Will Carlan has barely touched down on Mars to begin his forced assignment at a remote outpost ruled by the faux-democratic United Planet faction, when rival neo-Marxist Tasurbomurian forces invade the planet. Carlan finds himself at the center of a struggle by the colonists to survive that uncovers a dark secret hidden deep in the subterranean catacombs of the colony.
Carlan just wants to make it back to Earth alive, but he gets swept up in an intricate and deadly contest with more players than anyone realizes. The mysterious leader of the Tasurbomurians has his sights on domination of the entire Solar System. Miscalculations by the United Planet leadership and the destruction of their forces on Mars set in motion a cascade of events that will eventually compel humankind to embark on only its second mission to the Alpha Centauri star system — home to a hostile alien civilization.
Come on an adventure of good and evil, camaraderie and hatred, combat in outer space and the harsh conditions of Mars, and the unfolding of a larger drama that may determine the fate of humankind, in the first book of the Fate of Men space series.
©Copyright 2020 by Mark Dean Stratus
Planet Earth, home to barbarians whose history was a history of wars, plunged into the twenty-second century of the Christian era. She laughed at this mere twenty-one centuries of human folly. What was it next to her four and a half billion years? How many others of her children had she watched go this same way—up a blind alley to a dead end? She had probably lost count.
And now, it was beginning again...
A deep space tracking station surveilled the universe from its position in the Kuiper belt, well beyond the orbit of Pluto. A computerized electronic brain spying out the interstellar space that enveloped the solar system, it probed silently into the night along with an array of other such robots positioned at strategic locations around the solar system—the pride of scientists in the “Free World.” It sent data back to waiting scientists on the Wayward Space City, a colony orbiting Mars. But tonight, it searched for something other than cosmic debris. Most of its circuits slept now.
Then, an object at a remote distance reflected back the tracking station's scanner signal. The returning signal fit the pattern. The tracking station had found what it was looking for. Whole sections of microscopic electronic and photonic circuitry flashed to life. The tracking station transmitted an alert to its listening post by Mars. It pointed a concave receiving antenna in the direction of the distant object.
Directly, it received the proper identity code from the remote object. The tracking station listened attentively to the coded data now pouring forth from the distant object, supplementing those data with its own investigative radar and spy ray scans. Finally, it relayed the resulting package of coded information to the waiting ears and eyes of the Wayward Space City. It would take about seventeen Earth days for this information to reach its destination.
Beep! Beep! The communicator sounded out of the night. And it insisted. Beep! The woman rolled over in her bed and reluctantly activated the transceiver.
Lying back again, she spoke groggily. “Yes.”
A male voice responded. “Executive Ch'en?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“Doctor Garistan in the Space Command Center. The Pacific One has returned. We've just received the proper code sequence from the Frontier Deep Space Tracking Stations minutes ago. They're back. But there's more. I think you had better get over here, Ma'am.”
Ch'en sighed. “I'll be right over.” She deactivated the transceiver.
Why do things like this always happen when I'm on vacation, and in the middle of my rest period? She got out of bed reluctantly and slipped into her business attire.
The Space Command Center's mission control room was long and narrow, lined on two sides with elaborate computer consoles and holographic displays. In one area, the room opened into a semicircular office with several antique wooden desks and a large, businesslike conference table. Garistan, a man of about thirty, walked down the room with an electronic clipboard in his hands, taking notes on data the computers yielded to his assistants.
Ch'en emerged through a doorway on the far end of the room.
“Executive Ch'en,” Garistan greeted her.
She got right to the point. “What here is so pressing that it cannot wait until morning?”
Garistan indicated one of the computer consoles. Ch'en walked over as he manipulated some virtual keys. Words raced across the holographic space above the console.
Ch'en read them aloud. “Positive identification of Starship Pacific One Confirmed. Fifty-three unidentifiable objects of intelligent origin in close pursuit of starship.” She looked up at Garistan. “What does this mean—'unidentifiable' and 'pursuit'? Have you consulted Japan, or Europe—or the Russians?”
“I thought you should see this first. All evidence leads me to conclude that the unidentifiable vessels are not of human origin.”
“That seems impossible.”
“Not after you've read the urgent Mayday communication we've received from the Pacific One. We think the alien ships have hostile intentions.”
“What? You've received a communication from the Pacific One already? Why haven't you told me? Let me see it.”
Garistan thrust the e-board into her hands. She read it quickly.
“They say they're under attack?” she asked.
“It's there in black and white, Ma'am. Now, do you understand why I woke you in the middle of your rest period?”
“Yes, yes,” she replied. “What kind of evidence do you have to convince you that the other vessels are not of human origin?”
“The ships leave no detectable exhaust trails from propulsion to account for their impressive changes of inertia. Not ions, nor hot gases, nor heavy nuclear particles.”
“Perhaps they are propelled by magnetic or photonic drive.”
“You know as well as I do that high inertial impulse magnetic and photonic drives exist only in theoretical physics and in a few elite laboratories.”
Ch'en paused, taking the time to digest the gravity of the situation. At last, she announced with conviction, “We must inform the authorities at once, while we still have time.”
“The authorities of China, or the United States, or Europe?”
“China—well, the Americans and Euros, too. Europe still has an unlikely alliance with the U.S. All we have to do is invoke the clause of the military treaty that calls for 'protection of all mutual interests and possessions of the U.S. and China by any and all necessary joint military force when threatened by hostile foreign forces,'“ she recited by heart. “Not that I expect the EU will do anything. But China definitely will respond. Get on it at once.”
“I understand, Executive Ch'en.”
*****
“Flagship Indus to Peeping Tom. This is Captain Lincher. Repeat: This is Captain Lincher. How do you read?” The military officer spoke into a mike that hung from his mouth as he stood on the bridge of his flagship.
“Loud and clear, Captain,” came the reply over the audio.
The captain's transmission and the response were several seconds apart, evidence of the large distance between the two ships.
“Now listen carefully,” continued Captain Lincher. “Take no unnecessary hostile actions against the bogeys. I just want you to go in close, observe, and report back. Please acknowledge, Peeping Tom.”
Pause. “This is Peeping Tom. Acknowledged, Sir. I observe and report, nothing more.”
Lincher turned to an officer seated near him at a control panel. “Lieutenant Lant, what's Peeping Tom's estimated time of arrival?”
“His ETA is eight minutes, sir,” answered Lant in a macho tone.
Lincher nodded. He eyed his first officer, Commander Janvier. Their exchange of expressions said, We mustn't make any mistakes.
“Captain,” began the communications officer. “I have an urgent message from the Pacific One.”
“Put it through,” Lincher ordered.
“Aye, sir.”
Static strangled the audio, and through it pierced a desperate plea. “This is Captain Dearings of the Starship Pacific One. If anyone is out there, then, please, you have to help us. Those things buzzing about our ship—they mean to destroy us. And they're not bluffing. We've been on the journey home for—for four decades. And they followed us all the way home. They kept on attacking us all the way. I'm sure they could have destroyed us already. I don't know why they haven't. Most of us have been forced to stay out of hibernation. I'm an old man now. Those things have terrorized us for a lifetime. And we can't hold them any longer. They've annihilated all our defenses. This time, I fear they're going all the way. I don't understand what they want from us. Please rescue us. Please bring us home again. We want to see our families again. Please. If anyone is out there. Please. Please...”
“I've lost it, Sir,” reported the communications officer.
Lincher stood in perplexed silence. Good Glory, their families. Who's going to have the guts to wake their families from hibernation to tell them their husbands and wives and loved ones aren't coming home, or that they're all very old now. Poor so-and-sos.
At last, he spoke. “Let's send them a reply.”
“Aye, Sir. You're on the air.”
“This is Captain Lincher on the Joint Defense Flagship Indus. We have received your urgent request. We are on our way. Repeat: We are on our way. The Chinese Fleet has also been alerted. Do not worry. Those aliens will not harm the Pacific One. They will not harm you. Just sit tight. We'll have you safe in a jiffy.”
“A jiffy?” Janvier inquired, with a sniff.
“Captain,” a person seated near Lincher said, “we've just received word that the Chinese have dispatched a ninety-fighter fleet to destroy the bogeys.”
“What! How can they overreact like that? We don't know what we're up against! Urge them to disengage at once, Lieutenant.”
“It's too late to call them back, Sir. Their flagship is half a light minute away from here. There wouldn't be time to get the message to the fighter fleet via their flagship.”
“Then send it directly to the fleet leader. If there's a bloodbath, we can wash our hands of it easily.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Ensign, are you still sending out the friendship message?”
“I am, Sir. On all available frequencies. There's no response.”
Again, the captain eyed Janvier with a questioning stare. In response, the commander shrugged.
“Captain!” Lant said. “The bogeys have attacked the Pacific One.”
“Put it on the main viewer, with progressive computer image enhancement,” Lincher snapped.
A large screen in a vertical wall now displayed the eternal night of space. In that backdrop of velvet blackness, one tiny, metallic object reflected sunlight, as other small objects swarmed about it like bees by their hive. Intermittently, flashes of blue light exploded from the central metallic object.
“Sound battle stations!” exclaimed Lincher. “Helmsman, get us to the Pacific One as fast as you can.”
“We're already at the maximum velocity that we dare go if we want to keep open our window to return to base, Sir,” came the reply. “Depending on collateral impulse force once we engage the enemy, we could compromise that window.”
“Noted. Lieutenant Lant, can we have better magnification on the screen?”
“I'll try, Sir.”
“Captain,” another person said, “I'm getting a new Mayday from the Pacific One.”
“Noted,” responded Lincher. Those poor so-and-sos. “Lieutenant Lant, intelligence said there were fifty-three bogeys. I don't see that many.”
“Uh,” responded Lant. “I think… Uh, yes. I have twenty-one headed for… for Mars and eleven on a path toward Uranus.”
Holy cow, Mars. But why the heck Uranus? “That leaves twenty-one by the Pacific One. Have the ninety Chinese fighters engaged yet?”
“They should be engaging now, Sir.”
The bright explosions on the main viewer became more frequent now. The origins of those explosions were not obvious, owing to the relatively small size of the Chinese warships.
“Captain,” said the communications officer, “I have Peeping Tom on the audio.”
“Put him through,” responded Lincher. “This is Captain Lincher on the Indus. Go ahead, Peeping Tom.”
“Captain,” the voice came over the audio, cluttered with static. “The bogeys are attacking the starship. I see a whole lot of other little ships attacking the bogeys from behind. They look like Tu-80 fighters, the most advanced two-pilot warships the Allies have.”
Lincher eyed Lant.
“I have confirmation. According to their identification beacons, they are Tu-80 fighters,” said Lant. “Manned by some of the best pilots on this side of the solar system. Each fighter commands ten additional drone warships.”
Lincher said, “That's nine-hundred drone fighters, plus ninety manned fighters.”
“Glorious,” muttered Lant.
Janvier smiled, exuding confidence.
“This is Peeping Tom. I see additional fighter formations moving into position about the enemy. All have engaged the enemy.”
“That'll be the drone fighters,” put in Lant. “This will be over real quick now.”
Janvier smiled again.
“This is Peeping Tom. The Tu-80s are being creamed by the bogeys. They're no match!”
Janvier's smile promptly vanished.
Lincher again spoke into his mike. “We hear you Peeping Tom. Try to stay clear of the fighting. No hero stuff now, you hear?”
Pause. “Yeah, I hear, Sir, but the Pacific One needs help. They'll never hold up at this rate.”
“Have the bogeys suffered any losses?”
Pause. “Only one ship, far as I can tell. The Tu-80s have lost maybe fifty ships already! And the other fighter formations are being blown away, too.”
“I have confirmation on that, Captain,” said Lant, turning to Lincher. “Enemy lost one vessel, and the Chinese lost forty-nine. No telemetry on the drones.”
There was a funny taste in the back of Lincher's mouth. Could his ship do much better? This was one mission from which he might not come home.
“Ensign,” he ordered, “advise Mars about the approaching bogeys.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” came the reply.
“Commander Janvier, what would you do if this were your command? What does EU doctrine say about these sorts of situations? What can we do?”
Lincher fixed his eyes on Janvier.
The commander heard the desperation in the captain's voice. He didn't need to explain to the captain the obvious fact that they were too far from base to obtain new instructions in time, that they were under orders to rescue the Pacific One at all costs, and that a retreat from battle was out of the question. He said, matter-of-factly, “You'll die for America, I'll die for France, and the Chinese fleet will die for China. History will record our sacrifices favorably.”
“For France or for Europe?”
“Oui, oui, Europe, but of course.”
The captain grinned. “I bet you're real glad you volunteered to be an observer on this joint defense war cruiser.”
Janvier shrugged.
“Peeping Tom to Indus. Peeping Tom to Indus. Come in, please.”
Lincher moved the microphone closer to his lips. “Go ahead, Peeping Tom. This is Captain Lincher on the Joint Defense Flagship Indus.”
Pause. “It's all over. The Pacific One has fallen. It's a floating ghost ship of a wreck. The fighting with the Tu-80s has shifted off some distance from the starship’s wreckage.”
“Any survivors from the starship?”
Pause. “I think so. I reckon I saw some life ships escape. I'm going in a little closer to get better confirmation on that. Huh? What the heck—”
“Peeping Tom! What's going on out there?”
Pause. “I don't know. He says, 'Do not fear’.”
“Who says not to fear?” demanded Lincher.
Pause. “Captain, you aren't going to believe this, but there's this huge flying saucer outside my window. Wowee! It's huge!”
Lant turned to the captain. “Sir, I have radar confirmation on a large object near Peeping Tom. No spy ray readout, though.”
“Thank you, Lant,” said Lincher.
“Uh, Peeping Tom,” he continued into the mike, “this is Captain Lincher. Take any evasive military action necessary. Do you read that?”
Pause. “But Sir! He says he won't harm me. He's telling the truth. I can tell.”
“Who's telling the truth? Start making sense. Have you established positive communication with the bogey or not? And if so, on what frequency?”
Pause. “No frequency, Sir. I mean, I don't know. It ain't coming in through my radio equipment. But he is communicating with me. He says… He says there will be no more fighting. I can tell by his eyes. I see him through a big porthole in the side of the saucer.”
“Captain,” Lant said, “the bogey is very close to Peeping Tom, maybe five meters away. In my estimation, they're going to capture Peeping Tom and take him home as a POW. I recommend you have him get out of there immediately.”
“Just a moment, Lieutenant.”
“Peeping Tom, what form of communication have you established?”
Pause. “Don't know, Captain. Maybe telepathy.”
“Telepathy! Come on, now. Not even the Russians have had more than limited success with telepathy experiments.”
Pause. “Yeah, but… He says he knows our language. He says his race is called, uh, A… R…C…A, A-R-C-A, Arca. Yeah, Arca.”
“Ask him why he attacked. He attacked us! He destroyed the Pacific One!”
Pause. “Oh, no, Sir. He didn't attack; the others did. He says they came from…uh, from Alpha Centauri. He says that the others are being diverted by his…uh, his fleet. He says he will convince the others to sign a peace treaty with us.”
“Others? Who are the others?”
Pause. “He says they are known to Earth as, as Etzshona. I think you spell that E-T-Z-S-H-O-N-A.”
Lincher turned a questioning gaze to Lant. “Known to Earth?” he asked quietly.
Lant punched some commands into his console. “Our historical databases have no record of that name.”
Lincher raised his voice. “Well, Peeping Tom, why did Etzshonia—Etonia—whatever, why did they attack our starship?”
Pause. “He says that you will find out when you return to Alpha Centauri.”
Lincher frowned and eyed his first officer.
Janvier raised his eyebrows. “It would appear this Monsieur Arca wants us to go back there.”
Lincher grimaced.
He said in a lower voice to Janvier, “What kind of wild hoax is this?”
Peeping Tom continued to speak. “He says that they attacked his fleet, too. He says—it was mistaken identity.”
Lincher frowned. There were so many questions. “Mistaken identity? For whom did the others mistake him?”
“Wait. Let me ask.” Pause. “I'm not sure if I understand his response. He says it is hidden.”
Lincher frowned again. “You mean he doesn't want to answer the question.”
“No, Sir. He's not avoiding the question. He repeated that it is hidden.”
Strange.
“Captain,” said the communications officer, “I have received a code blue directive from Central Command. All further communication shall be directly between Central Command and the unidentified ship. Flagship Indus is to serve only as a relay. Code blue. We are to proceed with the rescue operation.”
Code blue. That meant top secret. It also meant that Lincher and his crew were no longer party to the conversation and could not talk about what had happened.
“Very well then,” Lincher scowled. He nodded to his communications officer.