely of every American citizen - and watches for potential attack from the few other nations on Earth - as well as defending the personnel freedoms enjoyed by every American.  In an ironic twist, ATL is in fact less racist and more permissive than our own America - the existence of a comprehensive national security state means that almost all 'sin laws' and victimless crimes are no longer enforced.

The Unity Party is committed to the doctrine of 'America-first'.  Specifically, it has supported the expansion into space and the prevention of space access by any other nation.  The only exception to that rule was the British development of the Thornleigh Drive, at which point the Stirling Bloc (UK, CAN, AUST, NZ, SA) was invited to join the USA as states.

It is easy to compare the Unity Party to the neo-conservatives.  That is not accurate - Unity has no oil interests and is far safer against terrorist attacks than OTL.  The Libyan-sponsored bombings in America, once proven as such, drew the nuclear destruction of Tripoli in retaliation.  While Unity will support interventions, it will only do so when it is proven that a clear threat exists to America.  As of 2050ATL, no nation has the ability to threaten America.

Membership in the Unity Party is compulsory for any national-level politician.  It is not a requirement for progression in any other field - many of the space captains and military leaders are not Unity - but it ensures that a degree of continuation is maintained in government.  For example, President Bush would have to be a member, but General Franks would not.  Being in the party carries burdens - including through investigation and total disclosure of a candidate's past - and not everyone wants to do it.
 
Past that point, there are often several candidates for any election, all Unity (or independents - rare).  People vote on personality and degree - not for party.  It's legal to criticize the president, but not the party.
 
It's not that bad a place to live if you're American.  Everywhere else....

Appendix Three – Alternative Popular Culture

Although there is not enough room to describe the full scope of differences between Alternative and Native popular culture, it is possible to make generalised statements.  Unfortunately, many important points need to be glossed over.

In many ways, the Alternative popular culture is radically different from the Native popular culture.  The divisions in American society that exploded during the 1960s were, by and large, healed during WW2, both by the integration of minorities into mainstream society and by the destruction of undesirable elements, such as the KKK.  When WW2 ended; black, white, American-Japanese and the survivors of the Manpower Program shared a fairly united culture.

Consequently, the great flowering of culture during the 1960s never occurred.  Elvis, for example, had a lacklustre career.  The hippie trend never occurred; not with the horror stories about Russian atrocities during the Finish War and their forced resettlement of Poland with Russians after WW2.  Lowering the guard was unthinkable – those few who believed in the workers paradise were offered an all expenses one-way trip there.

Everything changed during the decade after the Amalgamation, when Britain and most of the Stirling Bloc joined the US.  British popular culture became remarkable popular in the period of relaxation following the end of the Hot War and the USSR.  As interest in the origins of the various components of the melting pot increased, Scottish, Irish and English music became popular.  The McCalmans dominated the charts for a long time.  In effect, the British pretty much cornered the market on popular entertainment.  Dr Who, Thunderbirds and the other Andersons existed; Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica and Star Wars never did.  Instead of Luke Skywalker, there was Steve Zodiac and the Doctor.

This led to important culture differences.  The ‘hate the feds’ complex, supported by TV shows such as X-files or Dark Skies, never caught on.  The Unity Party’s development of openness and willingness to severely punish politicians who became corrupt allowed a considerable degree of trust in the government to survive.  The ‘left-wing-social welfare-tax/ban guns’ complex never developed, although there are some limits on weapon ownership in space habitats.  Alternatives are generally more formal than their Native cousins – ‘Mr’ and ‘Mrs’ remain in common use.  It is almost unheard of for a man to refer to someone else’s wife by her first name, unless he and she are very old friends.

A second important difference – perhaps the most important – is that there are no ‘sin laws’.  Homosexuality, adultery, private drunkenness and so forth are not punished or condemned by public authority.  While abortion is banned, the development of freely available contraception prevents most accidental pregnancies.  The Unity Party, ruthlessly pragmatic, understands that teenagers will experiment and promotes the teaching of sexual information and contraceptive methods.

Appendix Four – The Treaty

1) This treaty marks the solemn agreement in perpetuity between the Unity State, hereafter referred to as the 'Unity' and the G10 (US, UK, Europe, Russia, China, Japan, and any others who sign the treaty and comply with its binding articles), hereafter referred to as the ‘G10’.  This treaty shall be binding on all parties without amendment, unless both parties agree to alter the document.

2) The G10 recognises that the Unity holds full and complete control over Mars, Titan, Europa, Ganymede and Unity-settled asteroids.  Under no circumstances will the G10 attempt to settle those locations without permission, extend their governing system to those locations, or claim jurisdiction over settlers, regardless of their origins, ethnic type or any other possible method of differentiating between people.

3) The Unity recognises that the G10 is the dominant super-national grouping on Earth.  The Unity agrees that no trading, diplomatic action, military support or any other form of interaction will be held with any non-treaty power on Earth.  Further, any technology trading/distributing will be left in the hands of the G10.

3.1) The G10 agrees to undertake a policing role to prevent the illegal distribution of Unity technology on Earth.  These matters will be handled by a Joint Commission; all G10 members agree to contribute military forces if necessary for the enforcement of these rules.

3.2) Antimatter production, quantum taps and hyperspace field research are explicitly banned on the surface of Earth or any other inhabited body.  All research must be cleared by the Unity and take place at least five light hours from any inhabited planet/moon/solar body.

3.3) Once all policing actions have been carried out, the Unity must give its approval to the method used and the outcome.  If the Unity is unable, for whatever reason, to approve, the G10 must follow Unity suggestions to improve the outcome.

4) The partners agree that further space activities will be governed by the Unity laws as detailed in Appendix 2.  Specifically, the G10 will place no limits of any kind on space exploitation outside the Earth-Moon region, with the exception of 3.2.

5) The Unity agrees to permit immigration to Mars in principle, subject to the immigrants meeting certain standards as detailed in Appendix 3.  Specifically, these include a willingness to abide by Unity law, an understanding of English and willingness to intermingle/interbreed with the population.

5.1) The Unity makes no guarantees as to the provisions made for cultural and religious beliefs by any immigrants, nor as to their support by the state or non-public body.

5.2) The G10 reserves the right to forbid anyone emigrating from a non-treaty power.  Such objections must be registered within a week of their being accepted.  

6) The Unity makes the following undertakings;

6.1) The Unity will not support in any way political movements derived from the Unity Party.

6.2) The Unity will not interfere with the distribution of technology on Earth derived from Unity technology, nor will they use force to pressure G10 corporations into supporting their systems.

6.3) The Unity will agree to certain limits on the scale and scope of products supplied to Earth, in order that native industries will not be harmed.

Signed on 23rd September 2010 by Felicity Jackson (G10) and Gilbert Rollins (Unity).