Independence Day: Resurgence: The Official Movie Novelization (18 page)

They hit the west coast of Africa before dawn, or at least before dawn on the ground. From their altitude they could see the sun, far away, rising over the Great Rift Valley.

I take it all back
, Jake thought, as he soaked up the magnificent sight. If he’d made it into Legacy Squadron, he never would have had a chance to do this.

* * *

Dikembe Umbutu had a lot on his mind. Mostly what he was thinking about was the alien vessel, and how he had seen it so clearly in his visions.

During the course of his adult life, Dikembe had fought both humans and aliens—though mostly aliens, since at the time the invasion began he was in Oxford. He’d had to come home by boat, and arrived just in time for his father to begin going mad and the aliens to pour out of their starship.

The next year and more was in his memory as a swirl of blood and betrayal. Then it was over… except inside Dikembe’s head, where the visions never went away. Perhaps he was learning to control them. Not control what they showed, but at least prevent them from driving him insane the way his father had gone mad.

He watched the pale Moon against the indigo sky that the sunrise had not yet reached. He looked down when a cab pulled through the gates of his compound, bouncing on bad springs and squealing to a halt on bad brakes. The accountant—or auditor or whatever he was, who had tagged along with Levinson—got out looking at his change.

“Sir, I did the conversion, and I think you may have overcharged me,” he began. As he spoke the cabbie slewed around into a U-turn and left a rooster tail of dust on his way out of the compound. “Hey, hey, hey! I need a receipt!” the accountant shouted.
Rosenberg.
That was his name.

Dikembe thought about sending him away again. He needed Levinson’s full attention. Then he was distracted by a loud group of children coming around the corner of the main house with a storm of shouts and fingers pointed at the sky. He followed the direction where they pointed and saw one of the space tugs that were common around the Moon Base. As he watched, it decelerated to begin a landing just inside his front gate.

Dikembe had received a great many unexpected visitors in the last few years, but this was surely one of the most unusual. The tug hovered for a moment as its gripping arms reoriented toward the ground, becoming legs that rocked under its weight as the ship came to rest. A ship shaped like a frog, that could fly to the Moon and back, Dikembe thought. Human ingenuity was something to behold.

* * *

David walked out of Dikembe’s house when he heard the whine of the servos preparing the tug’s legs for landing. Collins and Catherine came with him.

“I’ll send you the data we get back from the hole once it’s processed,” Collins was saying.

“Good,” David said. The tug’s engines powered down but didn’t turn all the way off. “And if you speak to Tanner, just make something up. Be creative.”

They still didn’t know what was at the bottom of the shaft under the destroyer here in Umbutu. Collins would lead that investigation, though, because David didn’t have time to stick around. In general, he had to be anywhere in the solar system other than with the president and Secretary Tanner, for whatever star-spangled mutual admiration fest they had planned.

Specifically, he had to be on the Moon.

Jake Morrison, who David knew through their mutual connection with Patricia Whitmore, had made an offer that he was only too happy to accept. He could focus on the science, and if they were lucky, both he and Jake could piss off their bosses.

The tug’s ramp opened out and Morrison popped his head out.

“Someone call a cab?”

“Thanks for doing this, Jake,” David said as he got to the bottom of the ramp.

The young man shrugged. “No sweat, but let’s get moving, ’cause I kinda stole this thing.”

David gave him a grin and turned. “Well, Catherine, as always, it was a pleasure.” He stuck out his hand. She just looked at him. “Good luck with everything, and let’s try to keep in touch this time.”

Out of the blue, Dikembe, who had been watching nearby, spoke up. He moved to the bottom of the ramp.

“I’m coming with you.”

They all turned in his direction.

“Oh no, no, no,” David said. “This is an ESD operation. Strictly off-limits to all civilians and…” He hesitated, not knowing how to sugarcoat what he had to say next, then decided not to bother. “…and warlords.” There was no way he was taking a head of state on a tug to the Moon. Especially not a head of state from a country whose recognition was still a matter of some dispute within the United Nations. David was far from the sharpest political operator, but even he could see that would end badly.

Dikembe didn’t step away. “You need my help,” he said. “I let you in. It would be wise of you to return the favor.”

A group of Dikembe’s soldiers moved closer, sensing possible tension in the air.
Ah
, David thought.
So this wasn’t a request, per se.

How many people do the tugs hold, anyway?

Dikembe turned to his men and said something in Swahili. They roared out a cheer, and a few of them fired their weapons into the air as Dikembe brushed past David and went up the ramp into the tug.

“It’s time for our nation to join the world and end this war before it begins again.”

Already things weren’t going according to plan, David thought. Maybe that was inevitable when the first part of your plan was hanging up on the Secretary of Defense, and blowing off a mandatory appearance with the president… and then the second part of your plan involved a not-quite-legal tug ride up to the surface of the Moon.

“I’m coming, too.”

Now this was too much.

“Catherine—” David began, but she wasn’t having it.

“Something is drawing him out there, and I’m going to find out what. I think you owe me that much.” She, too, walked past him and up into the vessel.

What next?
David wondered, and that was when Floyd Rosenberg walked up.

“Do you know where I’ve been for the last fourteen hours?” he asked, all petulance and nerd menace. David tried hard, but he couldn’t think of anything he cared about less than Floyd’s recent whereabouts. Floyd told him anyway. “In a holding cell, waiting to get my visa so I could talk to you. There’s no way you’re getting on that thing—wait. You’re not sanctioned to use that space tug, are you?”

Off the rails
, David thought.
It’s all going off the rails. So why not step on the gas.
He stood aside and gestured, as if he was a doorman. “Why don’t you join us, Floyd? Everyone else is. Might do you some good.” He started walking up the ramp.

“No,” said Floyd. “I am not boarding that ship! And neither are you.”

David kept walking. Floyd looked from Dikembe’s elite soldiers back to the ramp… which was starting to close.

“I’m coming with you,” he said, and he ran aboard, his feet clattering all the way.

The ramp shut behind him.

“Everyone buckle up,” Jake said as his passengers—there were more of them than he’d expected—found their seats. Charlie helped them get the harnesses straightened out and fastened. “Take a seat, David,” Jake added when he saw the scientist still standing, his head nearly banging against the ceiling. The tug wasn’t built for guys as tall as Levinson. Jake pointed to an open seat next to his.

“Really?” David didn’t look thrilled. “Front row? Okay…”

“What’s the matter, you nervous?” Jake woke up the pre-flight systems, which he’d put on standby instead of shutting them down.

“No,” David said, in exactly the tone of voice a guy used when what he really meant was
Yeah, but can we pretend I’m not?
“It’s just… not my favorite thing,” he added.

“Nothing to worry about,” Jake said expansively. “I haven’t crashed in…” He realized too late that maybe he should have tried another way to settle David’s nerves. “Well, a couple of days, but that was intentional.”

“What?” Levinson stopped trying to hide his fear, but Jake didn’t have time to deal with it. He had flying to do.

The engines fired up, blowing a rolling wall of dust around the courtyard of the big-ass house that apparently belonged to the guy in the back—the one with the machetes. Jake didn’t know who he was, or what connection he had to the aliens, but both he and Charlie had seen the alien city destroyer sitting just beyond the next ridge, all powered up like it was ready to get back to leveling cities. Something weird was going on here, having to do with the invaders. Levinson had found out about it, and Machete Guy was part of it.

Jake glanced over at Charlie, who gave him a thumbs-up.
Passengers locked in. All systems go.
Jake eased back the control stick. The tug lifted a few yards off the ground, hovered as it swung around, and then he hit the gas. The tug blazed off across the morning sky, pinning all of them into their seats.

He loved this part. It was like the world’s greatest roller coaster, combined with the thrill of driving way too fast, and knowing the cops wouldn’t bust you.

David offered another angle. “I forgot how much I hate this!” he shouted over the thunder of the engines and the sound of rushing air. They cracked the sound barrier, then hit Mach 2… 4… and kept accelerating, angling up into the sky. Escape velocity from Earth was around 25,000 miles an hour, and Jake wanted to get there fast, because he already had visions of Lao, standing in the tug’s empty parking spot and swearing revenge.

“That wasn’t so bad,” David said as they reached the edge of space. They had plenty of speed for a stable low-Earth orbit, and as gravity started to lessen the ride smoothed out quite a bit.

But the show wasn’t quite over yet. Jake shot David a grin.

“I haven’t kicked on the fusion drive yet.”

The look on Levinson’s face was priceless. Jake hit another button next to the control stick and the tug rocketed away. David screamed loudly enough that for a minute, Jake was sure someone must be able to hear it back on Earth.

They only needed about fifteen seconds of the fusion burn to achieve escape velocity, and after they did Jake throttled back the drive. Even so, they were moving mighty fast—he was going to get them to the Moon quicker than a 747 could travel from L.A. to New York. A lot faster.

“Gravity field engaged,” the tug’s onboard navigation system announced. Jake didn’t always engage the system’s verbal functions—not when it was just him and Charlie—but it seemed like the right thing to do with three new people on board.

Four, with the nerdy guy.

They all had a few minutes to enjoy the ride. The view was like nothing else. It even beat watching the sun rise over the Great Rift Valley. Stars as far as the eye could see in any direction. Until he’d been there, he never really knew what it looked like. As great as the telescope and satellite pictures were, they couldn’t do justice to the feeling of seeing it out of the window—and the tugs had great windows.

Something clanged hard against the tug’s hull, reverberating through the craft’s interior, and just like that David was all jumpy again.

“What was that?”

“We’re flying through the old mother ship’s debris field,” Jake said, as if he did it every day. “It’ll give us cover from the Moon Base’s radar.” He didn’t want Lao to know where he was going, and David didn’t want Tanner to know where he was going. So they’d play it cool among the wreckage until they could perform an orbital injection burn unseen by the base’s prying radar eyes.

Another loud clang. “These are basically space tanks,” Jake said, referring to the tug. It was true, but he still sounded more confident than he felt. After all, this wasn’t his ship. He hoped whoever usually piloted the tug had kept up on the maintenance.

* * *

Whitmore hadn’t meant to get up and leave his house again without telling anyone. But he’d done it, and now he was getting off a bus at the stop across from the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum on the National Mall.

It was a steamy morning in Washington, D.C. The Fourth of July always was. He remembered sweating in his suits when he delivered holiday speeches, and he was glad he wasn’t president anymore. Immediately upon disembarking, he could hear President Lanford’s voice, echoing out from banks of speakers over the throngs assembled on the Mall.

“Twenty years ago, the world escaped the clutches of extinction,” she was saying.

Goddamn right
, Whitmore thought.

“And yesterday, we did it again—but our victory came at a heavy price. Our hearts go out to the families of those brave cosmonauts we lost on Rhea.”

It was a shame about Rhea Base, Whitmore thought. He hoped Lanford had called the Russian president. She was good at protocol, though, and didn’t need him to tell her how to do the job. Whitmore walked up the Mall toward the Capitol building, where a huge video screen gave a view of the president at her podium.

“We must never forget their sacrifice,” she continued, “along with the brave men and women who defied the odds and led us to victory two decades ago.” The screen cut to shots of officers who had served with distinction in the War. Whitmore recognized General Grey and his wife. Solid people.

“Our survival is only possible when we stand together. We found strength in unity as a planet, and this strength has brought us hope for a better future.” The broadcast cycled through a series of feeds from the world’s great cities. All were rebuilding, and today they were full of people celebrating, partying, rejoicing in the fact that they were all still alive.

The president’s tone changed, and Whitmore realized he’d missed some of her speech. Now he caught up again.

“Let’s get a bird’s-eye view of our Moon Base defense system,” she said, “courtesy of Captain Dylan Hiller and his squadron of the world’s finest!” Images appeared of the lunar landscape, with the cannon turret artfully framed and lit by massive floodlights. The whole celebration was choreographed, down to the second. The cameramen shooting the landscape would soon time a pan upward and—
presto
! There was Legacy Squadron racing overhead, corkscrewing toward the turret in a complicated and dazzling formation they’d been rehearsing for weeks.