Green Zulu Five One: And Other Stories From the Vyptellian War

by Scott Whitmore

  Tyko felt light-headed and unsure of how to respond. The memory of his suspension being increased for asking questions about the war’s beginning popped into his head. When he opened his mouth to reply his tongue felt two sizes too large. “Sir, I appreciate … uh, I’m not … uh … I don’t believe that is information I am cleared to know.”

  “Once again, you speak the truth but without an answer.” The colonel laughed bitterly. “Are you contemplating a career in politics, Tyko? Because if so, you’ve got a leg up on your peers.”

  The older man must have noticed the look of consternation on his face. “Sorry, son. No call for that. Your record is exemplary, even with that Pri-Fly business.” The colonel leaned forward and placed a hand on Tyko’s knee. He stared intently into the young pilot’s eyes. “By the way, the same answer goes for both questions. Why do we keep pilots out of Pri-Fly and why we don’t talk about the Vyps taking our dead and injured.”

  “Sir?” Tyko didn’t know what to say, so he mumbled the first thing that came to mind.

  “We don’t want you to see what this war can, and likely will do to you.” The colonel shook his head slowly from side to side. “We don’t want you, or your families for that matter, to know because when almost all of you turn eighteen you’ll leave this relatively safe base station and actually go to war. We don’t want you to know because ideally we want you to want to go to the Expeditionary Forces. You’ll learn different when you get there, but at that point … well, you’re already there, aren’t you?”

  The colonel leaned back and massaged his forehead. “That’s something else Fleet doesn’t want you to know, Tyko. There isn’t a tremendous need for pilots outside of these base stations. When I said almost all of you will go to Expeditionary, I mean about ninety-eight percent of you.”

  Tyko’s mind whirled at this information. He had never paid much attention when pilots left his squadron, but had any of them transferred anywhere except to the ground forces? Had he heard of anyone from his Air Wing? No … and … no.

  He cocked his head to the side and looked questioningly at the colonel. “Why are we told about all the different types of billets then, sir? Why bother?”

  “To keep you from thinking about it. Oh, plenty of you put in for one of those cushy jobs like instructor or staff officer, but somehow none of those postings are ever available when those people rotate. Well, almost never available. Transport pilots get killed often enough, but there are so many of you …” The colonel stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders before turning back to face the pilot. “You’re going to be seventeen in a few months, isn’t that true?”

  “Six months, sir.” Tyko looked up at the older man, his complete confusion evident. “Colonel, is that why I’m here? Why you’re telling me this?”

  “Partially, yes.”

  “If what you say … sorry, sir. Based on what you say, there is nothing I can do, so why tell me?” The colonel looked as if he was thinking about a response, and then Tyko remembered something else. “Besides, sir, the war may be over by then. I mean, we’re not finding many Vyps to fight anymore.”

  The senior man shook his head. “Don’t confuse their absence in this sector with an overall defeat.” He looked down at the image frame. “There is no shortage of Vyps where my daughter was.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tyko shifted in his seat, the softness of the cushions beginning to feel uncomfortable to a backside accustomed to hard composite everywhere from Fighter Control Units to mess hall benches. If the colonel was trying to test his loyalty, Tyko felt he had passed. If not … well, the young pilot had no idea what the man was trying to tell him.

  Either way, Tyko wanted to get back to the flight deck as soon as possible. “Colonel, you said that was partially the reason. Is there some other reason you wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes, there is.” The older man nodded and crossed his arms. “Tell me about Flight Officer Caviness.”

  “Sir?” Tyko swallowed hard, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Have I somehow gotten Caviness in trouble?

  After their first kiss, being with Caviness supplanted everything else in Tyko’s mind. He studied her schedule, looking for windows of opportunity. He missed meals, went without sleep, to spend a few minutes with her. And then one entire, wonderful, day together when their watch rotations finally aligned: three meals, a walk around the station, time in the rec hall and capped off with a vid marathon.

  They messaged each other at least once daily, with Tyko hearing her voice in his mind as he read the words.

  “You two have become quite close, based on observation and your correspondence.”

  Tyko’s face grew warm. Why didn’t I tell her our messages are monitored? He had quit thinking about it, deciding instead to enjoy what was happening rather than worry about potential consequences. In doing so, had he condemned them both? His heart began to sink at the prospect.

  The colonel picked up a datapad from the desk. He glanced at it for a moment. “For quite some time you’ve been evaluated as having interest only in yourself, which isn’t uncommon in your age group. When you connected with her it was somewhat of a surprise to your squadron support cadre.”

  The colonel did not acknowledge his questioning look. “It is important and good for you to begin sharing more of yourself with others. Emotionally, and, in time, physically. Those connections are a big part of what makes us human.”

  Tyko’s uneasiness faded a bit. “Before I met … well, before I was focused on my flying. And the war. Sir.”

  “Yes, your record indicates that.” The senior officer glanced down at the datapad. “Analysis of the messages between yourself and Officer Caviness indicates a, ah, certain … maturity. Where many of your peers simply look for casual enjoyment, the two of you appear to have formed a deeper connection.”

  The colonel leaned back against the desk, his eyes fixed on Tyko’s. “There are provisions in Fleet regs for flight officers to sign commitment contracts once they’ve turned seventeen. As you know, the single greatest advantage the Vyps have over us is their birthrate. They outnumber us on every battlefield.” Tyko’s eyes darted to the back of the image frame, suddenly thankful he couldn’t see the face of the woman whose platoon had been overrun. “This provision recognizes the high priority we as humans must place on creating new life.”

  “I see.” But even as he said it, Tyko thought of the others in his squadron his age or older. Did any of them seem remotely capable of being parents? Did he?

  The colonel sensed his thoughts.“There is a probation period in the commitment contract for those younger than the age of full consent. To be honest with you, from the statistics most of these contracts never make it past the probationary period, but … well, as I said earlier: there appears to be something more between the two of you. I thought it worth discussing with you.”

  Tyko nodded and licked his lips. “Thank you, sir. I’ll, um, think about what you’ve said.”

  “Good. She should also be having this same discussion with someone in her chain of command.” The colonel placed the datapad on the desk and as his drew his hand back his fingers brushed the image frame. “The recommendation crossed my desk a couple days ago, and I decided to speak to you about it myself.”

  There was a moment of silent before the older officer’s face visibly brightened.

  “Just so you know, too, if the two of you sign a contract I’ve convinced the Air Group Commander to transfer you to a squadron in Third Wing on the same watch rotation. Between us, Third can use your help.” He grinned conspiratorially. “We can’t put the two of you in the same squadron, of course, but you wouldn’t have to miss meals or leave your teammates shorthanded on the quantam court to spend a few minutes with her anymore.”

  For the third time in half an hour Tyko’s head began to swim.

  Seeing Caviness every day, spending nearly every off-patrol minute together, would have been his first wish if the Fleet granted such things to sixteen-ye
ar-old pilots. But signing a commitment contract had never occurred to him. Commitment was a big step … a huge step. Old people were committed to each other, like his parents and the neighbors on either side of their house. His primary school headmaster and grandparents — they were committed. He and Caviness were too young to even think about it.

  But … what if she had thought of it? Were they close enough yet that she would tell him?

  Commitment implied a lifelong bond, which he liked the idea of the more he thought about it, but also … children. One of them could use a child to defer their military service, but would they? He didn’t think so, which meant either her grandparents on Barribes or his parents on New Earth would raise the baby.

  The baby. A baby. Our baby.

  Tyko involuntarily shuddered. Am I already thinking like this is happening?

  The colonel’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. No decisions need be made, soon or ever actually. The option is there. Her birthday is only a few weeks after yours, so once you turn eighteen it would be easy enough to transfer you both to either New Earth or Barribes for the usual eight months.”

  The officer sat back and smiled. “Of course, if you two don’t conceive naturally in that time, there are other options. Creating new children has the highest priority.”

  Caviness. Home. Commitment. Kids. The meeting with the colonel felt like a dream or some kind. Or maybe a nightmare.

  When he spoke, he tried to keep his voice steady, but wasn’t sure how successful he was. “Thank you, sir. I’ll think about this, talk to Caviness, when, er, if … well, at some point.”

  “Good. I’m glad we had this chance to talk.” The colonel’s gaze drifted to the back of the image frame on his desk. When he continued, his voice sounded remote. “If either of you have questions, take them to your squadron support officers.”

  Realizing he’d been dismissed, Tyko got up and quickly left the colonel’s stateroom.

  A Journey Ends

  Rhis spent much of the first two days in the cell pacing from one end to the other. That wasn’t very far, given the room was just a bit smaller than the one-man ship he was in when the Vyptellians captured him.

  As cells went, this one was comfortable enough. At least Rhis imagined it to be so, as he had never been a part of the penal system on New Earth. The walls were a light blue color, the smooth floor a deep brown. The temperature was cool but not uncomfortably so, and the air was heavy with moisture as if he were near a large body of water. On one end of the rectangular space was a small settee and armchair; on the opposite side were a narrow cot and the curtained opening to a tiny water closet. In the center of the room was a small table with two chairs.

  He sat at the table, facing the only door. In front of him were a cup and a tray with the remnants of his breakfast. At any moment he expected the door to open and his alien jailer to enter. This time, Rhis thought, I must make it understand I’m not just another prisoner.

  But when the door finally opened it was an elderly human woman who walked into the cell. The surprise Rhis felt seeing the woman quickly turned to outright shock when he recognized her as Professor Sanfinagalo, one of his instructors at the Diplomatic University.

  “Hello, Rhis. I am sorry you had to wait but I was off-planet,” she said, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down.

  “But … you’re dead!”

  The gray-haired professor smiled gently. “So I’ve been told.”

  * * * *

  After launching from Talmeoud-2, the small ship carrying Rhis followed a pre-programmed flight path into Vyptellian-controlled space, broadcasting a message identifying its passenger as an emissary of New Earth. The broadcast was in three parts, with the same phrase transmitted in Earth Common, Hrustian and what Rhis fervently hoped was an accurate translation of Vyptellian.

  Two weeks later a proximity alarm alerted Rhis to the presence of another vessel. The Vyptellians brought his ship inside one of their own and when two lights on the small control display flashed green, indicating a breathable atmosphere outside, he opened the main hatch as he had been taught.

  With legs shaking so hard he could barely walk, he stepped out of the ship in front of more than a dozen heavily armed and armored Vyptellian soldiers. In one hand was a datapad with a translation application activated and in the other was a pad with an open file displaying Vyptellian characters that he had been told were a formal request to meet with the Vyptellian government.

  Two Vyptellians grabbed him roughly by the arms and another took the pads from him before his feet touched the deck. His voice shaking and hoarse with fear, Rhis tried to communicate with them, telling them his name and that he was an emissary of New Earth, but they ignored his pleas. He was placed in a small compartment that appeared to be a medical facility and then left mostly alone for the trip to his present location. Rhis estimated the journey took four days, based on the number of times they tried to feed him a foul-smelling gray paste.

  He had no idea if the cell was on a space station, planet, or moon. Three Vyptellians escorted him from the medical compartment to an exit hatch that opened on a large enclosed docking bay. There he was handed over to two other Vyps, who were unarmed. These aliens led him from the docking bay to the cell through nondescript corridors that were irregularly lined by doors and empty of other life.

  * * * *

  “I attended your remembrance at the university! We, we were told you died, in a fall, while hiking,” Rhis sputtered, looking at the professor. “How is this possible?”

  “Oh, but I do miss the wooded lands around New Melbourne.” Sanfinagalo smiled wistfully before turning serious again. “Of course, I was never in those woods, and did not die there. That is just what was said to cover up my disappearance.”

  “What? Why?” Rhis felt his heart slow to near normal.

  “Because you are the latest in a long line that began with me.”

  “You were an emissary?”

  “The first, yes.” The professor reached across the table and took one of his hands in both of hers. Her fingers were wrinkled and spotted with age. “I was found by the Vyptellians about fifteen years ago, much farther from here than where you were intercepted.”

  Rhis felt a dawning realization pass over him. “We heard … there were rumors … of a peace mission after the war started, but the Council … well, there were warnings to never speak of it.”

  Sanfinagalo shook her head and her tone sharpened. “I am not surprised. I imagine you were told you would be the first?” He nodded. “Yes, that is what they always say. The Council sends an emissary every few years. Most are still alive and you will meet them in due time.”

  “Most … are still alive?”

  “Mmm. The Vyptellians had nothing to do with those who died, I can assure you. One took sick and another committed suicide.” The old professor’s tone softened. “They were the second and third emissaries after me, respectively. It has not been easy being so far from home, with no contact. I myself have no family, but Nguyen and Sestra … well, it was very hard for them. As the war continued more prisoners were taken and now we have quite a thriving community here for support, including some doctors. Still, for many it is very difficult.”

  Listening to her, Rhis suddenly felt his chest tighten and his vision narrow to pinpoints filled by the professor’s face, which registered her sudden concern. He was only dimly aware of his hand slipping out of hers, or her calling out his name, as he fell from the chair.

  * * * *

  When he came to, Rhis was on the cot, a damp cloth across his brow. Professor Sanfinagalo sat next to him in one of the chairs pulled over from the table. Standing in the doorway was the Vyptellian he thought of as his jailer.

  “How long?” His voice was small, like a child’s.

  “Just a few minutes,” the professor replied, her face sympathetic. “I am sorry. Everyone deals with the situation differently. I should have gone slow
er.”

  “How did I … did the Vyptellian move me?”

  “I certainly didn’t. My days of carrying men to bed are long past.” She laughed and he smiled weakly. Her face grew serious. “You’d still be on the floor if he wasn’t accustomed to dealing with us. This is an induction center. Most Vyptellians abhor physical contact with humans.”

  Rhis sat up, grabbing the damp cloth as it slipped from his forehead. “May I ask a question?”

  “I imagine you have many!”

  “If you made contact with the Vyptellians fifteen years ago, if all the emissaries made contact, why have there been no peace talks?” A sudden thought struck him and he started. “Or have there?”

  “No, no talks.” The old woman leaned back in her chair. “There have been no talks because the Vyptellians do not believe in negotiated settlements to end wars. There can only be victory or defeat. That is their custom.”

  “Oh.” Rhis swung his legs out and placed his feet on the floor. He looked at the professor. “That must have been very difficult for you to accept. I recall your lectures on communication as a key factor in diplomacy.”

  “Yes, I spent years trying to convince the Vyptellians to open a dialog with New Earth. But … can a mountaineer reason with an avalanche?” Sanfinagalo leaned forward in the chair, placing both hands on her knees. “This room is so small. Would you care to get some fresh air?”

  He looked at the Vyptellian and then back at her. “May we?”

  The professor laughed and held out a hand. “Come on, then. Let me show you a little of where you’ll live out the war.”

  She said something in a language he guessed to be Vyptellian and the alien in the doorway stepped aside to let them pass. It followed them as the professor led him down a corridor and to a door. She pulled the door open, flooding the corridor with light, and they walked out onto an open plaza facing a large emerald-green lake lined by trees and low bushes. Rhis sighed with appreciation as a gentle, fragrant breeze caressed his face.