The Ghost Fleet

by Trevor Wyatt

  When I reply, I don’t speak to Lucien. I speak to everyone.

  “You have a right to protest. You have a right to demand of the government you elected. They are accountable to you. I would not dare tamper with those rights.”

  Then I turn to the guards who are still pointing at the crowds. I count about fifteen of them I can see.

  “Stand down!” I yell. And then I hear the chees of the crowd.

  The guard hesitate and then stand down. I turn to look at the guards at the top of the steps. They, too, are standing down.

  I say to the crowd and to the guards around. “There will be no blood shed today on these grounds.”

  I walk away from them to many cheers and surprisingly some pats on the back.

  “Lucien is looking at you with evil eyes,” Ashley remarks with a smile.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say.

  Ashley leads me towards the building. Walking up the steps has her butt bouncing and her waist swinging, and the view from where I am is alluring.

  I am captivated by my wife’s sexiness. I think back to the last time we fucked. It was insane and crazy—after an away mission she went on that lasted three weeks. But when was it? It seems so long ago. The fact that I can’t really remember attests to how little time we’ve spent together since I left The Seeker and she became its captain. I’ve been to a half-dozen alien worlds back and forth these last three years.

  I begin to think of a way to spend more time with her.

  We come into a scale-defying lobby and make a beeline past the full complement of armed-to-the-teeth security guards for the bank of elevators.

  We enter a private elevator that takes us to the third floor. We start down a wide, deserted hallway that ends in a massive double door titled Conference Room 3A.

  We can coordinate our shore leave so we can spend time together, I muse, still appreciating my wife’s backside. Maybe some slipstream sex over a secure channel?

  I wonder what the Armada Command would think if they find out we’re using slipstream for phone sex.

  “If you keep staring at my ass like that, your eyes might fall off,” Ashley says, then stops abruptly and turns to meet my gaze.

  My eyes have to rise up to meet her, then I see her knowing smile.

  I chuckle. “It’s good to see you.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “I better be a damn prettier sight than the protesters under Lucien Parker outside.”

  I don’t reply.

  “Is everything ok?” she says.

  I rub my eye for a moment, then say, “Everything is fine.” I’m actually looking forward to this round of negotiations to be wrapped up. If we can prevent this council from fighting each other, then it’s worth it.

  Ashley heaves a deep sigh, then comes close to me.

  Placing a hand on my shoulder, she looks me deep in the eye and says, “We both lived through the horrors of the Sonali war. We’ve both seen our civilizations tether on the brink of extinction. We’ve both seen the immense destruction we can do to each other during the war.”

  And for a moment, Ashley’s words force me to relive some of those dark days, when all hope was lost and all I had was my crew. Those days when people died by the numbers every day. Those days when the Terran Union was about to fall.

  “At least I get to fly around space, even if it’s sometimes shuttling you and the diplomats from planet to planet,” says Ashley.

  Something about the enthusiasm in her voice breaks the mood and brings the smile to my face.

  I sigh. “It’s time to go fight a bigger battle than what we’ve ever fought before.”

  “What’s that?” Ashley asks, genuinely convinced.

  I flash a half smile. “It’s time to meet the delegates.”

  We walk to the doors and make our entrance.

  Ashley

  Jeryl and I walk into the conference room.

  It’s a very spacious hall with a massive mahogany table that takes up a large portion of the room. The table is cylindrical in shape and stretches two thirds the length of the room.

  The air condition is set to below room temperature. It’s not exactly cold, but it’s somewhat cool. The AC makes a small whizz sound that fills the air.

  The conference room is one of the smallest room in the building. It’s just perfect for our purposes, since we are few at this point in the negotiation. It is sparsely decorated. There is a blank view screen hanging from off the wall on the opposite side of the double doors.

  There are nine senior delegates, from nine different planets of nine different species, having nine different shapes and sizes. They’re all looking down at the protesters through the glass window when we step in.

  The delegates don’t notice us until the double doors slide shut. They turn to see me and Jeryl standing by the doors.

  I flash a smile, looking from one species to another. They all look at us. A silence stretches and it begins to get awkward.

  “Admiral,” one of them speaks. “You assured us that this place was perfectly safe. What is going down there?”

  I feel a tightness erupt around my neck. The protesters have gotten the attention of the delegates. This is my first time meeting with them or being involved in such a high level political and diplomatic meeting, so I really don’t know what to expect.

  I am not an authority on alien morphology or emotional expression, but if I were to judge the looks of the delegates by their facial expressions, I would say they aren’t too happy to feel threatened.

  I wonder what Jeryl will say. I begin to worry about him. I know how hard he has worked for this—just to get the Sonali and eight other powerful alien races in the same room for a diplomatic meeting is unprecedented.

  Now, it seems as though it has started to unfurl at the fringes just because of some mad ideologist bastard, who can’t keep his mouth shut.

  When Jeryl replies, he doesn’t just address the person who asked the question, but also the rest of the delegates.

  “I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, this place is perfectly safe. You have nothing to worry about.” He puts on a charming smile that never fails to disarm.

  I glance back at the delegates. I realize they don’t seem to be charmed.

  “What exactly are they doing?” asks another one. This one is quite small and has to stand on a box to see what’s happening down at the ground level, in spite of the floor-to-ceiling window.

  “It’s a protest, sir,” Jeryl replies.

  “And what is a protest?” he shoots almost half a second after Jeryl finishes.

  I reply this time. “A protest is when a group of people who don’t like what an authority is doing come together to make their notions known. They do it usually by vocally opposing the authority. This authority can be a corporation, a regulatory body or even the government. In this case, these protesters are opposing a joint partnership between the government and corporations.”

  “People, this is Captain Ashley Gavin. She commands TUS The Seeker,” Jeryl says just after I’m finished.

  “You mean to tell us that these people dare speak against your government?” asks one medium height species that has a small respirator attached to his face. The respirator provides this alien with more inert gas than the one present in the atmosphere of New Washington.

  Apparently in their planet’s atmosphere, inert gases are at the same level as oxygen. Though humans can survive on their planet since we only need the right combination of oxygen and nitrogen, they can’t survive for long in our planet since they need the right mixture of oxygen and inert gases.

  I’m about to explain myself when Jeryl kicks in. “Yes, sir, they dare. This is a right guaranteed by the constitution of our people.

  “The laws say that if a group of people feel wronged, they have the right to speak up against this wrong doing even if it’s against the government or even the military. It’s a natural free expression of ideas that is accepted in Terran society as it is accepted in most of
your societies as well.”

  Well played, I think to myself. Make them know that what’s happening out there can happen in their societies too.

  “If such a thing happened in my world,” says another of the delegates—a Reznak, “They would be captured, their tongues cut off, and incinerated. They would serve as a warning to any dissenter that opposition will not be tolerated.”

  This one is already seated and has a voice that’s colder than the snow peaks of New Washington.

  “Pardon me, Admiral,” Jeryl says to the calm and collected alien. “But such actions are strictly against our laws. We are not a dictatorship. We are a democracy. And every six years, power changes hands. Much of how we run our government has been sent to your respective powers in the past. I trust this was highlighted in the exhaustive reports we sent.

  “Also, we received a similar manuscript from you. And Admiral, you failed to mention to our delegates here that because your species’ society operates like a hive, dissensions can breed destructive thoughts across your network of cities, ships, and citizens,” Jeryl says as the Reznak shifts uncomfortably.

  There is silence as Jeryl continues, “This can lead to widespread panic and hysteria and then death on an unprecedented scale. Therefore, such a law is critical to the survival of your species.

  “You also failed to mention that those who oppose whatever your democratic government is doing can express their displeasure in the Network Box, which effectively severe your connection to the hive for a brief session. This is where your laws are deliberated, much like a senate,” Jeryl pauses and gives the Reznak a chance to get a word in.

  The alien shrugs and doesn’t say anything.

  I marvel at my husband’s depth of knowledge of the Reznak Empire. I knew about the Reznak and their hive system of living. I just didn’t know this much about them.

  I’ve been to the Reznak’s home world. It’s one of the most beautiful planets I have ever seen in my entire career. Earth’s beauty pales in comparison to the Reznak’s home world, Primrose, which in our language translates to Primal Beauty.

  The Reznak are also one of the most powerful species known to us. They evolved through several centuries of spacefaring and internal civil wars. But today, they are peaceful and as Jeryl has told me in the past, are forming to be human’s most powerful ally.

  “I am still not convinced,” says one of the delegates.

  I don’t look at this delegate until after he has spoken, but I can tell who he is just by hearing his gritty voice. The Tyreesian.

  “Those protesters, or whatever you call them, can become violent at any time. They can march in here and slaughter us all,” the Tyreesian voice speaks. “I have read reports from my people’s assessments. The entire human population is fond of the man speaking down there. He has the ears of your people. As long as he is alive, he poses a threat to our safety and this proposed union.”

  I shift uncomfortably as the Tyreesian continues. “You say you want peace. Yet, your posture dictates another wish. If your government is interested in peace, why has it not dispatched of this stumbling block?”

  “Are you suggesting we kill him?” I blurt out, then realize my mistake.

  The Tyreesian looks at me for the first time, and I feel terror flow down my spine like a cold fluid.

  He’s a male Tyreesian who stands at approximately six feet tall, towering over the rest of the delegates. He has an almost beautiful long slender neck that ends in an ovular head, with long braided black hair dangling all the way down to his breasts.

  He has a thick and sturdy build, slits for eyes and ears, and a closed third eye on his forehead. Each of his two hands possesses four fingers.

  Leader Greer. I remember reading his file on my way over. A fearsome warrior in his own right. And the thorn in Jeryl’s side from day one.

  “No, madam,” he replies in an almost seductive voice.

  I’m no longer sure of myself.

  “I am merely suggesting your rulers demonstrate their interest in our safety, before we speak of the peace treaty.”

  At that moment, someone walks into the room.

  “Ah, Colonel you couldn’t have come at a better time.” Jeryl says, grabbing the man by the shoulder and bringing him to his side. “This is Colonel Bennett Masters. He’s from the Armada Security. He’s in charge of protecting delegations and their retinue when they enter Terran space.”

  “Colonel, why don’t you explain to these people that they are perfectly safe within this building and that what’s happening outside is really nothing?”

  “You have nothing to worry about the protest outside,” Colonel Masters cuts in seamlessly.

  “I have security people all over the building. This floor is highly protected and the ground floor is full of armed and well-trained guards.

  “Those protesters are not going to cause you any trouble. I promise you that while you are here or in any other place within the Terran space, no harm will come to you. What’s happening outside is a normal expression of speech. We have it under control.”

  As Colonel Masters finishes his assurance speech, the leader of the Vozelian delegation, who is still by the window and looking down, calls out and says, “If everything is under control, then why are your security people drawing their weapons and pointing it?”

  I feel my heart leap to the base of my throat. Again?

  Jeryl

  I put on my best poker face, exuding confidence as I join Colonel Masters at the window. Bracing myself, I look down at the crowd. The lines are clearly divided: protestors on one side and Colonel Master's security team on the other.

  I've tried to sell this protest to the delegates as an excellent example of democratic free expression, but if things continue to worsen this will end up being a far cry from that ideal.

  More like it’ll go from peaceful protest to an urban bloodbath.

  Tensions are running high on both sides. It's evident in the facial expressions and postures. I feel like I'm watching the building of a wave feeding upon all the hostility, anger and fear only to then fall crushing us all.

  And there is nothing I can do to stop it.

  I put my palms on the windowsill and wonder if this can get any fucking worse.

  Here I am, in a room full of delegates from other species, trying my damnedest to make things go smoothly while other members of my species are doing their damnedest to fuck it all up.

  And the worst part is that it's not just a few bad apples. Right now there are about 500 protestors gathered below us. They’re also not just waving flags and banners. Now, they are waving weapons, too.

  "Interesting how the anti-alien protestors all seem to be carrying non-Terran weapons," comments Col. Masters wryly. It's a valid point and one that gets me thinking.

  It's no secret that during the first days of the Earth-Sonali war, the Sonali weapons were so superior that they pretty much handed us our asses in any battle.

  Whether it was planetside or in space, we were outmatched and outgunned. Hell, that's why I had the Seeker flee combat situations in the first place when things started to look sour.

  There might be some captains who never back down in a fight. These kind of leaders would likely look down on my flight as a cowardly move, essentially running away with my Terran dog tail between my legs. In my opinion, leaders like that care more about their ego than their crew. I'd rather look like a coward and save my crew, than to take on an alien threat (or any threat) where the outcome is guaranteed destruction.

  And you know what? We lived to fight on. We persevered. Not in massive frontal charges— we were even outgunned, but we kept fighting until we had the chance to catch up.

  After the first contact with the Sonali, the Terran Union began to push an advance in our weaponry; whether by fast tracking current projects stuck in R&D, or doing anything we could to reverse-engineer fallen Sonali weaponry.

  And that effort to advance didn’t stop after the war. The Terran Union didn
’t forget the 4 billion dead. Over the three years that passed, I can say our progress has been staggering. Now instead of pulse-charged projectile weapons, our military has switched entirely to targeted high frequency beam emitters. High-end versions of these weapons are even more sophisticated, allowing modulation of the beam intensity.

  On The Seeker, I was in command, so I controlled our fire power (or lack the thereof) and decided our course of action during battle.

  Today, I'm in a suit, seeking to build rather than to destroy. The only weapon I have is my words. I'm also not in charge of those who have the weapons. Colonel Masters is, and although I trust him, it's hard to be a bystander when I have so much on the line.

  Colonel Masters opens a comm, speaking directly to the security chief on the ground, "Jensen, Report: current crowd situation. Is it under control?"

  "Sir, the crowd is not getting any friendlier,” comes his terse reply. “They know all the delegates are inside the building now. Everyone has gotten so hostile down here that I feel like I'm surrounded by explosives, just waiting for someone to drop a match." The unease in the man's voice sets my teeth on edge.

  "Your first priority is this delegation. They are too important and must be protected at all costs," says Colonel Masters.

  "Yes sir, understood sir, we are—” Jensen is cut off. Just as he goes quiet, we hear a noise coming from below. Disruptor fire. Colonel Masters and I exchange worried looks at the implications.

  He contacts Jensen again, "Jensen? Jensen, are you there? What the hell is going on?"

  "We are being fired on. I repeat we are being fired on and returning defensive fire." Jensen sounds out of breath and overwhelmed.

  "Jensen, listen to me, limit your counter attack. Allow civilians to leave without arrest. We need to exercise caution and de-escalate this as soon as possible. "

  There was no answer than the sound of a second volley of disruptor fire.

  I try to decide what I would do in Jensen's place. He has the tech and the team of security personnel needed to change the current situation, but the situation is getting worse by the minute.