by Scalzi, John
“And do what with them?” I asked. “There’s an intelligent race on this planet. Besides mine, I mean. We met them in a rather unfortunate way, and some of us ended up dead. It took some doing on my part to convince our colonists not to kill every one of them we could find. What will you do, General, when you meet a new race on a planet you want for the Conclave?”
“I don’t know,” General Gau said.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Well, I don’t,” Gau said. “It hasn’t happened yet. We’ve been busy consolidating our positions with the races we know about and the worlds that have already been explored. We haven’t had time to explore. It hasn’t come up.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That wasn’t an answer I was expecting.”
“We’re at a very sensitive moment, Administrator Perry, concerning the future of your colonists,” Gau said. “I won’t unnecessarily complicate things by lying. Especially not about something as trivial to our current situation as a hypothetical.”
“At the very least, General Gau, I’d like to believe that,” I said.
“That’s a start, then,” Gau said. He looked me up and down. “You said that you were in your Colonial Defense Forces,” he said. “From what I know about humans, that means you’re not originally from the Colonial Union. You’re from Earth. Is that right?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“Humans are really very interesting,” Gau said. “You’re the only race who has chosen to change your home world. Voluntarily, that is. You’re not the only ones to recruit your military from only one world, but you are the only ones to do it from a world that is not your primary world. I’m afraid we’ve never quite understood the relationship between Earth and Phoenix, and with the rest of the colonies. It doesn’t make much sense to the rest of us. Perhaps one day I can get you to explain it to me.”
“Perhaps,” I said, carefully.
Gau took the tone for what he thought it was. “But not today,” he said.
“I’m afraid not,” I said.
“A pity,” Gau said. “This has been an interesting conversation. We’ve done thirty-six removals. This is the last one. And in all but this and the first, the leaders of the colonies have not had much to say.”
“It’s difficult to have a casual conversation with someone who is ready to vaporize you if you don’t give in to his demands,” I said.
“This is true enough,” Gau said. “But leadership is at least a little about character. So many of these colony leaders seemed to lack that. It makes me wonder if these colonies were begun at all seriously, or simply to see if we meant to enforce our ban on colonies. Although there was the one who tried to assassinate me.”
“Clearly not successful,” I said.
“No, not at all,” Gau said, and motioned toward his soldiers, who were attentive but kept a respectful distance. “One of my soldiers shot her before she could stab me. There’s a reason I have these meetings in the open.”
“Not just for the sunsets, then,” I said.
“Sadly, no,” Gau said. “And as you might imagine, killing the colony leader made dealing with her second-in-command a tense affair. But this was a colony we eventually evacuated. Aside from the colony leader, there was no bloodshed.”
“But you haven’t turned away from bloodshed,” I said. “If I refuse to evacuate this colony, you won’t hesitate to destroy it.”
“No,” Gau said.
“And from what I understand, none of the races whose colonies you’ve removed—violently or otherwise—have since joined the Conclave,” I said.
“That’s true,” Gau said.
“You’re not exactly winning hearts and minds,” I said.
“I’m not familiar with this term of yours,” Gau said. “But I understand it well enough. No, these races haven’t become part of the Conclave. But it’s unrealistic to assume they would. We’ve just removed their colonies, and they were unable to stop us from doing so. You don’t humiliate someone like that and expect them to come around to your way of thinking.”
“They could become a threat if they joined together,” I said.
“I’m aware your Colonial Union is trying to make that happen,” Gau said. “There’s not much that happens now that we’re not aware of, Administrator Perry, including that. But the Colonial Union has tried this before; it helped create a ‘Counter-Conclave’ while we were still forming. It didn’t work then. We’re not convinced it will work now.”
“You could be wrong,” I said.
“I could be,” Gau said. “We will see. In the meantime, however, I must come to it. Administrator Perry, I am asking you to surrender your colony to me. If you will, we will help your colonists safely return to their home worlds. Or you may choose to become part of the Conclave, independent of your government. Or you may refuse and be destroyed.”
“Let me make you a counteroffer,” I said. “Leave this colony alone. Send a drone to your fleet, which I know is at skip distance and ready to arrive. Tell it to stay where it is. Gather up your soldiers over there, return to your ship, and go. Pretend you never found us. Just let us be.”
“It’s too late for that,” General Gau said.
“I figured it would be,” I said. “But I want you to remember the offer was there.”
Gau looked at me quietly for a long moment. “I suspect I know what you are going to say to my offer, Administrator Perry,” he said. “Before you say it, let me beg you to reconsider. Remember that you have options here, true options. I know the Colonial Union has given you orders, but remember that you can be led by your own conscience. The Colonial Union is humanity’s government, but there is more to humanity than the Colonial Union. And you don’t seem to be a man who is pushed into things, by me, by the Colonial Union or by anyone else.”
“If you think I’m tough, you should meet my wife,” I said.
“I would like that,” Gau said. “I think I would like that very much.”
“I would like to say that you are right,” I said. “I would like to say that I can’t be pushed into things. But I suspect that I can be. Or perhaps I can have things pushed into me that I can’t resist. This is one of those times. Right now, General, I have no options, except one option that I shouldn’t be offering you. And that is to ask you to leave now, before you call your fleet, and let Roanoke stay lost. Please consider it.”
“I can’t,” Gau said. “I’m sorry.”
“I can’t surrender this colony,” I said. “Do what you will, General.”
Gau looked back toward one of his soldiers and gave him a signal.
“How long will this take?” I asked.
“Not long,” Gau said.
He was right. Within minutes, the first ships arrived, new stars in the sky. Less than ten minutes later, they had all arrived.
“So many,” I said. There were tears in my eyes.
General Gau noticed. “I will give you time to return to your colony, Administrator Perry,” he said. “And I promise it will be quick and painless. Be strong for your people.”
“I’m not crying for my people, General,” I said.
The General stared at me and then looked up in time to see the first of the ships in his fleet explode.
Anything is possible, given time and the will.
The Colonial Union certainly had the will to destroy the Conclave’s fleet. The existence of the fleet was an intolerable threat; the Colonial Union decided to destroy it as soon as it learned of its existence. There was no hope that the Colonial Union could destroy the fleet in a toe-to-toe battle; with 412 battleship equivalents, it was larger than the entire CDF battle fleet. The Conclave fleet was assembled in whole only when removing the colonies, so there was the possibility of attacking each ship individually. But that would have been equally futile; each ship could be replaced in the fleet by its government, and it meant the Colonial Union would be picking a fight with each of the more than four hundred races in the Conclave, many of wh
om posed no real threat to the CU.
But the Colonial Union wanted to more than destroy the Conclave’s fleet. It wanted to humiliate and destabilize the Conclave; to strike at the heart of its mission and its credibility. The Conclave’s credibility came from its size and its ability to enforce its ban on colonization. The Colonial Union needed to hit at the Conclave in a way that would neutralize its size advantage and make a mockery of its ban. It had to strike at the Conclave at precisely the moment it was showing its strength: When it was attempting to remove a colony. One of our colonies.
Only the Colonial Union had no new colonies under threat from the Conclave. The most recent new colony, Everest, slipped in mere weeks before the Conclave’s ban. It was not under threat. Another colony would need to be founded.
Enter Manfred Trujillo and his crusade to colonize. The Department of Colonization had ignored him for years, and not simply because the Secretary of Colonization hated his guts. It had long been understood that the best way to keep a planet was to grow so many people on it that it was impossible to kill all of them efficiently. Colonial populations were needed to make more colonists, not more colonies. Those could be founded with surplus population from Earth. Barring the appearance of the Conclave, Trujillo could have campaigned to colonize until he was put into the ground and he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere.
But now Trujillo’s campaign became useful. The Colonial Union had kept the fact of the Conclave from the colonies themselves, as it had so many other things. Sooner or later, however, the colonies would need to be made aware of its existence; the Conclave was simply too big to ignore. The Colonial Union wanted to establish the Conclave as the enemy, in no uncertain terms. It also wanted the colonies to be invested in the struggle against the Conclave.
Because the Colonial Defense Forces were comprised of recruits from Earth—and because the Colonial Union encouraged the colonies to focus primarily on their local politics and issues rather than CU-wide concerns—colonists rarely thought of anything that didn’t involve their own planet. But by stocking Roanoke with colonists from the ten most-populated human planets, Roanoke would become the direct concern of more than half the population of the Colonial Union, as would its struggle against the Conclave. In all, a neat potential solution to a raft of issues.
Trujillo was informed that his initiative was being approved; then it was taken away from him. That was because Secretary Bell hated his guts. But it also served to remove him from the command loop. Trujillo was too smart not to have picked up the pieces if they were laid out in a way he could follow. It also helped create a political subtext that pitted the founding colonies against each other for a leadership position; this drew attention away from what the CU was really planning for the colony.
Add in two colony leaders dropped in at the last moment, and no one in Roanoke’s command structure would have the context to muck up the Colonial Union’s plan: to create the time and the opportunity to destroy the Conclave’s fleet. Time created by hiding Roanoke.
Time was critical. When the Colonial Union concocted its plan, it was too early to implement it. Even if the Colonial Union could have moved against the Conclave, other races whose colonies were threatened by the Conclave would not follow in the CU’s footsteps. The Colonial Union needed time to create a constituency of allies. The best way to do that, it was decided, would be to have them lose their colonies first. These races, with their amputated colonies, would see the hidden colony Roanoke as evidence that even the mighty Conclave could be confounded, raising the Colonial Union’s status among them and cultivating potential allies for when the moment was right.
Roanoke was a symbol, too, for some of the more dissatisfied members of the Conclave, who saw the burden of its grand designs fall on them without the immediate benefits they had hoped to gain. If the humans could defy the Conclave and get away with it, what value was there in being in the Conclave at all? Every day Roanoke stayed hidden was a day these lesser Conclave members would stew in their own dissatisfaction with the organization they’d surrendered their sovereignty to.
Primarily, however, the Colonial Union needed time for another reason entirely. It needed time to identify each of the 412 ships that comprised the Conclave’s fleet. It needed time to discover where these ships would be when the fleet was not in action. It needed time to position a Gameran Special Forces soldier, just like Lieutenant Stross, in the general area of each of these ships. Like Stross, each of these Special Forces members were adapted to the rigors of space. Like Stross, each of them was covered in embedded nano-camouflage that would allow them to approach and even secure themselves on these ships, unseen, for days or possibly weeks. Unlike Stross, each of these Special Forces soldiers wielded a small but powerful bomb, in which perhaps a dozen grams of fine-grained antimatter were suspended in vacuum.
When the Sacajawea returned with the crew of the Magellan, the Gamerans prepared themselves for their task. They silently and invisibly hid themselves in the hulls of their target spacecraft and went with them as they assembled at the agreed-upon rendezvous point, and readied themselves for yet another awe-inspiring mass entrance above a world filled with cowering colonists. When the skip drone from the Gentle Star popped into space, the Gamerans oh-so-gently placed their bombs on the hulls of their respective starships and then just floated off the ship hulls before the ships made their skip. They didn’t want to be around when those bombs went off.
They didn’t need to be. The bombs were remotely triggered by Lieutenant Stross, who, stationed a safe distance away, polled the bombs to make sure they were all accounted for and active, and detonated them in a sequence determined by him to have the greatest aesthetic impact. Stross was a quirky fellow.
The bombs, when triggered, fired the antimatter like a shotgun blast onto the hulls of their spaceships, spreading the antimatter across a wide surface area to ensure the most efficient annihilation of matter and antimatter. It worked beautifully, and terribly.
Much of this I learned much later, under different circumstances. But even in my time with General Gau, I knew this much: Roanoke was never a colony in the traditional sense of the term. Its purpose never was to give humans another home, or to extend our reach in the universe. It existed as a symbol of defiance, as a creator of time, and as a honey trap to lure a being who dreamed of changing the universe, and to destroy that dream while he watched.
As I said, anything is possible, given the time and the will. We had the time. We had the will.
General Gau stared as his fleet blew itself apart silently but brilliantly. Behind us his soldiers squalled horribly, confused and terrified by what they were seeing.
“You knew,” Gau said, in a whisper. He did not stop looking at the sky.
“I knew,” I said. “And I tried to warn you, General. I asked you not to call your fleet.”
“You did,” Gau said. “I can’t imagine why your masters let you.”
“They didn’t,” I said.
Gau turned to me then, wearing a face whose map I could not read, but which I sensed expressed profound horror, and yet, even now, curiosity. “You warned me,” Gau said. “On your own initiative.”
“I did,” I said.
“Why would you do that?” Gau asked.
“I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted. “Why did you decide to try to remove colonists instead of killing them?”
“It’s the moral thing to do,” Gau said.
“Maybe that’s why I did it,” I said, looking up to where the explosions continued their brilliance. “Or maybe I just didn’t want the blood of all those people on my hands.”
“It wasn’t your decision,” Gau said. “I have to believe that.”
“It wasn’t,” I said. “But that doesn’t matter.”
Eventually the explosions stopped.
“Your own ship was spared, General Gau,” I said.
“Spared,” he repeated. “Why?”
“Because that was the plan,” I said. “Your
ship, and yours alone. You have safe passage from Roanoke to skip distance, back to your own territory, but you must leave now. This guarantee of safe passage expires in an hour unless you are on your way. I’m sorry, but I don’t know what your equivalent measure of time is. Suffice to say you should hurry, General.”
Gau turned and bellowed at one of his soldiers, and then bellowed again when it became clear they weren’t paying attention. One came over; he covered his translator and spoke something to him in their own language. The soldier sprinted back to the others, yelling as he went.
He turned back to me. “This will make things difficult,” he said.
“With all due respect, General,” I said. “I think that was the intent.”
“No,” Gau said. “You don’t understand. I told you there are those in the Conclave who want to eradicate humanity. To annihilate all of you as you’ve just annihilated my fleet. It will be harder now to hold them back. They are part of the Conclave. But they still have their own ships and their own governments. I don’t know what will happen now. I don’t know if I can control them after this. I don’t know if they will listen to me anymore.”
A squad of soldiers approached the general to retrieve him, two of them training their weapons on me. The general barked something; the weapons came down. Gau took a step toward me. I fought the urge to take a step back and held my ground.
“Look to your colony, Administrator Perry,” Gau said. “It is no longer hidden. From this moment forward, it will be infamous. People will want revenge for what has happened here. All of the Colonial Union will be a target. But this is where it happened.”
“Will you take your revenge, General?” I asked.
“No,” Gau said. “No Conclave ships or troops under my command will return here. This is my word to you. To you, Administrator Perry. You tried to warn me. I owe you this courtesy. But I can only control my own ships and my own troops.” He motioned to his squad. “Right now, these are the troops I control. And I have only one ship under my command. I hope you understand what I am saying to you.”
