by Trevor Wyatt
She sighs and reverts back to her previous position, her head on my chest. Telling her I’m afraid relives some of the tension in my heart.
“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about our mission,” she says. “The Wolf Offensive. Before the war, people can say all sorts of things about the morality of what we do or don’t do. But right after the war, none of that seems to matter. Only the results. Say we win this. Nobody is going to realize that we may have contributed to wiping out an entire intelligent space faring species. All they will think about is that we won, and that we’re free. What is this war turning us into, Jeryl?”
I remain silent. I know it’s a rhetorical question, but that’s not why I’m hesitating. I don’t answer because I don’t know how to answer.
“To think that all this started because of the destruction of The Mariner,” I say. “We have looked through the records. We have read the transcripts of their communication with Edoris Station. From all the evidence we’ve been able to compile, there is nothing that suggests that the Sonali were responsible for their destruction. It seems that they were being sincere, though rudely so, when they told us it was their sector and that they didn’t know what had happened to The Mariner.”
“You’re saying that this entire war was based on an assumption that may have been false?” she asks, incredulity filtering into her voice.
“I don’t know what I’m saying,” I reply her. “I don’t know, Ash. No matter what the case is, one thing is certain. We’re fucked.”
In tandem, as though our hearts beat as one, we draw in a deep breath and let it softly out into the air. I shove all the thoughts into the back of my mind and let myself relax in the comfort of nearness to my wife.
We’re fucked, yes.
But at least we’re not alone.
Chapter 25
Ashley
It’s 0800 hrs. I meet the tactical station on board the seeker in CNC trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes. The fleet goes toward its end goal today. And somehow it seems like a bad omen to go into combat without my morning cup of coffee.
I scanned the readouts of the fleet that’s forming in the system with the ships coming in and meeting at the rendezvous point roughly half a light year away from the station. I double and triple check the readouts from engineering to make sure our FTL drives are fully aligned. I checked the manifest in sick bay to ensure that everything the doctor requested has transferred over. I checked her weapons complement to see if the upgrades went through. They have. I even checked the energy banks that power the molecular resequensor. Not because I think that we're going to want to have a meal in the middle of combat, just because I don’t know what else to check.
I’ve checked everything. The flurry of activity over the last 12 hours has been frantic. Everyone knows this is the Wolf Offensive. The single most important engagement to date in this war. An offensive that I can’t find myself agreeing with, but one that I know is necessary if we're to have a fighting chance to survive as a species.
“Everything okay?” A voice asks and I turn to see Jeryl standing next to me. Didn’t even realize he came by my side until he said something. Must’ve been engrossed more than I realized in my readouts.
“I’m fine, Captain,” I say. “All systems appear to be in working order, the upgrades have gone through, weapons are online, FTL drives are working, sick bay is fully stocked with anything that we could ever need, and if you want you can even go get a cup of coffee and not tax the energy banks.“
“Well it’s nice to know that I can get a cup of joe and then go kill one billion Sonali,” the Captain says with an air of morbid resignation mixed with a humor that’s born out of hopelessness.
“We don’t have to go kill one billion Sonali,” I say. “There are other ways around how we can go about achieving victory. We’ve been pushing back on Sonali lines the last two months. It’s not inconceivable that we could target some of their main command-and-control stations. Push them back into their planetary bases. Take out their shipping lines. Create a war of attrition.”
I look to the captain and see him staring at me. He knows what I’m saying is correct and he knows that what I’m proposing would be a much longer, much more costlier, much more brutal war. He knows that I know that this plan would never pass muster.
The Terran Union was never prepared for conflict. We went into it full of bluster. We didn’t analyze the consequences of prolonged years of warfare on our population.
Our democratic institutions will begin to crumble if we don’t end this war. We’ll need strong leadership—much stronger than what we have now. I’m talking autocratic leaders who consolidate all the power among a few people. They’d need to direct fleets, move massive groups of men and material, dictate that the individual—all 44 billion within the Terran Union—dedicate their lives to the state.
I mean, we’ve seen that before in our history. Nazi Germany. Soviet Union. The caliphate of the Middle East that arose in the mid-21st century right before the Third World war. The Asian Bloc. The Empire of Oceania. The Outer Colonies. We could go down that route, but we would’ve lost the war much, much before then.
The Captain knows this. He knows I know it. He knows that were probably 3 to 6 months away from open rebellion in the core worlds of the Union. We both realize that we are maybe a year away from a breakdown in government where Earth won’t be able to maintain clear lines of control and communication with the Armada.
And we both know that if we keep facing defeat or even stalemate eventually the situation will wear down on us until there's a collapse from the inside. And we leave the Sonali to mop us up as they progress further and further toward the cradle of humanity.
“This is the only way, Ash,” Jeryl says. “We gonna have a problem carrying out your mission?”
“I know my mission,” I say.” You will have no problems from me, sir.”
“Good,” he says. I sigh. I wonder what happened to the man who expressed his doubts and his fears about this mission just a few hours ago. But I know he’s most probably burying that side of him right now. He can’t let it show. Not for me, not for anyone. He needs to present the picture of a leader in charge—a commander of the Terran Armada. Any doubts, any misgivings, any sort of second thoughts would be detrimental to the morale of the crew. Once they know what we're about to do they need to see a strong and confident leader who is willing to go in and make the hard decisions and carry out the final orders.
And a billion Sonali lives will be the price that needs to be paid because of that composure.
“There’s something you should know about the ship and its upgrades,” I say trying to change my mood. “Our weapons have been upgraded, but our shielding has been upgraded with the latest technology that the Armada is putting into new starships. We’re able to last in a firefight much longer and that may come in handy if we need to be the ones to start the orbital bombardment of the Beta Hydra III planet. Preliminary readouts tell me that our weapons damage effectiveness have been increased by nearly 75%. Our shielding has been increased by close to 150%.”
“That’s impressive,” he says to me raising his eyebrows. “How did we get such numbers?”
“Apparently, we’ve been busier than I thought capturing downed Sonali starships,” I say with a smile. “War may be the mother of all invention but you can never beat good old-fashioned stealing.”
I try to give him a smile to cut the overhanging tension in the air that’s caused by this mission. If I can lighten the mood for just one moment, distract his thoughts for just a second it could mean the difference between life and death when we go into battle.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you by the way,” he says as he turns to face CNC from my tactical consul. “Can you get me all of the data and telemetry that we collected from the debris of The Mariner?” Jeryl asks.
“Sure,” I say. “You can have that in the next few minutes.”
“Thanks,” he says. “I also need all of th
e data that we have on that nebula, any sort of data that was sent back by The Mariner, and all data from first contact as well as any active and passive scans that the ship was running at that time.”
I nod and start to input the commands that will get all of the information to the captain. I know that any Armada starship normally runs passive scans in the background of the surrounding space. This is standard operating procedure. It allows some of the routine scanning that needs to be done in order for course corrections and any sort of star charting for the navigator to engage in to be done without having to go through any sort of CNC officer approving and keeping track of it. The scans themselves are very low energy and not an intense power drain on the ship's energy sources so they run continuously—even while in space dock.
“With that kind of data it’ll take at least 20 minutes to get it all compiled,” I say. “You want it routed to your tablet?”
“No,” he says. “Send it to my workstation in my office. I plan to do some reading about the circumstances that started this conflict. We have at least a few more hours until we get to the nebula. I might as well start going through that information.”
My ears perk up and my sixth sense starts tingling.
“Jeryl,” I say slowly keeping my voice low. “What’s going on?”
Jeryl shrugs and looks away. It’s like he’s thinking of what to say.
“I’m not sure yet,” he says his voice lowering even more so that no one in CNC can hear us. “But it’s something that’s been at the back of my head and I need to go over it. Something I thought of last night. Somethings not right about this. Something wasn’t right from the very single day that we met the Sonali. And if we have this time I’m going to actually finally use it after all these years to try and see what it could be.”
I smile and nod. “You’ll have it shortly,” I say
Jeryl nods and thanks me before turning and walking into his office.
I know he’s waiting for that report.
I know there’s something in it that he thinks will help.
I smile, because now, finally, I recognize the man again from last night. The man that I married.
Chapter 26
Jeryl
The last update I get from the CNC tells me we are a few hours away from the rendezvous in the Mariner Nebula. As the time approaches, I feel more and more conflicted. I’m haunted by the terror I’m about to unleash upon a people whose only wrong may have been to meet us. I can’t help but wonder if this war was a huge mistake. I know that, as an officer, I have to ensure that all orders given are moral and appropriate based on the information I have at my disposal. But there’s some level of fear that went with reviewing past orders, especially those that led to catastrophic ramifications.
Not to mention that this war started because of me. What if I was wrong? What would that mean for me? All the lives that have been lost, all the worlds that have been wiped out, they would all be on me. What would the Armada do with me? Would they court-martial me? Would they execute me? If I find out the truth and send a slipstream message back to Admiral Flynn, telling him that this war was nothing but a huge mistake and that the Sonali didn’t down the Mariner, what would he think of me? What would the crew think of me? Thankfully, most of the old crew remained with The Seeker. All the CNC crew were with me when it first happened. They have a lot more understanding of the context surrounding this war than most do. They would understand. At least I think so.
I exhale softly. I have to decide on a course of action.
I begin to consider the other side of the equation. Say the Sonali are innocent, that they didn’t destroy The Mariner…would they be innocent of all the lives that have been lost? But if they were innocent of the crimes we leveled against them, why did they respond with such an aggressive show of force? For a time, during the beginning of the war, we were more interested in surviving than in winning. We were focused on living through to the next day and defending our planets than in destroying Sonali dreadnaughts. It took several ships, a miracle, sheer force of will, and stunning ingenuity to bring down a Sonali Cruiser. And then there were more. Now, the odds have been leveled. We are no longer retreating and trying to survive, we are counterattacking. We are pushing the bastards back.
So, what the heck happens next if they aren’t the cause of the war? They sure as hell sustained it. They could have retaliated and let it be. But no, they had to invade our systems. They had to wipe out our deep space stations. They had to destroy our planets, even those that weren’t defended. I might not be innocent, but the Sonali must share the blame.
I sit back in my chair and suddenly realize what sustained this war for so long: it really wasn’t about The Mariner. In fact, no one even speaks about the Mariner any more. They speak about the destruction of our bases. They speak about the pillaging of our worlds. They speak about the death and destruction the Sonali have left in their wake. They speak about how close humanity came to be terminated.
We may have falsely started this war. But the Sonali are as much responsible for its prognosis as we are.
Now that I'm facing possible genocide, I have a decision to make. The Sonali have never demonstrated the kind of restraint I’m feeling. They’ve been careless in attacking defenseless planets. Once, they leveled a planet with more than five hundred million inhabitants. That planet was far removed from the front lines and didn’t have any defenses. This was two years ago. They had punched through our lines in the Eridan Sector. Gotten as close to the Core Worlds as they’d ever come before.
I know I shouldn’t even be considering mercy with the Sonali, yet here I am.
Well, I guess I’m only human.
I smile as I arrive at this stunning revelation. This is what differentiates us from the Sonali. We are merciful, they aren’t. We are kind, they aren’t. We are reasonable, they aren’t. But it’s never as simple as that, is it? Are these descriptive terms universal or am I trying to understand the Sonali, another intelligent species, through the lens of human experience?
What would Professor Guss have said?
Having fought the Sonali, I decide that much of what my professor taught is bullshit philosophy. When push came to shove, the Sonali was just another human foe we had to defeat.
“Pull up file FC 001,” I say into the air.
“Access denied,” the computer says. “File is classified.”
“Override authorization code AGZ121,” I say.
“Checking,” comes the computer reply. A moment later, “Access granted.”
Then a holoscreen appears over my table at a good distance from me. It's a voice recording of my experience with the Sonali ship five years ago. It was recorded at the Edoris Station, a meeting of the entire leadership of the Armada, immediately after my contact with the Sonali. The results of the meeting are classified, including all recordings and notes made, but I was one of the participants in that meeting, and I have access to it.
“Play,” I say and the recording starts. Closing my eyes and listening to myself five years ago, self-recounting the experience with the Sonali, I begin to relish every moment.
The back and forth with the ship’s head. The messages buried beneath messages. The clicking and popping sound of the Sonali. The blue humanoid creature that sometimes tortured my sleeps. The accusation I leveled against them for the Mariner. The aggressive response I got … and a request to come on a diplomatic mission to their home planet, veiled by a threat to use force on us. They never admitted to destroying the Mariner. But why not? If they did it, why not admit it?
I remember The Seeker’s original purpose: to find out what happened to The Mariner. Why did I never accomplish that? It may not be enough to reverse all the damage this war has caused, but it might suffice to stop the Wolf Offensive and preserve what humanity we still have left in us.
I pick up my tablet from my table and call up my report from that day. I check our current bearings to see if we can make a detour. I see that we can.
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I walk onto the CNC, head held high.
“Captain on deck!” roars the security personnel.
“At ease,” I say, noticing as some of my officers become tense. I take my seat. I can feel Ashley’s eyes boring holes into the side of my right temple. I shared my deepest and darkest thoughts to her. She knows that I have been struggling with our orders. I just hope she doesn’t feel like she has to oppose me when I decide on what to do next.
“Lieutenant Eilean,” I say, “give me an update.”
“We are approaching the rendezvous point, sir,” she replies.
“Okay,” I say. I feel the tension in the bones of my fingers as I tighten them around the edge of my seat. Whatever decision I make from here on out, I’ll need the full cooperation of my crew. “Prepare to make a course correction, First Lieutenant.”
I watch her carefully as she scans the readout on her workstation, before scanning the information on the view screen. I know she’s looking for reasons for a course correction. When she’s certain there is no need for a correction, she looks at me. “What correction, sir?”
I grab my tablet from my side and tap a button. “Sending you a coordinate.”
She returns her attention to her workstation as the coordinate slides into her view. She pulls up the map of the quadrant, placing the coordinate I sent her, our present location, and where we ought to be. She puts the information on the screen so that everyone can see it.
“Captain, that’s way off course,” she replies. Then she looks at me. “I don’t understand.”
That’s when Ashley joins in. “Captain, why do you want us to go there?”
I raise my voice for two reasons.
One, for everyone in the CNC to hear me.
Two, I want them to understand this decision is not up for debate.
“Many of you know that this area is where it all began. This is where the Mariner went missing, and where it was destroyed. This is also where we, five years ago, made First Contact with another species. Well, the coordinate you see on the screen is where our trail five years ago ended, when we were intercepted by the first Sonali ship.”
