Space Shuttle Endeavour - January 4th

Seven minutes and forty one seconds after liftoff from Kennedy Space Center, the Shuttle’s engines throttled down to 10 percent power and ten seconds later the main engine shutdown. Inside the Shuttle the thunder ended abruptly giving way to relative silence, the vibrations attenuating and the 3-G force that had accompanied them up to that point seeming to vanish in thin air.
        The external tank separation sequence was automatically initiated by the orbiter’s computers and eleven seconds later the tank’s pyrotechnic charges fired. For a brief moment, the Shuttle’s engines fired again, an OMS burn or the orbital maneuvering system thrusting sequence, designed to place it in the specified orbital apogee. Inside the three level crew compartment, Commander Ross Farrington gazed through the front windshield at the blue expanse curving in front of them. Seemingly so peaceful, so serene but he knew otherwise. Somewhere on the other side of the planet a host of alien vessels reigned terror on Australia. Thousands of people fought for their lives below them. And died.
        "Negative return," called Mission Control Center.
        "Roger that," said Farrington. It was now too late to select a return-to-launch-site abort. All the way, baby.
        "Checking the GN&C computer," said the Commander. The Pilot, seated to his left, nodded. The computer had been programmed with a direct target vector to the NPB satellite and was busily maintaining the correct attitude and position profile.
        Behind them, the two mission specialists were already unbuckling and moving through the interdeck hatch towards the lower middeck, directly beneath the flight deck. The middeck, usually crammed with bunk sleep stations and the galley was abnormally empty. This was a one shot mission, success to be achieved on the first pass and thus all unnecessary equipment had been left behind. The specialists floated by the crew accommodations and the three avionics equipment bays. Forty two modular stowage lockers, used to store the flight crew's personal gear, mission-necessary equipment, personal hygiene equipment and experiments, lined the walls.
        Straight through the middeck and the two specialists arrived at the airlock to find the two EVA astronauts floating up from the lower deck.
        "Anyone know what the in-flight movie is?" asked one of the astronauts.
        The chief MS grunted.
        "Better get ready. Confirmed twenty minutes to target."
        Both astronauts, already suited for the space walk, opened the airlock hatch that led towards the exterior bay area and pushed themselves in, grabbing hold of the handrails and foot restraints. With the suits donned, the airlock left little room for movement, enough to close the hatch and ready the decompression procedure. The astronauts plugged the suits into the recharge outlets, in case the batteries had lost power and prepared for the wait.
        On the other side of the hatch, the mission specialists commenced the setting up and initializing sequence of the RMS, the electromechanical remote manipulator arm that would capture and hold the satellite while the astronauts installed the new components.

        Area 51 - January 4th

        Keller shielded his face as the helicopter approach the landing zone, raising a cloud of sand that stung into his eyes. It was a bright January morning, chilly as cold winds swept in from the Nevada desert. He turned his face away from the downwash of the rotors and held his shades on with his right hand.
        The door opened and General Sachs stepped out, head ducking low to avoid the spinning rotors. He trotted forward holding onto his cap and a black attaché case.
        "General, good to see you."
        "Thank you, Captain. Let’s get inside."
        The front gate to Area 51 bore the marks of heavy reinforcement, concrete and steel bunkers hastily erected as a first line of defense. All above ground structures had been abandoned or were being used solely for administration or nonessential storage facilities. Everything else was below. Heavy doors opened into the main corridor. It had been a hectic week, transferring the scientist’s equipment and computers to the new base, preparing funerals and mourning the loss of friends. Colonel Hammet had received a full honors military burial.
        "We’ve beefed up the doors to blast strength three, which won’t stop a frontal attack for long, but they’ll buy us some time." After the disaster at Cheyenne the group had moved to its new headquarters at Area 51, where swarms of Army engineers busied themselves modifying the base in order to repel any attacks.
        "This is the first fire zone." He pointed at two wicked looking weapons hanging from the ceiling at end of the corridor. "Automatic plasma guns, remote controlled from the Command Center. We can reload them from a small opening in the ceiling there." Keller pointed at two four inch diameter holes on the farthest wall. "Reinforced fire openings. The whole section has been fortified with Duritium salvaged from downed UFOs. We can set up anything on the other side, TOWs, flamethrowers, the works."
        "This is the only way in?"
        "Correct, sir. We sealed off the emergency exits with cement and secured the vent takes so that only air will fit through."
        The two men continued down the corridor. A small video camera followed their movements with a low whine and as they approached the end, a door swung open. They stepped into a larger room, previously the reception area.
        "Second fire zone. Triple plasma guns on each side and two reinforced bunkers at the end. And if they still manage to punch through, we can completely blow the next corridor in, sealing the whole base. Then we’d have to call in the cavalry. We have a direct line to Nevada AFB and SEAL Team Six."
        "Good job on such limited time, Captain. It looks pretty tight."
        They stepped through another door and descended a flight of stairs to the primary lab, Keller pointing out further security enhancements all the way. More reinforced bunkers and fire zones. Pretty lethal place.

        General Sachs greeted everyone in the room and then sat down. Eager eyes regarded him from every direction. He’d received little explanation of the summoning but Dr. Richards had insisted almost to the point of screaming down the phone. In any case, giving X-COM’s new base a once-over fit nicely in his schedule. Dr. Richards, Katherine Clark and Dr. Susan Moore were already seated at the table. Richards looked at Cole.
        "Well, Pete, all yours."
        "General," commenced the hacker. "Yesterday I had a very interesting conversation with a young student from New York, opened my eyes real wide. Let me give you a bit of background information. Some years ago, Sun Microsystems tried to promote a then revolutionary idea. They coined this phrase: ‘The Net is the Computer’.
        "As we progress, computers are built with more power, higher processing speed, larger disk drives. There’s a law, called Moore’s Law, that states that every eighteen months computing speed is doubled, and so far it’s been pretty accurate. But there exists a physical limit which will hinder this effect, when cramming more transistors onto the same silicon just won’t be possible. A lot of research is being carried out trying to break this barrier, with promising results.
        "But Sun’s idea was why increase the power of personal computers when we could all derive our needs from huge central processors. Keep personal machines small, let the servers grow. Your computer would pull what it needed, a text processor, a video game, any application or stream of bits from the Net, from large servers, when they needed it.
        "Down side is so far, nobody’s buying that. More to the point, personally I think the idea sucks. Well, if I were a network administrator it would have me drooling. No more installation hassles, re-configuration headaches, keeping complex computers working while users install programs and other goodies, playing havoc on delicate systems. On the other side, however, if I were the user I’d complain to no end. It would mean no more having that nifty screen saver or keeping photos of my kid on the hard drive. And a second point is that currently our Internet communication lines just can’t handle the traffic.
        "But if I were a military theater commander, it would definitely make sense. Imagine traveling to a distant planet and having all your communications centralized. Publish attack coordinates on your server and everyone receives them. Have an attack go wrong and the commander knows instantly. The whole force could be controlled from one single location, one commander with all the information at his fingertips."
        General Sachs raised his hand. "You believe there’s a central computer somewhere?"
        Cole smiled. For a military puke he sure was fast on the take.
        "Exactly. So at first we thought, hey, it’s probably on one of the alien ships in orbit, which sucks ‘cause we can’t get there. But what about pre-fleet actions. Aliens were harassing us before the fleet arrived, so the computer is somewhere on Earth."
        The General looked around the table. Richards was smiling softly.
        "And you know where it is," said the General, a statement not a question. Cole leaned back in his chair.
        "Precisely."

        "I have a feeling you’re going to tell me not to destroy it," said Sachs crossing his arms over his chest.
        "Right. We want to try and use it first," said Cole. "Problem is, we’re not sure what we’ll be able to do with it."
        Sachs raised his eyebrows.
        "Let me explain. We know what the client machines can do, operate the UFO, essential transmission procedures and little else. We think that the central machine will ... might ... be connected to each and every alien craft. There’s a possibility of, if we could gain access to it, messing their system pretty badly."
        Sachs looked around the table and snorted.
        "The aliens are so stupid they’d have a computer lying around conveniently for the taking? Come on!"
        "Not stupidity, General. Necessity. This far from home they need a central command someplace."
        Sachs regarded the scientists silently, scanning each face separately. Finally, he said:
        "You’re suggesting I mount a very risky operation on a possibility, on a chance that your ideas are sound? One doesn’t just waltz into the alien base and ask for permission."
        "No, General. And we could be completely wrong. Maybe it could be useless for us."
        "Or maybe they could destroy the machine, or disconnect it, or quite a few other options," added Richards.
        "This is all you have?"
        Cole looked despondent.
        "It’s better than nothing."
        The General gave him a hard stare. "It’s not a hell of a lot." But then again, after the failure a few hours ago at Kakadu, things just weren’t progressing well for Earth forces.

        The Nova

        "What do you mean we have to wait for confirmation on the video?"
        The second-in-command stood nervously. When the SubCommander spoke softly it was bad news.
        "Data relay systems are still down, Commander. Remote Five bounced the warning signal from one of the gunships on a low frequency channel that, unfortunately, doesn’t have the capacity to transmit video. But," he added hastily, "work is being carried out to fix the VidChannel data panels."
        The SubCommander cursed his luck. That the terrans had put a vehicle, maybe a second kinetic sat in orbit spelled a dangerous situation. To send a gunship without more information could be suicidal. To delay for the video feed would be ... It would allow him to continue bombardment schedules at full force and once confirmation arrived send the gunship in carefully. On the other had, he had a feeling it couldn’t wait.
        "Have a gunship move in until it can receive video feed directly from the remote and then have it return here at once."
        "Yes, Commander," said the XO and pivoted towards the door.
        "And tell them to be careful!" The loss of a gunship by the puny terran forces would be hard to explain in High Command.

        US Military Satellite Southern Hemisphere Control Center - Pine Gap, Australia

        "Uh-oh."
        "What’s that," asked the Major.
        "We’re showing a separation from the Fleet. Seems like one of the smaller craft is breaking formation."
        The Major leaned over and inspected the radar panel. On it, white V marks represented the alien vessels orbiting stationary above Australia. They had ceased to bombard the major cities with the heavy Anti-Matter torps and were now firing at selected targets inside military compounds. Not much damage unless a vehicle was caught in the open.
        "What about visual?" The base’s 0.5 meter telescope gave them a clear picture of the sleek UFOs. The operator toggled a switch and a screen flickered to life.
        "There she goes," he said loudly.
        "Get me Central Command," he said.
        "Negative, sir. They destroyed the relay sat. two hours ago."
        "Shit. Why wasn’t I informed?"
        Asshole, thought the operator. I did inform you’re too dumb to understand the consequences.
        "OK. Options."
        "We could piggyback the signal on this TV satellite. Straight to National Recon Office, CIA and NSA. But that is way out in the open. Absolutely no security."
        "Beautiful," snarled the Major.
        "On the other hand, there’s a Hawkeye operating somewhere north. We could relay the signal to them and have them bounce it through their communications birds."
        "If they’re up," said the officer. Dork, thought the operator. "All right, give that a shot."

        Space Shuttle Endeavour - January 4th

        The orbiter thundered on course towards the satellite.
        "Endeavour, we show you at two minutes to rendezvous," came the voice from KSC Control.
        "Roger." Commander Farrington turned to the pilot. "Ready for the OMS burn?"
        "Let’s do it," replied the astronaut.
        The pilot poised his hand over the OMS trigger and waited.
        "Endeavour, do you copy?"
        "We’re all ears," said Farrington.
        "OMS burn in five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... burn!"
        The pilot hit the switch and the rumble of the engines reverberated through the hull of the orbiter. Eight seconds and it was over.
        "Burn complete," informed Farrington.
        "There!" exclaimed the pilot. Farrington looked forward and caught the metallic glint of the military satellite as it spinned in orbit above the Earth. One shot mission, he reminded himself. No time to loiter around and try for second opportunities. They had to hook the baby on the first try and replace the ABCS, the new and improved targeting system. The beauty of dawn was lost on the crew as they raced over the planet.
        The Space Shuttle maneuvered slowly towards the satellite, careful not to overshoot or, worse, collide against the moving mass. Farrington glanced at the pilot and watched, mesmerized, as a bead of sweat slid down his nose. The pilot’s right hand gripped the control joystick with a delicacy and precision that was enviable. He was the best there was, period. He glanced back out and saw the satellite much closer.
        "Rate of closure at ten feet per second. Slowing down to three feet," said the pilot. Ahead of them the vastness of space painted a magnificent picture, black cloth with a splattering of white, stars glowing hundreds of times brighter than on the surface.
        "One hundred feet and rate at two feet per second."
        "OK," acknowledged Farrington. He clicked the middeck speakers on. "Get for RMS operation. Status?" he asked.
        "RMS is armed and ready, all systems on green. Airlock sealed and EVA on standby."
        "One minute, then," he said.
        Below decks the mission specialists re-checked the RMS panel, making sure that every light was on green. The software completed its final test satisfactorily. They switched the exterior remote TV and swiveled it to located the satellite.
        "Ready on RMS," they informed.
        "OK. Opening bay doors." Farrington reached up and to his right, where the exterior bay door switches were located.
        "Fifty feet and slowing to one foot per second."
        Don’t miss, prayed the pilot. C’mon, you’ve practiced enough times in the simulator and got it right seven out of ten times.
        Below the flight deck, the TV screen locked itself on the satellite and followed it closely. Through a hatch, the two specialists watched the bay doors swing slowly and silently open.
        "Here we go," said the RMS operator softly and said ‘please God’ just once more, checked the CRT display and punched a button on panel A8L.
        The 50 foot long, nine hundred pound RMS arm extended itself at its maximum rate of two feet per second, reaching into the void for the satellite.
        "Slowly, slowly," muttered the specialist as if repeating a mantra. The boom extended towards the satellite, the operator making minute adjustments. Minutes passed until the snare mechanism was activated and the satellite secured.
        "Got it," exclaimed the operator.
        "Roger that. Good work. OK, guys," said Farrington to the astronauts inside the airlock. "All yours. Good luck and make it count!" Inside the airlock, the two EVA specialists opened the exterior hatch and floated out into space, securing their tether lines onto the outside outlets.

        Farrington finished a systems check and craned his neck in order to catch sight of the two astronauts. So far two hours had gone by, the astronauts working hard in zero gravity.
        "Uh, Endeavour," came the voice from KSC.
        "Go ahead," said Farrington.
        "We know you’re short on time but a situation has just come up."
        Great.
        "Seems one of the alien vessels has departed formation and is one the way towards you. Arrival in approximately two hours."
        "That mean we’re in a mess?"
        "Uh, way we’re reading it you could be. How much longer to completion?"
        "Couple hours. Maybe a little less if they hurry. Still cutting it close."
        "Your call, Ross. You have a de-orbit window in thirty minutes to primary emergency base in Moron, Spain."
        "Wait one." Farrrington opened the communications channel. "Listen up, guys. KSC is on-line. Here’s the situation. We have an alien vessel coming this way, ETA two hours. Unknown intentions but let’s consider the worst case scenario. If we can pull it off in under two hours we can still make the window. Can we do it?" Silence for a few seconds as the rest of the team digested the information.
        "Not if you keep interrupting. Yeah, we can do it."
        "KSC, you heard them. Keep us informed," said Farrington.

        "Endeavour, over."
        Farrington checked the clock. He still had one hour left, right?
        "Go ahead."
        "Good news, uh, we think. The UFO is backing up now, going the other way."
        "You have an explanation for that?" asked the Commander.
        "Negative." Next to him, the pilot turned, bared his teeth and furrowed his brow. He actually snarled a little.
        "It’s all the protonic guns and laser de-atomizing pods we’re carrying, makes us look mean," said the pilot. "Caught sight of us and said, hey, we no mess with NASA, man." Farrington smiled.
        "OK, we have one more hour and then we’re outta here."
        "Start preparing for de-orbit in thirty," returned KSC Control.

        The Nova

        "The gunship is patching the video feed through, Commander."
        The SubCommander eyed the 3D terminal in front of him and sat back as a small globe appeared. Terra Three, what a disgusting planet. It rotated slowly, giving him real time data of the disposition of his fleet as it continued orbital bombardment of several key installations. Finally, it completed the one hundred and eighty degree turn and zoomed into a speck, high above the planet.
        A small vessel orbited terra-stationary a few hundred parx above the surface. The video zoomed in tighter. In front of the vessel, a satellite hooked to it via a long arm.
        "Terran ship repairing an autonomous satellite," said the second-in-command. "And we can’t have that, number two. Dispatch the gunship to deal with it. But tell it to approach with caution. No surprises."

        "Endeavour, the UFO is coming back towards you and in a hurry. Consensus down here is that they’ve figured out what you’re doing and aren’t happy about it. We advise you de-orbit immediately." Damn, only fifteen more minutes.
        "What’s the ETA?" asked Farrington.
        "Fifteen minutes, the rate they’re moving." Ah, what a coincidence. Fate was probably having a field day. He clicked on the intercom.
        "Hurry it up, guys. We got company in fifteen minutes. Mission Control, we’re about done."
        The minutes passed agonizingly by.
        "Optics in place," said the EVA astronauts. "Returning to shuttle."
        Farrington clicked the intercom to the RMS operator.
        "Eject the arm. No time to recover."
        "Roger." Separation charges fired and launched the remote arm into space, floating by the returning astronauts.
        "We’re in," came a voice a few minutes later. "Securing exterior hatch."
        "Close bays and let’s get the hell outta here." Farrington selected the emergency return procedure from the computer. The orbiter’s thrusters fired as the bay doors started to close.
        "Endeavour, we show you on the move. The UFO is two minutes behind you and closing rapidly."
        "Damn, Control. Can’t you do anything to get him off our back?" So close.
        The voice traveling through thousands of miles of space still conveyed optimism. "I do believe we can, Endeavour." Farrington glanced at the pilot.

        Inside the NPB satellite systems turned themselves on and the newly installed Advanced Beam Control System’s gyros spinned up to nominal rate. A signal gave it the coordinates for it’s first target and it successfully inputted the information in the tracking optics, rotating the barrel accordingly.
        A high density particle beam was injected into a linear accelerator and pushed to a weapons-level energy of 500 MeV. A steering magnet calculated the correct beam trajectory and made the necessary final, minute adjustments.
        It fired.
        With cold and clinical detachment, the sensors and neuron particle detectors assessed the hit and damage effectiveness and sent the information down to Earth.

        A roar erupted in Mission Control Center as the alien blip on the radar seemed to falter and then change course. Seconds later it started to cross into the atmosphere, hopefully out of control.
        "OK, people. Score one for the good guys, " said the Launch Director. "Now, let’s get the Shuttle home." He finished his sentence on an upbeat and clapped his hands together.

        "What!" bellowed the SubCommander. The weapons officer stood at rigid attention, wishing silently that the bearer of bad news would be spared.
        "Through what incompetency did this ... all right, all right." The SubCommander made a visible effort to calm down. He retook his chair in front of the conference table and brought up a tactical map.
        "The satellite must be destroyed at all costs. Do wish to tell me that you cannot do this?" he asked softly.
        "No sir, we’re already targeting it with a remote missile. We can fire whenever you give the order."
        The SubCommander just stared at the younger officer.
        "Understood, Commander."

        The Pentagon

        Major Susan Mornay raced into the situation room located on the first floor of the north section of the Pentagon. She passed the security guards, sidestepped another officer heading the other way and entered the mayhem of scurrying aides, barked orders and tension so thick you could surf it.
        She reached the round center table at a dead run and hurried to where her commanding officer, General Wright sat.
        "This just in from ESA, sir." The European Space Agency, still controlling a few surveillance birds, was keeping a close eye on the alien Fleet from various stations around the globe. The joint NASA-ESA monitoring posts at Madrid, the French Guyana and Greece were picking up and relaying as much information as they could.
        "Gentlemen," said the General. "Radars are tracking a fast moving object towards the NPB bird. Contact in under a minute. Probably a missile." The Vice Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff hardly hesitated.
        "Move it. Let’s go for your plan General. Hope it works."
        "Yessir," he said and grabbed for a phone.

        Two hundred and fifty miles above the Earth, the NPB connected its nuclear power plant and blasted forward under full thrust, escaping the oncoming missile by scant seconds. It angled towards the alien fleet, accelerating madly as it went. On board computers worked overtime to keep the orbital profile within correct parameters.
        Twenty minutes later, the ABCS received new targeting coordinates and sent the firing signal to the ion accelerator. Time elapsed between shots was ten seconds and a total of five streams were fired. The beams traveled through space at lightspeed and reached their target with pinpoint precision.

        The Nova

        The shudder could be felt throughout the hull of the large Destroyer as all systems failed. Sparks sputtered from outlets where wires fused together from the tremendous upsurge of power and lights blacked out and remained thus as the emergency generators failed to switch on.
        The SubCommander froze in the center of the bridge and whirled around. "What’s going on?" he shouted. Silence surrounded him. Then voices began to speak rapidly.
        "Power failure on navigation systems," said one voice.
        "Life support is out," said another.
        "Sensors are down."
        A loud explosion echoed from below.
        "Main power generators are down. Backup One is non-operational." The XO groped his way in the dim lighting that seeped in through the main exterior window to a station and tested the computer.
        "Computer is down."
        "Navigator," ordered the SubCommander. "What about station keeping?"
        "Non-functional, sir."
        Suddenly a red light bathed the bridge and an intercom clicked on.
        "PowerGen to Bridge. Backup two is now on-line."
        "What happened?" asked the Kraal.
        "Power upsurge blew the generators, sir. Most probably all electronic circuits are gone. The main generator and number one took most of the blast, sparing numbers two and three. We have to thank the electromagnetic insulators."
        "What are we on?"
        "Only number two, Commander. Three is down for maintenance but we’re readying it as we speak."
        "Keep at it." The SubCommnader turned to the bridge. "Orbital integrity is the priority. Next, find that terran satellite."
        "Sensors are up, sir. I have the satellite on screen."
        "Weapons, do we have enough power for a shot?"
        "Yes, sir. Two missiles are loaded in the tubes. We can fire right now."
        "Do it," he ordered." He had once again underestimated the terran forces. Inside, his rage boiled like a volcano.

        The Pentagon - January 5th

        General Sachs stopped talking and closed the folder in front of him. Now it was up to them. Around him, scores of the highest ranking military men in the country sat regarding him silently.
        "It’s risky as hell," said an Air Force General finally. "It could mean the complete destruction of our X-COM units and a carrier air wing. That’s betting a lot on wild hunch by some computer nerd."
        "Not some computer nerd. The guy that cracked the alien computer code. Slight difference," said Sachs somewhat annoyed.
        "Well," said the Deputy Director of the CIA, "we’ve scored relatively big on the large UFO and it could be the only chance we’ll have to keep the momentum rolling. Another positive strike could stack the deck our way."
        "Or finish us off. For God’s sake, an operation of this scope should take weeks to prepare. We can’t just hightail it in with zip on information!"
        "What are the chances, General?" asked the Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
        "In order not to give the operation away we’ve decided to dispense with recon flights, so our information isn’t optimal. Destroying Strike Point One is certain. Getting inside is probably better than ninety percent. Capturing and using the computer is unknown." Boy was he winging it.
        "OK," said the Vice-JCS. "I’ll have to check with the President, but unless I hear a strong opinion to the contrary, I’ll recommend it."

        USS Independence - January 7th

        Captain DeWitt descended into the eerie lighting of CIC.
        "Captain in CIC," a sailor called. Tension was a physical thing that left a strange taste in the mouths of the people operating in the Combat Information Center of the carrier. This close to Palau Kepu, where a probable alien base lay spelled nervousness all around.
        "XO, what’s the situation?"
        "Standard defense picket. Picking up zilch on sonar or radar." The standard deployment had USS Bunker Hill and Mobile Bay, the carrier escorts in close, guided missile frigates USS Thach and Rodney M. Davis as a second line and finally guided missile destroyers USS John S. McCain and Curtis Wilbur, their AEGIS and extended-range SAMs invaluable to Fleet defense. USS Vincennes, a guided missile cruiser steamed behind them.
        The Air Warfare Officer stepped up.
        "Hawkeye is reporting nothing, except for some RAAF AWACS flight and a couple of Hornets on patrol. We have four birds on CAP and the plus fives are ready to launch."
        The Captain walked over to the tactical map, indicating the officers to pay attention.
        "All right, gentlemen. There are two main targets in the region. It seems that the President has reached an agreement with the Australian Prime Minister and we’re going to be assisting a combined attack on the alien camp, here," he said pointing at Kakadu. The officers looked at each other. Kakadu, as the RAAF had learned, was a tough nut to crack.
        "But that isn’t the main target. In forty eight hours, Special Operations units, mainly X-COM forces, will launch a major coordinated attack on this location here. Our mission will be to make sure they succeed. Strike Point One," Kakadu, "is a deception maneuver. The goal is to neutralize the fighters in Palau Kepu, Strike Point Two, and then deny the aliens air superiority."
        "What’s at Palau Kepu that’s so important?" asked the XO.
        "A computer."

        Kakadu

        Scott grabbed the mike.
        "Snake," he said.
        "Den. Pull out. Point Alpha. Immediate."
        Scott clicked the radio shut and signaled his radio man.
        "Pass the word around."
        The Captain gave the alien camp one last look through his binoculars. Activity had picked up in the past hours and he had spotted a couple of large machines moving about. A robot had also marched off behind a hill and a couple of fighters had taken off half an hour earlier. The little smoke that he had noted after the attack was long gone. Except for the burning wreck of the Hornet half a mile distant.

        Area 51

        Keller watched Catherine walk out of the conference room with a serious face, back rigid. She looked furious and there was little point in talking to her now. Keller waited for the rest of the room to troop out and then followed leisurely. He spotted her to one side of the corridor, leaning against a wall arms folded across her chest.
        "Hey, Katie."
        "Why?" she asked, a tremble in her voice.
        "You know why, babe. It’s my job. Hell, it’s much more than my job. It’s your security."
        "I didn’t ask."
        "That doesn’t matter. If there’s a chance we have to explore it." She suddenly pushed away from the wall and turned on him.
        "Not after what you went through a week ago. I spoke with doctor Jones and she said you had every right to call in sick. You practically busted your ribs."
        Keller thought for a moment that he would be angry. Did she have any right to confront him like this? It was, after all, his life. But anger failed to swell in him.
        "So what do you expect? That I sit back, watch while the others go? I’m the leading officer, and they’re my responsibility."
        "Damn it, Steve. You volunteered!"
        "I was asked if I was fit to go, and I said yes. Listen, Katie." Keller reached over and touched her cheek. She didn’t pull away. "I have to go and you know it. I’ll be OK."
        Keller felt pathetic, at loss for words. Unable to say something intelligent, comforting. As they embraced he felt her tears against his neck.

        Maui Telescope

        A lone radar operator spluttered his drink over his shirt as the main radar alarm came on, not because it was loud, which it wasn’t, but rather for what it signified.
        He reached over routed the radar feed to his console and sat watching in horror for a brief instant.
        "Oh my God, " he whispered.

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