by J. N. Chaney
Densmore waved airily, fury still clouding her face. “Tell me.”
“I’m going to destroy that Nyctus hydro world. I want to do to it what the squids did to Cotswold, and to Nebo. Ashes. Fire. No—and I mean no—survivors. A message like no other. And I want your help making it happen.”
Densmore sat further back in her chair, a slow smile spreading on her lips. “Okay. Tell me how.”
“I’ve asked Captain Tanner to sit in on this,” Densmore said, “as a source of sober second thought. Now, Lieutenant, I’d like you to tell him what you told me.”
Thorn looked from Densmore to Tanner. They were back in the same briefing room aboard the Stiletto, where he’d confronted Densmore just a few hours before.
“Gather you have some sort of big plan, Stellers,” Tanner said. “Bit unorthodox listening to a pitch for strategic action from a junior officer—but you’re obviously not in the same career track, given your unusual history. I’ll play along. For now.”
Thorn gave a humorless smile. “I’ll take being called unusual as a compliment, sir.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Good. Because I don’t need compliments, sir. I need dead enemy.”
Tanner smiled, and this time it was genuine. “You have my attention.”
“It’s simple, sir. I propose we take a Task Force—a big one—and strike at the Nyctus hydro planet we found. We burn the damned thing to its bedrock. We show the Nyctus that if they’re going to do that to our populated worlds, we’re going to do it right back to theirs. The reason why we don’t need subtlety is based on the enemy flaw—their arrogance. The target is so far into Nyctus space, they haven’t even considered a possible attack. I say we give them what they don’t expect. Ships, orbital pounding, and ’casters, raining hell until there aren’t any Nyctus left to fight back.”
Tanner slowly leaned back in his chair but said nothing.
“I’ve already raised the obvious objections,” Densmore said. “For one, we’d have to move a chunk of the Fleet right through Nyctus space, which is one thing for a long range fighter like the Gyrfalcon, but it's a different sort of problem when you’re taking dozens of vessels, many of them capital ships.”
“They’ll be underway for weeks, too,” Tanner said, eyeing the star chart that had been projected onto the briefing room’s viewscreen. “A big chunk of the Fleet, tied up for that long, surrounded by enemy space—” He looked back at Thorn. “There’s ballsy, Stellers, and then there’s unsafe. Assume you have an answer for that, though, or you wouldn’t have suggested this in the first place.”
Thorn didn’t hesitate. “I’ll move the Fleet, the same way I moved the Gyrfalcon.”
The silence that followed was leaden. Tanner finally broke it.
“What?”
“I’ll move the Fleet, sir.”
“Move the Fleet—” Tanner said, shaking his head. “It’s one thing to move a single Gyrfalcon, Stellers. You really think you can scale that up to hundreds of thousands of tons of machinery and people?” He shook his head again in pure amazement. “I think you’ve started to believe your own legend, Lieutenant.”
“I can do it,” Thorn said flatly.
Tanner’s face was a study in skepticism, but he turned to Densmore. “Is that even possible? Moving an entire Task Force?”
“No, it’s not,” Densmore replied. “It would take—hell, I don’t even know how many Starcasters it would take, all somehow pooling their power. And we’ve only just started experimenting with rituals that let multiple ’casters join forces.” She bit off a curse, fingers drumming on the desk. “It’s not possible for a single ’caster to access that kind of power.”
“All due respect, ma’am, but it definitely is possible,” Thorn said, his tone quite different from their earlier confrontation. “I tapped into something I hadn’t known before and came to a conclusion. My magic isn’t restrained by physical laws—only by me. That’s how I was able to move us before, when we were on the brink of death, and it’s how I’ll move this fleet so that we can kill squid. To be blunt—I can do this, and we need it. The navy needs it, humanity needs it, and I want it. I know I’m a junior officer, but I am the point of this spear, and I can do this thing. Watch me.”
Densmore glanced at Tanner, then back at Thorn. “Stellers, you made me a promise not to—”
“Yes, I did. And I broke it, and I’m sorry for that, but not really. Ma’am, we’re not winning this war. We might not actually be losing it, but we’re not winning it, either. And unless we’re prepared to do what it does take to win it, then people are just going to keep dying in an endless grind of attrition that fills space with corpses and naval families with one question—why.”
Densmore steepled her fingers. “I notice that you didn’t mention this little fact in your report. It’s like you were hoping to cover it up or something—like you knew you were in the wrong.”
Thorn was ready for that, too. “No, ma’am, I just thought it wasn’t the sort of thing I should mention in a report that was going to be read by. . .anyone above my rank.”
“Touché,” Tanner muttered.
Densmore colored with anger. “You’re encouraging him—?”
“No,” Tanner replied. “By no means. Personally, I think Stellers could stand some behavior modification here so he remembers that he’s talking to two senior Captains, and not some fellow junior officers over a drink.” He ended by raising his brows at Thorn.
Thorn shifted uncomfortably. He might have his doubts about Densmore, but he had none about Tanner. Moreover, the idea of disappointing the man actually made him squirm. So he gave a terse agreement of his own, in as neutral a tone as possible. Tanner was an ally, and that had never been in doubt.
“I’m sorry, sir. And ma’am. I’m not wired to be disrespectful. I’m wired to win, so we can put it behind us and get on with whatever comes after a war. I hope it’s some kind of life. I’ve never had one and I know a lot of people who would like to return to theirs.”
Tanner let himself sigh, head shaking. “Understood. Just keep that attitude in mind here, Lieutenant. Not that long ago, the idea of a Lieutenant discussing Fleet strategy with senior officers would be laughable. You get some leeway, given who and what you are. But leeway only goes so far.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now then, I gather that whatever it is that Stellers did is something you object to, Alys,” Tanner went on.
“It is. He did essentially the same thing as when he saved Code Gauntlet from the big rock the squids chucked at it. He, ah, rewrote reality.”
“And that’s bad?” Tanner asked.
She gave a derisive sniff. “Who knows? And that’s the problem. When he changed the fundamentals of how an Alcubierre drive worked to save the FOB, the effects were confined to the Alcubierre bubble around your ship. This time, there wasn’t any such boundary to what he did, so it might have had all sorts of effects we just haven’t seen yet.”
“So, what you’re proposing, then,” Tanner said, “is to do the same thing again, to move a Task Force both through and past Nyctus space, all in one act of ‘casting.”
Thorn nodded. “Exactly, sir. I’ll pull as much power to me as I can handle, and use it to carry the Task Force right to the hydro planet. The squids won’t see it coming, because the conduit isn’t anything they can detect. It’s me.”
“They’ll almost certainly have that planet well defended now,” Tanner said. “But if it’s something he’s already done, then how big a problem is it, really, if he does it again? Wouldn’t the effects already be felt?”
Densmore waved her hand in dismissal, frustrated by a lack of knowing. “Again, who knows? Ultimately, it’s like the butterfly effect. Stellers flapped his wings, and it may amount to nothing, or it may cause a hurricane somewhere—including right here, in ON space.” She leaned back with a sigh. “For all we know, he’s made it possible for the squid shamans to have unlimited power, too, like openin
g a lock for the entire class of beings who can tap into magic.”
“Okay, if I understand this,” Tanner said, “and trust me, I really don’t, but I’m trying. If I grasp what happened, Stellers made it possible for himself to have more and more magical power, all he needed, just by wanting it to be true, because want is more ethereal than natural laws, and . . . you stepped outside them?”
Thorn hesitated. It was obviously far more complicated than that, and even he was only beginning to untangle the knots of manifesting something as wild as magic—but he nodded anyway. The process was new to him, and it would be utterly incomprehensible to Tanner, who dealt in steel and tactics. “Something like that, sir.”
“So shouldn’t he have all that power now, on tap, so to speak? And if it was something that affected the whole—and I cannot believe I am saying this—the whole freakin’ universe, then should other Starcasters be affected? Do you suddenly have unlimited power, Alys?” Tanner asked.
“Not as far as I know,” she said. “But that’s not the point. Doing that is dangerous. More dangerous than, well, pretty much anything I can imagine. Hell, he could change the universe in some way that makes it impossible for life to exist and, poof, that’s it, that’s all. This is why Fleet ordered him not to do this without their express consent—and why I made him promise me he wouldn’t.”
“But Fleet doesn’t know that Stellers changed the universe again. A phrase, I might add, that goes against everything I’ve known about the business of war.” He paused, then added, “and physics.”
“I just found out,” Densmore replied. “Sitting here, just like you did.”
“Okay,” Tanner said. “Well, I’d suggest we keep that little fact to ourselves for now. If we’re going to do this, let’s go to Fleet clean, asking them for that explicit permission for Stellers to, ah . . . adjust reality again.”
Densmore said nothing. Eventually, though, she nodded, the conflict on her face obvious to anyone looking. She understood the risk. She also grasped the potential.
Tanner turned to gaze at Thorn, in a way that was both casual and intense. When their eyes locked, Thorn understood Tanner to be a man of deep intellect who was threshing an unusual decision. “So, the plan is, using this dangerously powerful thing you do, you’d move our Task Force there, we’d take out this planet, and then you’d bring everyone back home?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s insane,” Densmore said, sitting forward abruptly. “Utterly insane. And even if it actually works, and doesn’t literally screw everything up—we’re planning on wiping out a planet with no apparent military infrastructure, bases, nothing like that.”
Thorn nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Fine. We hit this planet. A world of civilians—of women and children—and then what, Stellers?”
“Then we hit the next one. And the next. And the next after that. And we keep hitting them until there are none left.”
“So, genocide.”
“The squids didn’t have to start this war,” Thorn said evenly. “They didn’t have to attack us, and they didn’t have to reject all of our attempts to open negotiations with them. Seems to me they’re ready for genocide, that that’s what they’re looking for out of all this.” Thorn slowly shook his head. “So, if there’s going to be genocide, I vote we make it theirs, not ours.”
“And what about that other world you found? The one with the Danzur. They’re practically next door to each other. It’s likely they know about the Nyctus. They might even trade with them. Hell, you even said there was evidence that Alcubierre-equipped ships had been in that system not long before you got there. Since they’re only just beginning to experiment with superluminal travel, then whose ships were those most likely to be? Are you going to make an enemy of those people, too?”
Thorn thought about Sophat and his almost charming dedication to the most cumbersome of bureaucracies. “If they’re allies with the Nyctus,” he said, “then they’re already our enemies.”
“So, do we wipe them out as well? Only seems to make sense. Take care of them before they can become a threat.”
“I don’t know, ma’am. Maybe. If it seems necessary.”
“Holy shit,” Densmore said. “Where does this end, Stellers? What’s next?”
“You know, ma’am,” Thorn snapped, “you’ve insisted to me you aren’t a Skin, and I am inclined to believe you, especially given how serious you are about what I’m proposing. I know this is surreal. I’m in the middle of it, and it still feels like a fever dream, at times, but, ma’am, I have to ask. Don’t you want to win?”
“How dare you, you insolent—win?” Densmore’s face was a mask of fury, and Tanner sat up straighter, seeing the signs of a soldier on the brink of violence. “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing with my life?”
“Spying, ma’am. And everything that entails,” Thorn said flatly.
“You think I don’t want to win because I’m averse to the slaughter of innocents? Well, if that’s being obstructive, then, yeah, I’m obstructive.” She leaned on the table, pushing herself into Thorn’s space. “Maybe I’m being obstructive because I’m not anxious to turn the Fleet into your personal weapon of vengeance, Lieutenant Stellers. Destroying this planet is not going to undo the destruction of Cotswold, or Nebo.”
Before Thorn could respond, Tanner stood, leaned between them, and growled a single word. “Enough.”
The word detonated between Thorn and Densmore like a fusion blast. Thorn winced; Densmore reeled back at the controlled fury of Tanner’s command.
“Both of you, sit down.” Tanner said.
They complied.
“Now then, before this gets out of hand and the two of you start hurling fireballs or whatever the hell you Starcasters do when you get pissed at one another, we’re going to take a moment and regroup.”
“Fine with me,” Densmore said.
Thorn nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“First of all,” Tanner said, his gaze on Thorn, “let’s put an end to this whole question about her dedication to winning the war. Do we really want to cultivate an attitude in the Fleet that anyone who ever says or does something that doesn’t amount to kill every squid is a possible weak link, or worse? How long before we’re spending more time suspecting and investigating ourselves instead of actually trying to win this war?”
“I—yes, sir,” Thorn said.
“What a gift,” Densmore said with a derisive snort, but then she steeled herself with an effort. “I appreciate your vote of confidence about my abilities, Lieutenant, but it isn’t needed,” she replied. “And, for the record, I don’t think Captain Tanner is saying to let your guard down, because there really are Skins out there. But we can’t let that make us paranoid to the point we’re completely paralyzed.”
“Correct,” Tanner said, but now he switched his attention to Densmore. “As for Stellers’s proposal, yes, I have to admit, the idea of bombarding a planet full of what amounts to women and children does not sit well with me. I didn’t join the ON to do things of such putrid morality. We’re not the instigators of this war, and we’re not genocidal.”
“We don’t have to be genocidal to win, sir. But we do if we want to prevent another war,” Thorn said.
“Prove it,” Tanner said.
“A man named Caesar cut off the hand of every Gaul he conquered on Earth. Long ago. Sir,” Thorn said, eyes hard.
“I know my history. The Gauls didn’t sack Rome. The Visigoths did, but one might argue that the Romans consumed themselves from within,” Tanner said, looking around at their setting with a critical eye. Then he stood and walked to the viewscreen, waving at the expanse of imagery. “However, I’m equally anxious to not lose any more people to this war, regardless of who’s doing the killing and how, because Stellers is right—right now, the Nyctus really have no reason to come to the table. They’ve had the strategic initiative since the beginning, and they sure as shit have no hesitation to wipe out our wome
n and children.”
He stopped and looked pointedly at the icon representing the system containing the hydro planet. “If we really can move an entire fleet with magic to this place, obliterate it, and then come right back home again, maybe that will be enough to convince the squiddies to start talking peace. Shit, maybe just having our fleet show up on the doorstep of this water world of theirs will be enough to get them to stand down. At the very least, it should show them we’re not going to screw around.”
He turned back to Densmore and Stellers. “I’m for this idea—reluctantly, I might add, but if we’re going to do this, then I’ll have to put that reluctance aside. I’m prepared to take it to the Fleet Chief of Staff. Alys, what about you?”
She looked from Thorn, to Tanner, and back again. “I’m personally against it,” she finally said. “But I can’t deny the strategic advantage it would give us, if it works. So, professionally, I’ll support it.” She turned to Thorn. “But understand this, Lieutenant. In my heart of hearts, I think this is reckless, and it’s immoral. I further think you’re letting a desire for personal vengeance cloud your judgement. You lost your family on Cotswold, and you have some connection with what happened on Nebo. I don’t know what, exactly, but I know you do.”
She leaned forward. “So, let me share a bit of wisdom with you, Thorn Stellers, for what it’s worth. The very first op I ran was a complete failure. I lost an entire Tiger Team and two mission specialists to the squids in what turned out to be a setup. They dangled a high-value target in front of me like a carrot, and I was only too eager to go for it. I let myself see what I wanted to see, believe what I wanted to believe. I got nine good people killed. I swore I would make the squids pay for it.”
