Raiders

“Frankly, we’re not ready,” said the minister for Production, a frown creasing her face. “Our naval forces are at approximately 33% of the readiness levels from before the Lor’Tref incursion. We only have four carrier groups, and we may be able to scrape together a fifth if we really try; but five of the damaged carriers are probably total losses, and are really only good for scrap, and even the repairable ones will take years.”

The minister for defence grimaced. “That’s assuming I could find crews and pilots for five carrier groups. We lost all our first string crews at the battle of Io, right at the beginning, and you can’t maintain training and replacements for twenty years of full-scale war. Realistically, we’d be lucky to field two carrier groups; three if we throw absolutely everyone into the mix, including green half-trained squadrons and instructor pilots. And I needn’t remind you that this would be absolute desperation.”

At this point the room erupted.

“We can’t get up and running again without at least ten years to rebuild infrastructure!” interjected the minister for the Interior.

“We haven’t got ten years!” the Intelligence minister responded. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a fleet FIVE TIMES the size of the Lor’Tref first wave on a direct course for Earth!”

“Then we can’t survive!” shouted the minister for the Environment.

“We’re already in total collapse!” shouted the Treasurer. “We must find more resources as is!”

The chamber dissolved into chaos and panic, which only subsided once it was clear to the assembled members of parliament that no-one could hear them.

The Prime Minister touched the “enable” control again on the house sound system.

“Please people,” he said, “We’re not making things any better. Xiang Weiyuan,” he asked the Intelligence minister, “Is it possible that we’re mistaken? Could the fleet be heading elsewhere?”

Xiang shook her head. “There aren’t many habitable systems in this part of the galaxy,” she said. “If they’re following the kind of arc they are on, Sol is the only system that they could reach in about three or four million years. No, they’re making a direct line for us. Judging from colour, their drives are considerably less efficient than ours, but still my best estimate is that they’ll arrive in about five years time.”

The Prime Minister nodded. “All right, then,” he said, solemnly. “Madame Jacquard, you and General Tambotha have both already vouched your concerns with the current state of the Star Fleet. I suppose I can take it as read that there is no possibility of rebuilding to some level of functionality in five years?

The minister for Production shook her head.

“In five years, we will have replaced most of the fighters and bombers, but working at maximum output I can’t see us completing more than half of the repairs. I think we can count on the two new carriers from the Australian orbital shipyards coming on line by then, but most of the ones we laid down during the war will still be a long way from completion. And that’s not counting the escort ships; most of those are damaged to some degree.”

The Prime Minister looked over his glasses at the Foreign minister. “Keith, you have been very quiet. What do you believe are the chances that we could stall this fleet?”

Keith shrugged. “We don’t even know what they want,” he said. “Land? Technology? Industry? Energy? We don’t even know if they want Earth’s wildlife to use as pets. Without that kind of critical information, I can’t even begin to put together a plan.”

“Hmm . .” The Prime Minister stroked his chin and stared at his hand. Finally he turned to the Defence minister. “What do you need to counter a fleet of this size?”

“Thirty carrier groups, fully equipped,” General Tambotha replied promptly. “Any less and we’re just fooling ourselves.”

“So . .” the Prime Minister said, a thoughtful look on his face. “I believe that we have only one option left. . .”


* * *

The Prime Minister’s shuttle was indeed fitted with a more efficient drive than the Alien fleet. Moreover, instead of the gigantic space behemoths possessed by the aliens, the shuttle was small, light and nimble. It took him less than a week to achieve maximum speed, and before half a year had passed on Earth, the fleet was heaving into view.

The news was not pleasant.

“The fleet looks bigger than we expected, sir!” said the Prime Minister’s aide, staring at real-time data from cameras on the side of the spacecraft.

The Prime Minister tried to hide his concern. He looked around at the rest of his team. The three-man bridge crew stayed stolidly at their stations, but despite their professionalism, it was possible to see the tension etched into their faces. As for his diplomatic officer, his personal aide and his military analyst, each could see with his or her own eyes the gravity of the situation.

“Get an estimate on the military capabilities of the nearest large vessel,” he ordered the analyst.

“Yes sir,” said the analyst, walking to a nearby console.

She frowned.

“Sir, I could be reading this wrong, but I can’t see any obvious weapon emplacements.”

The Prime Minister raised his eyebrows.

“Unarmed, then?” he asked.

“Unknown, sir,” she said. “They could be hiding weapons systems. Or their weapons may be completely unknown to us.”

“Understood,” said the Prime Minister. “Deborah, I want you with me.” The Analyst gave a curt nod. “And you, Ivan. David, stay here. The rest of you,” he said, looking around at the bridge crew, “Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. I hope the three of us will be out soon, but if all else fails, David needs to report to the Parliament.”

He nodded at his aide. “I know you want to come with me, David, but this is important. You MUST try to get back if the rest of us are taken.”

The Prime Minister straightened.

“Pilot, take us closer to the lead ship. We shall try to make contact with them using Neutracode.”

* * *
The aliens were at least familiar with basic Neutracode, so there was little difficulty in arranging for the Prime Minister’s party to be invited aboard.

The Shuttle was guided into a vast hangar bay. Deborah, the military analyst, noted that the hangar could have easily swallowed a Kennedy-class light fleet carrier.

The thought comforted no-one.

Eventually the spacecraft was guided to hard dock on one of the many platforms. The Prime Minister had time to fleetingly wish he hadn’t been so stubborn in refusing Tambotha’s strong suggestion that he bring an armed honour guard, but it was now too late.

He inserted his translator into his ear.

As the door slid open, he beheld a tall, vaguely humanoid shape (if you ignored the fact that it possessed four upper limbs instead of the usual two and the crooked, goat like lower limbs). The being was lithe and fur-covered; if anything it resembled a giant, six-limbed otter. It held what looked like a computer terminal in its hand.

It muttered something in its own language. Before the translator provided him with an English version of its speech, the Prime Minister was able to note that the creature’s voice was so high-pitched as to be almost ultrasonic.

Honoured human visitor, it said. We [word unavailable!] that you be granted quarters immediately. Then please follow the robot to meet with our masters.
A few minutes later, with the team’s gear stowed and a call made to the ship to tell them that there was no immediate danger, the Prime Minister and his entourage followed the strange, spindly robot to a conference room.

In this room an older alien waited.

The Prime Minister bowed from the waist. It wasn’t really part of his culture, but he felt that a gesture of respect could do little harm; and as it turned out, the being seemed to understand.

Honoured human visitor the being said, I am leader/negotiator Barcoum of the Djiv. May your [word unavailable] be [word unavailable] all of your [unavailable].

The Prime Minister tried not to smile, despite the gravity of the situation. Despite the dearth of language connection between the two species, it was fairly obvious that Barcoum had given a generic traditional blessing.

“Honoured leader Barcoum. I am the Prime Minister of the planet Earth, which we believe to be your destination. I would speak with you if you will allow it.”

The being paused for a moment, presumably listening to his own translator, which appeared to be similar in size and function to that possessed by the human.

Similar sophistication level in electronics, mused the Prime Minister.

After a moment, Barcoum reacted to the message.

Emphatic yes, he replied. We wish that you would speech with us. Inquiry as to the topic?

The Prime Minister cleared his throat.

“We are here to inform you that we, the humans of the Sol system, wish to surrender unconditionally to you.”

The reaction of Barcoum was not what the Prime Minister expected. Although it was hard to read his alien features, the Prime Minister was sure that a blank look had passed over its face. After a moment, Barcoum looked the Prime Minister in the eye.

This “surrender” shares no concept in our vocabulary. Honoured Leader/negotiator, I apologise, but please explain this idea to us.

“It means . . that we will not resist you or attempt to prevent you from obtaining that which you want,” said the Prime Minister. “We are prepared to discuss whatever you want with us, and all that we ask is that you do not harm the people of the Sol system.”

This time there was no mistaking it. Barcoum did a double take. But the alien recovered quickly.

You will not resist us? Good. Very good. Excellent. And your bargain is acceptable.

“My bargain?” asked the Prime Minister.

Your Bargain, said Barcoum. The alien seemed pleased. We of the Djiv will extend to you every courtesy . . and of course we shall spare you from the [word unavailable] of our mighty armed forces.

The part of Barcoum’s statement about armed forces seemed as though it had been added on the spot. The Prime Minister wondered what that may mean.

“What is it that your people want, honoured Barcoum?” he asked.

Barcoum nodded its head. We have prepared an audio visual presentation for our previous . . conquest, it said. Please follow Barcoum.

The Prime Minister and his entourage followed the tall being, who ushered them into what was clearly a small cinema, despite a range of stylistic differences. Barcoum motioned for the humans to sit in the strangely shaped chairs.

I shall leave. The presentation shall take place and I shall return, said Barcoum, who immediately left.

Finally alone, the Prime Minister turned to his two advisors.

“Well, what do you make of that?”

Ivan, the diplomatic advisor, was silent. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “Barcoum appears friendly, but there’s something he’s not telling us. Maybe we’ll be better equipped to answer that question once he shows us this presentation.”

“I’m concerned, sir,” opined Deborah. “He didn’t even know what ‘Surrender’ means. This fleet could crush us like an egg. And did you hear how casually he threatened us? Almost as though the threat meant nothing!”

The Prime minister nodded, but inwardly he was still wondering. He wondered if he and his team had misunderstood the situation.

A moment later he had his answer.

The screen came to life. The images on it were marginally distorted, and the colours slightly too pink, but everything was nonetheless fairly understandable.

Through their translators, the three humans heard the desires of the Djiv:

CRAZY BARGAINS!! NEVER TO BE REPEATED OFFER! ALL STOCK MUST GO!