Hammerhead Resurrection Read online

  Circling a tall building, its glass still catching the last rose-tints of the fading sunset, he set down on its landing pad. Unstrapping, he unscrewed the heart rate monitor, unplugged it, checked its fuse, and reinserted it. He powered it on. Nothing.

  Taking a welder from his emergency kit, he went to the roof access door and welded its seam shut. Now no one could get to him without an aircraft or climbing gear.

  Above, stars had begun to emerge en masse… stars which, in his youth, had struck him as beautiful now felt menacing. How many Sthenos were among them? And what other horrors did they hold?

  He considered sleeping in the Lakota, but sitting upright was a sure way to have a rough night, so he set up his tent under the Lakota’s wing, crawled into his sleeping bag, and lay in the darkness listening to the silence of a dead city.

  …

  That night he dreamt of Stacy sitting on the side of a mountain, her face crusted in frost. He woke with a start thinking he’d heard footsteps pass the tent. He listened beyond the sun-glowing nylon. Nothing. After breaking down the tent, he made himself take time to eat and drink water, his breath billowing in the damp morning air.

  After packing up his supplies, he strapped himself in. Closing the cockpit, he fired the engines. As he let them warm, he pressed the power switch on the heart rate monitor. Nothing, but the switch felt loose. Taking his pocket knife, he pried the switch cover off and pulled it out. Cutting the wires off, he stripped them and twisted them together. The monitor glowed to life.

  Lifting off, he began scanning for human heartbeats. Finding one, he closed on it to find a man wearing an orange jumpsuit standing on top of a rubble pile, waving both arms in desperation. He would have to wait. Approaching a second heart signature, he found nothing in the center of the street where it should have been. It must have been underground. But it was on the eastern side of the island, well away from Stacy’s mission path. Turning west, he passed the dead hulk of the destroyer and the half-mile wide pit Stacy had created.

  He flew down the length of the ruined Sthenos destroyer, finding no heart signals. The Sthenos inside had either evacuated or been killed in the crash. On the northern side though, the heart rate monitor picked up a Sthenos’ strange rhythm. A block beyond that, his display showed a human signature. The Sthenos was moving toward it.

  Dropping between the buildings, Jeffrey rounded a corner to find the Sthenos with its back to him. They’d haunted him for fifty years and, before this moment, he’d only seen their destroyers and fighters. He hadn’t expected six limbs.

  Turning, it lifted its hatchet-like head and held up its front-most limbs in a universal sign of surrender. Jeffrey had often wondered what deep-seated emotion might rise up when he saw one for the first time. Now he had his answer… nothing. He remembered how adamant Gerard Schodt had been that they were misunderstood, intelligent beings.

  “I have no misunderstandings,” he said and fired. The fifty caliber rounds blew the body in half, a leg flying away. He could find prisoners for study later. Right now he needed this area clear.

  He flew down the block beside a half-toppled building. Coming into the next intersection, he slowed to a hover, and turning, found two figures in the street. One sat upright with the other laying in its lap. Yet, there was only one heart signature. As he approached, the woman, who wore dust-coated body armor, held up her hand to shield her eyes from the Lakota’s turbine wash.

  Stacy.

  Jeffrey touched down and gave one last look to the monitors to assure that no heart signatures were nearby before shutting down his engines.

  She sat cross-legged with a teenage girl in her lap, turned toward Stacy’s belly as if for protection. Stacy ran her fingers through the girl’s shoulder-length hair, which was infused with scraps of concrete. The girl’s arm was peppered with small cuts.

  As Jeffrey approached, Stacy kept her attention on the girl. He sat down cross-legged in front of her.

  “Stacy?”

  She seemed to not hear him.

  He touched her knee. “Stacy.”

  She said, as if not to him but to the girl in her lap, “I’m so sorry…”

  She looked up at Jeffrey. Her eyes, hollow and red from crying, broke his heart.

  “I thought if I could save just one…” Her voice went quieter, trembling. “I killed them.” Her chin tightened as she looked back down to the girl. “All of them.”

  She gripped the girl’s hair as a gut wrenching sob overcame her. Gasping her next breath, she said, “I thought she was safe…” She lowered her eyes, and tears began falling from her chin as her shoulders trembled. Gently, she set her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I did this.”

  Jeffrey took Stacy’s fingers from the girl’s shoulder, pressing his hands around hers. “Stacy, I know where you are right now.”

  Her hand tugged with her sobbing.

  He said, “I’m here and I understand. Okay?” He waited, but she said nothing, “In the months and years to come it will be important to remember that we do the best we can, but we can never do it right… not all the way. That’s impossible. You’ll be consumed if you try to go back and figure out what you could have changed.” He gripped her wrist as if bracing to pull her up off a ledge. “There’s no glory in what you had to do. There’s the chance at life for many others, but in giving those people that chance, you’ve paid a price few can understand. The dead get to rest, but we still have work to do and lives to live.”

  She kept her head down.

  “Stacy… look at me.”

  She did not at first, but he waited, gave her the time.

  When her eyes finally rose, they were pitiful and tired, not the clear, cutting gaze of the Stacy Zack he’d known.

  “Stacy, you’re a strong woman, and this is another challenge you’ll have to face, but you don’t have to face it alone, okay? I’m not going to let you have to hide in a scrap yard like I did. I’m going to be here for you whether you like it or not.”

  She looked away, and he reached out, took gentle hold of her chin, brought her eyes back to his, “You did the best you could. There’s no way you could have done any different. Do you understand that?”

  Stacy pushed his hand aside and, looking down at the girl, shook her head. The corners of her mouth turned down. Anger came growling into her voice, which Jeffrey knew she directed at herself. “No… I could have gone back sooner. I could have saved her if I hadn’t taken so damn long to get back.”

  He took hold of her hand again with both of his, “Stacy, make me one promise…”

  She said, her anger now shifting toward him, “What?”

  “No matter what you feel, I want you to promise me you’ll talk to me, okay?”

  In the pitiful trails of tears crusting from her auburn eyes, Jeffrey felt hope. She was willing to let it out even so early, which was the highest bravery he knew and the first step to healing.

  “Stacy, you’re strong,” Jeffrey said, “but this is too big to face alone.”

  Stacy nodded in silence.

  Jeffrey put his hand on the dead girl’s side, the fabric of her shirt smooth and her skin stiff with rigor. “Now it’s time for her to rest…” he looked to Stacy, “okay?”

  Stacy nodded again.

  Jeffrey said in a quiet voice, “Will you let me help you prepare a grave for her?”

  Stacy ran her fingers through the girl’s dark hair as she said, “Yes. Thank you.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  A month later, operations had moved on surprisingly well. The Lakota pilots had cleared many regions and located several isolated military forces. Commanders were placed over those regions as governors.

  Jeffrey had moved the central command from the heat and humidity of the Amazon, to the cool, dry summer air in the Rockies west of Denver, where he now sat in an office with sun-heated pine scent filtering in the open window. He looked out on the high peaks, barren aside from a few swaths of snow. A knock sounded on the door.

>   “Yes?”

  The door opened, and Master Sergeant Mikelson and Commander Holloway came in.

  “Commander, Master Sergeant, please sit.”

  They did as he asked.

  “What can we help you with Admiral?”

  “We have unfinished business with someone.”

  “Sir?” Mikelson asked.

  Jeffrey pressed the com link on his desk. “Bring him in.”

  Mikelson and Holloway turned as the door opened. An MA entered holding a thin, dark-haired man by the upper arm. He had disheveled hair and a full, twig-laced beard. Jeffrey indicated the man should sit as the heavy scent of body odor filled the room.

  “I should have had you clean up before we met.”

  The man nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor.

  Holloway said, “Oh my God… Captain Donovan?”

  Donovan glanced at her before saying in a quiet tone, “I’m not a Captain anymore.” His eyes flicked distrustfully to Jeffrey. “You said you’d leave me alone. Why’d you bring me back in?”

  “The war’s over Donovan,” Jeffrey leaned back, “and I need good commanders.”

  Donovan gave him a sidelong look.

  “I don’t believe you’ll ever cross me again. True?”

  Donovan shook his head, “I wouldn’t. You could have killed me, would have been justified…”

  Jeffrey gave him time to continue. When he didn’t, Jeffrey said, “I need expertise in fleet operations. Expertise you have.”

  Donovan kept his eyes on the floor.

  “Donovan… Captain Donovan… look at me.”

  Donovan’s eyes rose to meet Jeffrey’s.

  “I’m offering you command, a return to civilization, a chance to make a difference in what needs to be done.” Jeffrey touched the center of his chest. “I’m offering you my forgiveness.”

  At that tears welled in Donovan’s eyes and trailed clean streaks down his dirty face.

  Jeffrey looked to Mikelson and Holloway. “Do either of you disagree?”

  Donovan looked to them as though they might take from him something precious.

  “Not at all,” Holloway said touching Donovan’s shoulder.

  Mikelson nodded his agreement. “Like you said, sir, we need experience.”

  “Walter,” Jeffrey said to Donovan, “it’s over. Go get cleaned up and get some sleep. We’ll meet again tomorrow.”

  Donovan, seeming unable to raise his eyes to Jeffrey, nodded at the floor. “T-thank you.” His eyes did come up then. “I’m so sorry… She was…”

  When he faltered, Jeffrey said, “It’s done. Go rest.”

  With one final, quiet, “Thank you,” Donovan rose and left the room.

  Holloway’s jaw flexed. She seemed to Jeffrey to be angry.

  “Something you’d like to say Holloway?”

  Holloway lifted her chin, pressed her lips together, and said, her voice cracking slightly, “Just that I sincerely appreciate you, sir.”

  Jeffrey gave her a slight nod before saying, “And I you. But we need to discuss the future.”

  Holloway and Mikelson looked to each other, a question forming between them.

  Mikelson voiced that question with some doubt, “I thought we had already, sir. We have infrastructure recovery well ahead of schedule, and other proj—”

  “Not immediate plans… plans beyond our lifetimes.”

  Holloway and Mikelson waited.

  “We need to determine the next step for the Sthenos. As I see it we have two choices.”

  Mikelson said, “We either prepare for the next attack…” He looked to Holloway.

  Holloway said, “…or we go on the offensive.”

  Jeffrey nodded. “Which path do you two prefer?”

  Mikelson said, “I prefer the offensive, sir.”

  “I feel the same, sir,” Holloway said.

  “Then we begin from here. This will mark the beginning of a dramatic shift for the human race. Our purpose over the last two hundred years has been to live in peace, to seek out recreation and leisure, health and higher learning. It must now, sadly, shift to war.”

  “Put that way, it sounds wrong, sir,” Holloway said.

  Jeffrey leaned back. “It’s not… ideal. But the necessary path often can’t coexist with the ideal. In studying conflicts amongst ourselves, we find the majority are a result of cultural misunderstandings. Those should primarily be dealt with through diplomacy, but even in human history we have many examples of what can only be described as evil. When that arises, there’s only one answer. The malignancy must be cut out.”

  He eased back in his chair and looked out the window. “I think the Sthenos considered the first engagement a fluke. They’re not accustomed to losing. That means they’ve done this time and time again,” he pointed to the blue sky above the peaks, “out there.”

  Mikelson said, “You think we’re the first race to offer them real opposition?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  Holloway said in a grave tone, “So you’re suggesting that there are other intelligent races in the galaxy subjected to life as cattle.”

  “Or extinction,” Jeffrey said. Leaning forward his tone became more energized, “And we’re going to be the ones to set it right.”

  “But,” Mikelson said, “predators have a natural place in any ecosystem. Who are we to say it shouldn’t be that way?”

  Even as he said it Jeffrey knew he was playing the devil’s advocate.

  Jeffrey smiled as he said, “Eric, we’re the wolves, not them.”

  Mikelson nodded and a smile flickered across Holloway’s face as she said, “Yes sir.”

  “Go to your groups,” Jeffrey said, “and discuss the possibility of an offensive against the Sthenos. I already have teams attempting to glean the technology from their ships. I give us twenty-five years before we need to be bound for war.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  As they stood and left the room, Jeffrey found himself considering the future beyond his lifetime as the people of Earth dredged up their warring roots. However, instead of fighting for land, skin, gold and salt, they would fight to stop a race of killers. While he couldn’t say why, Jeffrey felt sure that, rising up from its primal bed the human race would venture to the stars and set them free. All the loss and pain he’d experienced in his life seemed somehow worthwhile as the great purpose of stopping something as yet unchecked materialized before him. For so long he’d felt tired and old. Now he felt regret that he wouldn’t live long enough to see the greatest acts of the human race.

  …

  Stacy sat outside the base watching a magpie hop among boulders, turning its head to the side, listening to the ground. Pouncing, it came up with a dark insect and flew away.

  Neither the bird, the warm sun, nor the summer breeze had an effect on her mood. She’d been unable to rise beyond an overwhelming sense of failure. As days progressed, she did the work she had to do, but when nothing was required, she’d find a quiet place to sit, and speak to no one. While Leif and Caterina had formed a close bond in their success—Stacy could see them growing closer as wounds closed—she felt her own troubles opening wider. She felt anger at them for moving on. They hadn’t been forced to the edge of the blade. She’d tried to discuss her feelings with Jacqueline and Horace, who had both killed thousands as well. However, when they spoke, she couldn’t make herself bring it up, and she feared they felt the same, wanting to move forward but unable to face what they must to do so.

  Jeffrey often came and sat with her. She knew he was waiting for her to talk, but even with him, she couldn’t. Not yet…

  Today he walked up to her but didn’t sit down.

  “You need to come with me Stacy.”

  Beyond him, near the entrance to the base, she saw Marco shifting his weight back and forth as if worked up about something.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Not saying,” Jeffrey said, “but it’s good. No
w come on.” He walked back toward Marco.

  She didn’t feel she wanted to face good today, but when the fleet admiral of the navy says to come with him…

  She followed to the hangar where an old Kiowa transport sat on a launch pad prepped for flight. Jeffrey directed her to climb the open ramp, and as she strapped into one of the jump seats, he did the same beside her.

  As Marco went to the cockpit along with a copilot she didn’t know, she asked Jeffrey, “Now can you tell me where we’re going?”

  He shook his head.

  Throughout the flight, he stayed true to that. They spoke a bit, but each time she asked about their destination, he would simply shrug. Her curiosity peaked with every passing minute.

  After an hour, the transport went vague with hovering. The decking thumped as it touched down. The rear ramp came open and lowered to the ground, letting in a wash of hot, dry air.

  Stacy unstrapped herself and walked off the ramp into a high mountain forest of tall, narrow pines. Among the underbrush stood dark-green, broad-leafed plants and here and there the flat paddles of prickly pear cacti. Under the scant grasses, the soil was the color of faded terra cotta.

  “Where are we?”

  Jeffrey put his hand on her shoulder. “Mexico. In the mountains about a hundred miles north of Mexico city.”

  Marco pushed past them running toward a group of people. A young woman Stacy felt she knew shoved her way through a few others and ran to Marco.

  Reaching each other, they embraced as if they might fall off the face of the Earth if they didn’t hold tightly. Two small children came through the crowd. Of course. Marco’s wife Sofía and the daughter and son, both more grown than when Stacy had last seen them. Marco picked them up like sacks of groceries and spun around.

  Jeffrey said, “She hid with them for days before being found. Apparently the Sthenos had her shackled and were about to kill the children when the attack commenced. When rescue forces found her, she asked to be brought here. It seems Marco’s parents have had a change of heart about her.”