THE VROL TRILOGY Page 8

  Swinging his body around, he roared, "GET THOSE SHIPS BACK INSIDE NOW!"

  Jennie took a deep breath and dropped her shoulders, but was still immensely concerned about the current state of crisis.

  "Sir, how can I be of assistance?"

  Bagatelle looked frantically around the bridge, scanned the view screen, and then turned to the attractive lieutenant. "Jennie, I need you to put on a pressure suit and run a mag-cat with a grappler on the outside of the hull. Help to get those Draeders back onto the flight deck."

  The lock field had been activated by a quick-thinking tech, only moments after Johnson had fled with in his Draeder, so only a couple dozen of the deadly attack craft had been lost. Unfortunately, nearly all flight deck techs on duty, and some 17 pilots lost their lives, and they most certainly were not recoverable.

  Bagatelle turned to a senior officer nearby and said, "Get a security team to the quarters of Lt. Ryder Johnson and turn that room upside-down. Find out what the hell he was up to, and see if we can get a clue as to what his intentions are." He was starting to piece the puzzle together with a bit more clarity now.

  The recovery operation was long and arduous. As the Revolution had dropped out of side space at nearly zero velocity, it had to remain in place while crews worked to salvage whatever they could. Once they had gathered everything possible in their vicinity - eight Draeders and the bodies of some eight techs and three pilots - the Revolution made for Earth on full burn. The massive warship, although not very maneuverable, was faster in a straight line than any Draeder, so in reality they were only 30 minutes behind Johnson's craft, even though they had spent a good two hours cleaning up the mess he made.

  Jennie finished with the cleanup effort and retired to her cabin, where, on her desk she saw a bottle of that expensive tequila and a note written on her static wallboard.

  Jennie, sorry we didn't have a chance to get together, but we'll meet again soon.

  Count on it.

  Ryder

  The note was not a kind goodbye letter - it was taunting and cruel. What kind of a sociopath was he? She thought he was a bit rough around the edges, but had great promise, and he just ended up being a murderer. She started to cry and beat her fists against the wall, nearly taking the tequila bottle and smashing it, but just stopping herself short of doing so. She would not be weak. She was going to save that bottle, and every time she saw it she would be reminded of his betrayal. She vowed to track Ryder Johnson down and bring him to justice.

  No. I am going to kill him.

  Lt. Johnson rounded the backside of Earth's sole satellite, and started preparing atmospheric re-entry vectors. While no one on the Revolution was even sure that Earth still existed, Johnson knew it did, for a fact. His father had a team of scientists working on a side space probe that auto-dropped right into Earth's orbit some months ago. This enabled them to verify Earth's existence and to analyze the planet quite thoroughly, all the while acting as if they were waiting on the Military Complex to make a first contact via the hook drive. It was all an elaborately planned ruse, and getting the probe to Earth was complete luck anyway. Councilman Johnson's science teams had gleaned enough information out of military research to put together a small SSCC drive for the device - but building a massive one, able to propel a large ship through side space was on a completely different level.

  Johnson's smile behind his full-face helmet wasn't one of happiness or joy - it was one of ruthless ambition and victory. It was victory at the expense of a mighty warship and maybe hundreds of dead crewmen. Almost completely amoral in the application of his father's plans, he felt absolutely no regret for what he had done. The only regret he had was that he had not conquered Jennie Escalante. He wanted to meet up with her again one day, pour that entire bottle of tequila down her throat before having his way with her, and then throw her off a cliff. That was his true nature.

  Chapter 7 - Vid Time

  Max stood next to Draagh, feeling disoriented, as it was his first time teleporting. In reality, he had no idea what had just happened, until Draagh started giving him a detailed explanation.

  "Max, please stand here for a moment, my boy. The first time is always a bit nauseating. We just performed a 3D slip. That is, we arrived at specific X, Y and Z coordinates, and have traveled over 7,000 kilometers in a fraction of a second."

  Draagh beckoned Max to take a seat on a chair less than a meter away. They appeared to be in a room with ancient-looking computers and racks full of servers and archaic network switches. Draagh strolled over to a computer and flicked through it, bringing up what was called a website, in a quaint GUI on the computer screen. Max gathered himself and scooted his chair over closer to his strange new friend.

  "Draagh, what are we doing here, and where is here?"

  Draagh gave the young man a concerned look, and stated, "We are in what used to be an IT department, in a building in Los Angeles, California, in the former United States of America. This had eventually turned into an underground operation, as the government banned the totality of electronic communications that were not approved by the censorship boards, all in the name of fairness and equality, of course."

  Max noted the sarcasm in Draagh's voice and turned to the screen as the old sage continued.

  "This facility had archived exabytes of data from what was a free Internet, which had enabled mankind to learn and communicate on a scale unheard of in its history. Unfortunately, politicians were not fond of the fact that this form of communication also exposed their crimes and weaknesses, so they banned it."

  Max nodded, watching Draagh navigate through the archaic interface, using a small, handheld sliding device that he moved along a pad on the desk, occasionally pressing on a button on the device, which caused clicking sounds. When his new friend found what he was looking for, he clicked what was called a link, causing a small vid to play. Max watched in horror as amateur vid footage showed the Vrol invasion on the ancient vid display (Azul technology had provided semi-transparent holographic vid displays for decades). Black-colored, organic-looking ships were gliding through the air, the skin of the crafts undulating and shifting, as horrid creatures, resembling giant bats, exited from the larger vessels, as if they were smaller attackers themselves. In fact, they were the aerial attack troops, the Vrol having a flying warrior caste that did significant damage over the ground, while the organic-looking ships fought Earth fighters, themselves looking outclassed and backwards in comparison.

  Draagh gave Max a forlorn look and shook his head side to side. "This was the beginning of the invasion, Max. These are the creatures that destroyed this planet, without mercy, without hesitation or compunction. Now I already told you, yes, I already told you the Vrol were nearly defeated out by Earth forces, but that resulted in the amoeba infection being unleashed and wiping out almost every last man, woman and child, as well as much of the fauna - but do you know what is even more perverse than that, my son? The amoeba infection also killed the Vrol's own troops. Yes, my boy. They massacred their own just to defeat the humans. So, once they arrive at a world nothing can stop them. They bring death. They are death."

  Max continued to stare at the screen, horrified at what he was watching.

  "But Draagh," inquired Max, "why did you bring me here to show me this? Don't you have any technology like we do, such as a portable console?"

  Draagh nodded his head and responded, "Yes, my son. I could have simply conjured an infoscreen to show you all of this, but I felt it important for you to see from the eyes, the ears and the technology of your ancestors, so you could understand the severity of this. Also, so you would realize they must be eliminated, wherever they are encountered, wherever they exist. You see, Max, that alien race, the one that is heading toward Azul, is the Vrol."

  Draagh shut off the computer and stared into the blackness of the paper-thin chip monitor upon which they had viewed the invasion vid. Pensive for but a moment, he looked at Max, who sat, in a practical state of shock, when he then
turned away from the young man.

  Nearly unwilling to believe what he had just seen, he looked at Draagh, who had his again back to him, and said, "Is this why you came here, why you found me?"

  Draagh slowly nodded his head up and down, still looking away. "Max, are you willing to come with me? I need to take you somewhere so you may learn. There are abilities you are unaware of that you possess, and the only place I can teach you to use these abilities is somewhere far away. Are you willing, my son?"

  "Of course!" cried Max. "Anything, anything at all. I can't allow this to happen to my world, my people! This is crazy! Do we have time to do this?"

  Draagh regained his composure enough to slide Max a slight grin. "Oh yes, my son. Do you not remember it will be years before that alien fleet, the Vrol, arrive at Azul? We most certainly have time, but before we go we have one more thing we must do. We must go back to your ship and wait for the military to arrive."

  "Whaaaaat?!?" exclaimed Max. "We have to wait for the military? But, but… they want to kill me!"

  Draagh chuckled lightly as he thoughtfully stroked his beard and braided mustache. "Leave that to me, my son. Even during the short duration of your pursuer's trip across space, things have changed. Yes, things have changed quite a lot."

  Draagh grabbed Max under his arm and lifted him up, then tamped his staff into the ground yet again, causing concussive waves to knock the workstation chairs back, tumbling end over end.

  The two were gone in a flash.

  ###

  As the Revolution entered Earth orbit the airlock alarm sounded, but this one a mere warning that it was being properly initiated. Pilots ran to their Draeders and techs scrambled all over the flight deck, preparing the remaining Draeders for immediate launch. One by one, they lined up and passed through the lock field, the only thing separating them from the cold grip of death in space.

  As the attack craft blasted out of the Revolution, Admiral Bagatelle was observing the entire operation from the bridge, with Lt. Commander Vasquez and Lt. Escalante at his sides, to his right and left, respectively. Turning to his right, he instructed Vasquez to order a spread formation over the western coast of the South American continent, where Johnson's last activity had been traced on lidar. She sat down at her command console and began giving instructions, coordinating the squadrons into effective sweep and search patterns. Then, turning to his left, he gave Jennie a concerned look.

  "Lieutenant, I know you want to be part of the operation as we have more Draeders than pilots, but I need to you stay here for now. I plan on apprehending Gunnarsson myself, and when I go, I am taking you with me. Understood?"

  Jennie snapped to attention. "Sir! Yes, Sir!"

  Bagatelle couldn't help but crack a small smile, with Lt. Escalante being so professional at all times. His pride in her grew on a daily basis.

  "Ok, Lieutenant - back to your duty cycle. We must stay on schedule."

  Jennie spun around and headed to the galley, where she would grab a handful of beef and eat voraciously while going to her next duty station, reviewing electrical subsystems that fed into the hook drive. They needed to be 100% certain that Johnson didn't somehow sabotage the hook apparatus, stranding them there, light years away from their home world.

  Lt. Commander Vasquez turned and looked at her commanding officer, displaying a touch of concern on her face.

  "Sir, she really doesn't know… does she?"

  Bagatelle kept staring at the massive view screen and the smaller, individual flight readout screens that encircled the primary display.

  "No. Not yet… and neither do you, Lt. Commander." Pausing briefly he gave her less the look of a commanding officer, and more of a friend – or something else, and leaning forward onto her control panel, said, "I'm hungry, Ali. Care to join me for lunch?"

  ###

  Out near the Peruvian coastline, Lt. Johnson circled over the once-beautiful city of Mira Flores while looking for any signs of visitation by Gunnarsson. The side space relay in orbit around the planet had identified Gunnarsson's ship in that area, but due to the typically heavy cloud cover on the Peruvian coastline it was unable to track his current whereabouts, as clouds interfered with lidar. He brought his Draeder down onto a street, close to some indentions in the heavy, but brittle, ancient concrete. Getting out, he ran over and verified that the landing pads on Gunnarsson's craft had created the indentions.

  Frikin' piece of crap. He could have gotten something better, but that bastard Ali is always looking to make an extra buck.

  Johnson knew Ali. In fact, he was the one who had contracted the dishonest merchant to seek out Gunnarsson and sell him a transport craft, but it was supposed to be a much newer model, not an aging piece of garbage that smelled like cows. Johnson's father had Gunnarsson under surveillance, so they were well aware of his activities - it was simply a matter of making Ali available. To make things worse, Ali went and blabbed to a local military annex, looking to make a quick peso, which he wasn't supposed to do. The plan almost fell apart from that moment. The only thing that had saved it was Gunnarsson's own resourcefulness and ability to get his ragtag hook drive installed in a timely fashion. Even then, he barely escaped the military - the military that wasn't even supposed to know what was going on in that workshop.

  Councilman Johnson's original plan was much more elegant. They were going to let Gunnarsson finish his craft in secret, then shoot him in the head and take it to their own laboratory. After having reverse-engineered the craft, they would retrofit the ancient Exodus barges and go to Earth with no one the wiser.

  Johnson looked at handheld environmental analysis module and saw what resembled a faint ion trail - just what a Draeder, or a transport craft, would leave in its wake. So, wanting to follow the trail before it completely dissipated, he jumped back into his Draeder and lifted off, at the same time assuming that his former companions were on their way to find him. He had to find Gunnarsson, and fast. He was less concerned with being discovered by Bagatelle's troops, as he had spent two days removing every single transmitter beacon from his ship. However, he could still be detected by lidar if above the cloud cover, so he went fast and low over the flat plains of Lima, matching elevation as he approached the mighty Andes, which formed an impressive backdrop to the dead city.

  Draagh and Max popped in right from where they had left, their breakfast plates still sitting on the ground. The old man grabbed whatever he could put into his hands, and Max did the same, both walking with long strides to the ship, which had been left open during their absence.

  Quickly throwing everything they could into the galley, Draagh instructed Max to leave the fire burning. He was able to hide them from outside view, but the fire would leave a lingering scent that he did not desire to mask. Max didn't quite understand the whole meaning of that, but followed instructions anyway.

  After cleaning up the campsite they sat at the bottom of the Machu Picchu's loading ramp, watching and waiting for signs of anything. Suddenly, they heard the distinctive sound of a Draeder scream overhead. Max ran out to the edge of the canopy and saw the ship circle around, obviously scanning the area for the Machu Picchu.

  "Hey, if they land, will they be able to locate us?" asked Max. Draagh simply smiled as he pulled out his pipe, torching up some more of his beloved herb.

  "We are expecting visitors, but not the pilot of that craft. Something has happened, and that pilot is not part of the reconnaissance team. His motive is much more sinister, as is his lineage."

  Max looked at Draagh with a concerned expression and asked, "What is this stuff you keep saying about lineage and so forth? You said I was a Neanderthal or something last night."

  Draagh chuckled under his breath and took a long draw from his slender pipe, blowing out smoke rings from his nose, which Max actually thought was pretty cool.

  "My son, we all have lineage. I have lineage, you have lineage, as does that pilot, but what makes us different is that we three have different lineages. Well, let
me take that back, yours is much closer to mine than his is to yours. There are reasons for this that I cannot explain here, but most assuredly will do so once we reach our destination - or perhaps sooner."

  "So just when do we go to this destination? Why wait here? Can't we just pop out like we did to Los Angeles?"

  Draagh simply kept staring out through the entrance to the canopy, which was so faithfully camouflaging them from aerial view.

  "My son, we are waiting for someone. This is necessary. They need to know what they must do while we are gone. It is that simple. All will be revealed in good time, yes, in good time."

  Then Draagh laid back and dozed off, lightly snoring, while Max freaked out and started going through all of his supplies.

  Orbiting around Earth on the Revolution, Rear Admiral Bagatelle was in his quarters changing his uniform, as he was soon to leave the massive ship. As he went through his gear bag, he had multiple scenarios running through his head, but he started to think about the interrogation of the merchant who had sold the transport to Gunnarsson.

  When that merchant, Ali, went to that little annex and reported on Gunnarsson's activities, he believed he was going to receive a monetary award, when all it did was end him up in an interrogation cell. Bagatelle had watched via vid console as intelligence officers asked Ali the same questions over and over again, trying to glean any extra, valuable bits of information out of the man. The one thing that remained in Bagatelle's mind was that Gunnarsson told Ali he was going to name his ship the Machu Picchu. Bagatelle locked Ali down, with strict orders to not reveal that they even had him in the first place. This was considered military security, and he didn't want the Security Council to be aware of everything that he knew. His level of mistrust for Councilman Johnson was unparalleled. Of course, he planned to apprehend Gunnarsson before the lad could leave Azul airspace, but this didn't happen, resulting in The Revolution being outfitted with the hook and then traveling back to the place where humanity began. It wasn't until after Gunnarsson had escaped that it dawned on him that the young scientist might go to the mythical Machu Picchu, his ship's namesake. He was glad that he had kept that information to himself all this time, especially now that Lt. Johnson had gone rogue, without a doubt on a mission for his corrupt father.