Through Struggle, the Stars

by John Lumpkin

  Lieutenant (j.g.) Anne Fitzgerald, San Jacinto’s administrative officer – and therefore legal officer – rose from her console. “Captain, I am required to inform you we have witnessed a probable war crime, and we are compelled under Department of Defense regulations and international convention to report this to higher command.”

  “Do it,” Thorne said, her eyes never leaving her screen.

  Donovan typed something into his handheld and stared at it for several moments. The captain’s handheld pinged, and she looked at it, frowned, and returned to her console.

  Donovan rose. “Captain, I need to speak with you, in private, about what we’ve witnessed,” he said.

  A lot of heads turned at that. Nobody, especially not a civilian, demanded a private audience with the captain, not out in the open, and sure as hell not during a battle.

  But Thorne didn’t argue. “Very well,” she said curtly. They left the room.

  The captain was red-faced when they returned. Donovan had his usual mild, unreadable expression.

  “Fitzgerald, I need you to belay my previous order,” Thorne said. “We will note we witnessed a Japanese cruiser destroy a Chinese vessel of unknown class. And all the camera footage of the battle is now classified top secret.”

  “Ma’am, I …” Fitzgerald began.

  “Do it. Put my name on it. I’ll put my orders in writing after the battle.”

  It was not long until the second colony ship died as the first. The final one had a better head start, but over two hours, Mogami closed the distance and destroyed it with missiles.

  Afterward, Vikram said, “Captain, Mogami calling. They’ve invited us to dinner.”

  Word spread quickly about Donovan’s confronting Captain Thorne, and San Jacinto grew angry.

  More than a few officers and astronauts decided they had joined the service not just to protect America, but to protect what they believed it stood for – and that included protecting innocents. And they were angry such an atrocity happened on their watch.

  Others worried they might be implicated in the cover-up and were angry at being powerless in the face of it. Still others couldn’t care less about a bunch of dead foreigners, but they were angry that a vessel of the U.S. Space Force should answer to this civilian. Although Captain Thorne was not by any stretch loved by her crew, this was an insult to her, the ship and the entire fleet.

  Machinist’s Mate 2nd Class Ted Polisar, from San Mateo, California: “Nine thousand people. Babies. May God have mercy. The Sakis sure don’t.”

  Senior Astronaut Jaime Valdes, Havana, Cuba: “My boss was in CIC when it happened. This freaking civilian showed up the captain, right in front of everybody. Toss the guy out the airlock.”

  Systems Tech 3rd Class Cassandra Walker, Mobile, Alabama: “It’s sad, but it’s war. They aren’t dead Americans. Better them than us.”

  Late that night in the junior officers’ lounge, Tom ranted about the atrocity and the cover-up to Neil, loudly enough to draw Rafe Sato’s attention away from the movie he was watching.

  “It will get out anyway, through us, or through the fuel station crew, or through some guilty Japanese crewman,” Tom said. “Everybody saw the colony ships leave Earth, and they’ll know when they don’t arrive at Entente.”

  Neil nodded, but before he could respond, Rafe interjected, “Don’t you get it? The Chinese and Japanese have been accusing each other of atrocities since the war started. This one will get lost in the noise, especially because it was out of sight of Earth. And, the fact is, China could move troops to its enclave on Entente using colony transports. It’s stupid, but still possible.”

  “That many, escorted by only one corvette?” Neil said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You know that, and I know that. But it’s plausible enough to anyone who doesn’t know military science, or who wants to believe Japan’s side of things. The truth doesn’t matter. Out here, with so few people watching, the reality is what we say it is,” Rafe said. “Or, in our case, the reality is something we don’t care to clarify. And I wouldn’t worry about the fuel station crew. If they recorded the battle, it will take some serious expertise to translate the little lights from their video into a clear picture of the fighting. Even then – say they transmit it back to Earth, and if it’s not stopped by Japanese hackers or the station’s own corporate ownership, and somebody in the public domain puts together a correct analysis of the fighting, you’ve still got Japan denying they killed any colonists. That’s enough for a lot of people.”

  “The truth will come out eventually,” Tom insisted.

  “Probably,” Rafe admitted. “By then, it won’t matter.”

  Neil started to ask what he meant, but Tom spoke first.

  “What really amazes me is how easily we ignored the law. What are we, if we cast aside treaties like that? Bunch of criminals, no better than our adversaries.”

  Rafe snorted. “I’m sure the view’s nice from atop that ivory tower. But, sorry, professor, I hate to tell you that it’s not the way the world works. You have to play dirty if you want to win.”

  “Wrong,” Tom said. “If we betray our principles to win, did we really win? Do we deserve to win?”

  “Look, Mondragon, I know you military types stand rough and ready on the wall, and I appreciate that. But somebody has to go outside the walls, to be able to tell you what’s coming. I’ve been there, beyond your wall, and it’s a messy, imperfect world. Gathering information about it is a criminal enterprise. It takes theft; it takes deception; it sometimes takes violence. And it’s utterly necessary. Sometimes it’s best if the public knows what we find; sometimes it’s best if it doesn’t.”

  “No,” Neil said. “That’s not right. By the people and all that. You work for the public, just like we do. We’re not masters; we’re servants.”

  “Then I’d encourage two Space Force O-1s to follow their orders instead of trying to justify them to themselves,” Rafe said. He shook his head and looked at them both. “You guys really bought that civics-class crap, didn’t you? You’ll learn soon enough what it’s like out there. Then come back to me.”

  Tom took a vicious tone. “Sato, you know what your problem is?”

  “I can’t wait to hear this.”

  “You’re short-sighted. We conceal the deaths of those Chinese colonists to please the Sakis. A short-term gain. But the truth will come out eventually, and America’s reputation will be damaged, both to Americans and the rest of the world. We’re complicit in a massacre, and we’re one step closer to Hell.”

  “Broken eggs,” Sato muttered as he pushed off toward his room.

  When Neil arrived for his daily meeting with Donovan, he skipped the usual pleasantries. Something about today’s events and San Jacinto’s failure to stop them … Neil wanted to assert himself.

  “So who are we going to pick up on Entente? Taiwanese? Uighur? Tibetan?” he demanded.

  Donovan set down his coffee bulb.

  “Very good, Neil. You put this together on your own? I presume no one told you?”

  “No one told me.”

  “You hit it with your first shot. We’re going to meet with the leader of Taiwan’s largest independence movement, who, last we heard, had settled on Entente. His name is Sun Haisheng. We’re going to give him a ride back to Earth, if he’ll take it. We’re hoping he will stir up enough nationalist sentiment in Taiwan that they will secede, or at least get the island to oppose the war.”

  “So we’re helping the Japanese?” It was hard to side with them after today’s massacre.

  “We’re helping ourselves. And the president has determined that means we help the Japanese.”

  “The president?”

  “Of course, Neil. This is a covert action. Covert actions are approved directly by the president.”

  “Was hiding the massacre today part of that?”

  “More or less,” Donovan said. “In addition to this specific mission, the president has given or
ders to my agency to assist the Japanese in any way possible, without revealing our aid. I don’t think I have to tell you how classified this is, but I’m going to need your help on Entente, so you deserve to know.”

  “Can’t the Japanese get this dissident themselves?”

  “You underestimate the cultural divide between Japan and China,” Donovan said. “Taiwan gets along with Japan better than the mainland Chinese, but Sun Haisheng would be forever tainted among his own people should he come riding back home on a Japanese warship. Nor would he be safe on civilian transit.”

  “Will he stop the war if he goes back to Earth?”

  “No. But he may be able to persuade Taiwan to secede. Putting a rebellion to rest will hurt the Chinese war effort seriously. A lot of China’s high-technology systems are manufactured on Taiwan.”

  “But why? I mean, why help the Japanese?”

  Donovan frowned.

  “I’ve been trying to work that out, and the truth is, I don’t know,” he said. “It's been decades since our security treaty expired. Neither side has any real claim to moral superiority in the war, so we can’t really enter on the ‘side of the just.’ And going against either one hurts us badly financially; we just buy too much and sell too much to both sides. My best guess is that Delgado thinks siding with Japan will force a quick capitulation by China. I know my agency didn’t convince him of that; we argued he would need the European, Indian and Russian fleets to present the kind of force China would listen to.”

  He looked Neil in the eyes. “But you have to understand something about your leaders. When it comes to foreign policy in the United States, there are two modes of thought. One says we have to win, but we can’t sell our soul to do it. The other says we have to win, period. I’ve sat in the back row of a few briefings of President Delgado, and he’s not concerned about the American soul, Neil. He doesn’t accept that American might and righteousness can’t fix problems, and he believes the world went wrong when America stopped being the top superpower. He insists we can win somehow despite the economic realities that knocked us off the top.”

  “You almost sound like you don’t approve of him.”

  Donovan nodded. “He’s not terribly pragmatic. That being said, I don’t have a high opinion of my opinions about him. I just don’t have enough information, and he may be giving smart orders based on things I don’t know. In any event, given your reaction today, I should say you need to decide pretty quickly if you can stomach things you find distasteful, Neil. Did you know that China has threatened Hiroshima, and Japan Nanjing? This isn’t going to be a short war. Those 9,000 colonists were dead the moment that cruiser entered the system, and unless your captain disobeyed her orders and somehow stopped the Sakis, that wasn’t going to change.”

  Neil nodded; Donovan’s words held no rancor. “What do you make of their dinner invite?” he asked.

  “I think the Japanese have been told to be nice to the Americans,” Donovan said. “They would love to have us on their side. That reminds, me, Neil, I’m going to ask Captain Thorne that you be one of the officers attending. I can’t go; there’s a chance I would be recognized when their intelligence officers get a hold of the recordings of the dinner,” Donovan said. “So I want you to stand in for me.”

  Neil thought it over. He couldn’t come up with a reason to decline, though part of him wanted to.

  “Okay. What do I do?”

  “First, lie about your intelligence posting and try to conceal that you know Japanese. When they ask, have the captain tell them you are in operations, or a pilot, or anything that’s almost true. Then, try to talk to their senior officers. Make conversation, ask innocent questions, and above all, be civil. Read up on Japanese etiquette and try to come off as more educated and cultured than the other San Jacinto officers; your hosts will appreciate it and may talk to you more.”

  “And what am I supposed to find out?”

  “Well, if they offer you schematics for their fusion drive, take them,” Donovan said, smiling. There was little chance of that. Japanese candles were the best. “Beyond that, just observe the state of the ship, and the officers. They just committed an atrocity, and I’m curious about their morale. They won’t admit a mistake by any means, but watch for clues about how they feel about it. I imagine your Lieutenant Stahl will probably go as well; his job will be to pay attention to the ship’s commander and contribute to the intel file on him.”

  “And all this will tell us … what?”

  “Data points, Neil. We’re face-to-face with one of the belligerents in a major war, and, believe it or not, this is a real opportunity to gauge their thinking. Remember what you see, and we’ll write up a report afterward.”

  Later, as he dressed for the dinner, he mulled Donovan’s take on the America’s clandestine support of Japan.

  Why get involved? It’s not our fight, and our entry won’t stop the war. Perhaps Delgado was a true believer in democracy, preferring Japan’s bona fide parliamentary system to the mock-democracy of China. It was possible, Neil admitted. While China had had multiparty elections for decades, it was ruled as it always has been – by a dynasty. Not an ancient monarchy: Ideological fealty, not blood, determined who ruled. A century prior, things appeared headed in another direction; China had legalized an opposition party and abandoned the term “communist,” moves which prompted Taiwan to come back into the fold. But the successors to the old Communist Party, and their generals in People’s Liberation Army, never let go of the strings. Civil liberties remained at the whim of the authorities; the judiciary took its marching orders from the leadership, and the state approved which candidates could run for office. Chinese elections were like a king allowing the people to choose which of his sons would succeed him.

  But America had long since abandoned its crusade for worldwide democracy as too expensive and antagonistic. Now it offered little more than lip service to those ideals, as long as other countries left Americans and their companies alone. President Delgado had given no sign he would change that course. So true democracy hadn’t broken out the world over. That can’t be what makes China our enemy, can it? Neil wondered. It just didn’t make sense.

  Captain Thorne led the American delegation, accompanied by Lieutenant Commander Mendoza, Lieutenant Stahl and a half-dozen other officers, including Neil and Tom.

  They were greeted by the ship’s captain, Hara Natsuko, whom Neil had researched in the hour before they shuttled over to the Mogami. The file on her said she was in her mid-40s, and she had spent her career alternating between warships and the Japanese operations research branch. During a joint exercise two years prior, she had “destroyed” an American battlecruiser while suffering the virtual loss of one-third of her crew.

  She was a warrior. But nothing in her file suggested a predisposition for something like the atrocities San Jacinto witnessed three days prior. Then again, it wasn’t a very good file.

  She led the Americans through her ship, moving from the hangar deck to the main shaft that traversed the length of the vessel. Soldiers with the Japanese Naval Infantry, resplendent in their dusky gray full-dress uniforms, lined their path. The walls were bright white, so bright that Neil initially squinted against their glare. The air inside was thicker, fuller – Japan’s ships could afford the extra mass to keep the air pressure closer to that of sea level on Earth. They passed an officers’ wardroom en route; inside, actual wood paneling gleamed, and spotlights directed the eyes to wall-hung paintings, which displayed landscapes, bridges and calligraphy.

  So they maintained their art, even inside this machine of war. It made Neil feel a little ashamed of San Jacinto and the lowbrow entertainments it offered.

  The party floated up eight decks and entered the gym, which extended from the ship and began rotating. Inside, their hosts had pulled out all the stops. The gym had been converted into a kitchen, cocktail room and formal dining room. They had even laid down carpet over the hard surface. The group waited for a few minutes
while the gym spun up, gently settling to the floor as it accelerated to six-tenths Earth gravity.

  They were led into the cocktail room, where a Japanese admiral was waiting to greet them.

  Rear Admiral Tanaka Heihachiro bowed and welcomed them, a broad smile on his face. Tanaka was tall and balding, with a slight mustache. The left breast of his uniform was studded with badges and medals. The intel files on Mogami hadn’t said that Tanaka was on board, but Captain Thorne didn’t show any surprise and said the right things in Japanese, giving the admiral a small plastic replica of the San Jacinto. Neil tried to recall what he’d read about Admiral Tanaka – he was certain he had seen his bio, one among dozens in the intel files. Not from Earth … Shinkyo, maybe? He just wasn’t sure. Neil wondered if he would be chewed out later for not preparing the captain for his presence.

  The reception did not go well. After the initial greeting between the senior officers, stewards circulated with drinks and hors d’oeuvres. The sashimi tuna was superb.

  But an uncomfortable gulf remained between the officers of the two ships, and they did not approach each other, instead making conversation among themselves. Neil tried to read the Mogamis; some would not look at the gathered Jacintos; others stared in defiance.

  Finally, Admiral Tanaka strode over to a circle of American officers that included Neil, Tom and Carla Mendoza. He smiled broadly.

  “I hope you all enjoyed the view of our victory,” he said in unaccented English.

  Mendoza said carefully, “The Mogami showed great skill in the destruction of the corvette.”

  Tanaka frowned. “Yes, yes, but I was speaking primarily of our defeat of the three troop transports. The fleet was clearly meant to invade one of our worlds, and we were thankfully positioned to stop them. A fortunate stroke!”

  “Troop transports?” Tom asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.

  Be civil, Donovan had said. Neil interjected, “I’m afraid our information on those ships differed from yours.”