Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 4 - 1900 Mylon Time

Novelization

EPILOGUE

PLANET MYLON III

DOWNING QUADRANT VEGA SECTOR

NORTH HILLS COUNTY

SANTYANA FARM

MARCH 18, 2654 1900 HOURS LOCAL TIME

At thirty-three, few things delighted William Santyana more

than spending a Sunday afternoon with his wife and

three-year-old daughter. He stood on the back patio of his

farmhouse, breathing in the wonderful aroma from the hot dogs

and burgers cooking on his grill. He wondered just how many

fathers out there were doing the same thing on a thousand

other worlds, in a billion other backyards. Santyana let his gaze

wander past the patio to a green carpet of corn that unfurled to

the twilit horizon. Tiny flashes of light appeared in the violet

haze that banded the sky, and he stared curiously at them a

moment, then lifted the cover on his grill.

"Will!" his wife cried from inside the house. "Just another

minute, Pris. We don't want to eat 'em raw."

"Get in here. Now!" Her horrified tone sent him racing

toward the open patio door.

Inside, he found her seated on the sofa, balancing little Lacey

on her knee. The holoplayer was tuned to the news channel, and

a life-sized holographic anchorman stood on their rug, pointing

back to a computer-animated globe that showed dozens of red

dots encircling it.

"We're under attack," Pris said, visibly trembling. "Listen."

"… And the planetary defense net has been shut down. MyGov

officials have yet to respond. We do know that the ship is a

Confederation-class carrier, now in low orbit, but any other

insignia have been removed from her hull. She's already

dispatched hundreds of fighters, bombers, and troopships. We

go now to George Okoee, who's standing by at Blue Mountain

Spaceport. Can you hear me, George?"

The holovid switched to a wavering image of the young,

teary-eyed reporter, hunkered down near a row of seats in a

vast terminal. "Got you, Rick. Ladies and gentlemen, just

outside this terminal, a wing of Confederation Broadswords is

descending upon this, Mylon's largest spaceport. The people

here are in a state of shock. We'd expect this from the Kilrathi.

But from our own forces? Still, there's no confirmation yet on

who's piloting those ships. A major evacuation is in progress,

but estimates put the bombers at just a few minutes away.

We've received word that two dozen more Broadswords are

headed toward the Confed Strike Base in North Hills County.

Wait. I think I can hear them…"

"George, get out of there!" The anchorman's image returned.

He placed a hand to the tiny receiver in his ear. "George?

George!" He looked off-camera. "What's that?"

Distant booming piped in through the farmhouse's open

windows. Santyana looked beyond the patio door and saw a

dozen pillars of black smoke fencing off the western sky. A

humming noise came from the south, and he frowned even as it

grew into a sudden, excruciating roar. Gale-force winds keened

through the house. Pris and Lacey screamed as with burning

eyes he fought his way to the door.

A long shadow bled across the patio. He looked up as the

menacing-looking troopship passed just three meters above his

house. Shaped like an arrowhead, the craft pivoted and ignited

retros, blasting up clumps of grass as it set down.

He bolted back into house, already picturing himself and his

family climbing into their beat-up hover and fleeing. "Pris!

C'mon! C'mon! C'mon! We gotta go!"

"Ohmygod," she said as he sprinted past her. "What's

happening?"

"Daddy?" Lacey called. "Daddy?"

In the kitchen, he scooped up his driving card and turned to

go when an amplified voice struck him motionless. "Mr.

William Santyana. Please come out."

"Will?" Pris cried. "They know you."

He returned to the living room, and out of the corner of his

eye he saw dark-clad figures lurking outside the windows. He

stroked his wife's cheek, kissed his daughter, and muttered,

"Stay here." With buckling knees, he moved toward the patio.

Outside, two people dressed in fancy Confederation Space

Force uniforms came forward, flanked by a half-dozen

rifle-toting soldiers. Santyana figured the duo for officers. One

of them, a trim woman about his age with moss-green eyes and a

confident gait, raised a thick eyebrow and evaluated him with

her glance. "Mr. Santyana?" she asked.

"What the hell is this?"

Her shoulder-length black hair whipped like smoke in the

lingering thruster wash. "Are your wife and daughter still

inside?"

"What do you want?"

The woman nodded to her troops, who jogged toward the

house.

"Pris! Run! Run!"

"No, William," the woman said. "We're here to save you."

"Are you people from the strike base? Wait a minute, even if

you were, you wouldn't know my name."

"Will!"

He glanced back. Pris carried Lacey as two soldiers led them

outside.

"You're from that carrier, aren't you," Santyana said. "Why

are you attacking us?"

"Not you, William. Or your family. We're only killing the

humans who live here."

"Humans? Than what are you?"

She reached under her uniform and withdrew a Pilgrim

cross. "Do you know what this is?"

He did. His parents had carried them, and they had died

because of what those crosses represented. "You people…

you're fanatics. What have you done?"

"It's what we're going to do, William. We're taking back the

stars. And you're going to help."

"You mean I don't have a choice."

"You couldn't choose your blood, no. And you'll never change

who you are."

The other officer, an old man whose hazel eyes seemed

forever distant, spoke in the alluring lilt of some Border Worlds

tribesman. "William. You're a fine man, a wonderful father.

Amity here asked me to come out because I fought with your

parents. We're bringing everybody home now. You need to

come."

"Home?" he asked incredulously. "This is my home."

"Just leave us alone," Pris shouted. "We don't want any part

of you Pilgrims."

Amity tightened her lips and nodded. "I understand. But in a

few hours, every living thing on this planet will be dead. Maybe

you'd like to be a part of us—at least for now."

Santyana looked to his wife, searching for an answer, but she

seemed lost in a blur of fear. He faced Amity and sighed. "We'll

come. But you'll never take the stars."

She lifted a condescending grin. "We've been waiting nearly

twenty years for this moment, William. We lost that war. We

won't lose this one."