Fracture (First Colony Book 8), page 2
“I’ll be sure to share your philosophy of shooting first and asking questions later with the defense committee,” Connor said.
“It does simplify things. Seriously, the committee can’t really be considering how they could work with the Krake if they found a way to communicate with them. Given what they’ve done to the Ovarrow and the data you retrieved, I seriously doubt they're open to peace.”
Connor didn’t need to be reminded. He’d gone over that data many times. “It’s not that simple,” he said, snorting in disbelief. “Okay, from your perspective it’s simple. I give you a weapon, I tell you to achieve an objective, and it’s done. But dealing with civilians can be complicated.”
Samson arched a thick eyebrow and smiled a little, but it didn’t make his face look friendly. "Complicated,” he repeated. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Since Connor had invited Samson back into the CDF, he’d gotten used to some of his old friend’s moods. Sometimes Samson had a simplified way of reading into a situation that was useful. This wasn’t one of those times.
“I don’t mean to be a hard-ass about this,” Samson continued. “And I know I’m not telling you anything new.”
Connor looked at him for a moment and then nodded. “I thought after the Vemus War we could leave all that behind us. I want there to be a better way, but . . .” He let the thought go unfinished.
There were a few times in a soldier’s life when events would shape the kind of soldier they'd become. For Connor, the first time was when he killed an enemy combatant. He’d never forget his first kill. He'd felt numb in the beginning, and then he tried to rationalize it when he could think clearly again. He'd thought he was supposed to feel conflicted about it, but he didn’t. He never did. It was then that he had to accept that fighting was something he was exceptionally good at, and possibly the only thing he was really good at. It didn’t make him a monster, although there were some people who probably thought of him that way. He was a protector, and he would protect this colony until his dying breath.
2
The CDF Hellcat set down at an impromptu landing zone out in the middle of nowhere. Connor had picked this site because it was hundreds of kilometers away from any colonial outpost and because they could control the environment.
“General Gates,” Lieutenant Solari said, “General Hayes is inbound and will be here in a few minutes. The other attendees will arrive shortly.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Connor replied and left the cockpit.
He went to the back of the Hellcat where the CDF infantry unit waited. Captain Kathy Morris came over to him.
“Have your platoon secure the area. The others will be arriving shortly.”
“Yes, General,” Morris replied and began issuing orders to her platoon.
Connor walked down the exit ramp and stepped onto solid ground, hearing Samson’s heavy footfalls behind him. Samson was a few inches taller than Connor and outweighed him by more than sixty pounds of solid muscle.
There were vast areas of the supercontinent that were home to wide-open plains. One of the reasons Connor had selected this area was that there was very little chance anyone could spy on them.
Several reconnaissance drones flew overhead, and Connor glanced at Samson, wondering if he'd ask any of the questions that were obviously forming in his mind. Samson had only rejoined the colony in the past three months and was still prone to long bouts of silence.
“I’m glad you asked,” Connor said. “The reason we’re out here in the middle of nowhere is because we can secure the area and prevent anyone else from listening in.”
Samson eyed him for a few moments. “I didn’t ask. I’m just following orders.”
“You were wondering. I could tell.”
“If Wil and Kasey could see us now.”
Connor sighed heavily, remembering his friends. All of them had been former members of the Ghost Platoon, but Wil and Kasey had died protecting the colony. “At least you’re here.”
Samson snorted, which sounded more like a bull clearing its throat. “You’ll get more use out of me when the Krake actually arrive, or when we take the fight to them. I hate all the strategy stuff beforehand.”
“You’re only as good as the weapons you use,” Connor replied.
Samson eyed him for a moment. “Unless you think some of the people coming to this meeting aren’t friends.”
High above, a Hellcat flew across the pale gray sky, lining up with the LZ, engines shrieking in a dopplered wail as it came in low and fast. Connor glanced at it before turning back to Samson. “If we only surround ourselves with people we trust, not much would get done.”
“So, you trust me now,” Samson said, which was more of a statement than a question.
“Now that you’re weapons qualified again, I trust you won’t shoot me in the back.”
Samson’s mouth split into a broad grin. “I was just keeping you on your toes.”
The Hellcat landed, next in a line of several others en route to the LZ. Some of the Hellcats were smaller than the troop-carrier-sized transport, and they had different insignias for the branch of service they operated under. Two of the ships were tan and green for Field Ops, while the Hellcats from the CDF were battle-steel gray with a blue and gold stripe across the middle. They were designed for both atmospheric flight and lower orbit, but they didn’t have the range of a combat shuttle.
Nathan Hayes walked down the exit ramp of the nearest CDF Hellcat and gave Connor a wave before heading in his direction.
As Nathan walked over, he looked over at the other ships landing close by. “This is something new,” he said, looking around at the open grasslands surrounding them.
“It’s time for it.”
“I’m pretty certain we can secure our communications at any of the CDF bases,” Nathan replied.
Connor nodded. “Probably, but there are other ways to listen in. It’ll be a good idea for us to lay our cards out on the table before meeting with the Colonial Defense Committee.”
More people disembarked from their ships, and Connor saw Damon Mills, Director of Field Ops, walking over to him. A woman in a Field Ops uniform walked at his side, and her name appeared on Connor’s internal heads-up display.
Captain Leslie Tyler.
Age 51.
Senior Field Ops agent in charge of Search and Rescue at Sierra.
Captain Tyler looked barely into her twenties due to the prolonging treatments all colonists were privy to. Connor looked at her record with appreciation, glad that Search and Rescue was in such capable hands.
Damon Mills had had a career in law enforcement back on old Earth. His skin was weatherworn, and he sported an outdoorsman’s deep tan. He looked to have an almost permanent scowl on his face, and he could be somewhat abrasive at times. Connor remembered getting off to a rocky start with Damon when he’d first gotten to the colony, but over the years, they'd come to a mutual respect for one another. They might never be what Connor would consider close friends, but he trusted Damon, which was why he'd invited him.
“Thanks for making time to come here,” Connor said to Damon.
Damon rubbed his eyes for a moment and nodded. “Of course.”
“Were you up all night?”
Damon nodded by way of tilting his head to the side once and smiling a little. “There’s never a dull moment, is there? Believe me, we’re all busy, and I’m happy for a little bit of a change for a few hours, at least. Lots of fresh air around here,” he said while glancing around.
A text message appeared on Connor’s internal heads-up display.
C. Weber: Suppressor net ready to engage. One invitee overdue.
C. Gates: Acknowledged. Come on out and join us now.
More people arrived, mostly from Field Ops, with Franklin Mallory arriving last. An older man, Franklin was taller than Connor, and the short beard he wore emphasized the long lines of his face from his high cheekbones to the straight slash of his mouth. Fresh worry lines adorned his friend’s face, and Connor’s stomach knotted into a ball of acidic regret.
“Franklin, thanks for coming,” Connor said.
Franklin Mallory looked as if he'd rather be somewhere else, impatient to get back to work, and Connor understood why. His son was a prominent figure associated with a rogue terrorist organization, and it tended to make for many sleepless nights.
“Connor,” Franklin replied in acknowledgment.
Major Natalia Vassar joined them and gave Connor a meaningful nod. She was a short woman, and her reputation among the officers was that she was tiny but fierce.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” Connor said, “this is Major Natalia Vassar, and she's with CDF Intelligence. She's activated a suppressor net, so don’t be alarmed if you find yourselves suddenly cut off from all communications with the rest of the colony. There’s nothing wrong with your equipment. It’s just a precaution to prevent other people from listening in on this meeting.”
Several people frowned, but it was Damon who voiced the unspoken objection. “Don’t you think this is over the top? What if there's an emergency?”
Connor looked at Damon and smiled. “We’ll be fine. We all have well-trained people in our respective organizations, and they have protocols to follow in an emergency. I promise not to keep any of you longer than absolutely necessary.”
Franklin Mallory cleared his throat. “What’s this about, Connor?”
“I wanted to have an open and honest conversation with all of you. You were asked to bring at least one person that you absolutely trust,” Connor said and looked around at all of them. More than a few glanced at Samson, whose form towered off to Connor’s right. Gesturing toward Samson, Connor continued. “This is Captain Samson. For those of you who haven't met him yet, he's a former member of the Ghost Platoon of the NA Alliance Military. He’s recently rejoined the CDF and is part of Spec Ops in charge of Ranger 7th company.”
Hearing that Samson was a former member of Connor’s old Ghost Platoon drew a few curious looks in his direction. People like Franklin and Damon, who'd been there at the beginning of the colony, knew firsthand that not all the Ghosts had acclimated to colonial living. Samson was one of those who hadn’t. He’d spent the last eight years living alone, getting as far away from colonial population centers as possible.
Samson returned their curious gazes with what he probably considered a nonthreatening look.
“I’m going to cut to the chase,” Connor said. “The Krake represent a threat that's like nothing we’ve ever faced. All our preparation for the Vemus was designed to meet a threat coming from deep space. And though the Krake could attack us from space, they could also attack us on the ground and could already be here without our knowledge.” Connor paused for a few moments to glance at the Field Ops people, who looked as if they weren’t sure how to react to this news. “The purpose of the Colonial Defense Force is to protect the colony from outside threats. Given what we know about the Krake, this responsibility is going to be shared directly with Field Ops. There's a very real possibility that our conflict with them will happen on the planet, and the CDF and Field Ops need to be able to coordinate together.”
Damon jutted his chin up once, indicating that he wanted to speak, and Connor nodded. “We still have the civilian readiness plans we put together in the event that the Vemus invaded us. Wouldn’t that be enough?”
“That’s the thing, Damon. I don’t know if they are. We can plug the security holes as best we can, but the situation is different. The Krake could already be here. How would we know? How would they attack us? Would they attack us?”
“If you didn’t believe the Krake would attack us at some point, we wouldn’t be here,” Franklin said.
Connor nodded. “You’re right. I believe it’s not a matter of if but when. The other thing that concerns me is that our best source of information is also the source of a major division between colony members. I'm talking about the Ovarrow,” he said, using the NEIIS name for themselves.
“Given what the Ovarrow have done to their planet,” Nathan began, “trusting them to be our allies has given me a lot of sleepless nights. I’m willing to confess to that. You and I have discussed this before, but for the rest of you, here's what I think. I do agree that the Ovarrow represent a source of the intel we need, but they’re alien. They fought a war—many wars—among themselves and possibly against the Krake, and look where it left them.”
Franklin Mallory crossed his arms in front of his chest and exhaled. “We still don’t understand why the Krake would even come here.”
“Actually,” Connor said, “we've uncovered evidence from their military base that indicates they allocate a lot of resources for exploring different universes and interacting with intelligent species. I say 'interact' because the evidence we have indicates that the Krake don’t simply launch an all-out campaign to conquer a target. We can talk about this for hours and days, and we already have within our various circles. What I’m looking for from all of you are ideas for how to prepare for the Krake. And I recognize that some of our ideas may not be popular with certain groups of civilians or even with each other, for that matter.”
They were silent for a few moments before Franklin Mallory spoke.
“When Tobias Quinn was drafting the Colonial Charter, he had to account for the possibility that there might be factions of the colony that broke off from the main group. There are ways for them to legally do this. It’s their right.”
“I understand that it's their right,” Connor said, “but we barely survived a war with the Vemus, and it took the effort of the entire colony to do it. The Vemus sent a fighting force across interstellar space to get us. What we’re facing here has the potential to be a fighting force that doesn’t have to travel so far. It’s already here but in a different universe. I know it’s difficult to accept, but if we make this a numbers game, then the odds are overwhelmingly in their favor.”
“Excuse me,” Leslie Tyler said. “How can you be so sure? We haven’t even found the . . .” she paused for a moment, searching for the right words, “. . . home universe of the Krake. So, this is all speculation as to what their capabilities are.”
“You’re right; we haven’t found it. But they’re a spacefaring race, which means they must have certain technological and manufacturing capabilities that can only come from a heavily populated planet. They might even have colonies. We don’t know. They could be drawing from resources that come from multiple worlds. Regardless, it will be our job to come up with a way to stop them from wiping us out.”
Connor watched the others as his words were mulled over.
“So why all the secrecy?” Damon said, gesturing around them.
Connor looked at Damon, and then his gaze went to Franklin Mallory. “It’s because of Lars and the rogue group he’s part of.”
Franklin’s gaze hardened, and he glanced away.
“I know this hasn’t been easy for you,” Connor said, “but Lars and his group are driving a wedge into the colony.”
Franklin looked at Connor. “I don’t condone my son’s actions, but Lars isn't forcing his ideas on anyone. They just happen to be in conflict with what your ideas for protecting the colony are.”
Connor was quiet for a few moments, considering, and as each moment passed, he saw the others shift uncomfortably. Franklin was worried about his son and angry with him at the same time. Connor could tell Franklin wanted to defend his son’s actions, and Connor also wanted to help protect Lars and get him to stop doing what he was doing. “All right, you have a point, but the fact of the matter is that we’re putting forth a motion to have the actions of Lars and the rogue group declared illegal. Like it or not, if Lars keeps on his current path, his actions will be declared criminal.”
Franklin Mallory’s broad shoulders drew up tight, and a groan escaped his lips. As he lifted his eyes, the pain in his expression stabbed at Connor’s chest. But Franklin quickly replaced that pain with a scowl and clenched his fists.
“I think we need a few minutes here,” Nathan said, gesturing for some of the others to walk away.
Damon came to Franklin’s side, trying to get him to walk away, and Franklin took a few steps. He was shaking his head, and his face had become several shades of red as he glared at Connor. “My son is not a criminal, and I don’t care what motion you get passed. He is not a criminal! He’s doing what you taught him to do. He’s doing what I taught him to do. He’s trying to protect this colony.”
Connor met Franklin’s gaze. He knew what it was like to grieve for a son—that gut-wrenching pain that kept stabbing until it drove you to your knees. It was a pain that Connor carried within himself, too, and it would never leave. At least Franklin’s son was alive, and there was still a chance to save him from himself, but Connor wouldn’t give him false hope. “Lars is treading a very thin line that he’s come dangerously close to crossing. Did you forget what happened to Noah? Or the fact that he led a group that almost opened fire on a CDF squad that was protecting Dash? Lars is pulling Ovarrow from their stasis pods, questioning them, and then murdering them. In that respect, he’s already crossed the line. How long do you think it will be before he does the same thing to a colonist who's standing in his way? Do you want to stand in front of another father or mother and tell them that Lars’s actions aren’t criminal? What about the Ovarrow? Don’t they have a right to live just like you or me? I don’t like this either. He’s a good kid. They all were, but they’re making grave mistakes—mistakes that are going to put them on the wrong side—”
“Stop!” Damon shouted. “Just stop.”
Angry tears had gathered in Franklin’s eyes. It was a gaze full of pain that touched on bitterness, and perhaps even hatred. Franklin shook his head, and his shoulders slumped. “Where did I go wrong? How could I have let this happen?”
