by Daniel Gibbs
“Reeducation camps?” Nishimura asked.
“Those who lack social duty or display antisocial behavior or individualism are sent for correction. If one fails at mending their ways, other measures are taken.”
“Individualism?” MacIntosh asked.
“One of the gravest sins a citizen of the League of Sol can commit. Putting individual wants or desires above that of society. It is an unacceptable evil.” She chuckled. “I’ll be executed without a second thought if anyone ever finds out what I’ve done.”
“Why help us, then?” Nishimura blurted out. He had zero inkling as to why the woman would lift a finger to help them. It doesn’t make sense. Gotta be a trap.
“Because if you’re fighting the League, perhaps you will win. And since you’re also humans, maybe our lot in life will improve. It can’t get worse. Everything we do, say, and think is monitored at all hours of the day and night.”
Nishimura stared in horror. “How?”
“Do you not have surveillance systems, artificial intelligence, and social scoring on your planets?”
“AI is heavily restricted in the Terran Coalition,” MacIntosh answered. “We saw its dangers centuries ago. Only the most shackled of AIs are allowed, and even that’s a years-long process for approval. As for surveillance, in public spaces, yes—on our core worlds.” He paused as if searching for words. “Everything goes through our constitution, though. We believe inherently in bending toward freedom. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with social scoring.”
“Be glad. Every single person in the League of Sol is scored on every action they take. Do something against the rules, and the surveillance AIs capture it. All citizens are required to make five reports a month against friends, families, and strangers. If not, it goes on our record.”
“I… I can’t imagine living like that,” Nishimura said after a few seconds of silence.
“Then perhaps you can imagine why I would help you.”
Though Nishimura searched for any hint of a lie or manipulation, he found none. Either she’s an intelligence agent, or this is the truth. He pondered what kind of life it was to have every action and thought monitored. Even in the face of complete oppression, the woman and presumably many others like her had held on to beliefs that would get them killed. Nishimura’s face heated. And I was willing to kill a disarmed man not more than thirty minutes ago. What does that say about my beliefs? He stood mute, staring at her.
“Sir, the docking computer has taken control,” MacIntosh said as he stood from the console. “With any luck, we’ll be docked and receiving fuel in ten minutes.”
“Good,” Nishimura replied, finally breaking free of his thoughts. “An hour to fill the tanks?”
Flores nodded. “Yes. May I ask what you’re planning to do with it?”
“Power our ship so we can go home.” Even if I believe her, no operational details.
“Will you tell others in the Terran Coalition what I’ve told you?” she asked. “Perhaps if they know, they won’t hate us all. Many of us would welcome liberation from the League, if it ever came.”
“I’ll do my best.” The words rushed out of Nishimura’s mouth before he had a chance to think. Who am I kidding? No one cares what a single Marine has to say. But if we survive this, I’ll have a duty to try.
16
Lined with massive screens, holoprojectors, and dozens of watchstanders, the League Navy headquarters' operations floor in Geneva, Switzerland, was the heart of military operations ongoing in both the Orion and the Sagittarius arms of the galaxy. Unlike the usual carefully scripted dog-and-pony shows for senior flag officers, they had a bona fide emergency today. Reports of unidentified craft attacking the Sol system had begun flooding into fleet command an hour earlier.
Admiral Sebastien Lambert strode in through the central double doors.
An eagle-eyed senior enlisted sailor barked, “Admiral on deck.”
“As you were,” Lambert replied in French. League forces were required to speak two out of the three main League languages—Chinese, French, or Russian. As a born-and-bred Frenchman, he usually spoke in his mother tongue. “Situation report, Captain Nkosi?”
The operations chief, who appeared to have African ancestry, stood. “Sightings of hostile fighters at Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars, sir. Terran Coalition weapons signatures.” His French was perfect.
“By Lenin, they’re going to try to take Earth,” another officer blurted out, her words barely understandable with her accent.
Lambert noted that she wore the morale commissars’ insignia—she was one of the dreaded political officers. Probably German. That would explain the awful French. “Probably not.”
“But attacks on three planets—”
“Captain Nkosi, have any capital-class vessels been observed?”
“No, sir. Only small craft. They match up to intelligence reports on a stealth recon fighter the Terrans are known to possess.”
“The SFS-4 Ghost?”
“Yes, sir.”
“They have less than two hundred of them. Now I am convinced this is a raid.” Lambert smiled thinly.
“A raid? Why would the Terran Coalition do that?” the political officer asked.
All eyes shifted toward the two of them as Lambert stared her down.
“For a morale officer, you know little about morale, it would seem.” Lambert gestured to the operations map of the Sagittarius arm. “They’re losing the war against us. A brilliant counterstroke against our home world shows their strength and makes us look weak.”
“Intelligence suggests these Ghost recon fighters have integrated wormhole generators, Admiral,” Nkosi said. “The carrier that brought them here is unlikely to be within Sol system proper.”
“No, I wouldn’t expect so.” Lambert went over the possibilities. They’re probably hiding out in deep space. That’s what I’d do. He smirked. “For them to get the propaganda coup they’re looking for, these Terrans will need to make it back to whatever ship brought them here. Activate the home defense fleet and every fighter squadron we have in Sol. I even want Charon’s defense grid online.”
“Yes, sir!”
Lambert turned toward Nkosi. “They probably can’t jump out of Sol’s gravity well without being at the edge—the same limitations we have. Have the fleet muster outside of the limit, and once we have confirmation of where they’re headed, we’ll mass and cut them off.”
Infectious energy seemed to course throughout the room as the officers and enlisted personnel perked up.
“It will be done, Admiral,” the political officer replied. “These capitalist dogs won’t make it out of our home alive.”
While Lambert flashed a grin—necessary for appearances—inwardly, he despaired. How am I supposed to beat a determined force of professionals when I have these idiots in my ranks? Many a League officer had asked the same before and would ask again. I wish Pierre Seville were here. I could always count on him to have a tactical insight I missed. If only it weren’t for his political officer. At least Seville had disposed of the moron who cost the League a knock-out victory over the Terrans. But that was cold comfort, as his protégée faced a decade of exile, and the Chinese faction of the League sought any advantage it could gain. Lambert sighed and focused on destroying the enemy. At least there was honor in defending their homes. Politics would come later.
“Well, that was one hell of a rush,” Justin said. His commlink was keyed to the squadron-commander channel. “For me, anyway. What about you guys?” The void flew by his cockpit canopy as the formation of twenty-seven Ghosts zoomed away from Mars on a parabolic course toward the Lawrence limit. For the moment, it was a beautiful sight—at least until more Leaguers showed up.
“I’d rather be flying a Boar, but these things do well enough,” Green replied. “League space installations blow up nicely too.” She chuckled.
“A shame we didn’t erase all the Leaguers. We passed up some big targets back there,” Martin interje
cted. His tone was harsh.
“Francis…” Justin used his first name for emphasis. “Killing civilians is against the rules of war.”
“You think they give a damn about the rules of war? Are you daft, mate?” The pain in Martin’s voice was evident.
“I get it, Lieutenant. But as long as I’m in command, we’re playing this by the book, as the colonel ordered. Clear?”
“Crystal, sir.”
“With that out of the way, my egress plan is to get us beyond the Mars Lawrence limit, jump into the outer reaches of the system, and fly under stealth to the Sol Lawrence limit, and from there, we’ll jump back to the Greengold.” While it sounded easy, the odds remained long.
“Sounds good to me, sir. We really stirred up the hornet’s nest,” Green replied. “Gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting a Sabre pilot to be this good at blowing ships up.”
“I aim to please,” Justin said, a bit of cockiness creeping into his voice. He flipped the commlink channel to Alpha element. “This is Alpha One. Status check. Over.”
“Alpha Two, good. Fifty percent stores.”
“Alpha Four, good. Sixty percent stores.”
“Alpha Three, I have more kills than you today, Spencer. Watch out, or I’ll catch up,” Mateus said with a giggle. “Stores at forty percent.”
“Okay. We’re mostly in good shape, and we’ve only had a few losses,” Justin replied. “We keep this tight, use stealth to our advantage, avoid fights on the way out, and get home safe. Clear? Oh, and, Adeoye, that was one of the best spin moves I’ve ever seen. Nice job.”
“Thank you, sir.” Pride was evident in Adeoye’s voice. “Never thought I’d be happy to see the Greengold again after two straight months of crawling the walls.”
Snickering filled the commlink channel.
“You and me both, Lieutenant.”
Justin scanned his HUD. So far, so good. The local League forces around Mars had spread out, searching in a box pattern. Between the protected engine exhausts, stealth tiles, and the unique course they were on, no one had found them yet. The four stealth raiders stalked several sites for a final jump, gathering real-time sensor data. As the minutes passed, Justin noticed a multitude of new enemy icons appearing on the HUD—all over the solar system.
“You guys seeing this?” Feldstein asked. “By my targeting computer’s count, a few hundred enemy ships are ringing the outer Lawrence limit. More are jumping in constantly.”
Justin felt a tinge of bile rising in his throat. She was correct—over the last fifteen minutes, dozens of vessels had jumped in. He sent flash traffic to each stealth raider, asking them to scout secondary locations, on the off chance that somehow the Leaguers had zeroed in on the ships. “Yeah. Hold your course. The plan hasn’t changed.”
“We’re going to shoot our way out of Sol?” she shot back.
“Only if we have to.”
“I should’ve updated my will,” Adeoye interjected.
“What are you all crowing about? It’ll be a target-rich environment,” Mateus replied as she snickered. “Nothing can touch the Red Tails.”
I wonder if that’s legit confidence or bluster. Justin didn’t care. They had to keep their eyes on the ball, or all of them would die. “Steady, people. We’re going home, but the ride will be bumpy.” He hoped his words would come to pass.
Much to Nishimura’s surprise, obtaining fuel from the station went smoothly and efficiently. With Flores’s assistance, they sent the usual requests to the control center, and ninety minutes later, the freighter had a full load. It took more time to get to the Lawrence limit than it had to fill the helium-3 tanks, which gave him a lot of time to ponder what had occurred over the last few hours.
“You okay, sir?” MacIntosh asked.
Nishimura shook himself. “Yeah. Why?”
“Far be it from a lowly fleet officer to notice, but you seem like you have a lot on your mind.”
“Yeah, suppose I do.” He jerked his back, pointing toward Flores. “What do you make of her?”
MacIntosh sat down across from Nishimura’s perch on the bridge. “I think she’s a devout woman in a difficult situation and was forced to make some tough calls.” He pursed his lips. “And I wonder if I would’ve had the strength of character to make the same ones were I in her place.”
“Well, you nailed what I’m grappling with.” Nishimura smiled thinly. “You know? One of those events in life that forces you to stop and pay attention.”
Seemingly unaware or unwilling to acknowledge that the primary topic of conversation was her, Flores interrupted them. “Major, we’ve reached the FTL limit. I can jump us to your ship if you’d like.”
“All the same, I’ll have Captain MacIntosh handle the Lawrence jump,” Nishimura said. He held up a gauntleted hand. “Look, not to insult you, but I’m careful. Four thousand lives depend on it.”
Flores nodded and stood. “Of course.”
“Plug it in, Captain,” Nishimura said as he turned his head toward the windows at the front of the bridge.
Flores stared at him. “Why do you call the wormhole generator a Lawrence drive?”
“Hey, I’m a Marine. Not much on schooling,” Nishimura replied with a chuckle. “I recollect that Sir James Lawrence invented the thing in the twenty-first century, and we named our capital city after him.” He shrugged. “Beyond that… Captain, you got anything more?”
“That’s the basics, sir,” MacIntosh said. “But more so, he helped bring humanity together once it left Earth. That’s why it’s called Lawrence City, because there would’ve been no Terran Coalition without him. The other thing I think some of us forget was Dr. Lawrence was an avowed atheist. That part gets glossed over in our history sometimes.” He looked up from the console. “System’s ready, sir. Coordinates locked in.”
Nishimura set his jaw. “Do it.”
The lights dimmed, and a vortex opened directly in front of the freighter’s bow. Much like with the Terran Coalition Lawrence drive, a multicolored light show danced in space as the maw of the wormhole grew, beckoning them in. The ship accelerated and, a few moments later, popped out the other side.
“That was beautiful,” Nishimura said. He was in awe of the spectacle, eyes transfixed. “Uh, did we come out where we were supposed to?”
“Your first time seeing a wormhole jump?” Flores asked.
“Yeah,” Nishimura replied. “Marines get the cheap seats. We’re never on the bridge, always in the interior of the ship.” He gazed out the window, staring at the blackness of the void. “Back to business, though. Where are we?”
Flores pointed at a flashing light on one of the control stations. “The communications system detects an incoming transmission.”
“Fire it up, Captain.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” MacIntosh crossed the bridge and sat at the comms console. A few moments later, he spoke into a mic. “Hello? This is MacIntosh.”
“This is Lieutenant Singh. We read you loud and clear, Captain. Do you have the fuel?”
MacIntosh grinned. “Oh yes, we do. Are you guys ready for us to start the transfer?”
“Per Colonel Tehrani’s orders, begin immediately.”
“Excellent, Lieutenant. We’ll maneuver alongside and extend the umbilical.” MacIntosh turned to Nishimura. “With your permission, sir?”
“Let’s get this show on the road.” God, if you’re up there, now would be a good time for everything to go right for a change. Time would tell.
17
Tension on the bridge of the Zvika Greengold was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Tehrani would’ve paced back and forth if not for the need to display a steady command bearing. Updates from the raid on Sol had been sparse, and she hated being unable to affect the outcome.
As if sensing her unease, Wright leaned in. “I’m worried about them too.”
“On some level, I know it’s silly to worry, because it gets me nothing positive. But I can’t help it. Those men and women are under m
y command, and I’m responsible for them.”
Wright nodded. “In my book, that’s the sign of a good CO, ma’am.”
“How’s the refueling going?”
“Helium-3 tanks are above fifty percent,” Wright replied after checking his console. “Another half an hour until they’re full.”
Tehrani processed the information. Another forty-five minutes after that to get our reactor back online. We’ve survived this long. We can handle another hour and a half. She settled back into her chair, mind mollified.
“Conn, Communications. I’ve got Captain Spencer on a burst transmission, ma’am.”
So much for relaxing. “Put it on my viewer, Lieutenant.”
An image of Justin’s face appeared on the screen above Tehrani’s head. It contained a great deal of static and artifacts, indicative of either jamming or being at the limit of the technology’s range. “Colonel, if you can hear me, we’ve really stirred up the hornet’s nest. All fighters are proceeding at best speed to the Lawrence limit, but the League is boxing us in. I’m sending you our projected course and time frame to jump.”
“Captain, how many hostiles are you dealing with?”
“We’ve lost four Ghosts so far—all pilots KIA. If we can’t jump, the plan is to fight to the last man and woman.”
It seemed as if he couldn’t hear Tehrani. She frowned. “Captain, transmit a continuous beacon via your comm system so we can home in on it.”
“You’re breaking up, ma’am. I’ll try again when we’re closer to the limit. Spencer out.”
Tehrani nearly gave in to the impulse to smash her palm into the control panel on her chair. “Dammit.”
“We have a partial lock on Spencer’s craft from that transmission,” Wright said as he touched a button on his viewer. “Here, skipper.”
“I see it.” Assuming the rest of the friendly forces were clustered around him, which made sense, they were heading away from Mars, toward its Lawrence limit. That puts them at about an hour and a half to two hours away from the Sol System Lawrence limit if he times the microjump right.
