ACT I | THE TYRANT'S MALEVOLENCE
CHAPTER III | MARS
MAIN HOLD | ARES ONE
It was a little surreal to think of what was actually happening.
They were getting ready to land on Mars.
Mars.
It wasn't an immediate landing, of course, and in fact the crew hadn't been doing much over the past few days outside of waiting, discussing, and theorizing over what was going to happen next. Many a conversation was held between hovering groups of people, all with their own theory and fear. The conversations were an odd mixture of optimism, excitement, and concern. They were a part of history now, going to places no Human had ever went before, and doing things no Human had done.
But there was the alien. ENIGMA-1.
It made Valentin feel vulnerable. It made all of them feel vulnerable.
It had somehow teleported both ships to Mars in a matter of seconds. Given from the brief discussions he'd had with some of the physicists and scientists aboard, as well as what he'd heard just listening, that was not something that should be possible. 'Magic' was a term thrown around, but only half-jokingly as none of the rank and file – and indeed even some scientists, no matter how much they would deny it - knew what to think of the feats they'd witnessed.
For his part, Valentin was thinking they were dealing with an alien that was somehow even more advanced than he'd thought. In theory, teleportation shouldn't be impossible with sufficiently advanced technology, but this belief was admittedly shaken by the fact that the alien didn't seem to have used any actual technology. He'd watched the feeds several times, and it genuinely looked as if the alien had just willed them to the Martian orbit using whatever that golden aura was.
But he was just a Cosmonaut. These kind of questions were for people way above his pay grade to answer.
At least contact had been established with Earth, who'd told them to initiate the standard protocols. The pilots were taking their time with the next steps. They'd planned for a journey lasting months, so they fortunately weren't going to run out of supplies anytime soon. The first thing they'd done was attempt communications with ENIGMA-1.
Nothing.
Whatever the alien wanted from them, it seemed to want them to go down to the surface. At least the pilots had overflown the spherical alien, and taken thousands of high-quality pictures that the linguists were poring over, and no doubt hundreds more were examining every detail back on Earth.
He'd taken a good look at them himself, and the patterns in the shell did strike him as ritualistic, though as he and Liana had pored over them, neither of them had the faintest clue what they could mean, unqualified as they were. Maybe they didn't mean anything at all, but he was doubtful of that. This alien didn't strike him as the type to do things without reason.
More relevant to him were the pictures taken of the planet itself, specifically for determining landing zones. Commander Calumet was adamant that the landing zones be close enough to the alien that they could feasibly arrive in several hours, but far enough away so there would be some distance. The pictures that had been captured were truly stunning.
Dead red sand and stone had been replaced with orange-yellow vegetation, flowing rivers, and oasis'. Thunderstorms were commonly observed, and dust tornados seemed to be a regular occurrence. Ravines and valleys now broke up the landscape, as even odd Martian trees now grew in fertile soil. At the moment, the Commander was deliberating between a landing zone near one of the oasis', which was in a shallow canyon, or near the top of a plateau which overlooked an open area that led to where the alien was hovering.
Knowing what he did of the Commander, Valentin believed that the initial crew would land in the oasis, and when that base was established, the plateau would come next – and any other additional zones identified. That was the logical path to take, but deployment wouldn't be for hours at least.
He hoped it was sooner than later. Ares One had just launched a first lander towards the planet, along with some weather balloons to gather first atmosphere data. Data that would confirm what the spectrometers and radars aboard Ares One suggested. Suggested - that was the word the scientists used - that indicated this Mars had a breathable, earth-like atmosphere up to an altitude of 12 kilometers above the highland terrain.
Remote sensing had become suspect overnight in the face of what ENIGMA did. The weather balloons would also be responsible for mapping the weather systems of new Mars. Nobody wanted to authorize a manned landing in the face of bad weather with the actual power to smash a lander into the ground.
But the probes wouldn't begin operation until yet more hours had passed. Command would probably want to wait days before giving the all clear. Valentin had heard that the Triumvirate leaders were in constant contact with Ares Command, which was going to take up time giving briefings when it could have gone to preparing for the mission.
Normally, that wouldn't have been a big deal. Valentin was perfectly capable of waiting, and this was a serious and potentially lethal matter. But over the past day, there had been…odd things happening around the ship. Stories the soldiers and crew were telling in low tones, due to the unbelievability and skepticism surrounding it.
One such story he was listening Liana recount now. "I knew I'd never seen him before," she was saying, floating idly in the ship like most of them did now. For his part, Valentin held one of the straps along the wall. He didn't like free-floating without some kind of momentum or anchor. "He was wearing a uniform, but there was stuff missing."
Valentin raised an eyebrow. "Stuff as in…?" He waved a hand in a circular motion.
"Well, this flag?" She tapped her patch on her shoulder. "Wrong way. The rank badge was also something that didn't exist. Looked similar, wasn't real. The big thing through was the stripe down the leg was just the wrong shade. Way too many red flags to ignore."
He nodded. "So what did you do?"
"Well, he was going towards the lower decks," Liana said. "I called out to him. He ignored me, and kept going. What's weirder? He wasn't actually pulling himself forward through the halls. He made the motions, but his arms weren't touching anything. It was like a hologram, or something."
Valentin frowned.
Liana crossed her arms. "You think I'm making it up."
"It is a bit unbelievable," he admitted. "But finish."
"Yeah, so I follow him into spine-way 2, turn the corner of the hatch, and he's gone," she waved a hand. "Vanished. Poof. I thought he'd just somehow pulled ahead, but another mechanic was coming up, and she said she hadn't run into anyone. In a hallway with no pressure hatches. No rooms or places to hide."
"So what you're saying," Valentin said slowly. "Is that you saw a ghost."
"I hate that you phrase it like that," she scowled. "All I know is that I saw someone who looked suspicious, they tried getting away, I followed, and they vanished into thin air. But I'm not seeing things, I swear it."
"I might dispute that," Valentin began dryly, lifting a hand to forestall her rebuttal. "However, you aren't the only one seeing ghosts either. I've heard some similar things from a couple other people. Others are hearing weird noises and electronic sounds. Service team 6 reported they saw hovering machines in the pressurized segments of the propulsion stack that vanished before their eyes."
He gave a shrug. "I don't know what it is, but you're not crazy."
"Yeah, I thought as much when I reported it, and the officer said 'Huh, another one?'" She pursed her lips. "I don't like it."
"Neither do I," Valentin hoped that he wouldn't start seeing whatever these ghosts were. "I wonder if it's the alien."
"What else could it be?" Liana wondered.
"I don't know?" Valentin reached with a free hand and massaged his shoulder. "But first we see the alien do teleportation, and now make people see ghosts? That doesn't add up."
"Maybe the aliens are shapeshifters?" Liana put forward, in a half-serious voice. "I mean, maybe there's a bunch of aliens living in that ship, and they can all teleport. Do you have a better theory?"
"It doesn't make sense," Valentin muttered, largely ignoring the question. "Why doesn't it just talk to us?"
"Maybe it's suspicious?" Liana offered.
"We're suspicious too, and we reached out," he pointed out. "And you don't bring a potentially suspicious ship directly to you."
"Why not?" Liana asked idly. "I mean, we're basically cut off from the Triumvirate. It could literally do anything it wants, and what the hell could we do stuck in here? It makes sense to me. But I really do wish it would decide what it wants and stops fucking with us."
"Well, in any event, let's hope it doesn't do anything for another day or two," Valentin glanced towards one of the many screens which projected an image of Mars and ENIGMA-1. "And I don't think it wants to hurt us. If it did, we'd probably be dead."
"Maybe it just wants to scare us," Liana idly flipped in the air. "Sadistic aliens."
"Who knows?" Valentin gave a wry smile. "Maybe this is how it says hello."
THE PENTAGON | WASHINGTON D.C. | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES
While the Pentagon was not a location of neutral ground, it had generally been agreed upon by Triumvirate leadership that if there were attacks from ENIGMA-1, it was safer to hold the briefings in one of the most fortified places in the world, with a strong military response at the ready. While each had their own respective military command centers, objectively the Pentagon remained the unquestionably behemoth of American military power and by far the single largest concentration of military command, strategy, and power in the world.
A safe place.
At least that was what they all told themselves.
Clovis suspected the majority of them had gone along with meeting here to bring some sense of control back to them, because he knew very well that if that alien decided to legitimately attack, no single building was going to really protect them. Perhaps he was overestimating what this alien could do.
Then again, it just teleported two massive spacecraft to Mars…
It was difficult to remain confident in military superiority when things like that just happened. Gopal wasn't in this meeting, nor was Li, since both of them were back in their respective countries to placate the understandably concerned military staff, and in the case of Gopal, the civilians who'd seen on video what had happened as well.
For once, he'd thought sourly, the Chinese censors had the right idea. A delay on the livestream would have made a narrative so much easier to maintain. Easy enough to claim technical difficulties. A lot harder to control that when you do it live. That Ares One hadn't been spontaneously vaporized was good, but it left way too many questions they couldn't answer.
Oh well, lessons learned for next time.
Assuming there was a next time.
Indian and Chinese surrogates were still in attendance, but only he and Quinn were the heads of state in the room as NASA and the US Space Force, with a few ranking representatives of the other Triumvirate space programs also in the room, prepared to give their update. The mood in the room was grim, with a dozen high-ranking military officials of the various American military branches, and a smattering of space program scientists and specialists sitting behind Clovis and Quinn.
"Ares One remains in orbit over Mars," Dr. Hardy updated, indicating a projector displaying a soundless video of the spacecraft in orbit. "Crew reports indicate that there have been no difficulties, and they have successfully conducted dozens of scans, captured images, and launched all the unmanned probes."
"I'm aware of all that," Clovis said, making a pointed, if slightly impatient nod. He'd been getting hourly updates for the past few days, and was well aware of what was happening as far as the important plays were concerned. "Tell me what all of it means."
"We've been given the raw data," Quinn added. "I presume you haven't just been staring at it and done nothing, yes?"
"No, Madam President, of course not," Hardy cleared his throat. "I'll let this be broken down into several parts. The first – the current procedure for Mars. The second for what we know – or think we know about ENIGMA-1, and finally what we may be able to do about it."
"Excellent," Clovis settled into his chair, propping his chin on a fist. "Then get started."
"We've finished analysis on the first batch of probe data, including soil samples," Hardy said, as ground-perspective images of the new Mars scrolled by on-screen. "Scans taken confirm a breathable atmosphere, and soil composition is remarkably rich. No perchlorates to speak of anymore."
Clovis disliked it when scientists threw around words that no normal person had any off-hand knowledge of. "And a perchlorate is…?"
"Apologies, General Secretary," Hardy clarified. "Perchlorates are a toxic chemical which had been detected in Martian soil through previous expeditions. In our…original mission to Mars, it proved to be a major obstacle towards colonization since nothing could be grown in untreated soil. Now that it is gone…well, you could just seed your crops straight into the ground. Even the required bacteria may already be present in the soil."
Clovis nodded. "Thank you. Continue."
"Of course," Hardy returned to the main topic. "In addition to the new soil data, we can confirm that the atmosphere has been significantly affected."
"And that is worth noting because…?"
"A simple data point, but something we are keeping an eye on," he answered. "Our landing craft were not, strictly speaking, designed for landing and launching in this specific atmosphere, but there isn't a reason to worry. The landers aboard Ares One were designed with greater margins in heat shielding and propellant tankage based on hypothetical models, and for future landings we can design a fully customized and thoroughly vehicle based on the data our mission is now gathering.
"How soon would that be finished?"
"Several months at minimum to analyze the data from the Ares One mission thoroughly, design and evaluate prototypes, then push out a production airframe. I will stress this is not an issue – but it is something we are keeping an eye on. With how much ENIGMA-1 is already affecting the planet, we cannot fully rule out sudden and significant changes."
"Noted," Clovis nodded. "Continue."
"Of course," the projected images changed to two pictures of the surface of Mars. "Commander Calumet has determined that the first landing teams will arrive at this plateau. From there a forward base will be established in relatively close distance to ENIGMA-1's current position – over which it has stayed for the past seventy-two hours. Commander Calumet judged it as capable of being defensible and militarized in a reasonable amount of time. Following a successful deployment, a larger forward base will be established at the second landing zone, near an identified oasis."
"When is this scheduled to happen?" Quinn demanded, crossing her legs.
"When the word is given," Hardy said. "Assuming clearance is granted upon the conclusion of this briefing, they will require a full day to prepare, and eight to sixteen hours between launch and landing."
"Is it safe on the surface?" Quinn asked. "Has ENIGMA-1 shown any signs of aggression or hostility?"
"No, it has not," Hardy clarified. "With that said, it truthfully means nothing. The motivations and goals of ENIGMA-1 remain a mystery still, as it continually ignores all attempts at communication, which is conducted hourly. We don't know why, but outside of some dust tornadoes and thunderstorms, the surface is safe."
"It has to happen sometime," Clovis said, exchanging a glance with Quinn. "Clear them, unless there are any professional risks you want to bring up?"
"None factually sound, General Secretary," Hardy said. "I do not trust the intentions of ENIGMA-1, but until it directly acts against us, I cannot let a 'bad feeling' stand in the way of the facts, and the facts indicate that there is no sound technical reason to delay the landing."
"Factually sound," Clovis noted. "And you have some unfactually sound risks?"
"We'll get to that," Hardy said with a frown. "But it has no impact on the landing, regardless. Madam President, do we also have your approval?"
"You do, Director. I will prepare an address for when the mission is carried out."
The Indian and Chinese surrogates, who'd mostly been quiet, also indicated that their heads of state would also agree with the recommendation. "Now let's get to the unknown part," Clovis laced his fingers together as he crossed his legs. "What we know about what this alien is and what it does."
"On that, I'm afraid we've made little progress," Ulysses Qiao said, speaking prominently for the first time as he took point as the lead speaker. "Nonetheless, we have more than what we started with. The linguistics teams are working around the clock now that we have hi-resolution images of ENIGMA-1." Some of the images appeared on the screen. "We are undecided if these are symbols, an alphabet, or an interconnected hybrid," Qiao continued. "We are certain there is a meaning, but as of yet no clear pattern has emerged."
"Other than it likes circles," Quinn noted dryly. "A lot of circles."
"Indeed," Qiao paced, as the screen changed to a new image focusing on the hull. "As for what it's made of, we were able to acquire similarly insightful scans. I say 'insightful' loosely, because as far as the metallurgists are concerned, that thing is made up of something that doesn't exist."
"Doesn't 'exist' as in it's a new composition?" Clovis asked.
"No, as in it doesn't exist at all on the periodic table," Qiao clarified. "There is a zero percent relation to any known element or combination thereof. Of course, we will need a physical sample to get more details, but whatever it is made out of, it has never been encountered before."
"So we have no idea how strong it is," Clovis mused, rubbing his chin. "Wonderful."
"Was any machinery or emitters detected or noted?" Quinn asked, looking at the images. "Like whatever part expels the golden light?"
"That's another odd thing," Qiao said, adjusting his glasses. "We don't see any kind of engine or opening. We believe perhaps the groves from the seals etched into the hull may open, but there is nothing resembling traditional engines or architecture, and we have been unable to map any part of the internal workings of ENIGMA-1."
"And the light," Clovis said. "Do we know what that is?"
"We know what it is not," Qiao ticked the items off his fingers. "It's not a chemical. It's not nanotech. It's not gas. It's not an illusion. We have no idea what it is, truthfully, only that it is seemingly capable of forming without external stimuli or machinery that we have observed."
"It could be generated from the internal components," Quinn proposed.
"Which is why I qualified this with 'that we have observed,'" Qiao answered. "And that doesn't change the fact that this light still seems to form out of thin air, far beyond a range that should be possible, composed of something we can't identify."
"It has to be something," Clovis snorted. "Look at what it did to Mars."
"Yes, we can see what it's doing, but as for what it is, we don't know," Qiao repeated. "Attempts to capture some of it by Ares One were unsuccessful, and the light leaves no residue. It seems to be entirely controlled by ENIGMA-1, and may be a unique byproduct of it. But we cannot confirm this yet."
"So we basically know nothing more than we did before," Clovis muttered. "Disappointing."
"We have never seen anything like this before, General Secretary," Qiao said with a tight, though still respectful tone. "In light of this, we have changed the designation of what ENIGMA-1 is. Before we labeled it as extraterrestrial. Because we have found no scientifically plausible explanation for the origin, physical composition, and capabilities of it, we have designated ENGIMA-1 as a paracausal entity."
Clovis frowned. "A what?"
"It's an obscure theoretical term," Qiao explained. "Paracasuality is simply referring to things or actions which fall outside the spectrum of what we consider reality. The universe operates around fundamental laws. A paracausal entity is capable of subverting or breaking those rules. It is plausible to believe that ENIGMA-1 operates on some kind of internal logic, restrictions, and scientific laws – but they are not our laws."
Quinn furrowed her eyebrows. "So what are you saying? It's an extradimensional entity?"
"Potentially, Madam President," Qiao acknowledged. "I must stress this – we do not know – we are simply making the most accurate hypothesis with the data we have gathered, and all of the data points to something that does not operate along the same fundamental laws we do. For all we know, it operates on laws and principles we are either wrong about, or have not discovered. But as it exists now, the feats it has performed break what we know about the how the universe works."
He motioned to the image. "Thus, a paracausal entity."
"Right," Clovis rubbed his forehead. "In that case, how do we deal with a 'paracausal entity?'"
"I suppose that leads into our final discussion," Qian motioned to one of the uniformed woman who rose and walked before the small crowd. "Admiral Holliday, you have the floor."
"Thank you, Administrator," Admiral Amanda Holliday of the United States Space Force was one of the few admirals actually operating in space, and in command of one of the few battleships the Triumvirate had ever launched in the first days of Orion. Standing at a modest height, her blonde hair pulled back and her pale skin reflecting some the light from the ceiling, she looked far too young to be given such command.
But she was something of a prodigy, which was how Clovis even knew of her. An eidetic memory, an expert mechanic, and a thoroughly disciplined and professional woman who had been one of the first pioneers of Space Force combat theory. An impressive resume for one so young, and it wasn't a surprise she'd been tapped to put together a plan to handle ENIGMA-1.
Though personally, Clovis doubted even a prodigy could figure out a plan to handle something like this.
"ENGIMA-1 presents us with too many unknowns," she began, pacing before the crowd. "As of now we do not a full understanding of it's capabilities and significance. We do not know fundamental aspects such as if it is automated or not, or if its internal systems or defenses are. We do not know if it could be overwhelmed or if has no discernable limits. The immediate military priority is answering these questions."
She lifted a finger. "Now, the obvious question is how we do that. I argue that our initial step is simple – we conduct another launch."
"What?" Clovis asked. "For what purpose?"
"Consider it a theory," Amanda answered, lowering her hand. "I'm not suggesting we launch an Ares Two – I'm not even saying it has to be Orion-based. We merely launch another rocket into space with a vector towards Mars, and see what happens. If I'm right, ENIGMA-1 is not necessarily acting maliciously – it wants us there. It might consider anything sent up as something to be moved. Which would suggest both that ENIGMA-1 is friendly – or at least non-hostile - and that it has some degree of automation."
"Hm, not a bad hypothesis," Quinn rested her chin on her fist. "Cheap too. We send up a rocket with some basic supplies, and see what happens. It's worth exploring."
"I'm not sure," Clovis said slowly, thinking. "If that was the case, it should have intercepted our rockets which regularly supply the Moon, several of which have been launched since Ares One."
"Ares One was a very public event," Holliday pointed out. "And it is almost guaranteed that ENIGMA-1 is monitoring us. If a rocket was specifically marked for Mars, it might know. To date, we haven't sent up anything else – correct?"
"Correct," Quinn confirmed. "But if it can distinguish what is and is not supposed to be sent to Mars, then that has a significant number of security implications. Especially if these launches are not public."
"That is something we would have to determine when we have the evidence, Madam President," Holliday inclined her head. "But I believe it is something we should explore."
"Agreed," Clovis nodded. Good. Solutions. This was what they all needed to hear.
"While the military implications of this entity are concerning, I am not of the belief that we should be panicking quite yet," she continued, and Clovis could imagine the bristling of the ranking generals and officers sitting behind him. No military liked being told that a dangerous enemy was something that they 'shouldn't be panicking over'. Even if in this case, Clovis believed she was right. Or at least believed the military solution was not viable, even if this alien wasn't 'friendly'. "If this entity was hostile, we would know it. Consider what it is doing now with Mars."
"Terraforming it?" Clovis answered the rhetorical question.
"Yes," she confirmed. "Specifically – making it livable for us. It could have made it anything, but it is specifically making it breathable for Humans. Perhaps a way of making a good first impression, perhaps a gesture of friendship. The point is that it appears to be showing us that it doesn't mean harm."
"Maybe that isn't the intention, but the stunt with Ares One could also be seen as a threat," Clovis pointed out.
"We see it like that," Amanda countered emphatically. "This entity might not. I fully believe we are dealing with a sapient entity, or a race of such entities. It is unlikely that they possess the same cultural norms or grasp concepts we do. As impossible as it may sound, there is a distinct possibility that it doesn't understand concepts like 'military threats.'"
There were a few polite scoffs in the background, which were ignored. "That said," she continued. "I also believe in contingency plans. Whatever this 'light' substance is, it seems to require a deliberate activation. An active trigger. It could be directly activated or proximity activated. The point is there is some rule it follows. We need to determine if it is one or both."
She switched some of the images on the projector. "Something interesting I noticed was that it didn't react to objects that deorbited near it. Small things, like the drone pod and weather balloons. It ignored them, even though they could be a potential threat. I want to test this."
"How?" Quinn asked.
"Have Ares One jettison some waste or launch a reserve probe, deorbiting it closer to ENIGMA-1," she advised. "If it does nothing, we know that it probably considers passive objects as harmless. If it removed them, we know it is actively keeping foreign materials out. We follow this up by launching a neutered rocked to see if the shape is also a potential trigger. If not, then we know it isn't directly filtering nearby foreign objects."
"And the implications are what?"
"A potential military action," Amanda said promptly. "Specifically, entry vehicle-mounted nuclear devices just like the Mk.55s on our battleships, detonated close to the entity. If we launch them in such a cover manner, we likely hold a better chance of damaging it."
"Risky, and relies on a lot of luck," Clovis muttered. "But frankly better than anything we have so far."
"If we had an idea of the durability of the metal it is composed out of, that would be invaluable," Amanda added. "However, I don't believe it would let us have a piece right now. I propose a military option as a contingency, but my immediate recommendation is that we carry this to its diplomatic conclusion. See what it wants and evaluate. I would suggest we not antagonize it."
"I would also add to this," Hardy interjected. "While normally this would not be worth mentioning, the fact that we are dealing with a paracausal entity means nothing can be dismissed."
"Continue," Quinn indicated with a wave.
"We have…received a disturbing memo from Ares One not long ago," Hardy said. "The crew are complaining about ghosts. Seeing things that aren't there. Hearing things. The impact triangulation systems of the ship have picked up phantom recordings."
"And these reports aren't necessarily confined to Ares One," Amanda pursed her lips. "I've received an indication of anomalies sighted on our space assets close to home. The stations. The Moon. Sightings of odd machines, almost mirages. I'd largely dismissed it in light of the stressful situation, but if Ares One is also reporting the same…"
"Then it's probably something," Clovis sighed. Always something new. A mass psychosis was not a good sign. "We don't need a ghost problem right now."
"I'd argue we never need a ghost problem, sir," Amanda said, risking a wry smile.
He snorted. "You have a point."
"Have this be investigated," Quinn said, standing. "I think that covers everything, unless there is more to say."
"No ma'am."
"Good, thank you for your service in this trying event," she nodded to Amanda and the other uniformed officers. "Return to your duties. Dismissed."
The soldiers saluted, and Clovis followed her out of the briefing room, ruminating on all he'd heard. So absorbed in thought was he that he failed to notice the object which had been hovering in the corner of the room as the briefing had taken place. With a near-instant flash, it vanished, though not before sending what it had seen to the one which controlled it.
TRIUMVIRATE EXPEDITIONARY CRAFT "ARMSTRONG" | MARS ORBIT
Here it went.
Fang sat strapped into the extremely cramped landing craft. This was something he had been training for all his life. Not landing on Mars, per-se, but landing on places they knew and had traveled to. The Moon, Earth, smooth descents. He would never have imagined that he would be the one sitting in the pilot's seat for such a historical event.
This was completely uncharted territory, and he was on the precipice of being the first Human to land successfully on Mars.
History. That was what this was.
Not just history, a milestone. A milestone that belonged to Humanity as a whole, not simply the Triumvirate.
Well, first they had to land.
There were only about a dozen of them in the craft. Two pilots. Three mechanics. The rest soldiers and scouts. There'd been talk of Commander Calumet herself coming on this expedition, but thankfully it was only a Space Marine Captain who was sent as the ranking military officer.
It was a decision that Fang was extremely grateful for. It was nerve-wracking enough knowing that a mistake or a malfunction of the essentially untested machine could send them into an uncontrolled crash landing. It would have been worse if one of the highest ranking military officials was caught in it too. But all he had to worry about was getting everyone down safely.
Though as they'd floated, he'd felt surprisingly calm. He couldn't really explain, nor would if anyone asked, but he had a feeling it had to do with the alien. He had a feeling that no matter what happened, it would be watching, and it would keep them safe.
It was…an odd feeling to have. Faith in something other than his co-pilot and fellow man. More irritating was that he couldn't explain the source of it beyond a gut feeling. But the alien had transported them here, and it wouldn't do that unless it wanted them. It followed that it would also want them safe.
Besides, anything which voluntarily turned a dead world into something alive couldn't be all that bad.
Of course, he couldn't mention that to anyone else. Half the crew was worried if it turned violent, and the other half was viewing it with caution at best. But Fang truly, genuinely, didn't think it meant them any harm. But he had nothing to really back this up outside of a good feeling.
And the Triumvirate did not operate on feelings.
Whatever the case, he felt calm now.
They'd spent several hours since detaching from the great bulk of Ares One making orbit after orbit over Mars, regularly crossing almost over ENIGMA-1, moving themselves into the right position for entry and landing. Everyone had been strapped in hours before that, while the lander was readied for took a long time in space, but that was only because rushing led to mistakes, and mistakes led to fatalities. He could tell some of the soldiers and mechanics were getting antsy and tired of waiting in the cramped craft, but he believed they'd rather be uncomfortable than dead.
But the wait was over. It was time now.
He looked from the tiny windows to the polarized helmet of Valentin. "Co-pilot, ready?"
The Cosmonaut nodded. "Let's do it."
Fang flipped open the radio. "Ares One, this is Expeditionary Craft Armstrong. We are standing by to initiate descent and landing. Over."
"Acknowledged, Expeditionary Craft Armstrong. Everything looks good from up here. You may decelerate for entry and landing. Good luck and godspeed."
"Copy that," Fang answered, punching the go code into the flight computer and thumping his PA channel: "Alright everyone. Here we go."
Begin de-orbit burn in T-Minus 60 seconds…mark," Valentin started.
They worked with minimal distractions, only talking to call out instructions, as well as keeping Ares One in the loop as to what was going on. It was more intense work than he'd had in a long time, but he remembered everything he needed to, and they worked together flawlessly as the landing craft moved closer to Mars bit by bit.
Both worked almost as if they were in a trance. Both utterly calm and focused.
They burned on time, over the night side of Mars, watching the novelty of a lighting storm on Mars. The next Martian dawn saw them closer to the Martian surface already.
"Armstrong, Ares One: your profile is right down the middle. Velocity is good, angle is good, altitude is good. Expect entry interface in 45 seconds. Good luck."
"See you on the other side," Fang replied.
He was checking their altitude when the console bleeped. "Hull ionization is starting." Valentin's voice was steady, almost jovial.
"Check. Temperature is going up."
Fang waited for the familiar feeling of slowly getting pressed into his seat. There it was… at the edge of his awareness. Or was it?
The sensation of deceleration was so minor that he barely felt it.
The hull temperature continued to climb at a steady pace. The gravity was growing stronger, climbed past 1G. Around them, the body of the lander creaked. It took more than this at launch. It better be holding now. Fang ignored the roar of the thin atmosphere against their skin, checking the numbers the flight computer spat out. Things were looking good.
The radio circuit spat hacked digital noise. "-rm- -one- -eck. Armstrong, Ares One. Comm check."
"Ares One, Armstrong. Good to have you back. Armstrong is supersonic at 20 kilometers, landing beacon is acquired. ENIGMA-1 right out the front window."
Fang looked up from the console and indeed, there it was.
"Roger Ares One. Glad to hear it all."
The Lander shuddered again. The air pressure gauge was spiking rapidly. "Here comes that dense atmo." The deceleration pressed them into their seats, a sudden spike that robbed the breath. Something groaned in the back, loudly.
"Got some stress indicators! Nothing critical!"
Fang ignored it. If they lost something now, nothing they could do about it anyway.
In a gliding S-curve, the lander descended towards the new Martian ground, bleeding velocity and finally, kilometers from the ground, flipping around and deploying drogue parachutes.
"9 kilometers up. 3 kilometers downrange. 170 meters per second and dropping. Looks good."
The main chutes deployed with more bangs and a closer howl of air. "Stand-by for powered descent. Parachute eject… now."
The landing rockets kicked in with a roar.
"800 meters up. 40 downrange. 600, 25. 500, 15. 400, 7. 300. 200, on the X. 150. 100."
Closer…closer…
Fang kept a hand right on the controls. If the computer screwed up now… "50 meters. 30. 15." The outside view became completely obscured by dust. "10. 5. 3. 2. 1."
There was a sharp shudder as the craft hit the ground. "Contact light!"
Then went still.
"Shutdown! Engines safe."
Fang released a long, pent-up breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Abort mode is up. Stability is…good."
We did it.
We landed on Mars.
Everyone in the craft burst into applause, applause which also sounded from the radio, which reminded Fang what next to do. Valentin let out a cheer of his own, high-fiving Liana who sat behind him; a rare display of joy from the normally stoic Russian. "Ares One, we have landed," Fang said into the radio, the smile in his voice. "Performing post-landing checks."
"Acknowledged, Landing Craft Armstrong," came the reply from similarly ecstatic operators. "We'll be observing your movements. And congratulations."
"Everyone can unstrap, but don't move," Valentin cautioned, which was followed by the sounds of multiple restless passengers unbuckling and stretching as much as they could. "We'll finish this up as fast as we can."
Both men worked as quickly as they could, both eager to step out onto the red planet for the first time. "I think that went pretty smoothly," Fang said as they completed the checks. "All things considered…not a single hiccup."
"Yeah, I was half-expecting the alien to just teleport us down," he agreed. "Almost glad it didn't though. Would have taken the challenge out of it."
"I don't know," Fang admitted. "I haven't felt that calm in a while. Thought it would be more stressful."
"You too?" Valentin grunted. "Huh, thought it was just me. No wonder we worked so well.
Hm, it was interesting that they'd had the same experience. Probably just coincidence.
Still, he smiled under his helmet. This would be a day long remembered, not just for the Triumvirate, but for himself. His family was probably ecstatic, and what he had done would ensure the Sovs went down in history as heroes and icons of the Communist Party. He would have influence now in the Empire. Him and his family.
Which could be good and bad, but that could be sorted out later.
It didn't change the fact there had been a mission to Mars, where the pilot who helped land the first craft, the first craft of a new era, of a true interplanetary era, was a Chinese national!
Past time the Empire got recognized for their space achievements. The Soviets and Americans had taken the big moments already. Thankfully, there were a few left.
"Alright, we're done," Valentin stated, stowing his tablet and unbuckling the supply umbilicals. "Let's prep for EVA."
It was a hasty business, slowed down by just enough due caution. It was tempting to skip the checklists entirely: there was terrestrial pressure and oxygen outside, after all. But what if the packs malfunctioned and suffocated them? Or something about the environment was more lethal than it seemed? So they took the 40 minutes it took for everyone to squeeze themselves into the spacesuits on the EVA deck. Then:
"Liana, grab the flags. And helmets on. I know it's technically breathable out there, but at least for now we rely on tanks. Understood?"
There was a chorus of affirmations. Fang swung around, pushed the unlock lever of the hefty exterior door, and pushed. With a hiss, the door disengaged and swung outwards. For a moment he just stood there and beheld the first rays of sunlight from the new Martian sky. It had a light blue hue to it, almost like Earth, but also much deeper; as if it was at a higher altitude. He stepped outside onto the rung and hesitated.
There was probably something he should say to mark the occasion. The first words spoken would go down into the history books all over the world. Yet he wasn't an orator or poet. Still, there was something undoubtedly true about this. "We're in a new era now."
He leapt onto the ground.
The Cosmonaut suit was somewhat bulky for a 0.3 g environment, but not unwalkable. He wasn't particularly concerned about that now, as the surreal feeling of being on Mars hit him. They stood on the plateau, with their boots covered in red dirt, with some odd Martian trees and vegetation growing around them.
They'd hit pretty close to their landing zone – the radio beacon locator stuck in the ground some 50 meters away, freshly blasted by sand - and all of them leapt out, and began walking to the plateau edge to look out over the red-brown landscape which was surprisingly beautiful. It wasn't Earth, but there was an exotic quality to it all that Earth simply couldn't match. It was amazing to see a flowing river run down a Martian canyon. All that was missing was some wildlife.
And a flag.
"I'll let you do the honors," Valentin said as he handed the folded up Triumvirate flag to him, while several of the soldiers planted the flagpole in the dirt. Together with Valentin, he hooked it to the flagpole and slowly raised it, until it flew proudly in the Martian wind. All of them stood solemnly before it, and gave their respective nations salute.
And in the distance, hovering in the sky was the creator of this new world.
The alien hung over the land, almost innocently. It did nothing, but Fang had a feeling that it knew it had landed, and that it was watching them.
Time would tell if it was friend or foe.
He reached up and unhooked the seals of his helmet. The oxygen levels were high enough, or so his HUD displayed, and he wanted to know what Mars felt like. With a hiss, he took the helmet off, and shook his head free.
It was cooler than he was expecting. A light breeze rippled and there was the slight tingle of humidity in the air that would signal rain on Earth. It was comfortable and amazing to experience. In the distance, he saw storm clouds forming, and some particles of dirt being blown in the winds below them.
Valentin seemed to also pick up on it as he observed the darkening clouds in the distance. "Looks like we may get a storm. We should get everything set up. Sightseeing can wait. I'm sure we'll be doing that enough over the next few days."
"Good point," with some reluctance, Fang turned away, then paused briefly, thinking he'd seen something. He looked behind him and in the sky he saw something. A blue light was what it looked like, in the center of a…metal star?
"Hey, Valentin," he called, briefly turning to his friend who had paused his trek.
"What?"
"Do you see that?"
"See what?"
Fang turned around to point it out, and the thing was gone. "I…" he trailed off. "There was something there. Hovering. Like a star."
Valentin grunted, though it sounded almost resigned. "Everyone's seeing ghosts now. Wonderful."
"What?"
"Nothing good," Valentin motioned him to follow as they trudged back. "Let's get set up. I'll tell you about it as we work."
TRIUMVIRATE OUTPOST BETA | MARS
To his surprise, Isaiah liked Mars.
Whatever he had thought would greet him on the planet – which was in short, stretches of hot desert with a breathable atmosphere – the reality was far different. A major improvement, in fact. It was surprisingly comfortable, with temperatures resting at a legitimately comfortable level, with the landscape broken up by rivers, lakes, odd Martian plants, and canyons, under a dark blue sky.
It was more of a scenic vacation than an alien planet.
Much less one – which, only a couple months ago – had been a barren red rock.
He held some more appreciation for the enigmatic alien now. It certainly knew how to turn a wasteland into something not only livable, but that people would want to live on. Of course, there were a few downsides – namely the massive thunderstorms which came through every few days. The plateau was marked by small gullies, and the craters blasted by lander rockets had turned into small, sometimes star-shaped puddles.
But in the two weeks since the first landing craft had touched down, the Triumvirate had made substantial progress in getting a firm foothold on the planet. He wasn't thrilled that he was actually contributing to the mission. Though in a way, he wasn't. He wasn't supposed to be here at all, and now that he was, he just needed to always pretend to be somewhere else.
Which resulted in him not really doing anything. Not anything that benefited the Triumvirate.
He had some advantages. No one recognized him, a fact which generally worked in his favor. He didn't make a point to poke around or hang out in places where high-profile people would be. Stealing or killing wasn't his mission, and that made everything a lot easier. It was so much easier to keep a low profile.
Everyone naturally assumed you were where you were supposed to be. Have a badge or ID card, walk confidently, act like you belong, and no one would ask questions. Simple as that, to the point where he was getting welcoming nods and half-hearted waves whenever he walked through the commons, which normally would be a warning sign that he was getting too much attention.
But here, he didn't stand out. Not when they were standing on Martian soil involved in arguably the most important mission the Triumvirate had ever undertaken. No one cared about an aging tan-skinned man who may or may not be affiliated with the CIA (helped by keeping close track of what he was wearing depending on where he was or who he was speaking to). Or at least, anyone who would care was otherwise occupied.
But right now, he was simply sipping on a water bottle and sitting on a small plateau where the alien could be seen hovering in the distance.
He'd expected it to do something when the Triumvirate landed. Maybe send an emissary, maybe do a magic trick, maybe vaporize them. But it still did…nothing. Daily hails from Ares One and now the outposts yielded nothing. Although Isaiah wasn't stupid enough to believe it was being idle.
No, it was being proactive.
The ghost stories that were being told around the outposts were only growing in number – and rumors also placed them on the Moon and even Earth. Every day he'd hear about how someone had seen a hologram in a weird place, or a floating star hovering over sensitive tech, and more recently people had been violently awoken as their friends walked in on metal stars scanning people.
Isaiah smirked at the thought. This made him trust the alien more, actually. It told him this wasn't a gullible creature who would be so easily persuaded by the Triumvirate diplomats. No, it was performing some vetting of them. Which might explain the silence thus far – maybe it wasn't sure what to do.
Nonetheless, there was going to be something done soon. There was talk that the Triumvirate was preparing to march on the alien. It was also, helpfully, automatically teleporting spacecraft launched from Earth to Mars. Which meant that in the past few weeks there's been an influx of additional Triumvirate soldiers.
The influx of resources, manpower, and scalability had led to the construction of two outposts, a barracks, multiple small nuclear reactors and a basic industrial plant, all built in a frighteningly short time. It wasn't much different from a Triumvirate base in the Middle East – of which he was very familiar with.
It was incredible what could be brought to bear if the Triumvirate demanded it.
Even more outlandish rumors claimed that the Triumvirate was going to send one of the fabled Battleships to Mars. Commanded by Admiral Holliday no less. It was almost a shame that his mission wasn't a snatch or assassination op. He was sorely tempted to deal with the American prodigy if she showed up – but this wasn't an ideal environment for taking out one of the most prominent American military officers.
Regardless, Isaiah suspected that even America's wonder kid wouldn't be able to solve something like this alien.
As far as Isaiah was concerned, they could go right ahead and turn this into a military operation. It wasn't as though they stood a chance against this alien. Not if it wanted to act. He suspected that the Triumvirate could send ten thousand soldiers and they would be rebuffed. He was not a man who bet money, but this was a rare exception.
Between the alien and Triumvirate? Clear favorite was the alien.
He wasn't completely sure where this kind of confidence came from. The Triumvirate was an extremely sophisticated, competent, and powerful war machine when firing on all cylinders. The whole Chinese conquest into the Pacific had proven that – and that was decades ago. They were even more powerful now.
But the awe of realizing what the alien had done teleporting Ares One here still resonated. It seemed effortless.
That indicated power. True power the Triumvirate had never faced.
Maybe hope was clouding his judgement.
For now he would be as objective as he could, not becoming too excited over the possibilities.
But if the Triumvirate was stupid enough to attack, he would be sitting in the back, hopefully drinking a beer, and laughing as they were hopefully taught a long-overdue lesson. Then he would have to hope the alien was willing to talk with him. That was going to be the tricky part. Once contact was initiated, then he could do his real mission.
Until then, he would just observe and wait.
Though it as going to be very tempting if he saw Holliday ever walking around. It would be so easy to put a bullet in her pretty little head.
"There you are!" He glanced up in mild surprise at the voice as an Indian woman marched up to him.
Another unanticipated, but very helpful development was a rapport he had developed with Milya, the linguist who had been seated next to him on the flight from hell. If one could look past the fact that she was a Hindu Indian, she was a fairly pleasant person to talk to and thankfully lacking in the fanaticism department. She was quite a talker, and he was a very good listener.
He now knew more about the Triumvirate linguistics programs, and details and facts about the entire field than he had ever wanted to. There was some useful information he'd gathered from her, but that he would sort through when he got back to Earth. She was a useful font of information in other ways though.
Namely, due to her position, she was closely tied to the leadership of the mission. She knew things that weren't public knowledge yet, and since they got along, and she probably considered a friend now, she felt comfortable enough to share it with him. In return for her telling her story, he had given some details of his own.
All made up, of course, but he'd interrogated enough CIA agents to know how to create a plausible background and worklife. With a little embellishment here and there, and she was suitably interested. It helped that he was something of a spy – only working for the other side. It gave an authenticity to his lie he otherwise wouldn't have.
"Looking for me?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yep, should have guessed you were out here," she smiled, tossing him a packet. "You keep skipping lunch. I have no clue how you're still alive."
"I don't like crowds," he gave a thin smile, opening the packet which had a neat sandwich packed into it. "Besides, I guess this gets food delivered to me now."
"Don't get used to it," she snorted, taking a seat beside him. "Busy day?"
"Not really," he answered, not lying – he really hadn't done much today. Easy when you didn't officially have an assignment. "Everything seems to be in limbo. You?"
"Honestly?" She rubbed her eyes. "My team has probably done all we can right now. We're not getting anything more until we go up and interact with the alien. We can only make so many assumptions about symbols and glyphs through pictures."
He nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. "So do you have a baseline? An alphabet at least?"
"I have no idea," she admitted with a sigh. "Maybe? We've transposed all of the symbols on the outer hull, so we have that. We can clearly see some symbols are connected to, or offshoots of others, but this isn't much to go on. Generally, when we do linguistical work, we have other things to provide context. Artifacts, archeology, history, and so on. We don't have anything for the white floating ball in the distance."
"Well, what next then?" He asked neutrally. "I don't think it's going to talk willingly."
"No, I think it will," she said confidently. "It's still bringing ships here. I think it just wants to see us make the first move."
"Oh?" He wondered slyly. "So the alien is a acting like the equivalent of a teenage boy asking his prom crush out?"
She laughed. "Something like that, actually. Really though, I think it's just curious. Maybe this is custom in their culture. We don't know."
"So my question is this," he said between bites, pointing to the alien in the distance. "What happens if we go up to it, and you can't understand it at all?"
"That is most likely to happen," she corrected with a lifted finger. "It's going to be very awkward for the first few meetings unless the alien somehow learned one of our languages."
And it'll freak out the Triumvirate a lot if it does know our languages. Isaiah thought to himself, keeping his face straight, though that would be the most amusing development by far.
"Well, as long as you have a plan," he shrugged. "But there are worse places to be."
"Never thought I'd say that, but you're right," she nodded as they watched the setting Martian sun together. "It's beautiful, isn't it."
"It is," he nodded sincerely. "Reminds me of home."
She turned to look at him, a question in her eyes. "Oh? Where did you live?"
That was a lapse. A minor one, but it was there. The smart thing would be to lie…but on the other hand…he was convinced she wasn't a Triumvirate agent or spy. He had a good read on people, and she was trustworthy so long as he kept his story straight. She was smart, but naïve and easily pliable.
Too trusting in the government, which worked to his advantage sometimes. At the same time, there was an answer she was expecting, and he suspected the truth might provoke some questions. However, they had talked long enough over these past weeks where he was comfortable enough to judge that she wasn't a significant risk so long as she was treated properly.
Perhaps she could be groomed into a mole or informant. At minimum she could be turned into something useful assuming he played his cards right and his judgement was correct – and when it came to matters of opportunity, his judgement was rarely long. It was a risk, but a worthwhile one right now.
He looked ahead to the setting sun. "Australia."
"Oh."
That little word told him all he needed to. Good, she realized the implication and weight behind it…and perhaps trusted him a bit more now that he'd told her a very personal fact about him. A true one, for once. "I'm sorry," she cleared her throat. "I thought you were…well…I wouldn't have guessed Australian."
"Not surprised," he answered, unable to keep some of the tightness out of his voice, while he watched her reaction closely. "My family were immigrants to Australia from Yemen. They didn't get a lot of time to stay there before things went to hell."
He left out the fact that they'd fled after India had turned Pakistan into nuclear waste – and began their conquest of the Middle East.
Judging from the way she looked away, she probably also picked up on the implication, and didn't want to make it more awkward than it was becoming. Good, good, no reflexive defense of the Indian government. Promising. "I wasn't aware," she said quietly.
"It's fine," he waved a dismissive hand. "I was only a child when the war began. We left for America early on. Perfect place to start over, right?"
An obvious lie, as if he'd actually been a child, he would be a few years younger – though he had only been a teen when the Chinese came. Although while many had fled – he had not. If she realized the lie or not, it didn't seem to matter as she seemed relieved he was so reasonable and academic about the topic. "Right, right. Still, you shouldn't have been forced to leave like that. The Chinese were too harsh in their…occupation."
Well, wasn't she just full of surprises – and as expected his judgement was justifying itself rather quickly. Expressing a slightly negative opinion of the Chinese invasion was almost enough to ignore the fact that she called the invasion an occupation – along with the typical failure of Indians to acknowledge their own unprovoked and brutal conquest. But it was a start. There was enough fertile ground to plant some seeds in her head.
Ultimately, she had her head filled with propaganda because if she actually knew the truth, she would have known that the whole 'Australian refugee' story was laughably implausible.
As if the Americans were going to accept thousands of Australian refugees, many of whom were related to soldiers. Not when they'd literally funded and armed the Chinese. Most Australians who'd gone to America were gifted a one-way trip to China, and a select number of widows and children were paraded around as an example of American 'leadership' and 'humanitarian virtues'.
Laughable. Disgusting.
But too many left, thinking they could find refuge in America. A few risked India. The smart ones went to Africa or Canada.
America. Land of the Free. Home of the Brave.
Fucking lies.
He sipped his water. No Australian ever forgot what Triumvirate – and America in particular – had sanctioned. It wasn't just the Chinese either – America in particular had looked the other way as they supplied the Indians with a nuclear bomb. They knew they were going to use it against Pakistan, but they didn't care. Pakistan threatened the Triumvirate hegemony and that was intolerable.
India deserved to be destroyed for their crimes, but he didn't lose sight of the truth. India was an elaborate and controlled pawn of the Triumvirate, which was directed by the American lynchpin. He was in somewhat of an interesting position, being connected to two places the Triumvirate had helped ravage.
Never forgive, and never forget.
But he was ultimately practical. He was an equal-opportunity terrorist – America, China, all of them would burn equally.
Milya looked like she was going to say something more, until her eyes snapped open and she stiffened, staring out into the distance. "Do you see that?"
He looked to the general direction she was gazing in, and immediately he saw it too. It looked like a drone of some kind. In a star-like shape. Difficult to actually make out details in the distance, but it was definitely there, and not something he recognized as Triumvirate. It was skirting close to the ground, and hovering over one of the plants.
"So," he said in a low voice. "One of the illusive ghosts."
"Yeah," she peered intently at it. "They're so common now we're getting some pictures. Low-quality, grainy ones that you barely make it out for now, but these ghosts are very real. They have to be from the alien."
"Doing what?" He asked in the same low voice.
"That's the question," she said, pulling out her notepad and jotting something down before pulling out her phone. "And no one has an answer yet. But I hadn't seen one before now."
"Neither have I," Isaiah added. "So where did it come from? The alien ship hasn't opened?"
"I think I know," Milya lifted her phone, and took several pictures. Once she made sure they were taken, she put her fingers to her lips and, still holding the camera up, sent out a sharp whistle. The mechanical drone flipped around, saw them, and vanished before their eyes. Isaiah blinked. It had just phased out of existence within a moment.
"Figured as much," Milya made a note after she stopped filming on her phone. "It was the only thing that made sense."
He nodded. If the alien could make things teleport, it followed that it incorporated that technology into its machines. "What now?"
"Now I go report it," she said, getting to her feet. "You should do the same."
Right. Time to play the loyal American agent. "Sure," he nodded. "I'll make a report to my superior right away. Almost a shame he's not where you are."
"Yeah, I will put you as a witness though in case they have questions," she nodded. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Think so," he gave her a short wave and a smile. "See you then."
As they departed their separate ways, he thought about this recent revelation. Or rather, confirmation of what the alien was doing.
Although it did seem clear what it was doing.
Now he only hoped the alien could make the right judgement.
THE KREMLIN | RUSSIA | SOVIET UNION
The three men stood facing each other, the mood tense in the dimmed room as they reviewed the collection of images and reports that had been compiled over the past days and hours. The room was small, at most able to fit a half-dozen people around a table, with a small television hanging on the far wall, with a chill in the air from the too-cold air conditioning.
Though the temperature was the last thing on their minds.
"This," Clovis finally said grimly. "Is not acceptable."
Luka snorted, and pursed his lips. "As if we have control over it."
Clovis picked up one of the pictures and cocked his head at the KGB Director rhetorically. "I don't need to explain the security risk this poses, do I?"
The man in question shook his head. "No, you do not."
On the table, two dozen pictures had been placed neatly in a file, with three reports from separate agencies and committees confirming the same thing. A flash drive containing hours of videos was also part of the collection, but the images grabbed the most attention. Each picture was unique, taken in different places and at different times, and each portrayed something which could only be described as an alien drone. Or at least that was what it was being classified as. To Clovis's eye it looked almost star-shaped, or like a diamond.
The center of the drone seemed to be a ball, with the pointed pieces acting as a 'shell' for it. Shaky and clear amateur cameras showed that these pieces often moved around, and could somehow detach from the core, and reform. Images and video had more recently been taken from military bases around the world, putting a final nail in the lone hope that it was a hoax.
That would have been bad enough, because unless the Israelis had somehow developed an experimental drone, this was something from ENIGMA-1.
Even still, drones alone were not necessarily a cause for alarm.
Teleporting drones, however, were.
He turned to the other man and nodded. "Play the video."
Alton Bray, his almost-identical brother, only younger than him by a year, clicked the remote which began playing the video on the screen. On the screen was raw footage from an internal CCTV system – Alton's system, to be precise. "We've been receiving videos and pictures by the dozens," he said. "Citizens who think that we're going to run stories on this."
As part of USSR State Media, Alton was one of trusted curators of what the Soviet citizens saw, and was on the front lines of narrative control. Working primarily in processing citizen tips, he worked very closely with the KGB, Law Enforcement, and Central Committee, in case a citizen accidentally stumbled upon something they weren't supposed to know.
More recently, that meant being inundated by videos of "paranormal activity."
If only it could be dismissed as ghost stories.
"Some of the footage was from internal security systems while families were sleeping," Alton said grimly. "I thought I'd also check my own. I didn't think I'd find anything, obviously. But I checked back, and this was what I saw."
The video showed Alton and his wife sleeping in bed, with other cameras focusing on his teenage sons. All of them were peacefully restful. Then one of the drones materialized over Alton's bed, and hovered there for a few seconds. Then blue light shot out from the central ball, as if it was scanning him.
The scan moved to his wife after a few minutes passed. Neither had stirred. The trio watched silently as the drone blinked to each room, and scanned both sons, before vanishing. Alton ended the video a few seconds later. Clovis pursed his lips. "Do we know if these things are armed?"
"No," Luka shook his head. "Not that we are aware of."
"Not especially comforting," Clovis said grimly, though wasn't surprised. "If it's this brazen…it either knows what it is doing, and doesn't care, or doesn't know that we can catch it in the act – or have caught it in the act. The ghosts are going to cause a pandemic if this keeps going on."
"It will, trust me," Alton emphasized. "Social media is filled with pictures, video, and everything you can imagine about this. Every hour there are another dozen sightings. India in particular is going crazy with the conspiracy theories, fed by additional media speculation." He shook his head. "The Americans aren't much better. I don't know what the alien is doing, but this is becoming unnerving. It's not a joke anymore, people are starting to get scared. They need a statement or explanation. It's not going to go away."
"I would say we should try and capture one," Luka rubbed his chin. "But considering they can vanish at will…this is not feasible."
"It does appear that they can be snuck up on," Clovis pointed out slowly. "It's likely they're electrically powered – a high-power voltage could incapacitate one."
"And we have no guarantee that would work," Luka countered. "Or that it wouldn't suddenly trigger a dozen more of these things to converge and kill whoever attacked it."
"It doesn't help that they can be anywhere," Clovis said, feeling the urge to look around and make sure there wasn't one just hovering above him. "You're certain there is nothing that can be done?"
"By all account these drones seem skittish," Luka shrugged. "As we've seen, all it takes is a sharp sound and they blink out of existence. My guess is that they're fragile – but difficult to hit in the first place. A recon unit seems to be the most logical explanation. Scanning, surveillance, it fits the criteria perfectly."
That did not make him feel good. The implications were alarming. It wasn't that they had a recon unit that could teleport – frankly the fact that it was probably unarmed meant very little, because there was nothing which indicated that the alien didn't have a small army of teleporting drones which were armed.
And unlike conventional drones, walls and rooms wouldn't be able to protect them.
He was in the uncomfortable position of knowing that they were one command away from being assassinated by these teleporting drones. "So why all the subterfuge?" Alton asked, starting to pace. "If it wants to talk, it should talk."
"Maybe it's probing us for reactions," Luka wondered. "Or it is signaling a warning. Maybe it feels threatened by the soldiers on Mars. Maybe this is something it does. I do believe that the best plan would be to not delay, and actively approach it on Mars. It has to do something when we directly confront it."
"Is everyone on Mars prepared?" Alton asked quizzically. "We've only properly been there just over a month."
In fact, they were incredibly well-developed on the planet, largely thanks to ENIGMA-1 helpfully teleporting spacecraft filled with everything they needed to the planet. Mars was currently easier to reach than the Moon. Two full outposts, reliable (if delayed) two-way communications, minimal stationary defenses, and full garrisons.
"That is only a matter of giving the command," Luka stated. "The bases and personnel are ready."
"Admiral Holliday is in position to move the Battleship into the teleportation zone," Clovis added, referring to the are of space they had designated where the alien teleported objects and spacecraft to Mars. Holliday has been ecstatic when they'd confirmed her theory, and now she'd get to see the alien up close.
"Are we going to execute her contingency?" Luka asked, appraising Clovis.
"We're not going to take any chances," Clovis answered, closing the folder. "She was right about the teleportation. Hopefully her plan is similarly inspired. Once that is in position…we approach the alien. Three days, minimum."
"The rest of the Triumvirate should sign off on it," Luka advised. "We should not go behind their backs. Not to mention she isn't under our command."
"Of course, Triumvirate consensus is essential," Clovis said. "Quinn is already on board, and I can't imagine Li or Gopal refusing to also sign on." Luka seemed to find that acceptable, nodding as Alton spoke again.
"Do we plan to broadcast the approach?" The man asked, redirecting the subject.
"Not live," Clovis shook his head. "Unnecessary. We don't want another Ares One. If it goes well, we show the world – like the initial Mars landing. If not, no one needs to know about it. I'll ensure that the rest of the Triumvirate follows suit. The last thing we want to show is another public event gone wrong."
"Noted," Luka nodded. "I'll be prepared."
"I wonder," Alton said, lifting a hand. "These ghost sightings – they aren't confined to Earth, are they? Are you receiving similar reports on the Moon?" A pause. "I understand if you can't tell me, but we've received some videos – purportedly from personnel on the Moon. I would prefer knowing if these are hoaxes or not."
Clovis and Luka exchanged a look before Clovis answered with a confirming, if nonchalant shrug. "Moon's haunted."
"Figured as much," Alton sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Let's hope the mystery is solved soon. It's going to be hard to keep ignoring this for much longer before the public gets a lot more vocal. And…brother?"
"Yes?"
"I'd check if the drones have visited you," he said. "If they're interested in me…"
Clovis ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. "Perhaps…" he began. "But between us, I think I'd be better off not knowing." He thought of the drones, hovering over him and Zexian, over Ana, over his children separated across the world.
And there was nothing he could do to protect them or stop the threatening machines the alien had unleashed.
"Personally," he finished in a low voice. "I'd prefer if I was able to fall asleep, at least for a few more days. I'm sure you can understand."
Alton gave a solemn nod. "Unfortunately, I know exactly what you mean."
TRIUMVIRATE OUTPOST ALPHA | MARS
The time had come.
While Valentin was technically not part of the Space Marines, the Triumvirate was assembling everyone who could hold a weapon or provide assistance in the event things went terribly wrong. Legions of soldiers marched in formation as they lined up on the Martian soil, preparing to march on the alien.
Well, march was a strong word. It obviously wouldn't be a proper march, despite the alien only seeming to be a short distance away. But size could be deceiving, and when the Triumvirate moved, it would be through troop transports which were being driven up and preparing for the soldiers to occupy them.
Commander Calumet stood at the front of the assembled legions, surrounded by a small cadre of advisors, diplomats and linguists. She was speaking to some of them, and he was too far away to even guess what they were saying. A few cameramen were placed throughout the ranks, no doubt broadcasting this back to Earth. He recognized some famous Soviet anchors speaking into the camera – all state media, unsurprisingly.
He peered a bit closer at the other media outlets. The Americans didn't have a state media, but no one was dumb enough to believe the largest outlets weren't government mouthpieces – in any event there was no even partially independent media present. All state media, or equivalents thereof from the Triumvirate.
Predictable.
Valentin doubted that it was being broadcast live as a result, and didn't completely blame them. It didn't seem like something the Soviet Union at least would allow; not after Ares One had vanished. That alone would have prompted a frantic response.
Regardless…it didn't change the fact that they was only hours away before history was made – one way or another.
"Ready for this?" Fang asked, striding up, weapon slung over his shoulder. The technical crew of Ares One were allowed a bit more freedom of movement before the approach, which was why Liana was in one of the Space Force squads, dutifully waiting for orders instead of waiting with him.
Hopefully they'd have a lot to talk about later.
"Truthfully?" Valentin answered, watching as more squads arrived and troop transports rolled out. "I don't know. I think this may be the wrong approach."
"What, going up to the potentially hostile alien with an army while just saying we want to talk?" Fang asked lightly, covering the biting sarcasm. "I agree. I suppose the Triumvirate wants to project an image of strength. Or make themselves feel better."
"A show," Valentin snorted; it was a sentiment that was kept under wraps, but he definitely wasn't the only person on the planet to express it – privately, at least. "All theatre. Everyone on Earth knows well it wouldn't go well if this thing attacked us. But it looks good for the cameras, so therefore it happens."
"Mmm," Fang looked up into the sky. "Holliday is here though. I don't think they'd send her unless they had some kind of plan in case things went bad."
"Holliday?" He asked incredulously. "That's actually true?"
That did actually change things. Ever since the Battleship had appeared in the Martian sky, rumors had flowed that Holliday herself was in command, but he hadn't believed it. The Americans wouldn't risk their own genius like this…then again Commander Calumet was here, but it was slightly different since this was before they knew the alien could teleport entire starships. She was more or less stuck here now. There shouldn't be any reason to risk people like Holliday.
"Don't know the rationale, it was only just confirmed to me a couple hours ago," Fang answered with a shrug. "What I heard is that she's been involved a lot with the strategy. She might have a plan or know something we don't."
"Perhaps, but I doubt it," Valentin idly surveyed the Martian landscape. "Like I said – a show. Some weird attempt at intimidation I have to guess. How exactly are we going to get that Battleship back to the Moon?"
"Ask the alien nicely?" Fang suggested lamely. "I don't know!"
Valentin just snorted, eliciting a chuckle from Fang.
The arrival of the Battleship had been accompanied by another wave of military supplies, a dozen landers every day which had touched down at the outposts. Heavy ordinance, light tanks, mobile transports, missile launchers, missile defense systems – a plethora of conventional military equipment. A whole week had been dedicated to making the two Martian outposts into hardened fortifications. Rumors of nuclear ordnance had flared up, but just as swiftly been squashed.
That ordinance was now pointed at the alien which hovered over the red Martian land, an ever-present constant in the sky.
In the distance, hovering just under the alien, he saw a few glimmers. By this point it was clear that the alien was observing them with machines. The ghosts were very real, and they were watching. And there seemed to be many of them. It had contributed to the uneasiness in the air, and simmering distrust of the decisions being made back on Earth.
It was a very simple calculus for them – if the alien was using drones which could impersonate, teleport, and hover silently, the chances that it couldn't arm them were very slim. So if the alien felt it was threatened, very few of them felt comfortable with their chances. The continued military buildup was not viewed favorably, even as a precaution.
It certainly didn't make them feel more safe.
How exactly could they feel safe when an alien drone could teleport in front of them and blow their heads off before they could react?
They were playing with something they didn't understand, and in this case what they didn't understand could kill them. The Triumvirate back on Earth seemed to have a hard time understanding this.
"You see something?" Fang asked, seeing him focus out into the distance.
"More of our ghosts," he said, reaching for binoculars he'd taken to carrying around since the sightings had become common. "All in front of the alien now. I think they know we're coming."
Zooming in, he saw a half-dozen of the machines, all of which looked identical to each other. Star-shaped drones with a central optical receptor, somehow able to hover, and unknown if they could attack or not. But unlike the previous behavior, they were just hovering; waiting. They knew they were being watched.
"Load up!" Came the command from Commander Calumet, having finished her conversation with her advisors, and every single member of the Triumvirate stood at attention, as him and Fang took their cues.
"Good luck," Valentin said to Fang, grasping each other's forearms in a farewell of brothers in arms.
"You too," Fang said. "See you on the other side."
They split up and joined their respective positions as the troops prepared to load in as the tanks began rolling up, along with the missile carriers and APCs. Valentin half-expected one last inspiring speech from the Commander, but for once she didn't seem to have one.
Maybe she would give it on the road.
Valentin took his seat in the transport, and for once, the normally bantering soldiers were silent, their bodies tense and minds focused as the transports closed their armored doors. All of them knew that the next few hours would likely be the most important they had experienced in their lives – and if it went badly, probably their last.
But this was why they had come. This is what they were here for.
It was time to learn why the alien was here – and more importantly - what it wanted.
TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER IV | TRAVELER
