Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [13]
Tommy barely shivered as the guided rocket dropped away. Jackson got a brief view of the flare, then lost sight as the coxswain pulled up the bow.
“You don’t want to be looking down when that little firecracker goes off,” the skipper cautioned.
A minute later the SEALS saw a bright flash of pure white light that blinked through the shadows of the Martian night. There were no further EMP attacks, and in another sixty minutes they were settling gently through the roof hatch of the MS1 shuttle’s dock.
“Am I to understand that you detonated a nuclear weapon on this planet before you even touched ground?” demanded the florid-faced man who had identified himself as Director David Parker, the station’s civilian chief.
“Sir, I was defending my boat,” Coxswain Grafton retorted stiffly. “In my view, there was a real threat that both shuttles could be destroyed.”
“But a nuke?” Parker was an old-family Bostonian, and his voice carried shrill outrage.
“Sir, if I may,” Lieutenant Jackson interrupted. “Let’s get to work on the real problem: the reason you sent out the SOS in the first place.”
Parker turned his attention to the SEALS. Standing at ease, Jackson met his gaze calmly, then tilted his head slightly to nod at the other person in the compartment. “Ma’am,” he said, nodding. She hadn’t been introduced, but her white lab coat and surgical cap suggested that she was a doctor. She was short, with olive skin and ink-black hair that just peeked out from under her cap.
“I’m Doctor Sulati,” she replied. “Medical director. I see you’ve already made Doctor Parker’s acquaintance.” Her eyes twinkled with humor she couldn’t quite conceal. She was petite and pretty, and if she seemed rather young to hold a position of serious responsibility, well, Stonewall Jackson could relate. The SEALS lieutenant liked her immediately.
That was the opposite of the reaction he’d had to the MS1 director when Parker had confronted the two officers as soon as they’d debarked from the boat. Even before Mikey had settled to the ground in the second docking bay, Parker had pulled Grafton and Jackson into a private office to begin his harangue.
“Irina!” he snapped “Do you know what these—these cowboys have done?”
“I know that they’re here, and I’m damned glad to see them.”
The door opened, and two more people came in, practically floating with each step. One was a small nervous-looking man with white hair and pinched features. His pale eyes watered, and he massaged his hands together while looking back and forth from Jackson to Director Parker. The other was a striking-looking woman, tall and dark, wearing a metallic golden bodysuit that did little to conceal her ample curves. She was tall, maybe an inch over six feet, with vaguely Asian features. She looked curiously at Jackson, and he was startled to see that the pupils of her eyes were bloodred in color.
So this was what the Shamani looked like up close and personal. The lieutenant had never met one of the aliens but, like every other citizen of Earth, had heard them described and seen pictures. They looked just like humans except for those disconcerting eyes.
“You are the warriors?” she asked bluntly.
“Lieutenant Thomas Jackson at your service, ma’am,” he said with a bow, ever the southern gentleman. “Of the U.S. Navy SEALS,” he added after straightening up and looking the Shamani squarely in the eye.
“This is Shastana fu Char-Kane, consul de campe of the Shamani,” Parker said gruffly. “She has been here for half a year as an adviser. Her expertise has come in handy on many occasions.” He nodded toward the short man. “Professor Zaro, recently arrived from the University of Caracas. And you have already met Dr. Sulati.”
“Are you here to protect us from this—this unknown menace?” the professor said hesitantly. He wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hand. “What do you think it can be?”
“Yes, sir. We really have no idea at this point. But we’d like to find out. Now, about