by Trevor Wyatt
The navigator, whose hands are light on the control, throws The Seeker into a dangerous deep dive. The inertia dampers, which are also responsible for gravity are strained as it attempts to maintain gravity. I latch on to my seat as many of the officers in the CNC are thrown away from their stations. The navigator and tactical officers, who are so trained, remain where they are, coordinating the ship’s response.
I watch as a flood of light leap out of the alien vessel and lance through space to where we previously occupied. Then I feel a sharp jolt as we are hit.
“We were hit, sir!” the tactical officer announces.
“Damage report,” I say.
“Minimal, sir,” Ashley replies. “Our shield surprisingly bore the brunt of the impact.”
“Sir, shields are down to seventy-five percent,” the tactical officer announces. “The ship is charging again!”
“Evade, lieutenant,” I say to the navigator. Then to the tactical officer, I say, “Get ready to fire at their stern. Photon torpedo.”
“Aye, captain,” the tactical officer says.
The next few shots miss us by a wide berth.
“Captain, I think we need to reconsider our action,” Ashely says. “These people are afraid. They are scared. They have had minimal contact with the known world, so all they know to do is destroy what comes their way. The Mariner didn’t have our defensive capabilities that was why it was fried. Now that we do, instead of destroying them, let’s try and reason with them. The war we have with the Sonali is one too many. Perhaps…they said they live on their ships. Who knows how many are on that ship. A billion. Two?”
It dawns on me the path we’re going.
We’re about to be evade. Maybe we’ll die. Maybe we’ll get out in one peace.
Then I’ll go file a report with Armada Command. And then four hundred starships will be dispatched from Edoris Station. To take out the next enemy.
If we die, then the starship captains that are hailing us will report back.
More blood.
More war.
It has to stop somewhere.
It stops here.
“You’re right, Commander,” I say, suddenly realizing I could just make a powerful new step for all of humanity. Even if we all die here, I can’t have that happen. Even if my legacy is a sham, at least I’ll go down knowing that I did the best I could.
“Tactical, belay last order. Switch primary weapons to particle beams and target their primary engine,” I say.
We are in the middle of a dive to port, when I give the order to fire. Bright blue bolts shoot out from underneath us and hit their targets. The ship before us shudders visibly and I see a cascade of explosions underneath and behind the ship.
“Bring us around to face them,” I say to navigation.
“Captain, it appears your plan was unsuccessful,” Dr. Taft says. “The primary engine that feeds the propulsion and weapons is still operational. I’m detecting an incredible buildup of energy. They’re about to fire their most powerful weapon.”
Shit!
At that moment, the rest of the fleet materialize all around our ship
“Great! The cavalry.” I say to the communications officer, “Send them a notification that that ship is armed, dangerous and aggressive. Tell them to shoot to damage not…”
At that moment, the navigator sends the Seeker into a forward spin to avoid a shot from the alien ship. My words hang in my mouth as the bold maneuver and almost send the content of my stomach upwards.
“Sir, that blast just took out two of our ships!” says the tactical officer.
“What do you mean took out two of our ships?” I say. I look at the view screen where I see the two ships breaking apart in flames, bodies floating around, dead.
“Fire at will!” I yell.
The screen is lit up with blasts as the Seeker and the rest of the fleet open up on the ship. The alien ship is able to get off another powerful blast that destroy two more Armada ships before it is damaged by our weapons.
“Give the order for the fleet to hold off their attack,” I say.
The fleet responds, holding fire. The alien ship, now incapacitated, floats adrift in the midst of the Terran Armada.
“Contact the ship,” I say to my communications officer. “Maybe now they’ll listen to what we have to say.”
The creature looms into view. I see fear in its eyes. I am not sure how I know, but I know that the expression I see in its face is fear. They must be thinking we’re going to destroy them, I think to myself.
“If we continue at this rate,” I say to the creature. “You will be destroyed. And we don’t even know your name and the name of your people.”
This is it – war or words.
“My name is Commander Ullian of the Nakra,” it says.
“Look, commander Ullian,” I begin. You’ve destroyed four of my ships. I am obligated to destroy yours, but I’m not going to. I want to give us a chance at peace. I give you the assurance of the Terran Union, which is the government I represent, that we will not exploit your people, nor will we invade or colonize your ships or asteroids or wherever the Nakra people reside.”
“How do we know you tell the Nakra people the truth?” Commander Ulian says. “There are barely fifty thousand of us left in the universe.”
I flash a side glance to Ashely. So much for one billion.
“The Terran Union doesn’t do genocide,” I reply. “It’s our purpose to prevent war and stop killing - not perpetuate it.”
The Nakra Commander remains calm for a while. I watch his eyes blink more times than usual in a second and I assume he’s considering my implicit proposal.
I continue.
“A little over one hundred and fifty years ago, my people suffered a near extinction level event the same as yours did,” I say with a sigh. I wipe my brow and choose my words. “Only, we didn’t nearly die because of another alien species came and tried to wipe us out. We did that to ourselves.”
The Nakra Commander widens his eyes. It looks like that’s the universal sign for amazement at another’s stupidity.
“We used weapons of mass destruction on our own population, and we killed two fifths of our own race,” I say and pause. “We murdered 3.2 billion of our own people on our own homeworld.”
“You did this to yourselves? Less than two hundred eclipses ago?” Ullian asks. “And you ask us to believe in your capacity for peace?”
I sigh. The man’s got a point.
“We came out to space to survive what we had done to ourselves and to rebuild,” I reply back. “And we promised ourselves that we would never again go down the path that we had nearly finished. We would never again commit genocide on ourselves. Or each other.”
I know I’m patched in and the other captains in the fleet can hear me.
“We’ve learned our lessons, Ullian,” I say. “Our exploration of space is my species rallying cry that we can do better. That we must do better. And each day is a reminder that we will never go down the path again.”
There’s a long silence. I can feel the eyes of the CNC crew on me.
Sure, I may have just gone in and psychoanalyzed the human race. But it makes sense to me now.
More than why the Wolf Offensive struck us as so wrong.
More than why this war seems wrong.
Humanity can do better. We must do better.
“We accept your offer of peace,” the Commander says with a final tone. “Thank you.” The creature vanishes from the screen.
Well, that was easy, I think to myself. The Sonali sure liked acting like politicians, but these Nakra sure take things at face-value.
Speaking of Sonali. I realize that we need to stop a war before it takes a dangerous turn.
“Contact all ships,” I tell Taylor . “Tell them it’s over. Send over a recording of my dealings with the Nakra and let them know I’ve just brokered peace between us and them.”
Taylor nods and set to work on that.
“How long for repairs to be effected and concluded? Just so we’re operational?” I ask Ashley.
“Forty five minutes, max,” she replies, after consulting her console.
“Shoot for twenty,” I say. “We have a genocide to stop and time is running out.”
Chapter 31
Jeryl
I stand in my office, watching the view screen that is linked to the main one in the CNC. I drum my fingertips against my thigh as I stare into the vastness of space, the hull of The Seeker the only thing cutting through the darkness.
We are racing against time. There’s no other way to put it. If I don’t make it in time, I’ll be responsible for the slaughter of a billion people – a genocide.
I really don’t have a plan. I don’t even know the fact that the Sonali aren’t responsible for the destruction of the Mariner will change the outcome of the war. The war’s now being fueled by the burning desire of the Sonali to see mankind wiped out of the surface of the universe and by the human’s deep seethed hatred for the Sonali people. Like a lit bush that spreads to engulf an entire forest, the conflict may have reached the point of no return.
Still, I have to try. If I don’t, then the point of no return will be long behind us.
But how do I stop this? How do I prevent the deaths of a billion of Sonali in one fell swoop?
How do I get two warring races, who have been so hell bent on destroying each other, to consider the option of peace? That’s why I’m here, inside my office – I’ve taken time off the CNC to review my options.
I’ve been here for more time than I intended, and I still don’t have a credible plan. Yet, I know I must stop the Wolf Offensive. If it happens, it’ll be the blunder that history will never forgive humanity for.
We’ve learned that there are more intelligent species in the universe. We have already fought with two: the Sonali and the Nakra. There are many more that we’ve met since then. Some are large regional powers that we discovered have borders intersecting ours like the Drupadi Regime, the Children of Zorm, the Tyreesian Collective, the Reznak Empire. Others are non-aligned and much more provincial They stayed out of our “little” war with the Sonali to probably judge our advancement as a species.
If we go ahead to commit this great atrocity…well, who knows what might happen? As far as I know, if the Wolf Offensive happens, we might be opening up a Pandora’s box that heralds an age of unmitigated warfare.
That’s great, isn’t it? Welcome humanity to the galactic community of species – but unlike other races who entered peacefully, humanity will usher in an era of conflict.
I sigh, rubbing my forehead. I can feel a migraine brewing inside my skull.
Ashley is in CNC, managing the final repair efforts. Apparently, the forty five minutes repair time she had given me right after we defeated the Nakra ship was to get the FTL drive working. After that she had to begin repairs on the affected decks that were attacked by the blast. I look up on my tablet and see her report that the ship is up to 86% functionality. She estimates that full functionality will require another full day.
Nevertheless, we’re hurtling towards the battle ground at a reduced FTL factor. This is the maximum the ship can take at our present level before it breaks apart and we all tumble into space, bodies among the wreckage.
“How do I get these people to hold back?” I ask myself, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears? It sounds exhausted. When was the last time I slept?
And this migraine.
Fuck.
What if the Sonali refuse to cooperate in spite of my revelation? What if they decide it was our assumption that led to this bloody war and we’re to blame for all of it? What if they decide to fight on or to call onto the scene some universal criminal court? If we have a unifying all powerful body in Terran Union, one that ensures law and order in the worlds and colonies within the Union, it stands to reason that the greater galaxy should have one. I realize, then, that it is my responsibility to ensure that everyone agrees to a cease fire.
At this point, a cease fire is the best option for everybody.
Ashley walks into my office, Dr. Lannighan and Commander Taylor in toe.
“What’s your status?” I ask them.
“Repairs are proceeding slowly, sir,” Ashely says. She motions towards the two people she came with and continues, “They have something to say about our proposed line of attack.”
I frown. “I wasn’t aware that we had a proposed line of attack?” I realize that I should be discussing this issue with my senior officers. Recently, I’ve been making a lot of decisions on the fly without first consulting them. It goes against Armada policy and culture, though it isn’t exactly illegal—a captain is well able to conduct the business of the ship in whatever way he deems fit. Yet, I do not want to be that kind of captain.
“Sir, I have thought about our predicament,” Dr. Taft says. “We were merely wondering what you intend to do about it. We’re currently running an interception course. I hardly think that running into the middle of battle and yelling that the Sonali aren’t the cause of the war and that you’re not going to be firing on them is going to bring peace.”
I snap back to attention and look up at him. Something about how he said it makes my brain fire up.
“You’re not actually considering that, are you?” Ashely says with a cautionary tone.
“I meant it as a sarcastic joke, Captain,” Dr. Lannighan affirms. But I’m not looking at them. I don’t want to hear their doubt. There’s only one thing I care about right now.
I didn’t have a plan, and now I do.
As bad of a plan as it might be.
Even though I’m all for integrative decision making, there are some decisions that are the captain’s prerogative. This is one of these decisions.
I look at Ashely, then Lannighan and finally Taylor. “You’re dismissed. Report to CNC and ask all CNC crew not present to report there immediately.” I pick up my tablet and look up the report from navigation. According to the navigator’s estimations, we’re going to be materializing in the center of the battle field, just few minutes before the Terran Armada arrives. I look for our ETA and see that we have less than twenty minutes before we arrive at our destination.
That’s exactly how long I have to fine-tune my plans.
I return to the CNC with only three minutes to spare. I sit in my command chair and take a look at my senior officers and other members of the CNC crew. I can see the strain in their bodies and the tiredness in their eyes. They have been working tirelessly for the past couple of weeks. A lot of these people were with me when the war started, and they’re still with me now it nears its completion.
I know that even though my decisions can be reckless, I’ll always have their support. I know that even though some may disagree with my orders, they’ll always carry them. I don’t know if captains worry about mutiny happening in other ships like the incident that caused the Armada to be sending out Captain’s Guards; I do know, however, that mutiny is an impossibility on my ship.
“Taylor, can you get me an open channel communication to both Sonali and Armada ship? Broadcast to all ships at once?”
“Yes, sir,” she replies. “It’s going to take a few minutes to reconfigure the communications arrays to broadcast at two frequencies at the same time.”
“You have one minute,” I say.
She nods and gets to work, her hands flying over the console.
I look up at the view screen as the navigator announces, “We’re dropping out of FTL factor seven in ten seconds.” He goes ahead to count down and then we appear at the edge of the star system containing the Sonali planet, a purple sphere glinting below us.
“Sir, I’m picking up a large number of Sonali and Armada ships headed to each other from opposite sides…and we’re right in the middle of them.” Dr. Taft announces in a crisp voice.
“They will be upon us in less than two minutes,” the tactical officer says.
; “Myrna!” I say, “Now!”
“Channel open, sir, please proceed.”
“This is Captain Jeryl Montgomery of the Seeker,” I say out loud. “I call for a cease fire. I repeat, I call for a cease fire between the Sonali and humans. This war shouldn’t have been fought in the first place. Cease fire, I repeat, cease fire!”
“Sir, we are getting an incoming transmission from Admiral Flynn,” Myrna announces.
“Put him through and keep the line open,” I reply.
“Jeryl, what the fuck is going on?” The Admiral asks me. His eyes are wide and tired, dark bags under them.
“Sir, I have hard evidence that the Sonali weren’t responsible for the destruction of the Mariner. This whole war was predicated on a lie. This is an open channel and all Sonali vessel can hear me. I will no longer be firing upon Sonali vessels. They are innocent.”
Well…that should really make everyone sit up and take notice.
Chapter 32
Admiral Flynn
There are perks that come along with being named Area Admiral, and one of them is the view from my sumptuous office in Armada Command on New Washington. I’m overseeing operations on Edoris, Malvelis, and Erdune Sectors.
Back on Earth, I had a hole in the wall, high rank or no high rank. Of course, in those days we didn’t have time to think about things like that. We were too busy fighting the bluefaces. Back then I wouldn’t have had the time to even glance out a window if I’d had one. But here we are, two years after the war’s end, and it’s back to pondering things like, “Cherry or oak furniture?” and “taupe or white walls?”
I suppose that’s good in a way. But I let my aide make those kinds of decisions because honestly, I don’t give a gonch’s ass what color the walls are. I’m happy to have walls at all. I think most people are. We’ve been rebuilding our infrastructure following the cessation of hostilities. I find it discomforting and aggravating to be working side by side, in some cases, with Sonali engineers on these reconstruction projects here on New Washington. On Earth, layers of bureaucracy would insulate me from contact with them. Now, here, I have to suck it up. I have to work with them, but I don’t have to like them.
