“A few minutes after that we turned the ships over and were escorted here.” Tyko sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. He looked expectantly at the major and squadron commander, waiting for their questions.
“The enemy ship you went past, you mentioned it was unusual to see a destroyed Vyp fighter.” Tham’s eyes were locked on Tyko’s. “How rare would you say it was?”
“Very. In my time, over two years, I’ve seen two others. Neither was as … whole, I guess you’d say, as the one today. Much smaller pieces but still you could see what it was … had been.”
“That was a concise, but very complete report, Flight Officer Tyko,” Tham said with a nod. “Any final impressions, last thoughts about what happened, what you may have seen?”
Although he didn’t have to think about it, couldn’t imagine what more they thought he knew, Tyko paused a moment before shaking his head. “No, sir.”
“Thank you. You’re to say nothing of this debriefing or what happened on the patrol to anyone without permission from myself or your squadron commander. I’m told you’re quite familiar with the consequences of disobeying orders, so I trust you’ll follow my orders.”
Tham got to his feet and shuffled past the squadron commander and out of Tyko’s sight. There was a slight pause before the door opened and he saw his squadron commander nod, then the door closed. Tyko turned his head, half expecting to see Tham standing behind him, but they were alone in the debriefing room.
The squadron commander leaned forward and spoke, her voice low. “You’ve earned back some of my trust, Tyko, so I’m going to share a bit more with you. Based on analysis of the vid, the Vyp fighter you flew past was the first one you hit. It appears your slugs hit at the perfect angle to crack open the airframe without causing a fatal explosion.”
“It was a lucky shot, ma’am. I couldn’t do that again if I tried.”
“I expect not, but that’s not really the interesting part.” The commander leaned back and rubbed a hand across her face. “First, those Vyps were not new pilots. In fact, intelligence believes they were probably among their most experienced.”
Tyko felt sudden confusion as he scanned his memory for clues he may have missed. Nothing about what the commander said made sense based on what he saw. His face betrayed his thoughts because her lips curled into a wry smile.
“You didn’t miss anything, Tyko. You just weren’t looking for it.” The smile disappeared. “One of the flight controllers noticed it, actually. You cut the Vyp fighter in half at just the right spot, and then we enhanced the vid, studied it millisecond by millisecond to confirm.”
“Ma’am? I’m sorry but … confirm what?”
“There was no Vyp inside. They’re experimenting with remote piloting.”
A Single Step
Rhis stared at the document on his datascreen. The Hrustians were uncharacteristically delaying approval of several contracts and he was trying to figure out why.
Hearing a small stir from the desks around him, Rhis looked up to see a soldier walk into the office. The woman was mid-twenties, wearing smart-looking dress blues that displayed her athletic build but didn’t hide a missing arm.
Must be waiting to be fitted for a prosthetic, Rhis thought. Or, perhaps she was one of the ones deciding to live without an artificial limb. Along with many of his co-workers at the Diplomatic Ministry he’d seen a recent news vid about this emerging trend among returning soldiers, and there was a lively discussion about the meaning behind it.
Rhis pretended to read while watching the soldier. She stopped at his section head’s desk and after a short conversation both turned to look at him. Rhis felt a wave of uncertainty pass through him. Surely they can’t need people like me to fight now?
He was nearly fifty-five, with the pale complexion and flabby body of an office drone whose time was spent either at home or work. As a teenager, Rhis played quantam and dreamed of doing something creative, like writing or painting. He only accepted an internship at the Diplomatic Ministry as a way to finance the pursuit of that goal. The work was dreary but the income and prestige of a career diplomat convinced him to forget about the arts. He opted for government service upon reaching the age of majority and studied economic theory at the Diplomatic University.
After graduating he was assigned to the Hrustian section where his responsibilities steadily increased — famously accepting of all, the commerce-minded aliens seemed to especially enjoy dealing with him — to the point where after the war started he was deemed too valuable for transfer to the military.
His commitment partner, however, was not. In his mid-thirties when the war began, Djovic was omitted from the first call-ups but in the third year of fighting an e-note arrived ordering him to report for military service. Despite all the upbeat reports from the Information Ministry, Rhis thought it a telling sign that someone his partner’s age was needed for a war they were ‘winning.’
They had been talking of adopting a child. It was Djovik’s idea, actually, but Rhis listened. There were children in need of homes, many orphaned by the war. Rhis wasn’t interested in children or family, but he was inclined to go along to make his partner happy. Then the draft notice arrived and Rhis turned against the adoption, claiming he was too old to be a single parent and his position at the ministry demanded too much of his time.
This reversal wounded Djovic greatly: he wanted a family to return to when the war was over. He tried to convince Rhis to reconsider the adoption, right up to the day his unit left New Earth. As Rhis feared, that was the last time he saw his partner: Djovic was reported ‘Missing, Presumed Dead’ a few months later.
Now more than ten years later, Rhis spent most of his days poring over the dreary details of inter-species business documents and all of his evenings cataloging his regrets. He’d always been circumspect, guarded, but after Djovic received the draft notice that innate introspection became a deep-seated pessimism.
Occasionally, he was required to travel from New Earth to Hrus on diplomatic missions. The Hrustians he dealt with, business owners and mid-level members of government, were universal in their disbelief the humans would attempt a war against the Vyptellians.
“Despite all warning from Hrus, you have fallen into conflict with the Vyptellians. Such an unwise choice,” said one of his counterparts, KB-11356 (disconcerting at first, humans came to accept Hrustian naming conventions).
This exchange, which happened about a year after Djovic’s death, prompted him to think about the war in ways he previously hadn’t. Like everyone he knew, Rhis was appalled and angered by the sudden attack on the settlers of Nex Altrien. Calls for ‘justice for those murdered’ were heard from every part of the colony, including the Representative Legislature. Rumors and fear ran through the population like plague and soon many were convinced the aliens planned to exterminate humanity.
The Council responded to the popular outcry by empowering the Military Command to take all necessary measures to ensure the safety of New Earth and its population. Sixteen bloody years of war later, the war was a shadow over every part of life and Nex Altrien was rarely thought of or mentioned.
Rhis said nothing either way, but secretly he wondered if those with the loudest voices would still scream for justice if they knew what it would lead to. Military equipment and supplies were the first priority of most industries, and there was no funding for scientific research without an obvious wartime application. Further limiting the expansion of human knowledge, exploration of the galaxy was considered too dangerous.
And, of course, there were the tens of thousands killed and injured. Few household were untouched by this most direct result of the war.
Now with his heart pounding, Rhis watched the soldier curtly nod to the supervisor and walk toward his desk. He gave up the pretense of reading and sat back in his chair, his hands folded and resting on his stomach. The one-armed soldier stopped in front of the desk and looked down at him.
“Your presence ha
s been requested at a meeting elsewhere in the ministry. I am to escort you.”
“What? What meeting is this? I’m afraid no one informed me of any —”
“I’m informing you right now. If you would follow me … sir.” She had the pained look of a highly trained professional dealing with a matter wholly beneath her station.
Rhis smiled without meaning to, before getting to his feet and following her toward the door. He glanced at his supervisor but she had her head down and seemed to be engrossed in something on her display. Pretenses everywhere today, he thought with a bitterness that was surprising and shameful.
Walking at a brisk pace as if to keep Rhis behind her, the soldier led him to the section of the building where the liaison offices of Military Command were located. They paused in the reception area just long enough for him to be issued a visitor pass — he pressed his thumb to a touchscreen attached to the wall and a small yellow card emerged from a slot beneath — and then she led him into a well-lit corridor lined with closed doors.
No open plan offices for the military, he thought idly. His escort stopped at a door guarded by two armed soldiers wearing armor. Without a word to Rhis or the guards, she pushed the door open and gestured for the diplomat to enter.
The office was nearly as large as the one he shared with the twenty people in his section. A large desk was at the end farthest from the door, but it was the long conference table — and the man and woman seated at the table — that drew his attention. The man was one of the Diplomatic Ministry’s three vice-ministers and the woman was a four-garland general and deputy of Military Command.
Rhis had exchanged banal pleasantries with the minster at countless functions during his career, and the general’s grim visage seemed to be a mandatory part of most news vids dealing with the war. The two-garland general who served as liaison between the two ministries was absent — lending his office for this meeting was evidently his sole contribution.
The door closed behind him and Rhis leaned back against it, his head suddenly light. This caused the general to shake her head with a smirk but the vice-minister jumped to his feet and approached Rhis.
“Come, come, Rhis. Join us, please. We have something very important to discuss with you.” The man took Rhis by the arm and led him to the table. Looking down at the minister, Rhis noted that his visitor badge was gold. Different depending on security clearance passed through his mind as he sank into the chair the other man pulled out for him.
“Important, to discuss with me?” Rhis looked up at the vice-minister, who remained standing behind him. A sudden thought crashed into his mind, and his voice quavered a bit: “Is this, ah, about the problems we’re having with the Hrustians?”
The minister smiled and shook his head. “No, no, this has nothing to do with the Hrustians. I’m sure we’ll have those issues sorted in short order.” He pulled out the chair next to Rhis and sat down. “I suppose it makes sense you would think that’s why we wanted to talk to you.”
The general leaned forward and locked eyes with Rhis. “We have a mission for you, a mission more important than anything you’ve ever done before.”
“Mission?” Rhis looked at the minister, confusion on his face. “I’m a diplomat, not a soldier. I don’t … I’m not … trained, for missions … in the military sense.”
“Consider it a tasking, then. The terms are really interchangeable.” The minister’s smile didn’t fade, but also didn’t quite extend to his eyes. “There is something of vital importance to the future of humanity, and we need you to do it.”
“Me?” Rhis said it with a shaky laugh: it seemed a terribly absurd statement. “What could you possibly need me to do that would be vitally important to humanity?”
“The Council has appointed you as a peace emissary.” The general didn’t blink — never seemed to blink — and her voice was measured, without emotion. “You will travel to the Talet system for orientation and final preparations, and from there on to where it is our hope you will make contact with the Vyptellians.”
Oblivious to his gaped mouth, the general continued providing details that Rhis only half-heard: Immersion training on Vyptellian customs, specially developed translation software, an unarmed ship sent into enemy-controlled space while broadcasting a request for parley.
“Wait … wait.” Rhis took a deep breath, shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand any of this. You want me to make contact with the Vyptellians?”
Anger flashed across the general’s face but before she could say anything the vice-minister spoke up. “Yes. We, the Council and Military Command, are asking you … do you recall Old Earth’s ancient history? Wars between cities or nations, not species? As they did then, we are asking you to cross the battle line under a banner of peace.”
“But to what end? Am I … offering surrender?”
“Absolutely not!” The general’s hand slapped down on the table with a crack. “You will have no authority to discuss any matters relating to the war. Your role is simply to make a connection … to open a door.”
“That’s a good analogy.” The minister’s smile never wavered. “We want you to open the door. If … when you are successful we anticipate that connection, the one you make, will lead to detailed discussions on a wide range of topics.”
“Including an end to the war?” Rhis looked from the minister to the general.
“Ultimately. That is our hope,” the vice-minister replied smoothly. “In many respects it will be no different than your dealings with the Hrustians. You don’t originate the business ventures, merely facilitate them. As was said on Old Earth, every journey begins with a single step.”
Rhis nodded, attempting to settle the swirl of thoughts and emotions running through his head. After a few moments of silence (welcomed by him, tolerated by the others) an idea took form. Perhaps this was a chance, the chance, to do something that would silence his regrets … something big enough to erase every missed opportunity.
He looked sideways at the vice-minister, then across to the general. “I have two questions.”
“Yes, of course.”
“First: why now? I recall rumors of a delegation to Vyptellia shortly after the war’s start, but nothing since.”
“An excellent question, which I believe the general is best suited to answer. But first,” the minister said, placing a hand on Rhis’s forearm. “It is unwise to speculate on certain topics or repeat rumors, as I’m sure you know. This will be a unique undertaking: a first of historic importance. Now, general?”
The officer’s lower face re-twisted into a smirk, but she spoke with the same level voice as before. “The war is not going poorly, if that’s what you’re implying. Rather the opposite. We’ve detected, and I must caution you that what I’m about to say is highly classified, well above your level —”
“I believe his clearance has already been updated.” The minister dryly laughed.
“Yes, well. In several key sectors we’ve detected signs the Vyptellians are pulling back, or preparing to pull back their forces. Their tactics have changed in these key sectors as well, and these changes have been interpreted as being very favorable to us.” The general cast a sideways glance at the minister. “Some believe they may even have come to the conclusion that victory is not possible. At any rate, Command believes a mission such as this, or a tasking — whatever the hell you want to call it — must come from a position of strength. Vyps understand strength.”
“I see.” Rhis nodded. His unease and surprise were fading quicker than he would have expected. “My second question is this: why me?”
“… Besides your long years of exceptional and loyal service?” The minster smiled his phony smile. “Several reasons — the most important being your connection to the Hrustians, and how they feel about you.”
“We know they have maintained strict neutrality,” the general added. “But we also know they communicate with the Vyps and we expect anything they know about us, or in this case
you, the Vyps will also know.”
“And they know, and more importantly, trust you.”
“I see.” Rhis nodded again. “If this is something we have never tried before, we don’t know how the Vyptellians will respond. They may destroy the ship no matter what message is being broadcast.”
“Yes, that’s true.” The general’s candor actually surprised Rhis.
He sighed and a memory of Djovic popped into his head, their final conversation. It was the morning his division shipped out. They’d had a big meal the night before, all of Djovic’s favorites, and too much wine. Laying in bed before the sun came up, their bodies entwined, Djovic admitted to being afraid, but that he believed the war was just and worthy of their sacrifices.
Then and now, Rhis thought neither was true, but the bittersweet memory helped him ignore his fears.
“When do I leave?”
Movement
The observation deck was nearly full when Tyko got there. He stood at the back of the crowd next to a ladder leading up to Third Wing’s deck and scanned the backs of heads, looking for Caviness. She was coming off patrol and he was going on, choosing to skip breakfast to see her in person for the first time in a month-and-a-half.
He took a break from searching for her to look at the large viewscreen mounted on the bulkhead at the far end of the compartment. It showed the blackness of space but Tyko recognized the star clusters twinkling in the distance: they were the same ones he always saw heading out to fight the Vyps. Two large, ungainly ships hovered in the middle distance, half of the Fleet of auxiliary craft that would tow the base station to a new position closer to the enemy.
The move was necessary because a month earlier the Vyptellians began pulling their forces back, forcing Tyko and the other pilots in the Air Group to fly farther from the station to engage them in battle. At the same time as the pull-back, the number of Vyp ships encountered began to decrease and those enemy fighters they did find seemed to be flown by very inexperienced pilots.
Green Zulu Five One: And Other Stories From the Vyptellian War Page 6
