The Black Ships Read online

  THE BLACK SHIPS

  Published by A.G. Claymore

  Edited by B.H. MacFadyen

  Copyright 2012 A.G. Claymore

  This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Places, Incidents and Brands are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of any products referenced in this work of fiction which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  The Black Ships

  Japanese Edo Period Kyoka

  Awoken from sleep

  of a peaceful quiet world

  by Jokisen tea;

  with only four cups of it

  one can't sleep even at night.

  Deliberate Alternate Meaning

  The steam-powered ships

  break the halcyon slumber

  of the Pacific;

  a mere four boats are enough

  to make us lose sleep at night.

  Table Of Contents

  Enlightenment

  Conception

  Commencement

  Turbulence

  Falling Towards Change

  From Darkness – Light

  The Flood Tide

  Coming to Grips

  Epilogue

  A Fireside Chat

  Enlightenment

  Red Flag Mineral Co.

  Sixty Meter Observatory

  Mauna Kea, Hawaii

  January 3rd, 2026

  Four degrees below freezing. Mike Willsen shivered as he crossed the atrium beneath the massive telescope array. You’d never know it was Hawaii.

  The huge room was actually colder than the outside. The heaters didn’t serve the large central space so it tended to preserve the night-time cold until well into the afternoon.

  He stopped at a steel door and keyed in his passcode. The bolts in the door retracted with a low metallic groan and he entered the control room, located off to the left side of the huge central area. He shuddered in appreciation as he passed through the door, greeted by a wave of heat and the scent of old coffee.

  They had better coffee at the Onikuza Center, where he always stopped on the way up, but he preferred to have his caffeine while he worked. It was part of his comfortable weekly ritual – drinking stale crystal coffee and recording images from other planets.

  His regular stops at the center down the slope weren’t optional. At an elevation of just under 14,000 feet, the atmospheric pressure at the observatory was forty percent less than at Mike’s apartment in Hilo. Without his two-hour stop at the Visitor Information Center, he knew from experience that he would suffer from severe headaches and poor judgment – well, worse than usual. As it was, he barely trusted himself to drive the last few miles for fear he would send his jeep crashing over the edge of the rough road.

  He had come to admire the people of Tibet – many of them lived their lives at even higher elevations.

  Though the sixty-meter array was shared by a large collection of universities and national agencies, this morning was set aside for Red Flag’s weekly mapping of their facility on the Olympus Mons site. Every week, for corporate records, Mike would record imagery of the tailings ejected from tunnels bored into the side of the twenty-seven-kilometer-high volcano in the Tharsis region of Mars. So far, the small team hadn’t managed to find anything that would even come close to paying off the company’s investment, but Red Flag had deep pockets and a long outlook. Though the miners sent regular reports back to Earth, Red Flag wanted the imagery and so Mike had to make his weekly pilgrimage. The rest of his telescope time was spent mapping out likely locations for deposits throughout the solar system but it wasn’t as time sensitive. He could do that remotely.

  Mike walked over to the six-meter touch screen that controlled the mirror and selected a macro that ran the imaging process for him. He could set it to run remotely but, if it failed and he wasn’t here, there’d be hell to pay.

  Considering the carefree lifestyle he enjoyed, driving up the mountain every few days to press a few buttons was a small price. He enjoyed decent pay and very little in the way of responsibility.

  His only other tangible role was as a liaison to the NASA center, farther down the slopes of the mountain. In recent years, Red Flag had begun to turn their enormous resources to off-planet exploration. With the growing Sino-American space rivalry, it was only a matter of time before extra-terrestrial sources of ore would become commercially viable. Red Flag had been working closely with NASA and the ISS for several years and had managed to include a small, exploratory mining mission when the ISS had launched the Vinland colony to Mars the previous year. It was little more than a hole in the ground and a small habitat, but the potential payoff, if there was a payoff, was enormous.

  Habitation on Mars was now a fact, though a very fragile one. It wouldn’t be long before a local source of minerals would be needed to support the next steps.

  Mike’s claim to fame at the NASA compound was his specialty in geology. His first doctorate had been in physics but upon its completion he had realized that he had no desire to go out into the ‘real world’, as his father liked to describe it. He had developed a sudden passion for rocks and soils, much to his father’s dismay, and had launched himself back into the world of academics.

  As he approached the end of his masters degree in geology, his father had made it quite clear that he would no longer support his academic inclinations and that he had better open his mind to the possibility of getting a job. That conversation had terrified Mike. He really couldn’t see how others did it – going out there and finding an employer, being responsible for children and mortgages.

  Surprisingly, he didn’t have to find out. His father had made his fortune in the mining industry and an old partner of his had offered to take Mike on. Ed McAdam, a gentleman of few words, had shown up at the University of California’s Berkeley campus looking for him.

  To call it a conversation would have been stretching it. Mike couldn’t remember saying anything. Ed simply appeared next to him in front of the Hearst building, told him that he had a job running the remote sensing operation in Hawaii and that if he failed to report for work in three weeks – one week after completing his latest degree – he would be fired. He handed him a card from his human resources department and strolled away.

  He knew his free academic ride was coming to an end and he had been studiously avoiding the whole job and life issue as the graduation ceremony approached. Suddenly, out of the blue, an easy answer had been dropped in his lap. He liked easy answers. Maybe he wouldn’t have to grow up after all…

  Hawaii sounded nice. He had always liked the idea of surfing. Only the idea, of course, as he had a nearly pathological certainty that every shark in the Pacific was waiting for the day when he would finally rent a board and take his first lesson.

  Still, Hawaii sounded nice.

  Now, after a year on the Islands, he’d managed to avoid surfing, though he did enjoy swimming – as long as there were other, less agile swimmers around for the sharks to eat first. He had just been down to the beach for a quick dip before coming to the mountain, but he still wasn’t fully awake. He walked over to the percolator to find that Franka had left a half pot from three hours ago.

  He poured cream into a cup of the s
tale brew and watched it form a tiny storm cloud as he walked to the table in the middle of the room.

  He looked up, hoping to spot one of the miners on the close-up.

  His coffee mug struck the floor, ejecting its contents in a graceful wave.

  After a moment of stunned disbelief, he ran to the screen and touched the security menu, closing all of the shutters and locking down the door.

  Oxford University

  South East England

  January 3rd, 2026

  Jan Colbert waited impatiently while a technician pounded away at the keys. An entire room of students sat chattering, reading or simply looking bored as they sat in the tiered rows of the lecture room.

  This was more than a simple question of her room usage statistics – the technical issue would offset that – their scheduled communication slot with the ISS facility on Mars would likely be lost if they didn’t manage to connect. The team in tech support had rolled their eyes at her yesterday when she requested a dry run. It was obvious now that her request would have saved a great deal of trouble.

  Even worse, Edward sat there in the front row, along with several other faculty members, smiling with condescension as the highlight of the winter semester slowly slipped through her fingers. She had been surprised to see him in the tiers when she walked into the hall but she could hardly ban him; she had extended an open invitation to all her colleagues. Even a self-absorbed professor from the English Literature department could claim a seat and smirk to his heart’s content. Jan steadfastly told herself she was ignoring his presence as she stalked the stage. Perhaps he sabotaged the equipment, she mused to herself as she paced.

  The technician’s shoulders relaxed as he finished a flourish of keystrokes. An image of a control room came up on the projection screen behind Jan but no astronauts were in sight. At least we have the connection, she thought. This was the high point of the semester; a video discussion between the first Mars settlers and her fourth-year exobiology class. She had wanted to do it on the 2nd, the third anniversary of their departure from Earth, but there was no room on the communication link. Today was the best she could get.

  Her relief was interrupted when she realized that the technician was explaining to her, in great detail, what he had done to fix the problem. He was in the midst of a bizarre discourse on IP’s and security certificates.

  “Not now,” she said quietly as she turned him, none too gently, towards the door. “This wouldn’t be such a dog’s breakfast if you’d done a dry run yesterday.” Do I really need to listen to this fool when I have another planet on hold?

  She walked over to the little cross of masking tape on the floor and turned to face the camera. “Hello Vinland Station, this is Dr. Jan Colbert. Is anyone home?” The students finally settled down as they watched an image from an alien world. The backdrop transmitting from Mars was a workbench beneath a whiteboard. The board was splattered with hydraulic fluid and the bench littered with tools and binders. You’d think they would clean up for this.

  “We’ll have to wait four minutes for them to hear that,” she said, turning to face the class, “and another four before they can answer – unless they went out for dinner!” She was rewarded with a few chuckles from the class. The lamest of jokes can get results if you don’t act like you’re making a joke.

  Getting a good laugh always helped to relieve the stress. Jan was just about to remind her Q&A panel to have their questions ready when the stress came back. The half of the class still looking at the screen gave a variety of small involuntary twitches or warding arm movements; a preliminary fight-or-flight reaction. One of the students in the third row let out a scream as Jan was still turning to see what had happened on screen.

  A figure looked out at them. It was perhaps half the average size of a human and its charcoal grey suit looked to be made of interlocking plates of some hard material. It had unusual red glyphs adorning the front of one of the shoulder plates that sat closest to its neck. The iridescent face visor was spattered with the same hydraulic fluid as the bench and whiteboard. Is that hydraulic fluid, or blood?

  Jan cut the microphone. It was still three minutes before the creature would hear her greeting. Whoever that was, he didn’t have a friendly feeling about him and she shuddered to think it would soon be hearing her voice. She stood there, rooted to her mark on the floor for a moment of indecision before she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the chancellor of the university.

  The Oval Office

  Washington, D.C.

  January 4th, 2026

  "Okay Sam, are we done?” President Parnell took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. It had been a long night - another drone attack inside Pakistani territory. He had been roused at three in the morning to authorize it and he would be needed again very soon to mollify an outraged Pakistani diplomat because of it. The Spartans had the right idea, he thought. Two kings instead of just one, I could be in bed right now while some other jerk picks up the slack.

  “Just one more item, Mr. President.” The chief of staff nodded over at the Director from the Office of Science and Technology Policy, who had been standing with the rest of the staff during the morning brief.

  “Oh hell!” Parnell surprised even himself by the outburst, but he was too tired to hold back. “Mary, if this is about weapons of mass destruction, you can save it for the next president.” He stared at her as though regarding a live grenade.

  Director Perdue smiled and shook her head. “Nothing like that, sir. We’ve lost all contact with the Vinland Station. No contact with the colonists since the day before yesterday. Even the beacon is down.” She shrugged. “The comms gear was provided by the Japanese Space Agency so NASA won’t get any egg on their faces. Our exposure looks minimal for now.”

  Parnell’s shoulders relaxed as Mary outlined the issue. “Administrative exposure is somewhat limited,” he amended her assessment, using the calm, lyrical, reassuring voice that had won over so many voters. “There are eight Americans at that station, Mary. Eight families here on Earth are wondering why they can’t reach their loved ones. Considering how far from help our eight colonists are, imaginations will spin this out of control before you can say one term president.”

  He nodded to Jack Kitzhaber. “Jack, sit down with Mary and put together a release. Reassure the public that this is a minor glitch and NASA is offering JAXA whatever they might need by way of assistance.” He turned back to Mary. “Mary, ensure Gray knows what he’s volunteering before the release goes out.” He put his glasses back on. “Thank you, everyone.”

  Sam Worthington remained as his staff filed out. “Sir, the meeting with the Pakistani ambassador is at nine.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s gonna be pissed.”

  “So what do you suggest, we let him bomb an American village of his choosing?” The president was tired and he was short on polite conversation at the moment.

  Sam stood before the desk, just to the left where a door led to his own office. “We tell him the same old thing, There just wasn’t time to confer with them. Our target was high value and he was only stopping there for a quick meeting. It all happened too quickly.”

  Parnell pushed back his chair and stood. “Which takes some of the oxygen away from the fire,” he shrugged into his jacket, “but the fire is still burning.”

  “Mr. President?”

  Parnell came around the desk, stopping to face his Chief of Staff, his oldest friend. “Sam, how many bombs have been dropped remotely by some twenty-year-old kid sitting in an Air Force base somewhere in California? How many times have we cited the War on Terror when we send military force into someone’s sovereign space to kill a couple of people?”

  His personal assistant opened a door and poked his head in, “Mr. President, the Secretary of Defense is here.”

  “Good, we’ll want to talk to him but he can cool his heels until we’ve met the ambassador. This mess is his doing, after all. Put him in the mural room for now. I don
’t want the ambassador running into him in the outer office; angry words might ensue.” He turned back to Sam. “Do you feel any safer?”

  “Safer, sir?

  “Yeah, you know – not as afraid. We killed two guys last night and God only knows how many civilians. Are we any safer?” They moved to the elegant armchairs opposite the desk. “I don’t feel any more secure this morning than I did yesterday – to tell the truth, I think we only made things worse.” He dropped into the chair, Sam sitting opposite him. “We may have gotten a couple of bad guys, but we also created a ton of grieving relatives and, if they had no reason to hate us before, they do now.”

  ‘Those civilians were sheltering the guy…”

  Parnel cut him off. “I know. If we let them operate without consequence they just get bolder. My problem is I can’t tell if were conducting a war or a criminal investigation. We just wrote off collateral deaths by saying they were ‘aiding and abetting’ but when have you ever seen that listed as a war crime?”

  “Do you have something in mind, Mr. President?”

  “Not for the life of me, but we need to come up with a better plan. Remember that kid who used to beat the crap out of us in high school?

  “I remember you torched his car in our senior year.” Sam’s tone was light but slightly guarded.

  “I seem to recall a future White House Chief of Staff being present with his dad’s gas can.” The president chuckled and shook his head. “If forensics had been a little better back then, the only meetings we’d be having would be parole hearings.”

  “We had no way of knowing the whole parking lot would go up like that.”

  “No, but it illustrates my point. If we keep hammering away at every little target that presents itself, sooner or later we’re gonna get our cars torched.”

  The door opened, the aide again. “Mr. President, the Pakistani ambassador is on his way up the hall.”