Destroyer from the Lost Planet, page 33
Buck watched with his mouth agape as the fireball appeared behind him in the distance and began gaining on him. He couldn’t maneuver in the tunnel, and he couldn’t accelerate without running into Gary, so he had no choice but to maintain course and speed while orange flames and thick black smoke surged up the tunnel behind him, determined to swallow him up.
An angry voice came in on Frequency Two, one of the only two unjammed radio frequencies. It was Gary, of course. “You West Texas frickin’ cowboy!” shouted Gary. “I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I? Why are you firin’ in such cramped quarters?”
Buck waited a few seconds to respond, during which the flames and smoke slowly receded behind him. He took a deep breath and answered as calmly as he could. “No worries, chief,” he said, mopping his brow. “Had it all figured out. Over.”
“My ass you did!” said a furious Gary. “You nearly knocked me into a frickin’ wall. And if you’da scorched the Führer here, you’d have started a war that could end humanity. Don’t do that again unless you’re actually fired upon, Buck. And, even then, call me first. Gad, you are hazardous material!”
“Copy that, boss,” replied Buck contritely. “Sorry. Over.”
“Well,” said Gary, “at least they won’t be so quick to send somebody up the tunnel after that crash. Over.”
“And if we’re not followed out of the tunnel,” Buck offered with chagrin, “we can save the bugs to assist us in the escort, at least until we approach orbital altitude.”
“Daylight ahead!” announced Gary. “Stay frosty.”
The flagship spat out the end of the tunnel like a watermelon seed.
Gary exited a second later into painfully bright sunlight and realized he’d emerged from a hole near the top of a sheer ice cliff. He was about to pull the joystick and send himself skyward until he realized that the flagship ahead of him remained level. Evidently, they were flying under an overhang of solid ice. He pressed the radio button.
“Stay level when you exit the tunnel, Buck. There’s an overhang outside the hole. Repeat, remain level until you get a clear visual of the sky. Over.”
“Copy that. Over,” said Buck as he exited the tunnel, and was careful to remain level, though he veered left to avoid any possibility of collision or running into backward-facing fire.
Buck’s rear view showed that the hole he’d just exited had begun spewing copious black smoke, and he surmised that nothing could negotiate such a hazard. But, to his surprise, a blackened, scored enemy fighter emerged from the hole at low speed and tumbled down the icy cliff, striking the cliff twice en route to its fiery death on the fjord below. Buck found himself hoping the pilot was already dead before meeting that ghastly end.
No way was that the guy who was hit by fire from Buck’s tailgun. That was the guy behind him, who must have fatally decided to brook no obstacle in his headlong pursuit—and paid the price. Unsurprisingly, nothing followed the doomed fighter out of the hole. Well, Buck figured, there’s no point in sending the dragonflies to run interference in what’s now a vacant tunnel.
From his forward view, Buck could see that Gary was still riding the tail of the enemy flagship. Gary’s voice came over the radio on one of the only two unjammed frequencies. “Anzû flagship, this is American Fighter One on Frequency One. On this frequency, please acknowledge your intention to cooperate with our escort. Over.”
Buck hit a button on his panel summoning the dragonflies to his own coordinates. They’d arrive in a matter of seconds. Meanwhile, he used the time to catch up with Gary. The enemy flagship was climbing toward orbit at a surprisingly moderate speed, probably wishing to assay the purpose of the proposed escort before attempting escape.
Gary’s voice came to Buck over Frequency Two; it was heavily encrypted and reserved for them alone. “This guy’s been dialin’ like mad for help from his own forces. Over.”
“Is he having any success?” asked Buck. “Over.” Meanwhile, the first dozen or so dragonflies appeared on Buck’s lateral scopes.
“He’s had no success getting a single signal out so far,” replied Gary. “And he’s unlikely to. You can thank the Anunnaki and the NSA for that. At this point, don’t you think he’d be damned curious to find out what we want? I mean, we haven’t taken a shot at him, so he knows we’re not out here to destroy him. I see your bugs are startin’ to show up. Over.”
More dragonflies appeared to Buck’s right and left. “Yeah, they are. I’d think this guy would want to know why nobody’s firing on ’im. Over.”
The enemy flagship acknowledged. “American Fighter One, this is Anzû Flagship. Please identify your pilot and the object of your proposed escort. Over.”
Gary replied. “This is Lieutenant Gary Sullivan, United States … Space Force—” Out of habit, he’d nearly said United States Navy “—we are escorting you to Earth orbit for purposes of parley with our high command. If you cooperate, we will not fire on you. Please identify yourself. Over.”
“I was wondering why you didn’t fire on us,” said the flagship pilot. “Over.”
“It’s not the object of our mission to commence hostilities,” said Gary. “Quite the contrary. Over.”
“I doubt the dead pilots in the two fighters you destroyed will be much comforted by your assurances. This is Anzû speaking, Commander of Resistance Forces. I am piloting this craft.”
This admission came as a complete surprise. Gary and Buck had thought Anzû would be more wily than to admit he was the pilot. Apparently, his ego had gotten the better of him.
Gary punched an inquiry into his onboard computer: Voiceprint analysis: Identify hostile radio contact.
In less than a second, the computer responded. Identity of hostile radio contact confirmed with ninety-six percent probability: Anzû of Nibiru.
“It’s him,” said Gary on Frequency Two. “Over.”
“Son of a bitch!” said Buck. “Over.”
Anzû came back on. “Are you threatening to surveil us to death with your little … bugs?” asked Anzû contemptuously.
“If you remain on current course,” said Gary, “we’re not threatening you with anything. Incidentally, those bugs, as you call them, are equipped with shaped charges which can be emplaced and detonated on contact. Over.”
“Oh,” said Anzû, “so you are threatening me. Over.”
“Negative, commander,” said Gary, “so long as you stay on course, neither these fighters nor the bugs are any threat to you. Over.”
“Will you please withdraw your Anunnaki jammers so I can contact my own forces?” asked Anzû.
“Negative, commander,” said Gary.
“Did you know,” asked Anzû, “that there are several dogfights already going on in Earth’s atmosphere? You can see them from here.”
Gary glanced down at his scopes, which confirmed what Anzû had just said. “We’re aware, commander,” said Gary, “but that does not alter our mission. Will the commander allow his ship to be escorted as we have proposed? Over.”
“Are you taking me to Enki?” demanded Anzû. “Or some other Anunnaki?”
“Negative, commander,” Gary assured him. “If you check your scopes, you can confirm that we are escorting you to the antipodes of Lord Enki’s pyramidion. He’d have to see through Earth to get a look at you—or us. Over.”
“Is your President in orbit—” asked Anzû “—that you take me into orbit? Over.”
“We don’t know, commander,” said Gary. “The person wishing to speak with you on behalf of the United States is Admiral Simmons. Over.”
Buck glanced at his video feed and could see he was nearing Earth orbit. In the distance below and behind, he could see two small backup squadrons of SF-5s approaching. By prearrangement, they would remain several miles back. He felt good knowing that his own Sofia was leading at least one squadron, perhaps both.
“An admiral?” said Anzû, “To parley with the Commander of All Resistance Forces? I don’t think so. I’ll speak with no one but your President.”
“Commander,” said Gary, letting his exasperation show, “our orders—”
“Exactly!” said Anzû. “Your orders—not mine. I will parley with no one less than the President of the United States,” he said. “I’m due at least the courtesy that your people have extended to Enki.”
“Meaning no disrespect,” said Gary, “but it could take us a great deal of time just to locate the President—”
“I’ve got time,” said Anzû haughtily.
There was a crackling on Frequency One, and a man’s voice broke in. Buck recognized it as belonging to Dave Schubert. “Perhaps there’ll be no need for the commander to parley with the President—”
Gary interrupted, sounding furious. “This mission and this radio frequency are under the military jurisdiction of the United States Space Force. The intruder will identify himself at once or suffer the consequences. Over.”
“Lieutenant Sullivan,” said David airily, “don’t you recognize my voice? This is U.S. Ambassador David Schubert. Over.”
Gary’s voice softened slightly. “Welcome home, Mister Ambassador, but I’d appreciate your begging off this frequency. As I said, it’s under military jurisdiction. Over.”
“Ah,” said David, “but I’m not under military jurisdiction, am I? Over.”
There was a long moment of silence, while Gary considered how to respond. At last, his voice returned with greater authority. “Mister Ambassador, as military commander on site, I can commandeer your craft and take you into custody if you push me to it. I suggest you tread lightly. Now kindly get off this frequency. Over.”
“What did I interrupt?” asked David breezily. “Over.”
Anzû interceded. “Mister Ambassador,” he said, “the lieutenant was about to search for the President to engage in a parley. I think we can yield this frequency to the lieutenant while he conducts his search. Don’t you? Over.”
There was another delay after which David said, “Far be it from me to interfere with a military operation. I propose we dispense with any need for this radio frequency, Commander Anzû. Let’s leave the lieutenant to do the necessary. Over.”
“By all means,” said Anzû, as he and David reestablished their telepathic link.
Where are you, commander? asked David.
While Anzû was prepared to expend some effort to appear cordial, he was feeling the weight of the moment and needed David’s help without delay.
I’m in Earth orbit, replied Anzû, wh—
Ah, I see you on my scope. What the devil are you doing in orbit? asked David, as though there was no particular rush. I expected to find you underground somewhere.
I was surprised in my underground lair and escorted here with some rough handling, as you can see.
By those two fighters? asked David. Were they your only escort? They don’t look particularly imposing.
Never mind that, said Anzû with the impatience of hurt pride, where are you?
Where am I? echoed David. I think you could probably wave to me if you knew which way to look. I’m five minutes away from you.
Have you thought about what we discussed? asked Anzû.
Yes, said David, and the more I think of it, the more persuaded I am that my territorial request was appropriate. Have you considered it?
Well, said Anzû, I’ve been a little preoccupied, as you can see, but, yes, I’ve given it some thought.
And? asked David, sounding hopeful.
Let’s review, said Anzû. I freely give you Inanna with all her lands and the immortality needed to enjoy her indefinitely, and instead of being happy with the fulfillment of everyman’s dream, you demand a major quadrant of Earth in the bargain. Is that correct?
That’s about the size of it, replied David.
Anzû found David’s combination of brazenness and disrespect infuriating, but he tamped down his feelings … for now. You do realize—do you not?—that, if you were granted what you now ask, you would probably be living better than I?
Oh, I doubt it, said David. Have you seen New York lately? It’s no picnic, I can assure you.
Oh? replied Anzû. Worse than the Israeli-Palestinian problem? Or the Indian-Pakistani issues? How about the Falun Gong? Or the fanatical Communist regimes in China and North Korea? What about Russia’s absurd arms race? Or the various warring factions of Africa?
What can I say? said David in his infuriatingly smug tone. When you steal a world that has problems, you end up with a world of problems. Look, said David, in his first concession ever, having control of North America won’t mean I can desert you in every other corner of the globe. If I can help you elsewhere, I will.
Do you swear? asked Anzû.
Of course, replied David.
Then we have a deal?
No, said David, but it’s beginning to look as though we might.
That’s magnanimous of you, David, Anzû said sarcastically, but your time’s up. It’s now or never.
David hesitated to reply. I told you that I have to look you in the eye before I’ll believe you.
Anzû was fully confident in his own ability to deceive, but he still needed to consider what David might discover if he were to be brought aboard the flagship. The entire high command would have to be hidden from view. Otherwise, if Anzû’s offer were declined, the enemy could learn from David that his general officers had been removed from the field.
Anzû considered the airlock leading directly to his cockpit. If David were to dock there, he would have no need to tour the remainder of the craft; in fact, even apart from the high command, it would be best if David didn’t see the rest of the craft.
And if David were to dock at the cockpit airlock, Anzû could dispose of the woman, seize control of The Way Forward and, more importantly, of David himself. If David were thereafter to refuse to do as he was told, he could be detained, punished … even tortured until he toed Anzû’s line.
But what dirty tricks might David play if he were allowed aboard? There seemed no mischief available to David for which he wouldn’t pay an immediate price. If he were to draw a sidearm (besides Anzû likely being the faster and better marksman), David would expect to pay for the attempt with a prompt and painful death.
Anzû made up his mind. David must be coaxed into docking, and he must be detained. If David agreed to cooperate, so much the better. If not, Anzû would have at least a short time to bring him to heel.
Come now and we’ll talk, said Anzû. I think you’ll be satisfied.
Very well, observed David. I see from here that you have more than one hatch. At which should I dock this craft?
Dock at the cockpit. We can speak most privately there. Just you and I.
Gary’s voice came on Frequency Two.
“Buck-o, you’re not gonna believe this. Over.”
“What’s up?” said Buck. “Over.”
“NSA says, as far as they can tell, Anzû’s got every one of his generals on his flagship. Over.”
“Which ship?” asked Buck. “Over.”
“The one you’re lookin’ at, dummy!” said Gary. “The bean-counters are countin’ enemy command messages. They’re down to a trickle, and they’re comin’ from oddball places—like the second bananas have suddenly found themselves in charge. Over.”
Buck couldn’t believe they could be lucky enough to have pounced on Anzû at precisely the right time.
“How does this affect our mission orders?” asked Buck.
“Not at all,” said Gary, “but it looks like this little parley could be the endgame.”
Chapter 22
Gary’s voice came in on Frequency One. “Commander Anzû,” he said, “we’ve been unable to contact the President yet, for which we apologize. The ambassador, however, has asked us to open an encrypted audiovisual channel for you to communicate with him privately while you wait. Is that acceptable to you?”
“You mean you’ll be unable to eavesdrop on that frequency?” asked Anzû.
“That’s correct,” replied Gary.
“Then, certainly,” said Anzû. “It will help pass the time.”
In a moment, David’s face appeared on Anzû’s main screen.
“Hello, Mister Ambassador,” said Anzû. “I see you’re in the pilot’s seat. Are your newfound skills up to docking with my craft?”
David nodded. “Commander, you’d be amazed—or perhaps you wouldn’t—at how much one can learn when the consequence of ignorance is death. As it turns out, the docking procedure of this craft couldn’t be more automated. All I need do is direct it toward the target and give it the instruction.”
“Tell me, David,” said Anzû, “is your pilot android still with you?”
David sighed. “It was necessary to disable him in order to take control of the craft.”
“But he’s with you?” asked Anzû.
“In a sense, he is,” said David. “His central processing unit is online and performing certain calculations for the craft, but his personality (or what passes for one in an android) is, alas, damaged beyond immediate repair, though we have high hopes for his recovery once we reach Earth.”
“Very well,” said Anzû. “Shall we proceed with docking?”
“Certainly,” said David, keying in the necessary instruction. “Fortunately, there’s no need to break this connection while we do so.”
Illuminated by earthlight, the antimatter craft moved gracefully into position alongside the airlock nearest Anzû’s cockpit. The craft’s door connected firmly to the airlock, the clasps locked into position, and the airlock began to pressurize.
Before releasing the door lock, David looked at Anzû on the screen. “Do I have your word that, if we’re unable to come to terms, you’ll do nothing to interfere with my departure?”
Anzû looked hurt. “Why, of course, David. Why would you even ask me that? Open the door.”
David regarded him skeptically. “I’m still uncertain that you’re being straight with me. I mean, North America is a big place. Perhaps you think it’s too much for me to handle.”
