by John Lumpkin
Neil let the revelation sink in. All along, it had felt like the United States had backed into this war, but, here, at last, was an explanation. But did it make sense?
On one level, it was insane. The United States had three worlds, Independence, Columbia and Liberty, plus the continent of Sequoia on Kuan Yin, with more than half a million square kilometers of land between them. Japan had even more territory. Why do we need more than that? It would take thousands of years to settle all that land. We’ve been colonizing for 80 years, and there’s only 35 million people are living off-Earth, compared to 10 billion at home.
Then again, America conquered the West well before it needed the elbow room. Imagine 50 to 100 years out: China’s colonies are maturing on 20 or more worlds, while the United States and Japan are stuck on what they had already found. A path to national decline.
It’s the same old nationalism. What else could it be? Countries were resilient constructions, and predictions that some world government or transnational corporate oligarchy would render the nation-state passé had not come to pass. We have had wars for 500 years over who gets to have a country, and China and Japan and the United States and scores of other places would never let that notion go.
He thought, briefly, about providing the report to Donovan, against Raleigh’s wishes, but the man had too much to deal with. He forwarded it to Raleigh, along with the video of Sun Haisheng dying.
Good work, Raleigh messaged back. Keep quiet about this until I have some time to digest it.
It bothered Li Xiao greatly that he could not rise from his hospital bed to face Major Shen. But his knee was still a mess, and it took all his strength to lift his torso off the pillow.
Shen, his arm in a sling, looked down at him with obvious contempt.
“I have been put in charge of the investigation into the enemy raid into our jail facility,” Shen said. “I am of the opinion this disaster was entirely your fault. We have studied your communications, and it has become clear you did not exercise proper security measures in discussing the prisoners over open channels. Frankly, I believe you deliberately broadcast their location to invite this raid, out of some vendetta against the prisoners, but that opinion is not held by my superiors, nor yours.”
Shen stopped, waited for Li to respond, but when the younger man said nothing, he went on. “Why were you not executed, when your aide, Khenbish, was?”
“I don’t know,” Li said, truthfully. “We were separated. Perhaps it was an act of mercy. They left you alive, didn’t they?”
Shen snorted. “They fired at me to kill, unlike you.” When Li did not respond, he said, “Your superiors in Second Bureau have given me permission to inform you that once you heal, you will be reassigned to Longshan as a counterintelligence officer,” Shen said.
Longshan. One of the newer colonies, at Gamma Leporis, far from the front line. It was exile. Li tried not to let his fury show. Anything to avoid providing Shen a sense of satisfaction.
They would never understand, Major Shen and his kind. They experience no true shame. I still will set things right. He had already examined the recordings of the raid on the jail. He had identified several American Marines and naval officers from the San Jacinto, but it was an Army artillery officer, who had been unaccounted for after the initial invasion, who had executed Khenbish. I will find him and end him, too.
When Neil and the other Americans transferred back to San Jacinto, he worried Commander Raleigh would somehow supersede him as ship’s intelligence officer. He had held the position long enough to feel some ownership of it, and he did not want to let it go.
But Thorne made no move to put Raleigh on her staff. Along with Donovan and Lieutenant Stahl, he rode as little more than a passenger.
After two weeks of constant thrust it became clear the Chinese warships wouldn’t catch San Jacinto and the others before they reached the wormhole. In the aftermath of the fleet battle, the Hans had concentrated their remaining fuel in their big, slow ships; consequently, they were unable to catch up.
Only close to the gate were they challenged, when several missile drones fired at them as they approached.
One missile got through their defenses, bursting just 100 meters from Bayandor’s hull. Its fragments sliced into the Iranian vessel’s combat center, and she had to be maneuvered through the wormhole mouth from her engineering deck.
Beyond, they were surprised to find the Spruance and her task force, which they had encountered so many weeks ago heading away from this system. With them were other survivors of the doomed Eagle fleet. Only Mogami was not present; Admiral Tanaka had already departed, bound for the Solar System for repairs.
Neil felt a slight push as Bayandor oriented its dropship bay to point toward Mecca, nearly 34 light-years away. Before them were nineteen bodies, washed and wrapped in plain cotton cloth in preparation for an Islamic burial in space.
Bayandor’s second officer led the burial prayer, as the ship’s captain, first officer, and chaplain were among the dead; indeed, more than a third of Bayandor’s crew had been killed in the missile hit. A twentieth form, representing the 38 officers and crew members who were blown into space, would accompany the bodies.
It was a solemn ceremony, albeit in a language Neil couldn’t understand. He made no move to use his handheld for a translation.
Captain Thorne had made it a point to urge her officers to attend the funeral, to remind everyone that despite San Jacinto’s fortunate lack of casualties in the run for the keyhole, they still had dead to remember. Captain Courtenay and Commander Boyd, of Swiftsure and Fremantle, were also present, as was Rear Admiral Akers, the commander of the Spruance fleet.
After the funeral, Akers accompanied San Jacinto’s officers on the shuttle back to the destroyer. It was a planned visit, but Thorne hadn’t pushed the crew too hard to clean up. If Akers didn’t like reviewing a ship bloodied by battle, that was his problem. The admiral was easygoing enough, though it was clear he expected deferential treatment from his juniors. He reminded Neil of a skilled politician, charismatic and condescending at the same time.
“We had only just arrived in SZ Ursae Majoris – to guard the backdoor into our space, you know – when we heard about the terrific loss at Kuan Yin,” the admiral said. “Space Command recalled the entire task force immediately, in case the Hans try to break through here.”
“Small chance of that in the near term, sir,” Thorne said. “We lost a lot of ships, but we damaged most of theirs, and they have severe fuel problems. One question, sir, what’s our posture in this system?”
“We’re still deciding that,” Akers said. “But there’s no harm in telling you and your folks this: You’re headed back to Earth. We’re forming up for a push to retake orbit there. We want some veteran ships in the fight. I just wish I could be there for the party.”
San Jacinto’s return to uncontested American space meant a reconnection with the wormhole communications links, which, at long last, had been cleared of the infections that had prevented information from flowing through this region of space. Inboxes filled with queries from friends and family, and Neil suddenly had a wealth of intelligence reports and news accounts to read.
He learned how four fast Chinese warships had outmaneuvered the American blockade at WX Ursae Majoris, sneaking through to the adjacent Groombridge 1618 system to raid commercial traffic. It was here they had captured the corvette Dextrous as it arrived in the system. The raider captain had realized the value of his prize, and risked a run to Kuan Yin to deliver it. The other three ships preyed on civilian traffic until several American ships missed scheduled arrivals, and a joint American-Australian squadron was sent to investigate. They ultimately destroyed one of the raiders and chased the others out of the usual commerce lanes.
In the United States, China’s control of high orbit meant the war was finally hitting home. Raw materials, mined from asteroids, were piling up at orbital refineries rather than transferring to factories in LEO or on the
surface. Satellites were missing scheduled maintenance visits. Chinese submarines had torpedoed several oceanic freighters carrying cargo to the United States, and civilian merchant traffic was routing toward Canada and Mexico.
For the moment, Americans seemed to be giving the Delgado administration the benefit of the doubt. The more extreme commentators wanted to attack the Chinese keyholes and the orbital power stations, and to hell with humanitarian concerns. Some small, dark part of Neil’s mind wondered if they were right, if such brutal action was the most effective way to end the war in America’s favor, but he recoiled from the thought.
How quickly we sell our souls when threatened. Neil’s Uncle Jack was among those who had fallen into an extreme viewpoint, forwarding rabid diatribes advocating attacking Chinese civilian infrastructure.
It dismayed Neil to so strongly disagree with a man he looked up to. He tried considering things from his uncle’s perspective – what did the people back on Earth know, compared to what Neil had seen? They knew 80 dead American children on the Sapphire. They knew about the Hans attacking Sequoia and blockading Earth orbit. While all that was true, they were getting an incomplete picture.
Other letters from home: Increasingly worried messages from his mother, followed by one from his father in a tone so calm that Neil knew they were terrified that he had been killed. He answered that one as soon as he saw it, then wrote Rand’s parents that their son was alive.
Two days after their arrival in GJ 1119, as San Jacinto was undergoing repairs, Neil was summoned to the flagship Spruance. Commander Raleigh met him on the cruiser’s flight deck.
“The documents you recovered from the Chinese officer have made some waves,” Raleigh said. “Now you’re going to meet with a real shark. Just nod and agree with what he says, and you’ll be fine.”
He took him to a briefing room that was occupied by a man he didn’t recognize. He was wearing civilian clothes.
“This is Gardiner Fairchild,” Raleigh said. Neil and Fairchild shook hands.
If Donovan and Violet Kelley were two kinds of spy, Fairchild was a third – a patrician, a gentleman, a Yalie. He was tall and narrow, confident, with well-groomed gray hair and gray eyes.
“First of all, Neil, I’d like to thank you for getting our man out of that prison. It took real courage, and it accomplished some real good,” Fairchild said, his voice an authoritative baritone. Neil couldn’t help but warm to him, despite Raleigh’s warning. “How is our little Violet doing?”
“Leading the charge,” Neil said. “She’s actually operating with a good friend of mine.”
“Lieutenant Castillo, yes, I read the reports. Good man. Hopefully, they have the moxie to hold out for a while.”
“Sir?” asked Neil, momentarily flustered.
“The fleet’s falling back to one-eleven-four-seven to cover the keyhole there,” Fairchild said. “Easier to defend one choke point than two.”
Neil understood his reference. Giclas 111-47 was the next system upstream toward Earth, another worthless red dwarf system. Where this system, GJ 1119, was a fork in the road, with three ways in and out, Giclas 111-47 was a tollbooth, with only two.
“We don’t have the firepower to go back to Kuan Yin just yet, with Earth orbit in the balance and the other colonies potentially threatened,” Raleigh said.
“Sir, I’m not sure I agree,” Neil said. “The Hans have severe fuel problems and are in disarray. One good push –”
“That may be the case,” Raleigh interrupted. “But command does not believe so.”
After a silence, Fairchild said, “But we really called you here to discuss the computer you recovered from Kuan Yin. You should know we forwarded the video of the executions back to Earth, and our information warfare folks have put an edited version out in the public domain. We’re already seeing protests in Taipei. Next best thing to getting Sun home.”
Neil considered Fairchild’s words. To the senior spy, Sun Haisheng was not a person, with noble thoughts and real failings, but a tool, a means to an end. Then, another thought, a thrill of power: I reached down and grabbed a handheld; within weeks, people were marching on the streets of a place I’ve never been. And fear: They may get killed for it.
“The other document you found, regarding the locations of habitable planets, has created quite a stir,” Fairchild said. “It goes to the very core of our war strategy, and it would be extremely detrimental should the enemy know we have it.”
Neil started to ask, “Does Admiral Akers …”
Raleigh interjected, “No, this doesn’t concern the admiral, or his intelligence officer, Commander Tomlin. Nor does it concern your captain, or Mister Donovan. To be clear, this stuff is so classified that I would order you not to even think about it if I could. So don’t talk about it; don’t allude to it; don’t wink and suggest you know something about it. I’ve been ordered to do the same, and these orders come from the very highest levels. Got me, Ensign?”
Neil nodded and agreed. He felt small and angry.
“Great,” Fairchild said. “Neil, you’re a good man. I hope we can work together in the future.”
The fleet launched for Giclas 111-47 a week later. Only the destroyer Vincennes remained behind, with the dangerous task of monitoring 11 Leonis Minoris by shooting surveillance drones through the keyhole, at least until the Chinese decided to see how many Americans were still on the other side. Then she was to run for it.
After departing GJ 1119, most of the ships set up a guard at the keyhole, including the entire Spruance task force, plus several of the survivors of the Battle of Kuan Yin. A few continued back toward Earth: San Jacinto, Fremantle and Swiftsure, along with the frigates Shoshone and Bayandor, both so badly damaged that they needed refits at drydock, and the four assault carriers. As there was little need to keep thousands of Marines waiting for a second Kuan Yin invasion – one that might be years away – Space Command decided to simply bring the transports home.
It was an uneventful trip. Neil turned 22. Erin spent more time with him, then less. Donovan traveled with them, on recall to NSS headquarters.
The secret weighed on Neil like nothing he’d ever experienced. This is ridiculous. I am the only one on board who knows why we’re at war. He grew snappish toward his staff; sullen toward his superiors and silent around his friends.
How can we fight a war if we don’t know what we’re fighting for? The question was both practical and philosophical. The Joint Chiefs had to know, but they were even keeping this from task force commanders like Akers. How can he lead operations when he doesn’t know what the overall goal is? Are we placing our fleets correctly? No wonder the Hans grabbed Sequoia so quickly; they want us to burn out taking back our existing territory, instead of grabbing theirs. If we’d known, we might have defended it properly.
And shouldn’t all the fathers and mothers, sons and daughters know why their loved ones were fighting, missing, dead?
The Chinese and Japanese leadership, as well as the Delgado administration – they all knew. Neil had no doubt the Hans and Sakis kept the information secret out of habit, but why would Delgado?
It had to be fear of the public’s reaction. The United States … we’re the invaders in this war. We don’t like thinking of ourselves this way. The public will think we’re turning back the clock a century, to our last imperial adventure, the one that left us a fading power. He wasn’t sure the public was wrong: Brush wars, humanitarian disasters, violent occupations to little apparent purpose. Back home, highways and schools decaying for lack of government money to repair them. Delgado is frightened people will vote to end the war. Back on Earth, the president’s re-election campaign was in full swing, and his potential opponents were testing the waters to find whether enough anti-war sentiment existed for them to exploit.
I have the power to do something about this. What is the correct action?
Options:
- Follow orders, keep the document secret, and watch the United States suffer
for its ignorance. I’m just an ensign. Put your head down and do your job. Be like Erin. Trust my superiors know what they are doing in keeping this quiet. Maybe there’s something I’m not thinking of.
- Take it to the Inspector General. Would that make any difference? The IG investigated crimes, misuse of resources, and abuse of authority. Did this qualify? Probably not. The IG would punt; the report would vanish, and I’d be known as a troublemaker.
- Do what Tom would do, and give it to the public via the news media. It was a terrible risk: Neil could be found out and prosecuted for leaking classified information and disobeying orders. And he didn’t really know where to start. How do you find the right reporter, one who will protect you as a source? How do you find the right news outlet, with owners willing to publish this information?
- Find a middle way. Keep the information secret, but use it. Give informed advice to your superiors. This was the bone Gardiner Fairchild had subtly offered him. I would have an uncanny ability to predict the enemy. I could rise quickly.
Every option before Neil presented a gray haze of uncertain outcomes. I wish I had stayed a pilot. I wouldn’t have to think about anything except my plane. No, don’t think that. I can make the right decision. What if this had fallen to someone like Stahl? I can do better than he can.
It is time to act, to shape events.
And to heal a friend.
“Fascinating,” Donovan shook his head as the words projected inside his eyes. “It fits, doesn’t it? Not like that silly nanological weapons report the Japanese passed you. It’s pretty clear the Chinese have an agent within the Department of Colonial Affairs, so you’ve just caused a counterintelligence op. Well done.”
“I was ordered not to show it to anyone,” Neil said, describing his encounter with Fairchild and Raleigh. “The Delgado administration doesn’t want this getting out.”
