by Tori Harris
“Thank you, sir,” Lee said, nodding gratefully.
“Go and get some rest, Lieutenant. We’ll talk more later.”
As Commander Reynolds followed Lee off the bridge, she looked back at Prescott and nodded respectfully.
“Alright, Ensign Fisher,” Prescott said after the two of them had left the room, “status, please.”
“Transition complete, Captain. All systems in the green. The ship remains at General Quarters for combat ops and ready to C-Jump. C-Jump range 100.6 light years and stable. Sublight engines are online, we are free to maneuver.”
“Very good. We’ve been at General Quarters for quite some time,” he said. “It’s time we started working on getting everyone fed and rested. Tactical?”
“No enemy contacts, sir,” Lieutenant Lau replied. “Range back to Zhelov and Serapion, approximately five light hours. Range to the Hadeon, just over one hundred thousand kilometers. Also, I’m only seeing two niner of the three one remaining fighters that departed Location Dagger just before we did.”
“Understood. I’m sure we’ll hear from them shortly. They’re most likely just rotating more of their ships back to the carriers,” Prescott replied. “AI, set Condition 3. All departments are to maintain general wartime manning and readiness.”
“Securing from General Quarters for combat operations. Condition 3 set,” the AI’s synthetic female voice acknowledged.
“Captain, Commander Waffer is hailing us,” Dubashi announced.
“Put him through, please,” Prescott replied, then paused momentarily to allow the comm channel to be established before continuing. “Go ahead, Commander.”
“Just checking in, sir,” Waffer said. “I also wanted to let you know that Captain Davis aboard the Navajo had us send a two-ship formation back to Location Dagger to observe the departure of the two battleships.”
“I assume they will be remaining in hyperspace then?”
“That’s affirmative, sir. Captain Davis says the AI has pretty much worked out how to determine a ship’s direction of flight when it transitions out of the area.”
“Right, that’s how they found the secondary rally point so quickly,” Prescott responded, swearing silently for not thinking to issue the same order himself.
“Other than that, can you tell me what the plan is from here?” Waffer asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine at the moment. If possible, I’d like you to maintain a full squadron here at Willow until we get a read on what the Flag wants us to do with the Hadeon. Otherwise, continue to rotate your ships back to base as needed.”
“Will do, Captain. Badger 2 out.”
Graca, Dru Tinari - Ancestral Home of the Dynastic House of Naftur
(Twenty-eight years earlier — 494.7 light years from Earth)
“I never said or even implied that I was disappointed in you, my son. And if I were, that would clearly be due to a fundamental lack of vision and sound judgment on my part, not any fault of yours. What I said is that I believe you are making a mistake,” Javir Naftur said. The statement had been delivered with a pleasant smile, but it was clear that his words were heartfelt and of the greatest personal importance. “In my long lifetime, I have never seen a better opportunity for Graca to free itself of this loathsome Collective and declare that we are a free and independent world once more — as is our birthright. This simply will not happen without your leadership.”
Rugali Naftur stood with his back to his father, staring out of the enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows making up the entire outside wall of their home’s “observation room.” Situated atop a series of low hills that were the closest thing this region had to a mountain range, Dru Tinari had been constructed just over one hundred meters above the sweeping plains that stretched to the horizon in every direction. Compared to a similar vista on Earth, Graca’s twenty percent larger planetary diameter provided an even more dramatic view. On a clear day like this one, the horizon was nearly fifty kilometers away, sometimes more when atmospheric conditions were ideal. Rugali had spent countless hours in this room as a child simply watching the wildlife on the plains below — now a part of the expansive Kalek Expanse Conservation Zone. At just over one million square kilometers, the reserve was nearly three times as large as the Kavango-Zambezi Conservation Area in Africa, its closest analog on Earth.
Although his eyes were no longer as keen as they had been during his youth, Rugali still took note of a large herd of Banea, doubtless over a thousand strong, moving slowly off to the south. Taking in a deep breath and pausing to appreciate the view once more, he considered how best to respond in a decisive yet respectful manner. He had, after all, heard all of these arguments many times before, and not just from his father.
Graca was arguably the most prosperous and easily the most powerful member of the Sajeth Collective, and always had been, but it was also the most isolated. Just as it had originally been with Earth, Graca’s relative isolation had provided a degree of protection during the Wek species’ technological development, allowing them to mature and advance with little to no external interference. Unfortunately, well before any star system in the Orion Spur had ever even heard of the Pelaran Alliance, there had still been regional threats that had required their attention. As was often the case, Graca’s prosperity had attracted the greedy attention of two of their slightly more advanced neighbors, shortly after they had acquired the capability to travel between the stars for the first time. And although the Wek people had never been ones to shrink from a fight, when necessary, it had quickly become clear that they simply did not have the resources required to continue their development as an interstellar species while at the same time fighting a perpetual war to maintain their sovereignty.
When first courted for membership in the Sajeth Collective, opponents had argued that Graca’s isolation made such alliances both unnecessary and impractical. After all, their nearest allies might take years to offer any meaningful assistance, when needed. Ironically, it had been the persistent threat of attack from their two aggressive neighbors that had finally pushed Graca into alignment with the Collective — neighbors that would ultimately join the alliance themselves. The names of these two worlds: Damara and Lesheera.
“You honor me with your confidence,” Rugali said, turning to look his father in the eyes, “but my sense is that the time has not yet arrived when our people are truly ready to stand on their own once more. Indeed, we seem to learn day by day that our galaxy is far more dangerous than we once naively believed. You once believed strongly in the wisdom of sharing the burden of defending our world with others. Why is this no longer the case?”
“Humph,” Javir growled, “I have simply come to understand that what I believed in was an ideal — an unattainable goal wherein worlds of roughly equivalent strength of will, arms, and above all integrity work together to ensure one another’s collective security. While we might have been closer to that ideal early on in our association with the Sajeth Collective, it grows less so with every passing year. Now, it is our fleet that ensures their safety, while Graca’s resources are systematically squandered by faceless Damaran bureaucrats — funneled, without our consent, to our so-called allies with little or no benefit accruing to our own people. I ask you, Rugali, how is the current state of affairs any different than being occupied by a foreign power?”
Rugali stared at his father for a moment, weighing his words carefully before continuing. “There is undeniable truth in what you say, but have you fully considered the likely chain of events we would be putting into motion were we to withdraw from the Collective? As you say, the very structure of the organization depends heavily upon our fleet. Without it, they would be relegated to something more akin to a trade association than a true collective security alliance. I have seen an intelligence analysis that attempted to model just such a scenario. It predicted that the six remaining worlds would be engaged in open warfare with one another within eighteen months of our departure. Do you believe we are prep
ared to deal with the regional instability that would inevitably result? We are also just beginning to understand the threat posed by the Pelaran Alliance, the scope of which appears to dwarf anything we have ever faced in the past. Surely, now is not the time for a return to the inward-looking, isolationist views that dominated our early years as a space-faring world.”
“No,” Javir replied emphatically, “it certainly is not. What I am telling you is that, for an alliance to have lasting value for all of its members, each must have similar goals, values, and common societal threads binding one to another. The benefits of the alliance must accrue to each in a mutual and roughly equivalent manner. This also implies that each member must contribute equally in order to receive said benefits. Nothing could be further from the truth in the Sajeth Collective where, unfortunately, it is Graca that contributes the most and receives the least benefit in return. You know all of this to be true, Rugali, so why do you feel compelled to resist taking your rightful place in the leadership of our world?”
“Please, Father. You need never doubt my esteem and love for you, but you now tread perilously close to foolish talk of ‘destiny.’”
“As well I should, Rugali. Do not be so quick to dismiss such notions, for doing so in no way grants you the mantle of enlightenment that you seem to believe it does,” he scolded. “We can disagree on the semantics of the word if you like, but one need only study the history of our world — or any other, for that matter — to find examples where combinations of timing and circumstance conspire to place an individual in a truly unique position.”
“‘Conspire’ is an interesting word choice in this case, is it not?” Rugali replied with a raised eyebrow.
“Sarcasm is a form of humor well below your station, my son,” his father replied, then continued, undeterred. “We have offers of coalition in hand from five of the seven houses of Graca, and it is clear that the other two will close ranks soon enough if you would but agree to put yourself forward as prince regent.”
“Prince regent? So now we discuss not only our withdrawal from the long-standing alliance that has helped ensure the safety of our world for generations, but also a return to a primitive, regressive system of governing our people.”
“Please do not act as if you can mask your true feelings on this subject from me, Rugali. I know, for example, that neither you, nor the vast majority of our people believe that our membership in the Sajeth Collective serves to enhance Graca’s safety and security in any way. If anything, we ensure the security of the other six member worlds while their incessant saber-rattling often puts ours at unnecessary risk. Furthermore, as you know, the concept of dynastic, monarchial rule has always been fundamental to the fabric of our society. Many argue that it is literally encoded in our genetic makeup. As you say, however, a true monarchy has its drawbacks, and the other houses favor the establishment of a system more akin to a ‘crowned republic,’ wherein the monarch’s role is more ceremonial in nature. Do not misunderstand me, a Gracan king would still wield enormous political influence, serving as the commander-in-chief of all of our armed forces as well as casting tie-breaking votes in Parliament. Personally, I believe that the simple act of reestablishing Wek ‘home rule’ is far more important than the practical aspects of governing. The representatives we have sent to the Governing Council on Damara for all these years have done little more than allow us to offer our opinion on how our world should be governed. The Wek people need a Wek leader, Rugali, and you are their clear choice.”
“As to that, I would think that there are any number of others who would be better suited to the role,” his son said absently, turning once again to stare out across the plains below. “Besides, the title of ‘prince regent’ implies that it should be you who takes up reins of power, not I.”
“Well,” Javir chuckled, “there is some truth in that statement … and it is also true that I cannot help but envy the respect and admiration you have earned for yourself. At the same time, however, I could not be more proud of the leader you have become. Your military and civil service accomplishments are widely known, your integrity is beyond reproach, and you are easily the most recognizable public figure on Graca. It is largely because of this that House Naftur alone has the support required to reestablish the crown.”
“You did not answer my implied question, Father. Why not you?”
“Simply put, I am far too old and not seen as the compelling choice that you are. The other houses also believe that having you ascend to power as prince regent is politically more desirable than immediately naming a new king. You would rule in my stead and by my choice, but I would not officially abdicate the crown until the timing was considered more appropriate.”
“I see,” Rugali sighed, turning back to his father with a somber expression.
“Do you indeed?” Javir asked after a long silence. “And is that all you have to say on the subject?”
“For the moment, yes,” his son replied, a thin smile forming at the corners of his mouth, “but you have my word that I will give serious consideration to all that you have told me. If you truly believe in the concept of ‘destiny’ as you say you do, however, then you must understand if I ultimately decide that the time has not yet arrived for this to come to pass.”
“I will respect your decision, of course, but I must say that I cannot imagine the timing ever being better than it is now.”
“That may be true from a political standpoint, Father, but my heart tells me that the reasons for such a momentous change should be obvious to such an extent that our people will naturally understand and accept that it is the right choice — their choice, not one that was in any way imposed upon them.”
“Your faith in our people is commendable — perhaps misplaced in some ways — but commendable nonetheless. You know my feelings on this matter, so I will say no more. When you do feel that the time is come, however, I pray that you will act swiftly and decisively, and that you will hear the whispers of your ancestors so that you may know exactly what you must do.”
***
Admiral Naftur awoke with a start, forcing himself to breathe deeply while the sedative-induced haze cleared from his mind like fog lifting from the plains surrounding Dru Tinari at the beginning of a new day. Under the circumstances, it took him a few moments to remember that he was in the medical bay aboard the Human destroyer Theseus — then a few more for the events of the past few days to fall back into place. Even as his thoughts began to coalesce and organize themselves, he had the distinct impression that, somehow, his entire perspective had changed. Pressing the button to call the nurse, he first sipped, then drank greedily from the stainless steel cup of water on the table beside his bed.
“Ah, good morning, Admiral,” the duty nurse said warmly as she entered the room. Without further comment, she immediately set about preparing to help the Wek officer out of bed for the first time since shortly after his surgery.
“How long was I asleep?” he asked, speaking slowly so that the AI had at least some hope of properly translating his dry, raspy voice.
“I wasn’t on duty at the time,” she replied, glancing at her tablet, “but it looks like it has been just over thirty-six hours since they brought you back from your brief visit to the bridge.”
“Expletive,” the AI growled emphatically from the room’s ceiling speakers using an apparently censored facsimile of Naftur’s own voice. Although it could not locate a database entry to provide a precise, literal translation of the Wek word the admiral had used, the AI had little difficulty guessing its intent from context alone. “I am needed back on the bridge immediately,” Naftur urged, “and I would prefer to be in uniform if you would be so kind as to help me —”
“Really?” Nenir Turlaka interrupted from the doorway, “I never would have guessed.” Her words were delivered in a tone that left little doubt that she was still acting in her capacity as a physician rather than as a diplomat. “And what makes you think you are ready to just leap out of bed
and resume your duties?”
Irritating though it was, Naftur was well aware of the necessity of convincing his doctors that he was both mentally and physically capable of leaving the medical bay and returning to duty. He was also aware that failing to do so might well result in further confinement — under sedation, if necessary. With the renewed sense of purpose that seemed to be growing of its own accord in the back of his mind, he knew with absolute certainty that he could not afford to waste any additional time convalescing in a hospital bed.
“I am actually feeling surprisingly well, Doctor Turlaka,” he said, swinging his feet off the side of the bed.
“I am sure you do. Doctor Chen and I do good work,” she said, taking the offered tablet from the duty nurse. “We have been keeping a very close eye on the repairs we made to your aorta, and I am happy to report that we have been very pleased by your progress. Our hospitals on Graca have access to some equipment that is perhaps a bit more advanced than what the Humans have, but their gene-based therapies are far better than ours … certainly beyond anything I would have expected them to have at this stage. I am sure that you are uninterested in hearing the specifics, but we were able to genetically encode a group of your own cells to essentially regenerate much of the damaged tissue in your chest — and at an astoundingly accelerated rate. That process is still ongoing, of course, but I believe it is accurate to say that the crisis has now passed.”
