The Omarian Gambit: A Pax Aeterna Novel

by Trevor Wyatt

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,” Ashley 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?” Ashley 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 Ashley, 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.

  “Moira!” 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,” Moira 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.

  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 blue-faces. 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.

  New Washington is one of the most Earthlike of the colony worlds, a real showcase o
f urban and agricultural planning. There used to be a city on Earth called Brasilia, the capital of the old South American nation Brazil. It was built in the jungle from the ground up and was supposed to be a shining example of modernity.

  It almost worked. Brasilia ended up like most cities of the time: a combination of magnificent civic structures and poverty-stricken neighborhoods you wouldn’t want to walk in at night. As an observer commented at the time, “Nothing dates faster than people's fantasies about the future.”

  But I must admit they’ve done a helluva job here on New Washington. This star system is the hub of trade routes linking the Inner Core and the Farther Reaches, which are the regions beyond the Outer Colonies, the old limits of Terran-controlled space, to Sonali territory and the inhabited systems beyond. It’s a genuine gateway world, an economic and political powerhouse in the fastest growing sectors of space in the Union, and it needs to look like one.

  Given its clement climate, New Washington is perfectly suited to be an interstellar showpiece, which it is; but it has paradoxically become the most industrialized of the colony worlds.

  What I see from my window on the 115th floor is an unbroken stretch of spires and towers. New Washington is the only city on the planet – mainly because the city takes up most of the available land on the planet. The city builds up as it builds out, and commerce and industrialism reign no matter which way you look. From space it looks like a glittering white jewel in a setting of green. There is nothing like it anywhere in the galaxy.

  I see a Wesallian yacht pass majestically overhead. The Wesallians are but one of the 97 races of extraterrestrials we have met in the past eight years since First Contact with the Sonali. I can’t say we know any of them as well as we know the Sonali—a knowledge born of war, of course, so I’m glad we haven’t gotten to know the others that way. Our scientists have lifetimes of information to parse and study. Advanced medical knowledge and improved FTL travel are only two of the areas that have seen enormous development. The corpers are delighted, too, because vast new markets have opened up for them, leading to untold wealth.

  All in all, the Union is seeing peaceful days, for the most part. Oh, there are a few border skirmishes, the odd uprising here and there, and there are always pirates that need to be dealt with, but overall, old dogs like me haven’t got a lot to do these days.

  Which is why I’m here on New Washington, pushing papers and pressing the flesh as a diplomat. It’s not a position I enjoy, but I suppose I’ll get used to it in time.

  My door chimes and I turn to see Admiral Jeryl Montgomery walking in.

  “Hello, Admiral!” I say. We shake hands warmly. “Jeryl, it’s good to see you.”

  “Thanks, Howard,” he says. I know he’s still a little bit uncomfortable using my given name, but I’ve insisted. I still outrank him, but not by a lot. We’re both at the upper levels of command, and we shared campaigns and heartbreak all throughout the war. We’ve been through too much together to not use first names—in private, anyway.

  “How's Ashley?” I ask, taking a couple of glasses and a bottle of genuine Kentucky bourbon out of my desk.

  I ask this while I pour. I know the answer, because I make it my business to keep tabs on both of them. But I’m drawing him out.

  He takes a healthy drink before replying. “She’s Captain Gavin now, serving aboard The Seeker,” he says, and then sighs. “It happens to be in orbit around New Washington right now, so we’ll have some time together before she has to ship out. We don’t see each other very often these days, I’m afraid.”

  “Sorry to hear that, son.”

  “Thanks. It’s put a strain on the marriage.”

  “Do you ever think of having children?”

  He laughs, and I detect a rueful tinge to it. “I don’t think that’s in the cards for us, unless we do it by surrogates, and then who’d be raising the kids?” He shrugs. “Hired help. That’s not how we’d want to do it. Anyway, we’ve got time to think about it.”

  I make a noncommittal noise that hides the stab of pity I feel for him. I know how hard it is to maintain a life when you’ve dedicated your life to serving your race. Now I'm learning the bitterness that comes with no longer being needed in that capacity. But I won’t tell him about that. He’ll find out for himself, one day.

  “So tell me about the negotiations,” I say. I know he’s been working tirelessly this past year to create what is being called a Galactic Council. It’ll receive a formal name once it gets out of orbit. These years after the war have seen such an increase in trade and contact with other races that a special body needs to be created to oversee it all, as well as the immigration of aliens into the Union. There are, after all, many worlds in Union-controlled space that are unsuitable for human colonization—too hot, too cold, what have you—but perfect for the needs of non-humans. We have no objection to them developing our unused real estate, but we need to keep an eye on what they’re doing. Jeryl’s nascent council is designed, in part, to fill that need. A great many people are excited about it.

  For the first time, he smiles. “I think they’re going well,” he says. “Quite well.”

  I pour us some more bourbon, as we seem to have finished the first round. “I’m pleased to hear you say that.” And I am; not so much for the council itself, though it will be a great help, but for him.

  “Thank you,” he says. “The final papers should be ready for signing within a fortnight, standard time.” He swirls the liquor in his glass. “You know, Howard, sometimes it seems to me as if it was only last week that we met the Sonali. And then discovered the Nakra. And all the others.”

  I nod. “Our lives have changed, in ways we never could have imagined. Ten years ago we were alone in the universe, as far as we knew.”

  “We’ve learned a great deal since then,” I say. “I like to think that we have matured as a species.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps. I agree that both we and the Sonali recognized the errors of our ways. Neither side was entirely good, or bad. I didn’t see that for a long time.”

  “If we hadn’t unmasked what the Nakra had done, then Lord only knows what might have happened…that day.” For their trouble, Nakra space has been cordoned off. We’ve set robot stations to patrols its limits, warning off would-be intruders. No one wants anything like that to happen again.

  “Enough happened,” Jeryl says, biting off his words. I know he feels personally responsible for much of what happened, though I have assured him more than once that it wasn’t his fault.

  If anything, Jeryl is a hero. The man who first met the Sonali. Who led some of our greatest campaigns against them. Who defended his people. Who uncovered the secret of who destroyed The Mariner. And then…the man who ended the war.

  Every time I close my eyes I still see the day that Jeryl brought The Seeker in the middle of the Sonali and Terran fleets. Said that he would not fire on the Sonali planet. Shared his scans of the Nakra.

  It took the Terran captains in our fleet by surprise. They were ready to bring down The Seeker. But then everyone was surprised when the Sonali powered their weapons down. After all, the Nakra had admitted that they had guised themselves as Sonali.

  I remember receiving the Planetary Legate from the Sonali side on my flagship. We had arranged a cease fire right there.

  Six months later, a formal declaration of cessation of hostilities ushered the way for peace. Two months later, I was promoted and stationed on New Washington.

  To think, all of this could have been avoided.

  If anyone is truly to blame, it’s the Nakra, not Jeryl. But his guilt and frustration galvanized his determination to create this Galactic Council, where representatives from each species will be invited to air any grievances, raise issues, and try to solve their problems through words, not conflict. It’s a worthy goal, an attempt to make something new in galactic history, as far as we can determine. It’s the first step toward a unified galaxy, and I’m proud that humans are spearheading i
t.

  Jeryl, in fact, has spent most of the last year on Sonali Prime, working directly with our old enemies, who are proving to be good friends after all. But he has transferred here now because of his work to make the council a reality.

  He grins now, and I see some of the tension come out of him. It makes me want to put an arm around him, but I won’t do that, of course. It would make both of us rather uncomfortable. I have to show my affection in subtler ways.

  “I’m glad you’ll be around more often,” I say. “I’ve found a couple of good fishing spots that I’d like to show you.”

  “I’d love to go. I could use a break from all the people.”

  “Eh?”

  “It’s just that it’s a little odd for me to see so many humans around, after spending so much of my time on Sonali Prime.”

  I grunt. “I see more aliens than humans, these days.”

  “Time has changed!” He drains his glass. “Got to go, sir; I have yet another meeting. It’s been good to see you.”

  We shake hands once more. “Come by any time,” I tell him.

  “Count on it.” He flashes that grin again, and then he’s gone.

  Two years ago, it would’ve been difficult to imagine that one day, I’d be looking at my window, feeling a sense of peace.

  But now I’m here, looking at this marvelous view.

  I can see the future.

  It looks bright.

  The Mariner

  It was a routine investigation.

  Stellar phenomena. Nothing major.

  A blip on the road to shore leave.

  Except the crew of The Mariner never expected to find what they encountered...

  In space. Or with each other.

  Rina

  "No, I'm not going to agree with you just because you know you're getting on my nerves," I groan at Jrelo, the mechanic who believes he will win an argument with his First Officer just because he can practically see the stress headache he's giving me.