The next day, Becki, Lenka, the kids and I were at the airport before sunrise. The kids were thrilled at getting to fly in Thayer's private jet. The adults hoped they would be quiet enough for us to sleep through the flight.
We were back in Mendellia before noon, where it was as hot as Vegas and ten times as humid. The kids only cared about the heat until they met up with their honorary cousins at the palace. Then the entire pack of Atner and Cochran children disappeared into the depths of the palace together, and it was time for us to get down to business.
By mutual agreement, we didn't tell Thayer about the incident in the parking garage until we met him in the foyer outside his office in the High Palace. He was not at all pleased.
"Are you certain this attack was a kidnapping attempt?" he asked.
Of course I was sure. It's Becki, after all. I get mad, Lenka gets quiet, Thayer gets wordy, Becki gets kidnaped. "Ham fisted and amateurish, but yes, we're pretty sure," I said.
"You should have informed me the moment it occurred!" Thayer was rarely like this. I thought the vein on his forehead might burst.
Becki laid a hand on his arm. "It was over. There was nothing more to be done."
Thayer didn't seem comforted by that. He stared hard at the table in front of him and wouldn't look at any of us. "I would have dispatched extra security officers."
"There was no need, your highness," said Lenka, who after all these year still couldn't get over Thayer being her king. "The danger had passed."
"We live on one of the most secure military bases in the United States," I said. "Once she was at our house there was no way they could reach her." Of course the housing area's not the same as the main base, but that wasn't important at the moment.
"Thayer, I know it's been a while, but I used to be in much more danger on a regular basis," Becki said, not helping our cause at all.
"I know," he said. Then finally looking at her, "That's one aspect of Terra Group's disbandment that didn't disappoint me."
"We brought her back safely to you," I said. "Just as we always have."
"So you did. Thank you, my friends. I am grateful you were there." He was letting it go, reluctantly, which was the best we could hope for. In fact it was more than we expected.
"Actually, I didn't do much," Lenka said. "Becki knocked the girl out herself."
"The girl. You said one of her associates called her Grace?"
"That was our reading of it," I said. Of course it could have meant almost anything else, too, but this interpretation at least left us with a clue. Something we were otherwise sorely lacking.
"Though we can't be sure," Becki said. "It could have been a plea for help. Asking for grace."
"Does the name have any meaning to you? Other than the obvious," Lenka said. Grace was hardly an uncommon word in Mendellia.
"Hmm…" Thayer said with his fingertips pressed to his lips. "No, nothing comes immediately to mind."
"Okay then," I said, clapping my hands together loudly, making everyone jump. "Shall we get on with it?" I was on leave until Tuesday, but arranging it landed me squarely in the dog house with the colonel, and I had no desire to test his generosity.
"Not just yet. We're waiting for two more."
As soon as he said it, Kristy and Noreh appeared in the foyer. Kristy bounced into the room like a ray of sunshine, smiling from ear to ear at the sight of us. Noreh trailed stiffly behind, her expression blank and disconnected.
"Hey boss," I said, wrapping Kristy in a tight embrace.
"Hey yourself," she said, poking a ticklish spot on my side. She hates when I call her that. "God I miss you guys. You ready to come home yet?"
Lenka separated herself from Noreh to give Kristy a hug of her own, and a laugh. "You know the answer to that," she said with what she thought was a subtle nod in my direction.
Noreh wore the cobalt blue flightsuit of Grace Squadron, even though it was Saturday. Apparently she was officially on duty – though as commander of the elite unit she was rarely off duty. I was dying to ask what was on her mind, but she barely acknowledged our presence. She was like this after Mike left, but this time seemed worse, which was a troubling sign. Noreh and Lenka had become close friends after they both joined Terra Group and still kept in close contact, but Lenka hadn't mentioned any recent drama in Noreh's life.
And that was it: the great Terra Group reunion of 2011. Kristy, Becki, Noreh, Lenka, and me. Everyone else was gone…or dead. Of 24 people who had been on the roster at one point or another, we could only gather five.
"Now that everyone's here, let's get on with it, as Josh says," Thayer said. As he led us into the conference room next to his office, Lenka, Kristy, and I conducted a silent conference of our own. Lenka caught my eye, glanced significantly at Noreh, then back at me with a concerned expression. I shook my head; I had no idea either. When Kristy looked my way I nodded my head slightly in Noreh's direction. Kristy gave a microscopic shrug as we all took our seats.
"One last item before we begin," he said. His eyes met each of our as he looked around the table. "Thank you, my friends, for being here. Our lives and circumstances have changed greatly, and your willingness to come means a great deal to me.
"As you will see, Mendellia faces an unexpected crisis with which I need your help. When we were fortunate enough to host Terra Group, I came to know and depend upon each of you. I hope it's not presuming too much upon our friendship that I depend upon you once again."
"We wouldn't have it any other way," Kristy said.
"If you need us, there's nowhere else in the world we'd be," I said. Thayer's anxiety over Becki a nearly catatonic Noreh had quickly pushed my impatience aside and replaced it with a foreboding concern.
Thayer nodded his thanks, then said, "We have a problem that threatens Mendellia, and may have some connection to your time with Terra Group."
That couldn't be good.
"Noreh, would you mind giving the initial briefing?"
Dark circles marred Noreh's eyes and her shoulders slumped as though they could barely support her head. She rose slowly from her seat, like someone twice her age, and stood next to the flatscreen. Her face remained as expressionless as when she first entered.
"Last Monday, Beagle Sea Transport lost contact with one of their ships, the Mendellian-flagged freighter Pacific Monarch," she said. "The ship was returning from a month-long trip to Asia, the middle east, and Africa. Because her course took her through the Gulf of Aden, BST was tracking her closely via GPS beacon and a four-hour mandatory check-in with the crew.
"Around 1400 hours they lost the signal from the GPS beacon. The ship was in the mid-Pacific, well past the pirate zone, so BST initially suspected an equipment malfunction. They tried to call the ship but got no response, and the crew missed their next scheduled check-in. BST reported the trouble and asked for assistance locating the vessel.
"Because of the distance involved, Grace Squadron was sent to look for the ship. We found it adrift a few miles from its last reported position. Two of us landed on the deck of the Monarch to investigate.
"We found the entire crew dead. There were signs of violence all over the ship. There were weapons aboard because of the piracy threat. Whoever boarded them…the crew fought back. We found them all over the ship. The galley, the bridge, the engine room…"
Lenka rose and put her arms around Noreh. Noreh leaned into the embrace stiffly at first. Then something seemed to give way inside of her and she leaned heavily on Lenka. Tears rolled down her cheeks as Lenka helped her back to her seat.
"A Navy crew was dispatched to bring the Pacific Monarch back to port, where it was met by every forensic investigator on the island," Thayer said. "They examined every inch of the ship from stem to stern, but they were unable to determine any motive or objective for the attack. The investigation indicates that none of her cargo was removed, although it was extensively searched."
"What was the cargo?" I asked. "Anything that would attract attention?"
"Not at all. She carried a shipment of industrial equipment and manufacturing robots. Very valuable, but not enough so to attract this sort of attention.
"The investigation did find one crucial piece of evidence. A junior crewmen, Reso Laton, was on deck with a video camera when the attack began. He captured the entire event on video without the attackers' knowledge. Owing entirely to his courage, we have a record of what happened aboard the Pacific Monarch."
Thayer tapped a control on a small tablet computer and turned his attention to the flatscreen on the wall.
The image fades in on the deck of a freighter slicing through gentle swells of deep blue water under a cloudy sky. Half a dozen men run around the ship's deck, some of them armed, as an alarm wails. A calm voice sound from a tinny loudspeaker. "-not a drill. Repeat: All available hands to the deck to repel boarders. This is not a drill."
The image swings around the gray sky for a few moments before it settles on a spot moving against the lazy clouds. The spot grows larger as the camera zooms in. It's an aircraft, but the high zoom level an unsteady image make it impossible to see any details. The camera zooms out again to catch the aircraft over the port rail in the center of the image and the wheelhouse at the ship's stern in the far left. The wheelhouse steadily moves to the middle as the aircraft circles around behind the ship. Its wings roll level as it lines up with the ship, as though preparing to land on an aircraft carrier.
As the aircraft approaches, it's strange lines become clear: a cockpit like an attack helicopter, with one pilot above and behind the other, flaring out into the fuselage of a small transport plane. Past the cargo box the aircraft's spine continues in a long, narrowing tail crowned with V-shaped control surfaces. The long, graceful wings that sprout from the middle of the fuselage are generously hung with missiles, rockets, and guns.
From a yawning mouth on the nose below the pilot a bright green beam lashes out at the antenna farm on top of the wheelhouse. Satellite dishes, radio aerials, and radar arrays explode into molten scrap.
"That's when they lost contact," I said.
"Yes," said Thayer.
Shouts rise from the men on deck with the confirmation of the aircraft's hostile intent. A pair of men near the bow raise their rifles and fire long bursts at the pilot. The unscathed pilot dips the nose slightly and fires a burst of blaster bolts from pairs of cheek guns on either side of the cockpit. The two crewmen vanish in a cloud of flying blood and shredded deck plating.
The other crewmen on deck panic and run for the hatches into the ship. The image shakes wildly for a moment as the cameraman ducks behind a piece of deck equipment, then the plane reappears. It slows over the deck as it matches the ship's speed. Wide doors on either side of the plane pop open and slide back. Half-a dozen masked and well-armed men clad all in black drop the last few feet to the deck from each door.
The first of the attackers to hit the deck fires his blaster at one of the fleeing men, catching him full in the back. He drops face-first and doesn't move again.
The dozen attackers fan out, some running for the stairs to the wheelhouse while others charge toward the hatches. One of them looks directly into the camera for an instant before raising his weapon and blasting away at the equipment sheltering the cameraman.
"Shit!" the cameraman shouts. The picture spins and bounces over deckplates, hatches, and stairs for what seems like an eternity. Cloud-filtered sunlight becomes harsh pools of fluorescent green. Inside the ship the blaring alarm bounces around the metal walls and ceilings, covering all sounds except occasional bursts of gunfire that are immediately met by the screeching bursts of blaster fire.
The image finally steadies again, now looking down a long, narrow corridor of watertight doors propped open. A quick shift, then a shorter corridor leading in another direction. A crewman explodes through a nearby door and crashes shoulder-first into the corridor wall. He raises his shotgun when he realizes he's not alone, then a look of recognition crosses his face. "C'mon, Mouse, we're going to meet them in the rec room!" he shouts.
He grabs a fistful of the cameraman's shirt as he flies by. Once again the image bounces as they run down the long hallway. They pass through a doorway into a large room with a row of portholes across from the door. Weight machines line the walls and a pool table stands in the center. One corner contains a large television and a couple of couches. The armed crewman dives behind one of the couches and the cameraman takes a place behind a rack of weights. Two more men burst into the room carrying assault rifles and wearing the blue denim shirts of the ship's crew.
"Dammit, I almost shot you!" says the one behind the couch. "Get in here!"
"Who else is left?" asks a shaking voice behind the camera.
"We're it kid," says one of the new arrivals as he rests his rifle on the pool table to take steady aim at the door.
All is still and quiet except for the alarm for several long moments. The camera darts around the room, picking out the tree armed crewmen with their guns trained on the door. Then, from the hallway, the sound of running boots-
The first attacker through the door falls in a hail of gunfire. The second and third burst through simultaneously, sweeping the room with a stream of blaster bolts as they come. The man behind the pool table falls without a sound. More attackers pour through the door and their concentrated fire takes out the last two armed crewmen in quick succession.
The image wiggles momentarily as the cameraman tries to melt into the wall while the attackers all shout "Clear!"
A tall middle-aged man, dressed like the others but with his distinguished features uncovered, sweeps into the room. Behind him comes a beautiful young woman with long, dark hair and dark brown eyes wearing green cargo pants and a black tank top. From across the room it's clear her clothes are too well-made to be military surplus.
The tall man's eyes lock immediately on the camera. "Looks like you missed one," he says, pointing at the cameraman.
The image shakes one last time as one of the attackers seizes the cameraman. The room turns sideways as the camera falls forgotten to the floor.
Two of the anonymous black-clad attackers enter the picture dragging a small young man between them. His smooth, unlined face is a mask of terror as his captors force him to face the tall man. "Where is your secret cargo?" asks one of the masked men.
"W-we don't have any secret cargo!" he says. "It's all on the manifest!"
"Bullshit!" shouts the other captor, giving his arm a jerk. "Where does the captain keep the special deliveries?"
"I don't know!" he screams. "I'm just a greenhorn!"
"He's useless," the girl says.
"We needed the captain alive," the tall man says. He yanks his blaster from its holster and fires a shot into the cameraman's chest. The men holding the body drop it on the floor as the man says, "What a waste."
He takes a silver sphere from the harness on his chest and thumbs a switch on its top. The sphere beeps insistently as the masked men scramble out of the room. The tall man drops the beeping sphere and leaves before he can see it roll under the pool table.
For a few seconds the sideways room on the screen is still. Then a miniature sun blasts forth from the silver sphere, and the image goes black.
The video was unspeakable. I thought of myself as pretty hardened, but I wanted to throw up. Kristy looked as though she actually might, and Lenka's jaw was clenched in fury. It was comforting, in a way. This sort of violence was no longer part of our lives.
"That was the same girl who attacked us last night," Lenka said. Becki and I nodded agreement.
"That confirms my greatest fear," Thayer said.
"Yes, but those were trained soldiers – probably mercenaries – on the ship," I said. "The guys with her last night seemed like common street thugs."
"Thank heaven for small favors."
"Obviously someone's gotten their hands on a boatload of galactic technology," Kristy said. "Those mercenaries were using blasters, and that was a thermal detonator at the end. The blasters looked like E-11s. If they were then somebody out there has direct contact with the rest of the galaxy."
She was right, but she was only halfway there. "It's more than just the weapons," I said. I rewound the video to an image of the attackers' plane. "We can draw some pretty intelligent conclusions from this," I said pointing at the screen. "Notice what it doesn't have" I said, indicating the full length of the starboard wing. "No engines. No jets, no propellers, no rotors. That means this is a repulsorcraft, like an airspeeder.
"Also, power generation. The power required by the repulsors and the weapons is more than any terrestrial technology could supply. They must be using generators or even a small reactor like some Imperial walkers use to supply the power.
"Anyway, I'd say the basic design is local but a lot of the systems obviously aren't. And someone who can integrate galactic technology with our own is a lot more trouble than someone who just has some blasters"
"Who are these people?" Kristy asked Thayer. "Do you have any idea?"
"Unfortunately not. Nothing aboard the Pacific Monarch indicated who its attackers were." Thayer brought up a still frame of the girl from the Monarch video. "This young woman seems to be the key. Your encounter with her in Las Vegas gives us the strongest clue we've had yet. Grace."
"If that's her name," Lenka said.
"One other thing about her," I said. "I couldn't feel her in the Force. It was like the Force ceased to exist around her."
"Like Sci?" Kristy asked.
"Exactly. Now if only he was here to explain that little trick."
"Could she have had an yslamir with her?" Thayer asked.
"No. There was nowhere for her or her thugs to hide one, and the effect was centered on her.
"So we seem to have three critical questions here. One, who is she? Two, where is she getting her equipment? And three, why is she so interested in Mendellia?"
"Also, four: why does she have Sci's Force-resistance?" Kristy said.
"It's a good question, but I don't think it's on the same level," I said. "It makes her harder for me to fight, but only me. It won't matter to the rest of you. And I have some ideas for using the Force to fight Force-resistant beings. It was something I was working on when Sci was around, but I dropped it when he pulled his disappearing act." I could feel Kristy's eyes boring into me, asking why I had ever considered the problem in the first place.
"I would add a corollary to your third question," said Thayer. "Is it a coincidence that she has both advanced technology and a hostile interest in this country?"
Noreh finally lifted her eyes from the tabletop. "You forgot one more: How do we stop her?"
"That," Thayer said, "is the ultimate question."
"Back in the Terra Group days that would have been the easy part," Kristy said.
"Times have changed," Thayer said. "Terra Group had resources that are now far beyond us. We will have to make do with what we have available now."
"That may be messy," I said. "They seem much better equipped than us right now."
"Damn them for shutting us down!" Lenka said. "A few X-wings would be very helpful against that," she said, nodding at the screen.
"Not to mention the rest of our team," Becki said.
We were silent for a moment, contemplating the enormous questions before us, until I broke the silence. "Then let's get them."
"Get what?" Noreh asked.
"The ships. The people. The resources of Terra Group. Screw NRI! Let's get the band back together."
"You've gotta be kidding," Kristy said.
"Why not? Or friends and our home are being threatened. This is exactly the sort of thing Terra Group was created for in the first place. NRI's not going to come down here and do the job. Starfighter Command isn't going to send a ship. The New Republic abandoned us. Frankly I'm sick of playing by their rules. This is our world – we don't need their permission to protect it. After all that Mendellia has done for us it's time we returned the favor." I realized as soon as I stopped talking that I had just called Mendellia home.
"Okay," Kristy said. "What's your plan? We can't walk to the moon, you know." NRI had stored our ships and gear under lock and key at our lunar base when they disbanded Terra Group and pulled out. Simple but effective security – we couldn't get there on our own.
"I have an idea about that, but let's not get ahead of ourselves," I said. "We have plenty of work to do right here first. I'll take charge of facilities and equipment if you and Lenka will work on the people. See how many of the old team you can track down and get back here. I'll find us a place to work."
"Should we put Sci at the top of our list?" Lenka asked.
"Hell no. We spent months looking for him, remember?" I said. "No, the only way I want him is if I can dissect him to find out what makes him tick. We need more useful people, people who can help us and won't run away on us."
"I believe I can be of assistance with location a place to work," Thayer said. "We will reconvene here tomorrow morning at 7:00. Noreh, you're off duty until then." He held up a hand to forestall her objection. "No arguments. Take one of the guest suites and get some rest. It is well deserved. The rest of us will get to work immediately."