Earth Unaware (First Formic War)

Board.
    Lem put on some music, took off his greaves and vambraces, and floated over to his computer terminal. There was no shortage of beautiful women in his contact list: women of enterprise, medicine, science, entertainment, even a Danish countess, though Lem had found her rather self-absorbed eventually. He clicked through their photos and smiled at the memories. Many had progressed to a third or fourth date, but rarely had they gone any further. Lem traveled too extensively and worked too heavily.
    The most recent entry was over two years old, he noticed, but that was to be expected: Lem had been in space. Other entries were as old as seven or eight years, which surprised him. Had it been that long? Worse still, he hadn’t maintained contact with any of them, even though he had promised to stay in touch with them all. He suddenly realized how foolish he would sound trying to contact them when he returned. Hey, remember me? We had dinner seven years ago and I was completely charming and then never called. Shall I pick you up at eight?
    How classy. Lem allowed his eyes to readjust until he saw his own reflection on the terminal screen. He was kidding himself, and he knew it. He pushed off the desk, found his razor, and shaved. Stubbly hair indeed.
    He was towel-drying his face when an alert popped up in the holospace above his desk. Lem waved his hand through it, authorizing the message. Chubs’s head appeared in the holospace. “We’re getting a high-bandwidth radio message over an emergency frequency, Lem. And you won’t believe who it is.”
    “Someone we know?”
    “El Cavador,” said Chubs.
    Lem froze. El Cavador? How was that possible? “I thought the radio was down. I thought we had interference.” They hadn’t received any messages for days now.
    “The interference mostly affects long-range transmissions,” said Chubs. “If a transmission is close enough and strong enough, it gets through apparently.”
    “How close is El Cavador?”
    “A day behind us. Matching our speed.”
    Lem swore under his breath. A single day. They were practically on top of them. Well that was just perfect.
    “It’s worse than you think,” said Chubs. “They’re asking for you personally.”
    Lem closed his eyes. Everything was coming apart again. Podolski couldn’t have wiped El Cavador already. It was too soon. The free miners had been tracking him. They must have read Lem’s files and now they’re coming to name their price for the files’ safe return.
    “What do I tell them?” asked Chubs.
    For a moment, Lem considered not taking the transmission. If he ignored them, maybe they’d go away. But no, if extortion was their agenda, they’d only go somewhere else and sell the data, which would be worse. “Put it through,” said Lem. “But I want you watching and recording this holo, Chubs. You alone.”
    “Understood.”
    Chubs winked out, and the woman’s head appeared in the holospace. She looked exactly as she had months ago: old and commanding and made of steel.
    Lem checked his collar then leaned his face into the holospace so that she could see him as well. There would be a time delay in their conversation, and the length of the delay would depend entirely on how close the two ships were.
    The old woman spoke first. “Mr. Jukes, I had hoped that our paths would never cross again, but circumstances demand it. I am Concepción Querales, captain of El Cavador. We are contacting you because we require your assistance. Weigh Station Four has been destroyed. I am sending you all the files I have to prove this fact to you and your crew.”
    Lem said nothing. If files were coming, he knew Chubs would immediately start combing through them. But Weigh Station Four destroyed? Impossible. Lem had left there, what, less than a week ago? This was a trick. They were plotting something.
    As if Concepción could read his mind, she said, “Everything I am about to tell you will sound ludicrous to you, and you will no doubt think this some ploy on our part to seek revenge for your attack on our ship. I assure you this is not the case. I am contacting you, Mr. Jukes, because we are desperate for your assistance. An alien ship has entered our solar system. Among the data I have sent you are its trajectory and coordinates. You can look for yourself and see that it’s there. This ship is already responsible for the deaths of an estimated six hundred people, including everyone aboard Weigh Station Four and three