“I apologize if you feel that way, Captain. But if we conduct ourselves like barbarians during war, then what will we be left with once war ends, other than savagery and the desire to wage more war?”
Husher snorted. “There’s a balance to be struck between becoming barbarians and binding ourselves with chains!”
Shaking his head, Chancey said, “I’m sorry I can’t bring you around to my viewpoint. It would make this a more pleasant process if I could manage it, but unfortunately, your views on the subject have little actual bearing. They are, in fact, seen by many as outdated.”
“Then military effectiveness is outdated, and we’re doomed the moment a power comes along that hasn’t limited itself like we have. That moment is now.”
“Do I need to remind you of the careful balance of power the Interstellar Union has sought to create with its military? As captain of a capital starship, you wield a level of power that’s completely unprecedented throughout galactic history. That’s why Cybele and its city council exists. We’re here to rein you in when you let personal vices and excesses lead you to abuse that power. It’s what this meeting is about, in fact.”
The mayor was right, Husher knew: arguing really was pointless. This was the same dilemma he’d been struggling with for two decades: to remain in a position to counter the danger he knew was coming, Husher had to give more and more ground to a government bent on coddling not only their constituents but every being in the universe, including any enemies that happened to come along. “Out with it,” Husher growled. “What are you forcing me to implement this time?”
“I’d rather not force you to implement anything, but I will write this into the law if I have to. As you know, I’m aligned with the council on this matter, and we’re ready to work together to enact any policy that becomes necessary.”
“Just tell me what you want,” Husher spat.
“I want you to sign on to the Positive Response Program.”
For a moment, Husher lacked words. Then, he said, “I thought it was voluntary. If a captain thinks it’ll impair his crew’s effectiveness, he can decline to participate.”
“It has been voluntary, so far. But as you know, we’re given leeway to experiment with our legislation. You might call it our civic duty to do that, so that outside society can benefit from what we attempt here—as the Womb of Civilization and all, you know. You can probably see where I’m going with this. If you refuse to participate in the Positive Response Program, then I intend to ensure that legislation is enacted which requires you to participate.”
A dizziness struck Husher—a sense of disorientation so strong that for a moment, it felt like his ship was at sea rather than adrift in space. For the first time, it occurred to him that a man like Chancey was probably the most dangerous of all: a friendly viper, smiling until the moment its fangs found your neck.
“Is there anything you’d like to say at this point?” the mayor said, and unlike with Kaboh’s recent victory over him, Husher truly couldn’t detect any satisfaction underlying Chancey’s words.
Does he really believe he’s doing best by society? Or is he just giving his constituents what they want? “There’s nothing to say,” Husher said, his voice emerging as a rasp.
“Are there any objections you care to lodge?”
“You’ve already made it clear that it won’t make a difference. Just let the record show that I think you’re dealing the galaxy a death blow.”
“Captain Husher,” Chancey said, sounding chagrined. “Really. The Integrated Galactic Fleet is a public institution, and it’s incumbent on us to set a good example for organizations and businesses throughout the galaxy. That involves helping the underprivileged to find the employment they so want and deserve.”
“Do you realize how damn condescending that sounds?” Husher snapped.
“I’m afraid we differ, there.”
Scraping back his chair against the marble floor, Husher stood. Before he made for the exit, he said, “Can I make a request, Mayor?”
“Of course.”
“Lobby the Interstellar Union to deploy more warships to this region. I intend to make the case to them myself, but it will likely have more clout coming from you.”
“It’s not something I can promise. But I can tell you that I’ll think about it.”
Nodding, Husher turned and strode toward the door, feeling like he’d done all he could.
“Captain, there was one other thing.”
Husher turned his head sideways, but his body still faced the door. “Yes?”
“The people of Cybele want the Nonattendance Day for humans. Wingers, Kaithe, Tumbra, humans—they all want it, and as mayor, it’s incumbent on me to insist that you permit and encourage your crew to participate.”
“Fine,” Husher ground out, and he left, struggling to keep his shoulders squared and head high.
Chapter 33
Invertebrate
An hour after his meeting with Chancey, as he walked from the wardroom to his office, Husher caught multiple venomous glares directed his way, quickly masked once his eyes found them.
“Is there a problem, Private?” he asked a marine, who was the third one he caught wearing a sour expression.
The man came to attention, snapping off a crisp salute. “Sir, no, sir!”
“You’re certain there’s nothing you’d like to discuss?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“Dismissed,” Husher said, suppressing a grimace.
Apparently, the mayor wasn’t being very discreet about securing agreement from Husher to sign on to the Positive Response Program. Not that he needed to be—clearly, Chancey could do as he pleased—but Husher didn’t think the indiscretion was very considerate. There had been no chance to message the decision to his crew yet, and evidently, they were drawing their own conclusions about it. He needed to move quickly if he was to have a shot at forestalling a major deterioration of his relationship with them.
His hand was on the access panel for the hatch into his office when a scratchy voice reached his ears.
“A word, Captain?”
He turned to behold Fesky, feathers standing at attention.
“You’re upset,” he said.
“You bet I am.”
“We can have a word, but I want you to know the conversation we’re about to have will be between a captain and his XO, not between old friends. Be very careful of overstepping your bounds here, Fesky.” He opened the hatch.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” the Winger said, brushing past him and turning around.
Husher’s eyes narrowed, and he slapped the interior access panel without looking, closing the hatch behind him. “I already don’t like how this is going.”
“I don’t care,” Fesky said. “I told you, human. I told you. I said do not agree to that program. That it would tear the crew apart and turn them against you. What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything, Fesky. I certainly didn’t agree to anything. This was forced on me by Cybele City Council.”
“So what? You’re in a war, Husher. Isn’t that supposed to make you a warrior? Fight this!”
“I don’t think you understand how this works.”
“I understand how having a spine works, actually, yes. Winger aren’t invertebrates, and I didn’t think humans were, either. Turns out there are some exceptions.”
“You’re out of line, Commander,” Husher barked, and Fesky fell silent, seething. “Listen to me. You haven’t captained a starship during these last seventeen years. In fact, you’ve never captained one. You don’t understand how thin the line is that I have to walk each and every day, just to remain in command so that I can take the fight to the enemy we both know has been building up for years.”
But Fesky was shaking her head. “Husher, the reason I haven’t captained a ship is that when you asked me to be your XO, I accepted. I did that because I thought we’d make a good team. I thought we’d stand up for what was
good and right and effective, just like Captain Keyes and I did, and just as you did when you served under him.” Fesky’s voice grew softer. “But look at you now. You’re trying to appease everyone, and because of that you’re accomplishing nothing. Your attempts to stay in command, to please the politicians scrutinizing your every action—it’s making you just like they are, Husher. Captain Keyes was willing to sacrifice his life to save the galaxy. And he did. And it worked. But you? You’re not even willing to sacrifice your career.”
“I need a career to be able to do anything about Teth!” Husher yelled, but Fesky was already striding past him. She pressed the access panel to open the hatch, and then she was gone.
Fuming, Husher made his way around the desk, dropped into his chair, and yanked the datapad toward him.
Not even my best friend understands the position I’m in.
Furiously, he began to type.
Chapter 34
Not Compulsory
“There’s no question that the Positive Response Program represents a change,” Husher wrote in what would amount to the official announcement of the program to his crew. “A significant change. The Vesta has one of the most passionate and loyal crews out there, and I understand many of you are reluctant to leave her, especially in a time of war.
“I do understand that reluctance, more than you probably know. But I want to offer some words of reassurance. No one is going to ‘lose their job’ with the Integrated Galactic Fleet because of this program. Everyone displaced will be found other positions, and it’s possible, even likely, that your new position will also be in a combat role, especially since the need for such roles will almost certainly increase in the near future. Under the Positive Response Program, no one will be ‘let go.’ The IGF doesn’t fire people. Sometimes it discharges them, but it doesn’t fire them, and no one will be discharged under Positive Response.
“One further note. I’ve been asked to inform you that tomorrow will be an official Nonattendance Day for humans, sanctioned by Cybele City Council. This event is being characterized as a show of solidarity, by humans, with nonhuman beings. I’m told that the intention is to send nonhuman beings a message that they are just as welcome in public spaces as humans are. Participation in Human Nonattendance Day is not compulsory, and I’m not requiring or even requesting that crewmembers participate. I will say, however, that if I receive reports of any violence between crewmembers and civilians as a result of not participating, I will take swift disciplinary action against the crewmembers involved.”
Once he finished typing, Husher didn’t have the heart to read over what he’d written, because if he did, he likely wouldn’t be able to make himself go through with it. He decided to just post it straight to the Board, though his finger hovered over the command key for several long moments before finally descending.
That done, he attempted to focus on reports from Engineering on the state of the aft hull. There were no facilities in Saffron where the supercarrier could be repaired, and so they’d been forced to patch her up as best they could on their own—which mostly amounted to sealing off the affected sections and hoping for the best.
Try as he might, Husher couldn’t muster the concentration necessary to make sense of the detailed reports. He would read four lines, realize he hadn’t absorbed a thing from them, and then read them again. It took five tries to derive any meaning from the passage he was on, and twice as long for the next one.
His com beeped with a Priority message, and he picked it up, relieved for an excuse to divert his attention somewhere else, even if only for a few seconds.
His relief was short-lived.
The message was from his Coms officer, who was passing along word from the Viburnum System.
The munitions facility there had been attacked by a vessel whose profile matched Teth’s. That vessel had succeeded in destroying the facility.
Husher lowered his head into his hands and held it there for a long time.
Chapter 35
Nonattendance Day
“So, boys, what should we do with our last day on the Vesta?” Corporal Toby Yung asked his bunkmates before slamming his fist into a metal post hard enough to lay it open, spattering blood across a bottom bunk’s sheets.
“Damn it, Toby!” Private Zimmerman said, jumping up from the next bunk over to check whether any blood had gotten on it. Satisfied, he turned his glare on Toby. “This isn’t going to be our last day, you idiot.”
“Might as well be. Who knows which of us are going to get ‘shuffled’ off. I say we enjoy it.”
“What do you have in mind?” asked another private, named Mews. “Other than wrapping up that hand before it bleeds on me and I have to kick your ass.”
Toby whipped off his shirt and used it to staunch the bleeding. “I say we go get lit up a bit at the Providence Lounge and see where the morning takes us.”
“Put on another shirt, first, would you?” Zimmerman said. “I don’t want to have to rescue any more female officers from trying to get in the pants of a marine in their direct chain of command.”
“All right.” After he bandaged his hand and put on the promised shirt, they rolled out to the Providence and ordered a round of whiskey shots. Then they ordered two more.
By the time they headed out for Cybele, they all had a decent buzz going, or at least Toby did.
Just before he entered his access code to open the hatch into the illusory desert, he turned to his buddies, feeling a dumb, alcohol-enhanced smile creeping across his face. “Ah, damn it, guys. I just remembered that today’s the Nonattendance Day for human beings. Now, we’re not gonna cause trouble by going for a walk through the city, are we? We really should all go back to the bunkroom.”
“Well, wait a second,” Mews said in his steady baritone, which sounded perfectly sober even after three shots of whiskey. “If we go back to our bunks, how do we know everyone else is respecting Human Nonattendance Day? We’re three upstanding, civically responsible marines. It’s practically our duty to go out there and patrol the streets to make sure no humans show their ugly faces.”
“Mews is right,” Zimmerman said. “I’m sorry, Toby, but I won’t let you stand in the way of enforcing Nonattendance Day. I insist that we go into Cybele right this instance.”
“Aw, all right, you guys. Guess you’re just both more forward-looking than me. Let’s go out there and show them just how absent humans can be!” Toby punched his code into the panel, and the hatch slid open. Unsurprisingly, there were dozens of activists right outside, lounging around in the sand. At first, that struck him as amusing—all part of the joke. We’ll go out and screw with them a bit. Have some fun with them.
Then, something caught his eye that definitely wasn’t funny.
Almost half of the people sitting out there were humans.
Cursing loudly, Toby marched out of the crew section and into the fake desert. “What the hell is this all about?”
Dozens of heads turned toward him, and he leered right back at them. “What are all these humans doing here? We were told we couldn’t come out here, but what about all these people?” Toby pointed his finger, waving it around to indicate all the humans.
A woman with bright red hair marched up to him, who couldn’t have been more than twenty. She had the audacity to place two slim hands on his chest and try to push him back toward the hatch. He didn’t budge, of course, but the nerve!
“You’re not supposed to be here!” she yelled. Something about her reminded him of the captain—maybe it was how much gall she had.
“What are you doing here, then?” he yelled back.
“I’m an ally. It’s fine for allies to be here, obviously. I’m not someone who’s going to make them feel marginalized or like they should forget about where they come from or who they are. An ally is someone who stands by oppressed groups and who’s willing to step back and step down if it means giving oppressed individuals the space they need.”
Her last words rang in h
is ears: giving oppressed individuals the space they need. It reminded him of the hollow reasons he was being fed to explain the possibility he might get shuffled out of a posting he’d held for years. “I don’t know what you just said, exactly,” Toby said, jamming his finger toward the humans rising to their feet behind her. “But I do know that this is some bullshit.” Behind him, Zimmerman and Mews made some sounds that indicated they agreed.
A man stepped up beside the lady, his face a storm cloud all for Toby. “Could I ask you to stop being so aggressive toward her please?”
“What? I’m just talking.” Toby sized the guy up. He looked like he probably worked out, but Toby wasn’t too worried. “This is nowhere near as aggressive as I get, man, trust me.”
“You know what I think your captain’s actually afraid of, marine?” the lady said, attempting to push him again. “I think he’s afraid that if he actually steps aside and makes way for equality between the species, then he’ll lose the ability to brainwash goons like you into hating other species and seeing them as the enemy.”
“Lady, don’t worry,” Toby said. “All I see behind you is Wingers and Kaithe. I’m not paid to kill them.”
The gym rat stepped forward, taking a turn at shoving Toby, and this time he actually fell back a step. “I told you to stop being so aggressive.”
Toby reacted to that with a mixture of instinct, training, and whiskey. The guy got four knuckles to the face, and that was enough to put him on his back in the sand and keep him there.
“Holy shit, Toby,” Zimmerman said, at the same time Toby was glaring around at the group of protesters and screaming, “Anyone else?”
A long moment of shock stretched between the fifty or sixty protesters and the trio of marines. At last, the tension broke, and relief washed over Toby as most of the protesters charged toward him and his buddies. He hated waiting for a fight.
A couple of human men came at him, all the same time. He booted one in the stomach, making him stagger backward, winded. The other guy tried to land a punch, but Toby sidestepped easily and nailed him in the jaw, making him cry out all high-pitched and back off. That gave Toby room to elbow the wheezing guy in the back of the neck, which sent him sprawling to the sand.
Capital Starship (Ixan Legacy Book 1) Page 15
