A dozen humans were in the plaza, standing or sitting alone or in groups. Many appeared to be recovering from injuries, with bandaged limbs or nearby medical stands. A few looked up at Rhis and the professor but most were too deeply involved in their thoughts or conversations. Sanfinagalo pointed to an empty bench made from a composite material and they sat; Rhis noticed his jailer remained inside the building, and no other Vyptellians were visible.
The professor gestured at the plaza with an open hand. “This particular compound is for high ranking civilian and military personnel. We are just a short distance from the center of their capital city. There are other, much larger, settlements for general prisoners on planets throughout the Vyptellia system.”
“You said you were off-planet, is that where you were?”
“Oh yes, I make the rounds regularly. I suppose you could say the Vyptellians recognize me as humanity’s representative.” She suddenly laughed. “Unelected, of course. The military would never stand for it otherwise. But, the Vyptellians did the choosing, not them.”
The professor gazed out at the lake. “Whatever they told you about the Vyptellians, I have no doubt it was not everything we’ve learned about the species. The Council and Military Command keep a lot of what they know to themselves.”
“I believe that.”
Sanfinagalo sighed. “Governments keeping secrets is a legacy of Old Earth, one that we thought was behind us before the Long Exodus.” She turned to look him in the eyes. “We also believed we were done starting wars. How foolish we were to forget our past.”
“Did they? Are you sure? Some of us who were alive then may remember what we’ve been encouraged to forget, but is it the whole truth? It certainly is not the truth the Vyptellians know.”
Rhis sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Does it even matter at this point?”
The professor glanced sideways at him. “I believe it does. There is an Old Earth saying: those who do not learn from the past are fated to repeat it.”
“Mmmm.”
She placed a gnarled hand on his shoulder and smiled sadly. “Practically speaking, you are correct. It does not matter. Remembering how a war started is the prerogative of the winning side. Soon this war will be over and humanity will become subject to Vyptellian rule, joining many other species, including the Hrustians.”
“The Hrustians?” His jaw dropped.
“Yes, the Vyptellians conquered Hrus several hundred years ago.” Her tone shifted to that of the university lecturer he remembered. “Vyptellian culture is based on martial prowess to a large degree, but they are not harsh overlords. Once an enemy is defeated or captured, they are treated with honor and respect, and it is Vyptellian practice to return subjects to self-rule as soon as possible. In time, as long as the subject planet or planets pay tribute, the Vyptellians leave them be.”
His brow wrinkled. “The Hrustians are pacifists, they don’t even have a military. How could they possibly fight a war with the Vyptellians?”
“Obviously since they lost, they didn’t pose much of a challenge!” Sanfinagalo laughed quietly. “This was centuries ago. Our ancestors were still killing each other on Old Earth. Much can change, can it not, in that time? As for a military, Hrus does not need one because it is protected by Vyptellia.”
“Why would they not tell us if that was true?”
“Perhaps they did.” The professor shrugged. “Perhaps we never asked. Would the Council have announced it either way? Honestly, I’ve always wondered about our relationship with Hrus. Did they truly give us faster-than-light travel of their own accord or did we extort it from them? Certainly the temptation was there. They had this wonderful technology. We had weapons, ostensibly for self-defense, and they were unarmed.”
Rhis felt his head beginning to swim again. “S-sorry,” he muttered, placing a hand on the bench to steady himself.
“No, that is quite all right,” Sanfinagalo said with concern in her voice. “I’m prattling on and on, giving you a lot to take in all at once. And after such a long journey. I’m the one who should be sorry. I do hope you will forgive me.”
They sat in silence for several minutes. At length, Rhis opened his eyes and looked at the lake. He noticed small dark specks circling above the green water and wondered if they were a type of bird.
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good.” Sanfinagalo nodded.
“You said the war would end soon. Why? How?”
Sanfinagalo stood and stretched. “When the incident at Nex Altrien happened the Vyptellians were already involved in a war on the other side of the galaxy.”
Rhis blinked. “What?”
“Yes, they were fighting a species we have never met or even heard of.” She motioned for him to get up and together they walked across the plaza. “The Vyptellians told me they did not want a conflict with us, at least not then, but their code of honor required a response.”
At the end of the plaza was an unpaved path leading to the lake. The path wasn’t wide enough for them to walk side by side so she took the lead, turning her head back as she continued speaking.
“The Vyptellians had more than a billion soldiers fighting this other war, but there were still more than enough to hold us back.” They reached the end of the path and stood at the water’s edge. Sanfinagalo turned to face him. “Vyptellians are quite clever. They took weapons and other items captured from our soldiers and copied them.”
She faced the lake. “These weapons helped them to finally win their other war, several months ago. Now all those soldiers are moving against New Earth.”
“Is there nothing we can do to stop it? To warn them?”
“I’m afraid not. But, hopefully it will be over soon and the killing can stop.”
“What will happen to us?”
“I expect we prisoners will be returned to New Earth.”
Rhis stood silently for several minutes, breathing in the tangy air and feeling the breeze off the water on his arms and face. Something the professor said earlier popped into his head, and he asked her about it.
* * * *
That evening Professor Sanfinagalo stopped by his room, enquiring if he wanted to have dinner with the other prisoners. Rhis thanked her but declined. His mood had been down since their talk at the lake and he didn’t feel up to facing the barrage of questions the others would have.
The professor studied him for a moment, concern etched on her wrinkled brow. “I suppose one more night on your own won’t matter too much.”
“Thank you.”
She turned to go but stopped suddenly. “Ah, I nearly forgot. The name you asked me to check on.”
“Yes?”
“There is no record of a prisoner by that name. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” He slowly nodded. “I thought … hoped … well, if there was a chance.”
She opened her mouth to reply but he began to shut the door.
“Thank you. Good night, professor.”
An hour later Rhis stepped out into the corridor. Part of him expected the Vyptellian to be there to stop him, but the corridor was empty. Walking to the exit, he concluded the alien had likely only been there to watch him until the professor returned.
He left the building and crossed the plaza, following the path to the lake. The night air was cool against his skin but the breeze was gone. Two moons, one much brighter than the other, provided ample light to see by.
Rhis stood looking at the water for several minutes, listening to the soft slap of waves against the shore. He thought of the thousands killed in battle, the parents left childless and the children orphaned. He wondered what became of the child he selfishly refused to adopt, and what would happen to her under Vyptellian rule.
Hot tears began to roll down his cheeks.
His mind turned to Djovic, who died believing the war was just. Rhis had wanted to honor his partner’s sacrifice, to atone for the shallowness of his own life by ensur
ing Djovic’s death had meaning through the small part he would play in ending the war. But he failed. There would be no redemption, no great meaning to explain the loss of thousands of lives including the only person he ever loved.
The futility of it was overwhelming.
Closing his eyes, Rhis walked into the lake, ignoring its icy chill as his head slid beneath the surface.
White Oscar Four Zero
“White Oscar Four Zero, are you there?”
Tyko started, suddenly aware he’d been deep in his own thoughts and had missed flight control’s call.
“Control, uh, White Oscar Four Zero. Sorry. Still getting used to the new call sign.”
“White Oscar Four Zero, understood.” One of the positives of moving to Third Wing, Tyko thought with a small smile, was flight control officers who were less concerned with military protocol. “You’re hard against the flick, Four Zero. Bring them back toward the station and continue patrol. Time to bingo one hour.”
“Roger, control. My scans are clear across the board.”
“Four Zero, our scans are clear as well.”
The Forward Line of Communication Connectivity, know as the flick, was the theoretical limit for remotely piloted fighters. After reporting to the station Tyko heard flight deck rumors that the flick was determined less by technical requirements than the Air Group’s whims, but whichever was true no pilot wanted to lose a fighter finding out.
Tyko ordered the other seven fighters with him to execute a long, gentle turn back toward the station. The patrol was as uneventful as the one the day before, and the day before that. In fact, more than two weeks had passed since Tyko or anyone in his squadron had encountered any Vyptellians, and that fight was over very quickly — four Vyps were no match for several squadrons of frustrated teenagers.
The base station had moved twice already and if Henrik was to be believed another move into Vyptellian territory was in the planning stages. Several days earlier Tyko and Caviness ran into Henrik and several of his former squadron mates in the passageway outside the station library. After exchanging greetings (and enduring the giggles of the younger pilots at the sight of the couple holding hands), Henrik leaned in and quietly told them about a meeting he attended in Fourth Wing’s operations center. Walking back to the conference room, the young pilot studied the navigation and tactical plots on large datascreens at the front of the compartment.
“There was a row of base stations displayed, about ten, and we’re third from the end on the starboard side,” Henrik whispered, his eyes scanning the crowd passing by. Spreading rumors about tactical matters was something support officers would be on the lookout for. “A solid yellow line was drawn over the stations, and there were two dashed lines behind that and a blue line farther ahead. I think the dash lines are where we’ve been and the blue line is where we’re going next. And it’s deep inside Vyp territory. Well, what used to be theirs.” He said this last bit with a smug smile.
Whether the support officers liked it or not, whether the Group or even Fleet liked it or not, there was no stopping the young pilots at the station from talking about the lack of enemy activity. At first there was concern that the Vyps were drawing them into a trap, but the days with few or no sightings stretched into a week, then two weeks. When they also considered the alien’s recent change to remote piloting, many came to different conclusion: the Vyptellians were retreating.
A few mess hall admirals even began to make predictions about how much longer the war would last.
Tyko wasn’t sure about any of that, but given all the recent changes in his life he wasn’t unhappy with the lack of activity on patrol. He would prefer to be dueling Vyp fighters, sure, but lately he was reminded on a daily basis how much fun it was to just strap into the pilot’s seat in a Fighter Control Unit, take command of a distant ship, and fly it around space.
After transferring to Third Wing, he spent nearly every waking minute outside of a control unit with Caviness. Tyko found this to be good and … slightly less than good. He wouldn’t say it was bad, but it definitely was a change. A big change they agreed to make together, but he now knew her well enough to know she also felt the weight of how their relationship was evolving.
Relationship. Is that what we should call it? I’m still not sure, he thought, leading the patrol through a climbing turn.
A week after his meeting with the Air Group Support Officer, Tyko wasn’t sure what to say to her about it. Their flight schedules were not in sync so they were communicating solely through nightly e-notes, which he knew were monitored. He typed out and deleted numerous notes during that time, never quite finding a way to put into words the colonel’s suggestion that they consider a commitment contract.
Then one afternoon he entered his stateroom after coming off patrol to find the green light blinking on the network terminal, indicating her daily e-note was waiting in the queue. Expecting to spend a pleasant few moments with the closest approximation of her possible before grabbing some rack time, he was taken aback by what he read.
Typed in all-caps and heavily punctuated with question marks and exclamation points, Caviness wrote she had met that day with her squadron commander to discuss her future plans with Tyko. She made it clear she hadn’t given any prior thought to the idea of committing to Tyko, or anyone else, and it was unlikely she would consider it at any point in the foreseeable future. She added some mildly disapproving words about her commander, whose idea she assumed the whole thing to be.
Tyko quickly typed a reply, telling her it was important they meet the next day. He would skip breakfast and be waiting when she got off patrol. Mindful of the other eyes reading their notes, he added a line that her commander was probably only doing what he thought best. He flagged the note URGENT and hit send, then spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in his bunk.
He didn’t need it but there was a reminder that everything they did was watched the next morning: a support officer was waiting outside his berthing compartment.
“You’re off the flight roster today, Tyko,” she said, falling into step with him. “Take all the time you need.”
Evidently, the colonel was more interested in seeing this happen than he originally thought. That idea worried him, but not as much as the thought of Caviness never wanting to see him again after he told her about his meeting with the colonel. There was much he didn’t understand about his feelings toward her, but he knew he didn’t want that.
By the time she came through the Third Wing flight deck hatch he was pacing, his stomach a knot of uncertainty. She smiled crookedly at him, one eyebrow pulled down with curiosity. Mindful of the stream of pilots and support officers moving back and forth through the double hatchway, she walked over and chastely touched his arm. Tyko never wanted to hold her more than he did just then.
“You have no idea how hard it was going through another no-contact patrol after your reply last night. Soooo … what’s so important?”
“Let’s have breakfast. I know how hungry you are after patrol.”
She took a short step back, dropping her hand from his arm. “What? Aren’t you on duty in half an hour? We’ll never get through the line.”
“Don’t worry, I’m off the roster.” He nearly laughed as her jaw dropped. “C’mon, let’s get some food. We can, uh, talk at the table. Okay?”
He led her into the mess hall. As they got into line and grabbed trays, Tyko focused on the comforting routine of the mess hall — shuffling slowly forward enveloped by the smells of cooked and cooking food, feeling the heat radiating from the galley, and hearing the low murmuring of hundreds of people. Some of his nervousness faded.
The respite was brief, though.
They found a small table in one corner and sat, their food instantly forgotten as they focused on each other. Caviness leaned in and slipped her hand into his, an encouraging half-smile on her face. Tyko’s brain searched for the right way to begin and finally he just started talking, his thoughts out of order a
nd making little sense to her. She stopped him, squeezed his hand, and told him to start over from the beginning.
He tried again, telling her about being called to meet with the Air Group colonel and what the officer said about the early commitment program. How as pilots they were monitored more by the support officers than she realized. That their private notes had been read and their meetings monitored, with everything put down into reports sent up to their Wings and the Air Group. He also told her about the way future postings were weighted toward the Expeditionary Corps, with almost no pilots continuing to fly after turning eighteen.
Caviness listened and said nothing, her face an emotionless mask. But she didn’t take her hand from his, and he was glad for that.
When he asked her what she was thinking, Caviness shook her head. “Why would this man, a senior officer — who doesn’t even know either of us — do this? That part I don’t understand. That’s one of the parts I don’t understand.”
Tyko said he wasn’t sure, but thought it had something to do with the colonel’s daughter being killed in action. “He got the notice just before I was ordered to meet him. I don’t know … maybe he started thinking about his kids — his son was killed in action, too — and we’re supposed to replace them somehow.”
“I don’t want to have … I’ve never even thought about children. Or commitment.” His face must have fallen, because she squeezed his hand. “It isn’t you, Tyko. I like spending time with you. But we’re sixteen. All we’ve ever known is our families, the Academy and this station. You’re the best part of right now, but … I don’t know. I want to keep flying forever, and I thought I would. I’d turn eighteen and be posted somewhere, a planet or a different system and I’d actually fly, you know?”
“I know what you’re saying.” He nodded. Paused. Decided to not hold back. “But you should know in my perfect future I’m also in that different system … and you’re my co-pilot.”
Green Zulu Five One: And Other Stories From the Vyptellian War Page 9
