Chapter 2
Three weeks later.
“No, not that one—how many times do I have to tell you? The 9/16th. What am I supposed to do with a ? inch?”
Jason, biting his tongue, fingered through old Gus’ ancient metal toolbox until he found what he was looking for. He handed his father the 9/16th socket. His father, Admiral Perry Reynolds, took the socket, snapped it onto the wrench and was back, elbows deep, into the Ford’s flat head V8.
Jason went back up to the porch and sat down. “Dad, I thought you were going to spend some time relaxing. You’d think after fifteen years of fighting the Craing, there’d be something better you could do with your free time—something other than fighting with that clunker.” Upon returning to San Bernardino, Jason watched as his father quickly immersed himself into rebuilding the 1949 F1 pickup truck. Obviously escaping. And why shouldn’t he? A warrior had come home, yet he’d been defeated in battle. He was their leader and so many thousands had died. Would he find the answers he was looking for under the hood of that beat up old truck? Had he given up? Jason didn’t know.
An early autumn breeze made its way into the scrapyard, making San Bernardino’s hot climate almost bearable. Jason, feet up and a six-pack at his side, made a few more additions to his report before closing down his virtual tablet. The Lilly had returned a battered mess—barely able to make it back to Earth before shutting down completely. For three weeks Jason, a handful of repair drones, and what remained of the crew worked tirelessly to bring the vessel back to an operational level again. Jason had stayed in touch with the outpost, but being away for such an extended period of time created its own issues. Even though he’d felt comfortable with Admiral Cramer heading up the Earth Outpost for the United Planetary Alliance—the EOUPA—something was up. Communications had become sparse and incomplete. And that was another issue. Jason had been clear, Admiral Cramer would report back to him. But what now? His father, in actuality, was the true Allied Commanding Officer. Would his father even want that responsibility again?
Near the tool shed, more swearing erupted from under the truck’s hood. From Jason’s experience, no one could out-swear a sailor—and that went double for an admiral. He took another long slug of his beer and surveyed the yard. Added to the hundreds of junked automobiles, trucks, vans, and buses, and miscellaneous auto parts, was the newer addition of two stripped-down F-22 fighter jets. After three weeks, they too had begun to blend in—becoming one with the acres and acres of scrap metal.
Jason heard the familiar ping in his ear; his NanoCom had been activated. He was being hailed.
“Go ahead, XO.”
“Captain, we’re receiving FTL markers—a transmission from deep space to your attention.”
“Give me ten minutes. Actually, make that fifteen,” Jason replied, getting to his feet. He grabbed up the empty beer bottles and disappeared into the back of the house.
Ten minutes later, he’d showered, put on his officer’s jumpsuit, and was halfway into the scrapyard. Walking along the concrete pathway, as he had every morning over the past few weeks, were the same, now faint, brown footprints. His own bloody footprints. He had been running barefoot the night everything changed—the night he chased what appeared to be a small man down this very path. Later he discovered it wasn’t a small man, but the mechanical alien called Ricket. The same alien who later mistakenly shot and killed his eight-year-old daughter, Mollie. Inexplicably, Mollie was saved, brought back from the clutches of death. That same strange being, Ricket, had rushed them to an advanced alien spacecraft hundreds of feet below the same ground he now trod.
One of the first orders of business once Jason returned home was to modify access to the underground aquifer. The old red Caddy, cramped and just barely accessible to climb in and out of, had been removed. A bright yellow, albeit ancient, school bus now sat in its place.
Pressing a hidden button beneath the front right fender caused the bus door to swing open. Just like the old Caddy, the bus had been gutted and only served as an entryway to the lift system that took Jason down a hidden shaft to the dried-up aquifer hundreds of feet below.
Once below, and turning the last bend, the tunnel opened up into a massive cavern. There sat The Lilly, black and curvaceous—her gracefully sweeping aerodynamic lines never ceased to make Jason’s heart skip a beat. He scurried up the gangway and disappeared into the stern of the spaceship.
“Captain on deck,” announced Jason’s arrival to the bridge by The Lilly AI. He moved directly to the command chair and sat down.
“What do we have, XO?” Jason asked.
“It’s the Craing, sir. Actually, it’s the Craing representative.”
Jason knew who it was before Perkins replied.
“It’s Brian, your brother. He’s been awaiting your arrival.”
Jason was still grappling with his mixed feelings, and even suspicions, towards his brother. Although claiming to have a wife and small child on a Craing controlled planet, with their safety constantly threatened, something didn’t add up for Jason. He wasn’t sure what Brian’s true motivations were. Who was it he was actually working for within the Craing Empire?
“Go ahead and make the connection, XO,” Jason said.
The forward section of the large wrap-around display came alive, and the face of Jason’s brother filled the screen. “Hello, Jason. Good to see you again.”
“Good to see you too, Brian. I see you’re still doing the Craing’s bidding.”
“As I told you before, everything I do is for Earth as well.”
Not wanting to get into another debate with his older brother, he let that pass and simply nodded his head with a less than sincere smile. “So how can I help you? I take it you received our package?” Jason queried him.
“Oh, you mean the return of a few Craing crewmembers?”
“That and fifty of their warships—more than a few. I thought that was quite generous on our part.”
“Well, they would have preferred to have all five hundred of their ships returned and every last one of their crewmembers. The rest of the Craing crewmembers you’re still holding will need to be returned. But yes, the gesture hasn’t gone unnoticed. But that’s not why I’ve been instructed to contact you.”
“Let me guess. The Craing find themselves suddenly without an emperor—and it just so happens that Emperor Reechet still lives and breathes right here among the Alliance. Something along those lines, huh?” Jason asked with a smile.
“Make light of it all you want, but the Craing take few things as seriously as they do their aristocracy.”
“Why can’t they make someone like High Priest Overlord Lom their next emperor? I bet he’d jump at the chance—”
Brian cut him off mid-sentence. “Go ahead and be smug, but this is quite serious. When you sent the remnants of the Craing fleet back to their home worlds, you inadvertently sparked a Craing uprising. Not only did they receive the mangled body of their late Emperor Quorp, they received news that Emperor Reechet still lives. And there has never been a time when—”
This time it was Jason’s turn to interrupt: “—they have been without a living emperor. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before, and I don’t give a rat’s ass what upsets the Craing populace. They are a cowardly, murderous people,” Jason replied, feeling his temper rise.
“Just let me finish because this is important, Jason.”
“Well, go on, then—finish what you have to say.”
“What if the Sol system, Earth, could be free from Craing hostilities—forever? All they ask is the return of their emperor.”
“You can’t be serious. Even if I was open to that, which I’m not—we’re supposed to believe them? You do realize these are the same barbarians who make a habit of dining on human flesh. The same people who’ve terrorized hundreds of worlds of the Alliance, not to mention the rest of the universe. We’re supposed to save ourselves while the rest of our allies continue fighting? No,
I’m not giving up Ricket, or anyone else. And tell your friends that their dynasty is quickly coming to an end.”
“The resources of the Craing are almost incomprehensible. The few hundred ships you’ve absconded with are but a fraction of their total capacity.”
“I don’t care,” Jason said, indignation rising.
“We’re talking tens of thousands of warships. Do you really want a force of that magnitude barreling down on Earth? And there’s something else: three ships discovered hundreds of years ago by the Craing—ships of a technology so advanced no one figured out how to power them on, let alone fly them. They’ve been stored beneath the ground, mothballed, collecting dust. Something’s changed. The ships came alive. Suddenly became operational. They are in orbit around Terplin as we speak, and from the reports I’ve heard, their capabilities are nothing short of amazing. Capabilities that aren’t dissimilar to that new ship of yours. With little doubt they’re of the same technology, and I’m betting have the same Caldurian origins. Anyway, the Craing are learning to fly the things, even calling them the Emperor’s Guard. My guess is they’re coming for their emperor or to destroy that ship of yours—perhaps both. I’d be proactive here. Hand over that old robot and be done with it. Do it now.
“That’s not going to happen,” Jason said flatly.
“They will not hesitate to unleash a hell storm on Earth. I’ve seen them do it time and time again. This time it would be Earth that would be uninhabitable for a thousand years, maybe more. Their newly appointed high priests have given them eight days to learn how to fly these ships, get familiar with their weapons systems.”
“Why don’t they just send the rest of their fleet, a few more dreadnaughts?” Jason asked.
“They still don’t understand how that ship of yours destroyed or incapacitated five hundred of their fleet ships. It’s an embarrassment they don’t want to repeat. No, better to send these three ships. Ships with comparable technology.”
“You mentioned the high priests. So they’re giving the orders now?” Jason asked.
Brian smirked. “High Priest Overlord Lom had always been in charge. Sure, the emperor is a living symbol to the people, but it’s the high priests that make the decisions. And unlike the emperor, they can be replaced. What happened with that robot of yours acting as Emperor Reechet won’t be allowed to happen again. Yes, they want to have him back, prop him up as a figurehead, but they certainly won’t let their masses blindly follow him.”
“It’s not up for discussion,” Jason repeated.
“You have eight days before those three ships, their new Emperor’s Guard, leave Craing space. I’m going out on a limb here even telling you this.”
“Careful, Brian. I certainly wouldn’t want to get in the way of your cozy relationship with the Craing.”
“This is bigger than just you and me, Jason. You need to bring this to the attention of the right people: Washington, other world governments. You need to prepare. Please make the right decision.” The screen went black and the bridge went quiet.
“XO, what’s the earliest The Lilly will be ready for flight?”
“Early tomorrow morning, Captain. Where to?”
“The Chihuahuan desert. The Alliance outpost.”
* * *
Back up top, it was Jason’s turn to make dinner—spaghetti and meatballs. Smoke filled the kitchen from the first batch of garlic bread scorching in the oven. As Jason ran around opening windows and flapping a dish towel, he thought about his father. Admiral Perry had become even quieter, more reclusive. In fact, Jason couldn’t remember him saying more than three or four words in days. Jason had hoped that some downtime revisiting the scrapyard, his old stomping grounds, would provide Admiral Perry the necessary time to heal his inner conflict. But there was something else disturbing the admiral. Perhaps, in his view, he had failed the Alliance. On top of that, Jason was able to accomplish what his father could not: defeat the Craing in open space. But the admiral wasn’t taking into account that it wasn’t so much Jason’s extraordinary skills as a commander as it was his taking advantage of the resources around him—namely The Lilly. Where the admiral had kept the ship hidden and protected, Jason had exploited its phenomenal resources.
As the smoke cleared, he opened the oven door and checked his second batch of bread. What his father didn’t get was that the Alliance would soon fall apart without the admiral’s strong presence. Fifteen years of work. One by one, Admiral Perry Reynolds had made planetary alliances across multiple sectors, committing even the most reclusive of planets to come together to unify against the Craing. What his father wasn’t considering was that, without himself at the helm, the Alliance’s chances of defeating the Craing were nil.
* * *
Their evening ritual was sitting on the porch, plates on laps, and a six-pack shared between them.
“Progress with the rebuild?” Jason asked, passing his father the basket of garlic bread and expecting a one or two word answer.
Admiral Reynolds took the basket and placed several pieces at the side of his plate. He thought for a moment and shrugged.
“Got it to turn over.”
“Seriously? That’s something,” Jason commented.
“Timing’s still shot to shit, but … yeah.”
“So, a few more days under the hood?”
“Need to scrounge a few more old parts from the yard. There’s another old F1 pickup out there somewhere—think it’s a ‘48er, though,” his father replied.
Jason nodded and said, “Northeast corner of the yard. Look for the old blue Econovan. You’ll see it.” Jason took another slurp of spaghetti before continuing: “I’m headed back to the outpost tomorrow. You okay here by yourself for a while?”
His father didn’t answer right away. “Hmm … I don’t know. I mean, after sixty years of wiping my own ass, I might need your help.”
“I just meant—”
“I know what you meant. Go. I’m fine.”
Somewhere, not so far away, a dog barked—then two others barked back. A woman’s voice yelled “Dinner!” farther off in the distance.
“I talked to Brian this morning,” Jason said. He noticed his father looked up from his plate for the first time.
“What the hell did he have to say?”
“Just that Earth will be free of the Craing forever. All they want is their emperor back.”
“Emperor being Ricket…?”
“Yep.”
“Your mother, God rest her soul, must have been screwing the milkman, because there’s no way I share the same DNA with that boy,” his father said with a smirk and a shake of his head.
“He honestly believes in what he’s doing,” Jason replied, encouraged by his father’s unexpected chattiness.
“He’s thinking from a flawed perspective. He’s thinking with his head up his own ass.”
Jason thought about that for a moment and started to laugh. Then so did his father. They sat together laughing a little while longer as the sun dipped behind the San Bernardino foothills.