Dreadnaught

by Jack Campbell

  Rione gestured toward where Europa lay. “Commander, can you see that stealth craft?”

  “The one we are discussing? Yes. We have a good position on it. It has not moved since landing.”

  “Why aren’t you destroying it now? Why wait until it tries to lift?”

  Geary barely avoided giving her a sharp look. From the way Rione had asked the question, he had a very strong suspicion that she already knew the answer.

  Nkosi made a face, then spoke with obvious reluctance. “Our orders are explicit. We cannot fire upon anything on the surface of Europa. The moon has not much more than ten percent of Earth’s gravity. Any explosion of sufficient strength could cause . . . things . . . to be blown into space.”

  “Contaminated things,” Rione said. “I understand. Now, you have a good fix on that ship when it is on the surface. How well can you track it once it lifts?”

  Commander Nkosi glared at her. “Well enough.”

  “Commander,” she said in a soft voice, “I have dealt with politicians for a long time. I’ve been a politician. I know when someone isn’t being entirely candid. We already know the full capabilities of the tracking equipment in this star system. Once that craft lifts from the surface of Europa, your odds of being able to track and engage it are very small.”

  Nkosi looked away for a long moment, then back at her, his gaze now defiant. “I am not ashamed of my inability to lie well. You are correct.”

  “Then you cannot successfully engage the craft once it has lifted from the surface of Europa,” Rione said, as if stating something already agreed upon, “and you are not allowed to engage it while it is on the surface. How do you prevent that ship from leaving Europa and going wherever it wants?”

  “You can track it,” Nkosi insisted. “You have shown us that.”

  “We can’t stay here forever, waiting for that craft to lift,” Rione replied, her tone hardening. “All they have to do is sit on the surface until we leave. A week. A month. We aren’t even authorized to stay that much longer. And once we are gone, they go wherever they want, and you will not be able to stop them. The quarantine will be broken.”

  Nkosi paused. “If they try that, no one will grant them docking. Their own friends will destroy them.”

  “Leaving the debris to drift somewhere in space? Or perhaps they will land in a hidden location, perhaps a location on Earth, or Mars. What may happen then, Commander?”

  Nkosi looked down, then back at her, his gaze appraising. “But you propose to prevent anything from leaving Europa by sending many Marines down to Europa and bringing them back?”

  “You heard our proposal. We will send down Marines in battle armor, which is completely sealed against any intrusion. We will recover our two officers inside the ship, put them in spare battle armor, then our Marines and the two officers will jump off Europa, using assist propulsion units. Once they’re off the surface, we will fire upon each set of battle armor in turn, covering every square millimeter with sufficient energy to blast anything on the outside of the armor, as well the outer layer of the armor, into component atoms. You and any other personnel you desire, including your medical personnel, can personally observe it all from our own ship. You can personally examine the equipment we will use before the operation begins.”

  “And what of the stealth craft?”

  “Our Marines will ensure its systems are damaged so badly it will never lift from the surface.”

  Nkosi grimaced. “The moment the criminals on that ship got within fifty kilometers of the surface of Europa, they had no chance. But I am not a cruel man. I take no pleasure in that. You will not try to rescue anyone but your own officers?”

  “We can’t,” Geary said. “We only have two spare suits of battle armor.”

  “You could send fewer Marines.”

  “No. Unless you can tell me how many criminals are on that stealth craft, I can’t run the risk of making the odds against my people worse. If someone is going to die down there,” Geary finished, “it’s not going to be any of my Marines.”

  Nkosi looked down at his hands where they rested on the desk before him. “I can respect your logic. But there is no if. Those on the stealth craft will die. Your officers should die as well, not because I wish it, but because my orders allow no exceptions. I will ask permission to allow you to do this.”

  “How long do you think that would take?” Geary demanded, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

  “Years,” Nkosi admitted. “To get an answer, that is. Every government in Sol Star System would have a vote, and it would have to be unanimous.”

  “Then the answer would be no,” Rione said.

  “Only if we are lucky enough to still be alive,” the commander replied. “I cannot deny the truth of what you say. The only way to keep that craft from escaping is to allow you to do this. Otherwise, everyone in this star system may die while the debate on what to do goes on, and the vote never takes place because everything orbiting Sol will be like Europa. I must allow this, but you must know the risk that I personally run by agreeing to allow it.”

  “Court-martial?” Geary asked.

  “A very short one,” Nkosi said. “The penalty would surely be that proscribed for anyone who fails in their duty to maintain the quarantine.” He pointed downward. “A one-way trip to the surface of Europa.”

  Geary felt his next words catch in his throat. “I cannot ask—” he finally began.

  “Wait, Admiral.” Nkosi gestured again, this time outward. “Do you know what the duty of the quarantine force would be if the plague escaped Europa and spread among other locations in this star system?”

  “I know that the original quarantine ships had to destroy refugee ships trying to flee Europa,” Geary said.

  “Yes. We would do that again, everywhere the plague spread. And our quarantine ships would take up positions at the jump points from Sol and at the hypernet gate your Alliance constructed, and we would destroy every craft that came toward those places trying to flee for safety. When the last refugee was dead, the last fleeing ship destroyed, all of this star system lifeless, our final duty would be to hurl our ships into the star Sol.” Nkosi shook his head again, his eyes haunted by visions of that possible future. “Do you not think I would go to my own death to prevent that?”

  “Is there any way to prevent them from punishing you?” Rione asked.

  “Officially? No.”

  “You could come with us,” Geary said. “Back to the Alliance.”

  Nkosi smiled. “I believe in facing the consequences of my actions, Admiral. I am old-fashioned in that way.”

  “I’m pretty old-fashioned myself. But you don’t deserve to die.”

  “You don’t have to,” Rione announced, looking up from her data pad. “What is the single overriding imperative in your orders, Commander?”

  He frowned at her. “We have discussed that. Prevent any contamination from leaving Europa.”

  “By any means necessary,” Rione finished.

  “How did you know what my orders say?”

  “That’s not important. The important thing is that our proposed operation is the only means available to you to . . .”

  Nkosi’s frown changed to a look of surprise. “To prevent contamination from leaving Europa. By the letter of my orders, I must allow you to proceed.”

  “That will make a good defense for you?” Geary asked.

  “Good? No. Perfect. This is Sol Star System. Our people worship written procedures, rules, and regulations like others worship the divine. I cannot be prosecuted for following the letter of my orders. And so I shall not die.”

  Geary felt himself smiling for the first time in at least the last several hours. “Are the other ships around here under similar orders? What will they do?”

  “They will ask for guidance from their supervisors,”
Nkosi said with a shrug. “It is not normally their responsibility to enforce the quarantine though they are obligated to assist if the quarantine force calls for aid. If I do not do that . . . the only one who might act is Cole on the Shadow. He does not shirk from what duty requires.”

  “Will we have to stop him?” Geary asked.

  “I will speak to him. Cole is a hard-ass, but he is not a fool. He will see as well as I that we have no choice but to hope your plan succeeds.” Nkosi caught Geary’s eyes with his own. “I will be one of those aboard your ship to personally observe the operation.”

  “Certainly. We need you and any other personnel you want along over here as soon as possible, so we can make this happen.”

  “I will prepare a shuttle. First, let me call Lieutenant Cole and ensure that he acts with uncharacteristic caution and hesitation in this matter.”

  • • •

  COMMANDER Nkosi was accompanied by two of his senior enlisted, whom he identified as experts in targeting and weapons systems, as well as by his senior medical officer, Dr. Palden. Nkosi stayed with Geary while Senior Chief Tarrini took the two senior enlisted in hand. Dr. Palden, a middle-aged woman with keen eyes, was already hurling questions at Dr. Nasr as they began walking toward sick bay.

  “She is a good doctor,” Commander Nkosi said. “Very dedicated. She is very keen on seeing your medical equipment.”

  “I want you to see our Marines before they depart,” Geary said. He led Nkosi to the shuttle dock, where all forty Marines waited in ranks. In their battle armor, they looked more like ogres than humans, an immensely intimidating sight even to those used to it.

  If Nkosi felt unsettled, he didn’t betray it in any way as he closely looked over the battle armor and studied the specifications that Geary offered. “Extremely impressive,” he finally said. “Our armor would be no match for these, but then we have been at peace for many years.”

  Next to the Marines, two extra suits of battle armor lay on the deck. Nkosi looked them over, then bowed his head, closed his eyes, and muttered something too low for Geary to hear. “This is the critical element,” he said to Geary after raising his head. “Do your Marines understand that they must do everything they can to avoid contaminating your officers before they are sealed into this armor?”

  “Yes, sir,” Gunnery Sergeant Orvis replied before Geary could. “Admiral, have our orders regarding the hostage-takers changed?”

  “No,” Geary replied. “Take them out if you have to but only if you have to. If you can get in and out of there without killing any, that will be fine. Just make sure that craft’s propulsion and maneuvering systems are too badly damaged for it to lift again.”

  Orvis saluted, his armored hand rising to the brow of the heavy helmet concealing his entire head. “Understand, sir. Break the ship, but not the crew, unless they make us do it the hard way.”

  “Satisfied?” Geary asked Nkosi.

  “For my part, yes. I must speak with Dr. Palden, though.”

  Geary called sick bay. Dr. Nasr normally maintained an outward appearance of calm, but from the looks of him now, Dr. Palden had seriously rubbed him the wrong way. In response to Commander Nkosi’s questions, Palden grudgingly conceded that the available equipment and planned procedures should be “adequate.”

  Nkosi checked with his senior specialists, who displayed much more enthusiasm. “This is really hot gear,” one told the commander. “They can do what they say.”

  “I am satisfied,” Commander Nkosi said.

  “Board the shuttles and prepare to launch,” Geary told Orvis.

  • • •

  HE led Commander Nkosi to the bridge, where Tanya Desjani was seated. “Begin the operation whenever you are ready, Captain,” Geary told her.

  “Thank you, Admiral.” Desjani tapped her comm controls. “Commence hostage-recovery operation. Launch both shuttles. All personnel remain at full alert.”

  As he sat down in his own seat next to Desjani’s, Geary called Envoy Charban, who had been holed up in his stateroom for the last two days maintaining constant contact with the Dancer ships. “How are you doing, General?”

  Charban twitched his mouth before answering. “I feel like hell, Admiral. How do I look?”

  “Like you feel,” Geary admitted. From his appearance, Charban had already used more than one stim med patch to keep himself alert and awake. “Will the Dancers stay clear of Europa while we do this?”

  “Let’s do it, see what they do, then we’ll both know.” Charban ran one hand through his hair. “I think I’ve gotten across that they can’t go to Europa, and they are staying well away. I’m pretty certain that they also understand why they can’t go to Europa.”

  “You told them?” Geary wasn’t certain of his feelings about that. If it is necessary to keep them from going to Europa, then they had to be told. But I feel . . . ashamed to have to tell an alien species what my species did to that moon. Is that a reason to avoid being truthful, though? “I guess this is one of those secrets that shouldn’t really be secret.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ll fill you in later. We’re launching the shuttles now and should start the drop in about twenty minutes. If everything goes according to the timeline, we’ll have the Marines back up here and getting their armor sterilized an hour and a half after that. Please stay on with the Dancers the whole time and do everything you can to keep them from diving into the middle of things.”

  “Yes, sir.” Charban leaned back and made a deliberately casual salute. “Do you know what I want to know most right now? I want to know what they think of it. What they think of us. The Dancers, that is. They already knew we warred and we bombarded planets and inflicted awful atrocities on other humans, but did they know we were fools enough to create the thing that still haunts Europa? Now that they do know, will it change how they see us, will it alter their perception of us as part of some pattern they haven’t been able or willing to get across to us?”

  “Make sure the Dancers know that we’re going down to Europa to save two of our people,” Geary said.

  “Certainly.” Charban stared into the distance, his eyes unfocused. “We’ll casually kill thousands, or tens of thousands, or millions, with our actions or inactions, but we’ll then turn around and risk our own lives to save a few others. How can the Dancers ever understand us? I don’t understand us. How can we ever hope to understand them?”

  As the virtual window containing Charban’s image vanished, Geary realized once again that there were no clear answers to Charban’s questions.

  “Both shuttles have launched, Captain,” the operations watch reported. “They are descending toward the drop point.”

  “Very well.” Desjani studied her display, then shook her head. “I never imagined that shuttles under my command would be deliberately getting as close to Europa as the quarantine allows.”

  “Did you ever imagine that two of your officers would be on Europa?” Geary asked.

  “Now that you mention it, no.”

  Senator Sakai and Victoria Rione came onto the bridge, both standing in the back, out of the way, but watching the display at the observer’s seat.

  Geary gestured for Rione, waiting until she was inside his seat’s privacy field before speaking. “Where are the other two?”

  “Senators Suva and Costa?” Rione asked in an arch tone of voice. “They are in their own staterooms, disassociating themselves from this event.”

  “Disassociating?”

  “Yes, Admiral. If this goes wrong in any of many possible bad ways, they will be able to claim that they were not actually involved, not fully informed, not properly briefed, and not truly responsible.” Rione smiled. “Of course, if it all goes well, they will still claim credit for it.”

  Geary glared at his display for a moment before replying. “So Senator Sakai’s decision to come to the
bridge means he is associating himself with this operation?”

  She nodded judiciously. “Better say he is owning it. His presence here, and near you, ties him to the outcome, no matter what it is.”

  “I’ll have to thank him,” Geary said. “Does this mean that Sakai is backing me?”

  “Only in this,” Rione cautioned. “He will judge every situation and decide each situation on its own.”

  “I can’t fault him for that. I wish every senator were like him and, what was her name, Senator Unruh.”

  “Unruh impressed you, did she? You’re right. But don’t forget that Unruh, and Sakai, and every other senator on the Grand Council, were convinced to create that secret fleet and give command of it to Admiral Bloch. All of their individual hopes and fears came together to do something that you and I consider insanity.”

  “Didn’t that happen before?” Geary asked. “I’ve been thinking about it, and when the Grand Council approved Bloch’s plan for the strike at the Syndic home star system, didn’t the same thing take place?”

  Rione considered that, then nodded. “Yes. Patterns born of desperation. And every time you avoid disaster or win a victory, many of them become more desperate. I’m talking too much. Are you as worried about this operation as I am?”

  “Probably more,” Geary said.

  “I’ll leave you to focus on it.” She went back to where Senator Sakai stood, but he felt her eyes still upon him.

  Geary called up the virtual windows that allowed him to see the views from the armor of each Marine. After overseeing operations involving thousands of Marines, it felt odd to be able to view what was happening from the point of view of each individual Marine in this operation all at once. It reminded him of the days before the war, a century ago, when a typical training exercise might involve only a company of Marines at the most, and only a few ships. For a moment, the memories came to him vividly, of men and women he had known who had fought and died while he slept, and it took a tremendous effort of will to push away those images—and the emotions they brought with them—and bring his full attention back to the present.