SATURDAY, 27 DECEMBER 2042

The White House Rose Garden
0930 hours EST

“Lance Corporal Jack Ramsey, front and center!”

Trembling inside, Jack strode forward, making the prescribed sharp, right-angle turns to come face-to-face with the president of the United States where he stood behind his podium. Cameras clicked and whirred, and a patter of applause came from the audience, which included as many members of the press, of the Armed Forces, and of the civilian families of the people involved as could fit into the historic Rose Garden area. The word was that this was the first outdoor ceremony held at the White House since the beginning of the war two years before. The truce was holding, and Washington had not suffered a cruise-missile attack for over five weeks, now.

It looked like the New Year would usher in a genuine peace.

Jack stopped in front of President Markham, rendering a crisp salute. He was dressed in his Class-A uniform, full dress, complete with striped pants and white gloves. It was warm—pleasantly so, in the low twenties—as it always was nowadays, even in winter. Global warming and its effects would be here for a long time to come, even with the new technologies being brought home from the Moon and Mars.

“Lance Corporal Ramsey,” President Markham said, speaking into the thicket of needle mikes on his podium, “for conspicuous gallantry above and beyond the call of duty; on or about 10 November 2042, while attached to the First Space Assault Group, United States Marine Corps, then—Private First Class Ramsey was instrumental in the capture of a UN warship at the enemy’s base at Tsiolkovsky Crater. Using an artificial intelligence of his own design, Private Ramsey…”

A medal gleamed in the president’s hands, hanging from a baby blue ribbon.

Jack was not listening as Markham continued describing the action. Sam was the one who deserved the medal…but he still hadn’t been able to convince his superiors that she was a self-aware, intelligent being in her own right, worthy of respect…and the traditions and trappings normally accorded only to humans.

Well, they would come around. The mark of any AI was its ability to acquire data on its own, to form new connections, to grow, in much the same way that an organic intelligence grew. The same thing must be happening in countless other AI systems around the world. It was unthinkable that Sam was the only one of her kind.

He hoped that his next assignment would let him explore this new frontier, with Sam as his assistant.

But then, it was just as possible that he would be redeployed soon to the Moon, or Mars. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Marines of 1-SAG drawn up in formation, watching as President Markham continued reading the citation. Lieutenant Garroway was there…fully recovered, they said, from the effects of radiation poisoning. Diane Dillon was sitting with the civilians, still bandaged and on light duty, but on her way to recovery. Captain Fuentes was beside her, also recovering. Both women had won the Navy Cross, as had Colonel Avery for his daring landing of the Ranger outside the UN base, and his destruction of enemy positions that had threatened the Marines on the beach.

So many others, though, had not recovered. He still had nightmares about Bos…and a nagging guilt. It could have been…should have been me….

“…and it is, therefore, with pleasure and pride that I present you with this, the Medal of Honor.” Markham reached up and dropped the ribbon over Jack’s head.

“Congratulations, son,” Markham added, shaking his hand. He turned and addressed the microphones. “It seems that the United States Marines are destined to go from Earth to the, ah, ocher sands of Mars, to the gray shores of Luna, even to the stars, wherever Man’s heritage calls us.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Jack saluted again, turned, and marched back to the ranks. Diane winked and smiled as she caught his eye. The audience burst into applause.

Man’s heritage? As Jack about-faced and resumed his place, the Marine band, “the President’s Own,” burst into a rousing rendition of the “Marine Corps Hymn,” but he wasn’t listening to the music. There was something his uncle had been talking about the other day, something that worried him, left him with a nagging bit of doubt.

Wars only rarely settled major issues. The UN war would officially end in a few more days, but many of its causes were still unresolved. There were questions still of the distribution of the new-discovered alien technologies, over claims by China on parts of Siberia, over the question of independence for Aztlan in the US Southwest. One of the main causes of the war, though, one rarely stated, had been the UN’s desire to unite all of humankind under one rule, one set of laws. That issue, at least, had been settled rather soundly. Few observers thought the UN would survive to see its centennial.

And yet, Jack’s uncle had said something disturbing the other day, when he and that Dr. Sullivan he worked with had visited Jack and his mother. “Civilization is so damned fragile,” David had said, leaning back in the sofa with his arm around Dr. Sullivan’s shoulders. He’d seemed happier than he’d been in a long time…and also more thoughtful. “Think how much we’ve lost already, during the fall of the An colonies. A whole age of civilization, forgotten, save as scraps of myth and religion. All wiped away, as easily, as completely as Chicago. Now, I don’t want a UN dictatorship any more than the next man. But somewhere out there we’re going to find the current Hunters of the Dawn. They’re out there. Maybe they’ve already picked up our earliest radio broadcasts, or I Love Lucy, or whatever. Maybe they’re already hunting for us. And we’re going to have to face them.

“And I just have the damned, nagging feeling that when we do, it’d be better if we face them united, instead of as a hundred separate, squabbling states.”

The Hunters of the Dawn. Jack wondered where they were now…and if they were the same beings who’d destroyed the An civilization on Earth so long ago.

Well, if they tried it again, they would find things a little different here this time, a little tougher than what they’d encountered here last time, six or eight thousand years ago.

Back then, the An and the ancient Sumerians had not possesed anything like the United States Marines….