Oliver did not speak. Yamashiro asked a second time, “What do you think we should do, Master Chief?”
Oliver paused to consider his words, and said, “Maybe we should return to Earth.”
“We should return?” Yamashiro repeated.
“We should return and report what we have found. If we attack now and we fail, everything we have learned will be lost. If the Linear Committee sends another fleet after us, that fleet will be forced to begin the search all over again unless you report our findings.
“We should return to Earth, but not for Marines. We need to make our report, then launch our attack. We’re not here to defeat this enemy—we need to destroy them.”
Yamashiro listened to the SEAL explain his case and realized something about himself. He didn’t want to go back to Earth, not empty-handed. Forced to choose between carrying out a Kamikaze mission and returning to Earth for more ships, he preferred the Kamikaze mission.
After the meeting ended, Master Chief Oliver remained standing beside the conference table as Takahashi escaped like an alley cat running from a fight. He waited for Admiral Yamashiro to finish speaking to his assistant, then he asked, “Admiral, sir, this SEAL wishes permission to speak?”
“What is it, Master Chief?” barked Yamashiro.
“We fired weapons at two moons, is that correct?” asked Oliver. “We fired infiltration pods at the moons?”
“That is correct,” the admiral answered in a voice calculated to convey mild irritation.
“As I understand it, only one of the moons was destroyed. Is that correct?”
“What is your point, Master Chief?”
“One of the moons had an atmosphere, the other did not,” said Oliver.
“Do you want to see the video feed?” asked Yamashiro.
“No, sir,” said Oliver. “Admiral, it seems like the aliens’ technology only works when there is an atmosphere present. There was no atmosphere on the smaller moon, and the aliens were not able to prevent our attack. The large moon had an atmosphere, and the aliens destroyed our pods.”
Caught off guard by the theory, Yamashiro asked, “What about the battleships?” He figured out the answer to the question even as he asked it.
“Our battleships have atmospheres, sir,” said the SEAL.
“Yes, they do,” thought Yamashiro, remembering that the intelligence report stated that the heat was internal.
“Admiral, that might also explain why the aliens did not attack our transports,” said Oliver. “The pilots purge the oxygen out of our transports.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The last census reported the population of Gobi at nearly one million, but that was before the Avatari invaded the planet. At the time of the evacuation, slightly less than a half million people resided on Gobi, most of them living in concentrated clusters. We only needed two barges to evacuate the planet.
We could not have designed an easier scenario for an evacuation—a mostly uninhabited planet with a few centralized population sites, an impoverished people who abandoned their homes and belongings without complaining, an underdeveloped world with empty skies. Few of the civilians owned anything as fancy as private planes, so the navigation lanes remained clear. We’d need to deal with rich people who wanted to fly their own yachts on wealthier planets; but anyone who could afford a yacht would have sailed away from Gobi long ago.
While I was off hijacking barges, Admiral Jolly sent a clutch of senior officers to oversee the evacuation. By the time I arrived on the scene, they had nearly completed their work.
I flew to Morrowtown, the largest city on the planet, population fifty-three thousand. Not much of a city.
One of Jolly’s officers, a Captain James Holman, ran the operation with ruthless efficiency. He lifted the people out first, allowing them no more luggage than a change of clothes. That part of the lift took approximately eight hours. Once he had the people out, he sent teams of scavengers to look for food, medical supplies, and other essentials. Holman had thought of something I had overlooked. Before the month was out, we would have millions of refugees to house and to feed. We would need more than food and water. When they became sick, they would look to us for medicine, clothing, soap, shelter, bedding, building supplies, everything.
I did not wear my armor on this excursion. Having spent the first three months of my career on Gobi, I knew I would miss the temperature-controlled bodysuit; but I was more concerned about privacy.
Gobi was wall-to-wall desert, with no oceans, no lakes, and no moisture in its air. Wet spots started forming under my arms and around my collar the moment I stepped out of my transport. By the time I reached my ride, drops of sweat rolled along my spine.
Morrowtown was a two- and three-story burg composed of sandstone-colored buildings. Its streets were dirty and empty; the capital had faded into a ghost town.
Admiral Jolly flew in from the Perseus Arm to accompany me during my inspection. He must have mistaken me for a real officer. He saluted.
“We have three hours until things start heating up,” I told Jolly. My information came from Freeman, who had remained on the
“Where did you get that information?” asked Jolly.
“Anonymous tip,” I said.
“You want to share your source?” asked Jolly.
“No, Admiral, I don’t,” I said.
Before I left Gobi, I would relieve Jolly of command. He was weak and pondering, the kind of commander you indulge during good times but cannot afford during bad. One way or another, he had to go.
“I told Holman not to leave until he packs every iota of food and medical supplies on the planet,” Jolly said.
“He’s got three hours,” I said.
“That sounds suspiciously like an order,” said Jolly.
“Not at all, Admiral. I’m not the one calling the shots. In three hours, the atmosphere will ignite, and everything on the planet will burn. The food will burn. The men looking for the food will burn. The Avatari are the ones controlling the clock.”
Jolly nodded, then eyed me carefully. He still looked angry. I pretended not to notice.
Using an old farm truck commandeered by his men, Admiral Jolly and I began our inspection. The truck’s engine growled so loudly I thought it might give birth. The suspension bounced like it was made of trampoline springs. Jolly and I sat in the back. A master chief petty officer played chauffeur. With the dirty deed I had in mind, I would have preferred a loyal Marine for a driver.
We passed dozens of abandoned vehicles parked along the streets. People had left their hopes and possessions behind. I couldn’t judge their hopes, but their possessions had been pretty meager.
I noticed something interesting. The doors of the houses were closed, and many people left their cars parked and locked as if the occupants expected to return home to them. As we passed one building, a dog watched us from behind a window.
