at the edge of the planetary plane.
The massive monitor displayed the star-filled sky, but little more. Raymond saw comets streak by in the distance, the strobe lights from two weather stations on far orbit, and the red and yellow pulse of a relay station. Nothing. And then, something.
No, Raymond thought. What is that? He leaned forward and tapped a button on the keyboard to increase the focal length. A small point of light came into view, barely the size of pinprick. As Ray watched, the dot expanded rapidly, becoming as wide as a hangar and pouring blue rays across Lunar space. A dozen more pinpricks flared into existence, peppering the space around the enormous Blue exit. A cold fist gripped Raymond’s chest.
Jesus, it’s a goddamn invasion. Raymond grabbed his headset and dialed the link for the SP Operation Center. He rubbed his shaking hands together furiously as he waited for the operator to pick up. Raymond watched the Blue funnels spew out twisted black shapes. He switched to a higher-powered lens, and the objects grew in size. Hulking battleships and frigates hurtled through space, spewing blood-red energy in their wakes. As the Blue Space exits began to close, he had counted twenty total ships.
“Sector Patrol Luna, this is Operations.” The woman’s voice on the other end was crisp and clear. “What is the purpose of your call?”
“This is Raymond Lee, TSI station Andretti. I have a major situation here.”
“Andretti, if this is a civil incident, you need to contact TSI Control. Do you need their information?”
“No. What? Listen to me, I have unauthorized Blue Space exits in…” He threw files off his desk until he found the map of the space above Luna. “Quadrant forty-five, sector twenty-one.”
The operator paused, typing on her computer. “I don’t have any reports from Terra. Andretti, I need you to authenticate this channel.”
Shit. Raymond squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the code for his station. He nearly panicked until he saw the note posted above his computer. “Uh, seven-four, er, nine-one-oscar-zulu-zulu?”
A longer pause. “Andretti, this is Operations. We authenticate, seven-four-niner-one-oscar-zulu-zulu. Send coordinates when ready.”
Raymond read off the coordinates from the telescope. The armada of ships had slowed down and seemed to be forming up into a battle group. The largest of the vessels, what looked like a giant beehive, was surrounded by the smaller craft.
“Andretti, we confirm contacts in Lunar space. SP will take over from here. Continue to monitor the situation, but if contacts come within fifty kilometers, seek out shelter immediately.”
The line closed. Helpless, Raymond watched the hypnotizing shuffle of ships move into a battle group and creep toward Earth.
New York City
United America
Dr. Markov Ivanovich sat on a wooden bench near heavy double doors, waiting for his turn to speak. The impressive hallway of NYU’s new Silver Center stretched endlessly in each direction, curving around in a massive circle. The seven-story structure overlooked the Hudson River, one of the few unobstructed views in the ever-growing city. Skyscrapers reached toward the stars in every direction, connected by a web of Sky Rails.
Markov placed a hand on his knee but failed to stop his restless leg. It bounced constantly, relentlessly. He swallowed, then swallowed again. His chest felt too tight. He checked his buttons to make sure they were in the correct order, then checked his padded binder. Indeed, all of his documents were in order, just as they had been ten minutes prior, and the half hour before that.
“You need to relax,” a heavy voice said opposite Markov. Sasha Otravlyatovich regarded his liberator. Sasha had been rotting in a gulag on Phobos when the infamous Dr. Markov recruited him. Despite having spent thirteen years chained to a wall, Sasha was reluctant to leave the comforts of a UEC dungeon, even one on a planetoid as unforgiving as Phobos.
But when Markov told him the old government had been disbanded as part of a treaty with Mars, Sasha agreed to leave. As their transport lifted off from the small moon, Sasha found himself one step closer to the culmination of his life’s cause and goal:
A free and unified Mars.
But now Sasha didn’t know what he stood for.
“If you spook the Joint Chiefs, this project dies tonight.”
“I can’t relax,” Markov said, eyes lingering on Sasha’s scar, which stood out on his face in the fluorescent light.
“This is too important for relaxing. Everything we’ve worked for…”
“I did nothing,” Sasha replied. “You’re the mad scientist.”
“Fine. Everything I’ve worked for depends on getting this grant.”
The heavyset man leaned back on his bench opposite Markov. His black leather coat still dripped on the floor from the rains outside. His skin was monstrously pale—a souvenir from a long stay in prison. “Tell me again why we can’t use the Cove?”
“The Fade uses the Cove,” Markov said, referring to the Fleet Analysis of Intelligence Division, known in the armed services as FAID, or colloquially as the Fade. The mystery of what went on in the myriad of onyx buildings they maintained around the galaxy led to many conspiracy theories and cheesy thrillers on the Net. “I won’t have their greasy fingers getting into all my projects.”
He was about to say more when the double doors opened. Both men turned to face a pretty young redhead. She smiled and gestured toward the chambers.
“Dr. Ivanovich, the Joint Chiefs are waiting.”
Sasha picked up a soggy newspaper from a nearby table and starting reading. Markov swallowed a final time, stood, and walked into the room.
There were seven men waiting inside the chamber, all dressed in their respective uniforms. Admiral Walker, the commander of Fleet, sat front and center on a dais. On his left were members of the military, all four-star generals or their naval equivalent. On his right were the Joint Chiefs, dressed in civilian suits. Markov nearly gasped when he saw another familiar face leaning against the wall, barely concealed in shadow. Chief of Staff Jerry Ahmad needed no introduction; he was the face of the new government, as famous a man as High Chancellor Burton himself.
“Doctor,” Admiral Walker began. “Thank you for making the trip. How is Titan this time of year?”
Markov’s mouth tasted like sandpaper. “Cold. I really appreciate this opportunity. I know that the last conference wasn’t my best showing, and I agree with you saying I needed time to develop my ideas and sift through the chaff to find—”
“Markov,” Walker said, cutting the young man off. “We’ve listened to almost sixty presentations today. Let’s cut to the chase.”
The doctor sniffed. “Right. Okay.” He opened his binder and pulled out his tablet. The thin sheet of polymer was clear as glass, but lit up at his touch. He swiped on the screen, sending the information to a massive projector on the wall to his right. “The guidance you gave for this task was pretty simple: provide a new method of dealing with terrorist operations in the Systems. You said to make it man-portable and as safe for the soldiers as possible.”
General
