by Isaac Hooke
"Still no response," the lieutenant said. "That repeater is a worthless pile of—" He caught himself and cleared his throat. "It's still not working."
Because the moon's iron core bounced comm signals back at them, a repeater drone had accompanied the Selene and her escort to relay data back to the task unit. The drone had assumed a stationary orbit above the moon at a vantage point that kept both elements of the flotilla in direct line of sight. However, the repeater had ceased functioning a few hours ago, and despite the chief engineer's reassurances that it would start working again, it had remained offline. The planet's radiation was probably to blame.
Another relay drone was perched in high orbit above the gas giant itself, and while that drone still functioned, it was positioned for optimal communication with the remainder of the task group, Task Unit One, whose vessels currently resided near the inner terrestrial planets. The unexplored system was otherwise devoid of any other starships, or life, for that matter.
"Shall I send out another drone to make an exploratory run?" the ensign asked again.
"Do it." Jonathan zoomed out the external video feed. "How long before we have any telemetry data?"
"It'll take the drone at least two hours to make its sweep of the dark side, and another four hours to return within communications range."
"Six hours." Jonathan considered sending a message to Task Unit One to inform the flagship of the situation, but decided by the time the admiral received the message, the Selene and Aegis would have returned. Dispatching the message now would merely look bad.
"If we sent out the Dominion to perform an exploratory run," the first officer offered. "It could get back to us in half the time of a drone." The Dominion was another warship from Task Unit Two.
"No. I want the task unit kept together." Jonathan glanced at the comm officer. "Lazur, inform the rest of the unit to hold positions for now."
"Yes sir."
Jonathan removed his aReal spectacles and rubbed his eyes. It was good to take a break from the tactical overlay once in a while. He regarded the members of the first watch gathered around him, these men and women who so dutifully followed his orders.
The bridge crew sat in a circle, facing one another at their various duty "stations," which were little more than empty, curved desks. There were no screens or displays anywhere. Nor any control panels. Instead, fingers gestured noiselessly, lips moved silently. To any outside observer, it would appear a bunch of mimes in utility uniforms sat around a circular desk in a windowless, spartan compartment.
A couple of officers wore aReal spectacles, though most had either the contact lens and earpiece versions, or Implants installed directly in their brains. And though they all faced each other, no one really looked at anyone else. Their eyes were focused instead on the projections the devices produced—graphical overlays on their vision that could be shared among other users in the same area, or kept private.
The circle was affectionately known as King Arthur's Round Table by the officers. There was no "Captain's Chair" per se, though Jonathan traditionally sat in the seat facing the main bridge hatch: he liked to be aware of those who passed in and out of the command area. The compartment itself resembled a hollowed-out, squat cylinder, with round bulkheads aligned to a flat overhead and deck. To the right another sealed hatch led to the compartment Jonathan had claimed as his private office.
The bridge was located at the heart of the Callaway, near the CDC—Combat Direction Center—where all tactical and sensor data was processed. The classification of the collected data was mostly automated by the ship's AI, Maxwell, though several specialists babysat the process. The AI's machine learning algorithms had adapted to the information preferences of the captain and his crew, making it rare for the specialists to intervene. Still, Jonathan sometimes worried that the CDC operators were becoming complacent, and that someday an important data packet would slip through unnoticed. It was probably a needless worry, because so far neither Maxwell nor the specialists had ever let him down.
Jonathan replaced his aReal glasses and stood. "Commander, in my office a moment."
"Yes, Captain."
A few moments later found Jonathan seated behind the desk of his private office, with the commander standing before him.
Robert was a tall, athletic man of thirty-eight years. His face appeared youthful, though Jonathan doubted he had ever availed himself of any rejuvenation treatments. He had high cheekbones, a square jaw, and thick brows. Women would have called him handsome. Robert wore the contact-lens version of the aReal, with an inconspicuous earpiece sitting over his right lobe.
"The Selene is probably having engine troubles again," Robert said. "I'm sure we'll spot the Aegis towing her past the moon in a couple of hours."
"Ever the optimist," Jonathan said. "But I didn't invite you here to discuss your theories on the disappearance of our research ship." Jonathan folded his hands, forming a steeple with his index fingers. He tapped the two digits together thoughtfully, wondering if now was the proper time to broach the intended subject.
"You've considered my Notice?" Robert said, bringing up the subject for him.
"I have," Jonathan answered noncommittally.
Robert eyed him uncertainly. "And have you come to a decision?"
Jonathan sighed. "I hate to do this, but you leave me no choice Robert. Report to the brig. You are to be tried before a court-martial for attempted mutiny."
Robert raised an eyebrow. For a moment Jonathan thought the man would contest him, but then the commander said: "Very well, Captain."
Jonathan found it hard to keep a straight face. "Consider yourself lucky. I could have had every last one of you executed."
"Every last one of us?"
Jonathan finally laughed. It was a good release, given the earlier tension on the bridge. "Doesn't make much sense, does it?"
Robert nodded. "No, Captain, it doesn't. It was a fine joke, though."
"Flattery will get you everywhere." Jonathan leaned back and folded his hands over his chest. "Regarding your notice... I urge you to reconsider, Robert. You're a damn good officer. I'd hate to lose you."
"I've always dreamed of commanding my own ship. This is the opportunity of a lifetime."
"And so it is." Jonathan smiled wistfully. "If it's what you truly want, then consider yourself transferred with my highest recommendation. Of course, I'll expect you to perform your duties to your utmost until we return from our current cruise."
"Of course, Captain."
"And if you change your mind in the ten months before we return, then I'll pretend this conversation never happened."
"Understood, sir." Robert's lips twitched, hinting at a repressed grin.
Jonathan doubted the commander would change his mind, of course. Offered the position of captain on the Rampage, newest and most powerful destroyer in the fleet, due to enter service precisely one year from now? Jonathan certainly wouldn't have turned down such an offer himself, especially at Robert's age.
But things were different back when I was his age, weren't they? he thought. Simpler.
Sometimes he wished time travel were real, and that he could flick a switch and revert to an earlier decade. A second chance to live his life and avoid repeating the mistakes of the past.
And yet he would simply make other mistakes, he knew. That was the nature of life.
I have no regrets, he told himself.
Famous people often said those words, but he doubted they actually believed them.
Jonathan certainly didn't.
two
Jonathan was about to dismiss the commander when Robert spoke again.
"By the way, has there been any update on the Sino-Korean situation back home?" Robert asked.
Jonathan shook his head. "No."
The fifth task group had received a disturbing transmission from Central Command a few days ago. Intelligence reports indicated rogue elements in the Sino-Korean government had hijacked an SK supercarrier, t
he Hunhua Shan. The carrier was believed to have been harboring a planet killer at the time of its hijacking—a geronium bomb. The SKs possessed eight such weapons. They didn't bother to mask the signatures, wanting instead to flaunt their power in the face of the United Systems and the Russians, both of whom they believed did not possess the bomb.
Tensions were already high between the United Systems and the Sino-Koreans. With their proxy sponsorship of pirate ships to attack peaceful United System civilian vessels in neutral space, the fleet had been forced to allocate warships as escorts, drawing from a space navy already stretched thin. And border disputes were ongoing, such as the recent annexation of a resort system from the Coreward Asiatic Alliance, a galactic actor with friendly relations to the United Systems.
But with the disappearance of the Hunhua Shan, tensions had gone through the roof. The Sino-Koreans had denied that the supercarrier was hijacked, of course. It didn't help: the battle unit of the United System's Seventh Fleet, Task Force Seventy-One, had been ordered on high alert near the front lines. Shipping lanes had been shut down, with jump Gates heading into Sino-Korean or neutral systems blockaded until further notice. The Coreward Asiatics had sent several of their own ships to help aid the United Systems in the enforcement of said blockade, mostly by patrolling the shipping lanes.
Of more immediate concern to those in the executive branch was the fear that the rogue elements would stage a coup. The last thing the republic needed was an unstable galactic government in possession of planet killers. If that happened, it was very likely the current lockdown would become permanent.
Because of the tensions, all United System task elements remained on a high state of alert, including those assigned to the frontier. Perhaps especially the latter—the nexus of jump or "slip" streams that interconnected the star systems near Earth hadn't been completely mapped out. Sometimes two or three such wormholes terminated in a given system, providing multiple routes of entry and exit. As such, when entering an uncharted system, explorers never really knew whether they were violating the space of some Sino-Korean or Russian frontier outpost, or even territory claimed by an alien species.
As such, the weapons engineers of every ship in the fleet inspected their armaments twice a month. On the Callaway, tactical officers trained for two hours a day in virtual war game simulations; the entire bridge crew joined them once a week, as dictated by watch. If an attack should come, in any form, in theory they would be ready.
He wasn't sure how he felt about being so far away from home while that crisis slowly unfolded. He wanted to be there on the front lines, doing his part to protect the United Systems, not safe out here on the fringes of known space where the biggest danger was reduced sperm count due to low-level background radiation.
On a whim, Jonathan asked Robert: "If you could eliminate the entire Sino-Korean Navy in one fell swoop, no matter the cost, would you?"
The commander scrunched up his face. "Is this some sort of trick question, Captain?"
"You're not being judged," Jonathan said. "This is entirely off the record. In fact, if you're worried someone will use this against you in some political play for your new position... Maxwell, cease audio and video data capture in my office, and delete the last ten seconds."
"Ceasing a/v data capture in your office," the AI responded via the aReal. "And deleting previous ten seconds."
"Do the same with the local copy stored in my aReal, Maxwell," Jonathan said.
"Affirmative," the AI returned.
The commander disabled his own local storage.
"So." Jonathan returned his attention to Robert. "Speak freely. If you could eliminate the entire Sino-Korean Navy in one fell swoop, no matter the cost, would you?"
Robert rubbed his right ear lobe. "When you say no matter the cost, do you mean in terms of money, or human lives?"
"Both," Jonathan said simply.
Robert frowned. "Then my answer is an unequivocal no. There are over thirty billion Sino-Koreans spread across the galaxy. If you're talking about wiping out all of them simply to eliminate the threat of any future attack, then it's definitely not worth it. After all, it's good that we have the SKs around to keep us on our toes. They increase military spending, which in turn bolsters the economy."
"What about five billion of them?" Jonathan pressed. "Five billion lives, in exchange for the complete removal of the SK space threat."
Robert shook his head. "Still too high."
"Explain."
Robert tilted his head to one side as if considering his words. "Human life is precious. It's a belief we've fought for since the dawn of time. A belief that has helped take us to the stars. Without cooperation and understanding, we would have never made it to where we are today. Taken all together, the whole of humanity can be likened to a hive mind. As individuals, we're weak, relatively unproductive. But together we are powerful and can produce technological marvels unlike anything the galaxy has ever seen. Wonders akin to magic.
"Together we are so much greater than the sum of our parts. Gathering and sharing data, using the tools we built for ourselves to transfer knowledge not just to the current generation but to the next, and the next after that, further refining as we go. That has always been our advantage as a species. The ability to cooperate and share, to work together for the common good. Without the altruism in our hearts that seeks to preserve human life, even in times of crisis, especially in times of crisis, we wouldn't be where we are today. If we attack one another, we only kill part of our hive mind, part of our future development, and set ourselves back. If we're not careful, we could all too easily find ourselves thrust back into the Dark Ages."
Jonathan smiled. "Good answer. If a bit melodramatic. I'm starting to wish I had recorded that."
"I thought you said you weren't judging me?" Robert said. "That was definitely a judging smile."
Jonathan held the grin. "Yes, but judging in a good way."
Robert laughed. "And what if I had given you an answer you didn't like? Say, to hell with those five billion?"
Jonathan became serious. "Then I would have called you a heartless bastard and dismissed you. But honestly, you wouldn't be the only one who felt that way. There are many elements in this navy who don't give a damn about the SKs, civilians or no civilians, and given the chance they'd exterminate them all. Thanks to these elements, we've come close to all-out war with the SKs several times over the last seventy years. That the Sino-Koreans found themselves in possession of two moon-sized masses of geronium didn't help matters."
"Yes, but obtaining those masses came at terrible cost to them," Robert said.
Jonathan smiled wistfully. The first alien encounter seventy years ago had led to the destruction of two inhabited SK moons in the Tau Ceti system: two million people died when the crusts of those colonies were converted into geronium by the aliens.
"Yes. But the SKs rebuilt. And we envied their new geronium source. While the rest of us had to scrounge what little we could from the upper atmospheres of gas giants, they were busy fueling the geronium-hungry reactors of advanced new warships. They had so much of it, they even constructed eight planet-killing bombs. Such an incredible waste. Did you know, each weapon contains enough geronium to power the entire Seventh Fleet for a hundred years?"
"I didn't know that," Robert said.
"Yes. Almost unbelievable, isn't it? Do you remember, as a kid, the virtuality experiences that taught children what to do in the case of an SK attack? Rushing to the spaceports, queuing in line, waiting to get aboard an escape ship."
"I do."
Jonathan smiled sardonically. "All useless propaganda. Its sole purpose: to soothe a child's fears with a lie. Though I suppose the escape plan might actually work on a colony world, where the ratio of ships to inhabitants was reasonable. Depending on how swiftly the attack came, of course. But on Earth? Forget it. Not enough ships. Maybe one percent of the population could evac in time. Mostly those living on the orbital platforms. The rest, wel
l, if a geronium bomb ever arrived, all fifty billion inhabitants would die. It's not for no reason that most of the people of Earth are considered low class."
"You don't really believe the SKs would attack Earth's solar system, do you?" Robert said. "Given the number of Sino-Koreans living there?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure. Ever since they moved their center of government to Alpha Centauri, they've considered Earth a mere galactic province of their Great Empire."
Robert had to chuckle at that. "A pretty big province, with an SK population of nine billion."
"Even so, we have no idea what goes on in the mind of their paramount leader."
"No, we don't," Robert agreed.
"By treaty, Earth and her solar system are considered neutral space among all galactic governments. Still, you wouldn't know it with the way the SK ships have cavorted about the system in the past, routinely evading customs by passing through their own Gate, and then going on to ignore boarding requests from United System vessels. Their local military presence has got to be bristling over the recent blockade."
Jonathan glanced at the standard time displayed in the upper right of his aReal. It was almost 0740, and he still hadn't reviewed the morning status reports from the various departments. He sighed. "Anyway, I could chat about Earth politics for hours, but I have work to do. Notify me as soon as we hear from the Selene or the Aegis. That will be all, Commander."
The first officer stood.
"And Robert, remember what I told you. I expect the best from you these next ten months. I tell you this not only as your commanding officer, but your friend. I'd hate to have to retract my recommendation."
"You will have my best, sir." Robert truly seemed sincere. He touched his heart to emphasize the point.
"I'm counting on it," Jonathan said. "Dismissed."
Robert left the office and the hatch irised shut behind him.
"He seems earnest, Captain," Maxwell intoned. Among other things, the ship's AI had the useful ability to measure microexpressions, body language, heart rate and respiration, all at the same time, making it very difficult for a crewman to tell a lie.
