Know Thine Enemy

Chapter 31

Earth

The return trip to Earth took days, days spent patching up the wounding and sealing as many holes in the McHenry as their scrap steel would permit. But Scott had no illusions about their survival chances if the Aeons were waiting for them at Neptune Waystation.


But when the McHenry finally returned to normal space, there was no Aeon battlefield with weapons already primed.


"Receiving queued transmission from relay," Chief Wagner called. "Orders are from Fleet Command. Chief of Naval Operations is waiting with a delegation at Luna Prime."


"Contact with Neptune control and request course clearance for direct Luna transit."


There were a few seconds of hushed conversation, then. "Clearance received. Course laid in."


"Maximum acceleration," Scott said. "I believe you wanted to see the home system, Captain Matvei? Now's your chance."


Her smile was weaker than he expected. "Perhaps. Now I just want to see this mission completed. We have left enough blood behind us."


The transit through Sol was largely uneventful, though the same could not be said for the system itself. On the McHenry's flight computer, Scott caught a glimpse of system-projections so full of fleet IFF tags that he would've thought half the Core Sector fleet had been recalled. Every settled moon and station had its own crowd of recalled dreadnoughts and super-carriers, some of which looked like they'd been dredged up from the belt's storage yards just to fill space. And for every naval carrier there were a thousand smaller civilian ships, each buzzing about for what docking clearance and resupply they could get.


The McHenry was joined by an escort of a dozen destroyers, matching their course and speed all the way to Luna.


Fleet Command came into view almost as soon as the moon did, while they were still thousands of kilometers out. A thin silvery band encircling the lunar surface, growing larger and larger as they got closer.


"My God," Matvei whispered. "You actually finished it. The Gagarin Orbital Ring..."


"We just call it Fleet Command now," Lieutenant Shay said, with just a touch of smugness in her voice. "Largest shipyard in existence." She looked like she probably wanted to say more--but that would involve tactical details, and so she only smiled.


"We'll need it," Matvei said. "Maybe there really is some hope for a victory in this war."


"There is," Scott said. "If we can't negotiate a peace with these Aeons, then... brave men and women will fight anything they send. Until your people and ours are safe."


At least docking control at Command were thinking ahead--the McHenry was assigned to the retrofit ring, skipping a dozen gutted hulks in line and gliding silently into the shelter of Fleet Command's impenetrable shell.


A few hours later, and Scott and the surviving members of the Russian delegation were standing in an elegant waiting room in Fleet Command. One of the walls had been constructed entirely of transparent metal, probably because of the commanding view of Earth it would give anyone who visited at certain times in the stations orbit.


Like right now. Scott could see few structures from this high up, aside from the line of the North American space elevator. But it didn't matter--there was green down there, and ten billion people living their lives. A holotank off on one side was playing a civilian news broadcast--nonstop Aeon coverage, most of it wrong.


"Who is this 'Chief of Naval Operations?'" Matvei asked, when they'd been waiting long enough that one of her marines had started to pace in agitation. "Busy man that he would be late to a meeting this important."


"CNO Sherman Gram," Scott began, his voice low. "Is the highest-ranking member of our navy. As we are currently being invaded, he's also now the Chief Executive for the foreseeable future. I've never met him, never even seen him. But yes. The most important man in the solar system."


That seemed to satisfy Matvei, or at least to quiet her concerns. "Guess you didn't destroy the planet once we left," she said, after a long silence.


Scott joined her near the window, staring far, far away at distant Earth. It was far enough away that not even the continents were entirely clear, certainly not through the dense cloud of ships and stations that surrounded the earth even at peacetime.


"No, we didn't. Now we have to make sure the Aeons don't either. Our defense of Curie would've taught them the Waystation was important, even if they didn't guess it was our Homeworld. We have a responsibility to those people."


"And I have a responsibility to mine," Matvei responded, without rancor. "But defeating the Aeons will benefit us both. Our tactical cooperation at Curie will make that clear to anyone who might've doubted."


With a hiss of compressed gas, the airlock at the far side of the room opened. CNO Sherman Gram wore very little to set him apart from any other admiral--instead of any number of admiralty stars, his rank was a stylized image of the Earth. A reminder of the power he now wielded. He was older, hair receding a little beneath his officer's cap, but otherwise still fit.


Scott stood as straight as his bruised and damaged body would let him, saluting like he was a cadet again.


"At ease, captain," the man was accompanied by at least half a dozen others--men and women of various nationalities wearing suits and little flags. "I've had the pleasure of examining your debriefing report in detail. This is the woman you mentioned?"


"Aye, sir. Captain Veronika Matvei."


Matvei didn't salute, but she did extend a hand in polite greeting, flanked by her marines. "I wish the reunion of our two civilizations might be under better circumstances. But I am happy to be the first to see the Homeworld again with my own eyes."


"Indeed," Gram answered. "If I have been correctly informed, you're carrying valuable tactical information on an... implant, of some kind. One that cannot be shared until the moment of our allegiance."


"That is correct."


Gram reached into his formal jacket, removing a slim tablet computer and offering it to her. "On behalf of the United Nations of Earth, I'm prepared to offer an agreement of tactical cooperation until such time as the threat from the Aeons is eliminated--through whatever means necessary. To the degree you're at leave to negotiate, we can review the terms of that agreement."


"It was my mission," Matvei said, taking the tablet in her shaking fingers.


Were those tears on her face? Scott looked politely away, biting his tongue.


The McHenry's part was over.

<<<<<>>>>>

Just Beginning

And so it was that Captain Scott found himself alone at a back table of the Enceladus Bar. He'd chosen a seat with its own commanding view--of the McHenry's docking section. Even now he could see a thousand drones at work on his ship--stripping away damaged bulkheads, laying new welds with flashes from their manipulator arms.


Many of his missions had ended exactly like this, but this time he decided to have a special drink from the top shelf. He bought a whole bottle of Henry's Black Label.


"Mind sharing?"


Scott looked up from his glass. Shay was still in her uniform. Ready for action like always. "Not at all, Commander."


She pulled out one of the wooden chairs and joined him at the table.


Scott slid her one of his empty shot glasses and she filled it with the brown whiskey.


She smiled at him. "Fleet Command offered me my own ship."


Scott chuckled, grabbing the bottle from her to fill his own glass. "It was about time, Melynda."


"I know that you recommended me... highly." She looked out at the gutted McHenry. "The Admirals were quite impressed with the report you gave them."


"I only told them the truth," Scott said, knocking back his glass. "You're the best officer I know. You would beat any academy hotshot."


"I turned them down," she said, meeting his eyes.


Scott frowned. "You deserve your own ship."


"Maybe," she said. "But with this war... you never know what might be waiting tomorrow. Maybe the Aeons are reasonable, and now that we're involved they'll back down. Or maybe they don't. Maybe we're at war for the next century. Maybe every new ship coming out of this hanger will be part of a debris field in a month." she sighed. "I'd rather be by your side."


Scott watched one of the drones bend a new plate around the steel struts of the hull, before silently welding into place. "I won't turn down the help. I don't want the Aeons to turn my ship into a glorified space-dinghy again."


The Commander polished off her shot glass. "We'll be fine." She waved at him dismissively. "You should be able to think straight without sexy Russian on your bridge."


Scott smiled. "I wouldn't go that far, Melynda. You'll still be on my bridge."


The Commander chuckled. "I'm sure the billions of naval tonnage on our side will compensate, John"


They were both silent for a moment, staring off at the view.


Scott finally spoke up. "I hope all of it's enough, Commander. Those Aeons... they scare me."


"We lost a lot of good people," Melynda admitted. "But we were also able to get a lot done by ourselves. We will win this if we're smart."


They both looked at the McHenry. Many of the repair drones were moving back to storage as the last welds fizzled away. The ship shone in the spotlights of the docking bay.


Scott smiled. "We just might."





Editor's Note: This chapter was reconstructed from our father's unfinished draft. We have attempted to be as faithful as possible to the outline he left.


Stefan cared deeply about his creative pursuits, including his activity with the writing.com community. Prior to his death, he extracted a promise that this story he'd been so passionate about would not be left unfinished. We couldn't write it like you, Dad, but we did our best.


Love,


Kris, Gavin.