by Daniel Gibbs
“May I ask why?”
Angie took note of David’s piercing gaze as he asked the question before she replied. “I don’t see enough evidence to convince me there’s a higher power. And if there is, why that power would allow the kind of barbaric acts that occur every day.”
“I beg to differ. There’s ample evidence that we’re not simply here by random chance.”
Angie tilted her head to one side. Oh great. Now he’s going to try to convert me. Let’s see how good he is. “Such as? I’m aware that it’s considered scientific consensus, at least among non-atheist scientists, that the universe as we know it is finely tuned for life. But that argument has many problems.”
“Really… The statistical odds of the conditions for life in our universe are so astronomical that it defies explanation as anything other than a planned event, controlled by an outside force. Even the big bang itself cannot be explained as a natural event.”
“If you go solely on the thought that our carbon-based life is the only type of life possible, yes. But it’s also entirely within reason that our universe simply presented a set of baselines for life, and life took it. Purely by random chance.”
“I could go back and forth with you on that point for hours, especially around the fact we’ve never found anything but carbon-based life beyond the microbial stage. But I wonder if I could offer you something else to consider. There’s a yes or no answer to the question; is there a higher power that created the universe, correct?”
“Yes, I would agree with that.”
“Then look at it like this. If there’s a higher power, and we humans choose to worship him, to believe, to do as best we can in our flawed way, what he has laid down as his laws, we have an infinite gain. If we ignore those laws, if we turn our back on him, then we’d have an infinite loss. An eternity spent with our souls in anguish. Christians and Muslims would tell you that’s hell. Jews believe it’s simply being tossed out, and alone. Neither sounds appetizing to me.”
“But what if there isn’t a creator? Then all that time spent worshiping him is for nothing.”
David smiled. “If there isn’t a God, and ‘we’—as you put it—waste our time on our beliefs, our loss is finite. It’s just some of the time we have here in this universe. And if there isn’t a creator and we don’t believe in him, then we have finite gain as well because nothing exists beyond this state of being.”
“I’m not sure where you’re going,” Angie said more as a statement than a question.
“To believe in God and try to keep his precepts, obey his commandments, the worst you can do is a finite loss. To not believe in God, to ignore Him, the worst you can do is an infinite loss. You’re in effect gambling with your soul for all eternity. From a logical point of view, if you have a choice between a possible finite loss and a possible infinite loss, you should take the finite loss every time. I can’t take credit for that argument, mind you. It’s called Pascal’s Wager, and it’s one of the earliest forms of decision theory.”
“I’ve never heard that before. If nothing else, it's interesting,” Angie smiled.
David smiled in return. “Well, give it some thought, then.”
“Is there anything else, David?”
“Not that I can think of. Thank you for dropping by.”
Angie stood up from her chair, and as she did, she had a sudden thought. “David, how about this? I do a sit-down interview with you, and you can discuss the successes of the last few weeks. I’ll let you see the final cut before I send it back to GNN for broadcast. That way, you can get your point of view across, and I can stay neutral.” And I’ll get a scoop out of it too.
David’s face remained neutral for a second or two before he broke into a grin. “I’ll have to clear that with General MacIntosh and Admiral Kartal, but it sounds like a good idea to me.”
“Great. I’ll see you around.”
Deep within the bowels of the Lion of Judah, Kenneth Lowe occupied his small, cramped office. Reviewing paperwork for change orders from one of the engineering teams that was fine-tuning the power regulation systems and shields on the Lion, he made some notations in the margins of the document before signing it and sending it back to CDF Fleet Support for approval. As he was working, the door chime went off; he’d set his office door to do-not-disturb mode an hour previously so he could catch up on paperwork.
“Come!”
The door slid open, allowing Joshua Carter, Kenneth’s overall right-hand man, and Kevin Billings, an older lead for one of the engineering teams, to enter. “Josh, Master Chief. Come on in, gents.” He waved them in. “Have a seat.”
Carter and Billings plopped down in the two chairs in front of Kenneth’s desk. “Boss, you know I didn’t earn that rank,” Billings said.
“Perhaps not, but what’s a master chief do on a ship? Keeps the younger soldiers in line, teaches them, guides them, and above all, finds a way to get things done. That’s exactly what you do for your team.” Kenneth smiled. “Couldn’t do this crap without you.”
“Thanks, boss.”
“What can I do for you gentlemen today?”
Carter and Billings exchanged glances; Kenneth thought that it looked like they were trying to get the other to go first.
“Well, we’re starting to hear some complaints about all of the overtime,” Carter finally said.
“We’re in a combat zone; there’s going to be overtime, lots of it. We’re getting paid for our trouble too.”
“Yes, sir, I realize that, but some of the guys are starting to grouse that they didn’t sign up for this.”
“How many?”
“Enough that it’s reaching our ears.”
“Suggestions?” Kenneth asked the two men.
“I could PT them around the main hangar bay, sir,” Billings said with a mischievous grin.
“No, that’s not the answer. We’re civilians, not military.”
Carter leaned forward. “I think a few words from you directly on the subject would go a long way, sir.”
“We could try to arrange for a staggered day off too, so each team gets one day a week where they’re not on duty unless we’re in a battle situation.”
“That sounds reasonable to me.”
“Master Chief, your thoughts?”
“That works for me too, sir.”
“Excellent.” Kenneth smiled. “Where are we at with turnover and training for the military engineering crew?”
“It’s going slowly. They’ve only been onboard for a couple of months now. Our team has spent years working this ship,” Carter said.
Kenneth nodded. “I want you to move our teams to a role of showing the military crew how to do it once, then stepping back and letting them fumble their way through the repair or upgrade, only interjecting themselves if asked.”
“Okay…but won’t that take a lot more time?” Billings asked.
“Yes, it will. But at some point, we’ll no longer be on the ship. It’s vital that the green suiters understand how to do this work.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Oh, I’ve meant to ask…” Kenneth pointed to a wooden desk plaque that had appeared on his desk in the middle of the night. It read El Director—Kenneth Lowe. “Who was behind this?”
“Uhhhhh….” Billings stammered.
“Joshua?” David asked.
“Well, I’m not sure.”
“Should I pull the door logs?”
The two men looked at each other again. “It was a group effort,” Carter said. “All of the leads put in together for it, and we had it delivered on the last supply run.”
Kenneth laughed loudly. “That’s awesome. Well, I love it, so it’s staying put. Alright, guys, let’s get back to work.”
5
September 11th, 2460
CSV Lion of Judah
CDF Resupply Depot Delta Hotel Four
“Looks like we’re getting more Hunter missiles than usual this time around,” Ruth said as she revie
wed the munitions resupply manifest from her console.
David nodded with satisfaction. “Three hundred Hunters in a total resupply of eight hundred missiles isn’t shabby, Lieutenant.” Hunter missiles were always in short supply, as they utilized an advanced artificial intelligence package to allow them to penetrate League point defense systems easily. They represented the best offensive missile system that either side deployed.
“This system of forward supply depots is quite interesting to me, Colonel,” Aibek said as he watched the resupply operation with interest. “Leapfrogging repair ships and mobile drydocks with the fleet, coupled with numerous resupply vessels is intriguing.”
David smiled. “Well, it’s said that professionals deal with logistics. Without resupply, we’d be unable to fight. There’s a lot of folks that spend their entire careers planning deep space logistical missions. I’m just thankful that our respective militaries have been able to work together so far to make it all happen.”
“I think I would die of boredom if my job consisted of moving pieces of equipment from one place to another,” Aibek quipped. “I am a warrior.”
Ruth turned around in her chair to look back at the two of them. “Armies march on their stomachs, XO. If you don’t believe that, go to the crew mess and see the near riot that breaks out if chow is late.”
David laughed out loud. “Some things never do change.”
Taylor interrupted their bantering. “Conn, communications. I have a video link request from General MacIntosh for you, sir. It’s marked for your eyes only.”
“Pipe it to my day cabin, Lieutenant. I’ll take the vidlink there. XO, you have the conn.”
“This is the XO, I have the conn,” Aibek intoned; after a couple of months on the Lion, he had become well-versed in CDF procedures and had taken to them quite well.
David walked out of the bridge and into the passageway that led to the gravlift. He removed his cover as he crossed the threshold of the bridge and acknowledged the salutes of the two marine guards that perpetually stood watch outside of the hatch. It was only a few more steps to his day cabin, which served as his office and a rack in which to grab some sleep during combat situations that lasted for long periods of time. He slid into the chair behind his desk, which was adorned with numerous mementos from his career, and used his fingerprint to unlock the tablet locked into the docking station. A moment later, its screen snapped on with an active vidlink request from General MacIntosh.
David pressed the button on the screen marked Activate Video Link, and a moment later, MacIntosh’s face appeared on the screen. “Good morning, Colonel.”
“Good morning to you too, sir.”
“How’s your resupply going?”
“Very well, sir. We should be finished later today and ready to rejoin the fight.” There’s no way he spent all the communication credits required for a vidlink to see if we’re getting resupplied on time.
“There’s a week-long pause on the advance while we conduct ship repairs and bring up new pilots and replacement small craft. The announcement will go out later this morning in official orders.”
“I see, sir. Does that mean the Lion will have a different assignment?” David asked.
“Quite perceptive of you, Colonel. Yes, I have a small errand for you to run. I’m sure you’ve read about how the neutral planets that border our space and the League’s invasion of our galactic arm have been a proxy for the overall conflict?”
“Yes, sir, I have. We try to keep as many of them on our side as we can and convince them to join the Terran Coalition wherever possible.”
“That’s been a hard sell the last few years. Most of those planets have been drifting toward the League’s orbit. I think we’ve got an opportunity to change that now with the recent victories. Nothing helps the cause of getting people to switch horses mid-race than seeing the one they were betting on fall down in a heap.”
David cracked a smile at MacIntosh’s analogy; the old Scotsman had a way with words. “Quite, sir.”
“I want you to proceed to Monrovia and make contact with its government.”
“I’m not familiar with that planet, sir. I assume it's on the border?” David questioned.
“It was on the old border. Now it’s firmly within what we would call Terran Coalition controlled space. However, we're cautious about making sure the neutral planets understand that we’re not taking them over. We’d like for them to come to see the light and join us, but the Senate passed a bill by two-thirds majority yesterday, reaffirming the Terran Coalition’s commitment to freedom of self-determination for all neutral, human-controlled planets. A group of American and British settlers that didn’t feel the constitution of the Terran Coalition was right for them founded Monrovia, all the way back in 2238. Specifically, they have a clause in their constitution that outlaws the government from taking a position on religious belief in any way,” MacIntosh explained at length.
David pondered as the general spoke, trying to recall reading about the planet in school; but it was so long ago. Many facts just escaped his remembrance. “And they’ve been leaning toward the League in recent years?”
“Yes. There used to be robust economic ties between the Terran Coalition and Monrovia, but over the last couple of years, they’ve been doing a lot of trading with the League, and they’ve received some surplus League military hardware. Your mission will be to fly the flag; convince their government of our newfound combat abilities, and use the soft power we maintain, namely trading ties, to bring them closer in line with our side.”
“Sir, with respect, wouldn’t this mission be more suited for a diplomatic team? I’m a ship driver, sir.”
“The Department of Diplomatic Affairs and the president went back and forth on that, Colonel. In the end, intelligence estimates suggest that Monrovia’s primary motivation in gravitating toward the League is they feel they’re more likely to win the war and are a stronger power. The Lion and her recent success should tilt that opinion. I want you to pull out all the stops, invite the prime minister and his cabinet onboard, throw a state dinner, hell… give them a tour of anything on the ship that’s not classified. Do whatever it takes to succeed.”
“Yes, sir,” David said in a crisp, confident tone. “We’ll get it done.”
“Good. I’m hoping you can show us your diplomatic skills on this one. There’s more to being a successful capital ship commander than being able to win in combat. The mark of a true strategist is being able to win without firing a shot.”
David’s face curled into a grin. “I see you had to read Sun Tzu as well, sir.”
MacIntosh smirked. “You know, that works on most of my officers. They think I’m a fount of wisdom.”
“Well, sharing the wisdom of the masters of our craft never goes out of style. I try to do the same with those under my command.”
“Speaking of those under your command, how is your senior team shaking out?”
David immediately determined that MacIntosh was asking about Colonel Aibek. “The team is working well together, sir. I’m very pleased with the Saurian you picked as my XO. I can’t ask for anything more from him. He’s integrated himself well into the crew and earned their respect.”
“That’s what I was hoping for, Colonel. I’ve been monitoring your reports closely… what I said a few months back still holds. The Lion of Judah is leading the way on this integration experiment we’ve got going. Between Lieutenant Colonel Aibek and Admiral Kartal, we’re well on our way to success.”
“I’m trying not to let my hopes get too far ahead of the reality on the ground, but our outlook is so much better than it was six months ago,” David pursed his lips together in a rueful expression. “I had gotten to the point where I thought we were just buying time until the end.”
MacIntosh nodded, a thoughtful expression gracing his face. “I never gave up hope, mostly because of how strongly I believed in the Victory Project. But I’d be lying if I said I thought we’d be sweeping
the League ahead of us, straight out of our arm of the galaxy.”
David grinned. “I’m looking forward to attaching a broom to our ship when we come back to Canaan’s station after we finish driving the League out. I’ll get out on the hull in a space suit myself and glue it on.”
“I’ll help you do it once we’ve earned the right for that particular celebration, Colonel. Now, you’ve got your orders. When can you get underway to Monrovia?”
“Is 0800 CMT tomorrow too late, sir?”
“No, that will be fine, Colonel. Good luck, take care and Godspeed. MacIntosh out.”
The screen faded to black as the vidlink cut out. David leaned back in his chair, thinking about the Lion’s newest assignment. Diplomacy, not something I’ve really done before. But the general’s right; a capital ship commander is the representative of the Terran Coalition out on the frontier and is expected to handle military as well as diplomatic missions. At least I have a great team to call on in the crew of this ship. Together, we’ll get through it.
David sprang up from the chair and pulled down his uniform shirt and the sweater over it. He decided to go back to the bridge and call a briefing of the senior staff; getting everyone in the right frame of mind would be crucial to the success of their latest assignment.
Later that afternoon, David had requested Angie’s presence in his day cabin, both to brief her on the upcoming mission and to discuss how his interview was presented. This business of having to sell the press on our activities…ugh. I much preferred my only interaction with the media being tossing my tablet across the room when some talking head trashed the military and said we were child killers. When her smiling face appeared in the middle of the hatch, he realized that she was always punctual, a trait he much appreciated.
David stood. “Come in, Ms. Dinman.”
“Thank you, Colonel Cohen.”
“Please, have a seat,” David said, gesturing to the chairs; he sat after she did.
“What can I do for you, Colonel?”
