by Dani Kollin
J.D. winced slightly. “Marilynn, there are some images I can do without, thank you very much.”
“The President wanted me to impress upon you that there was almost no chance of it being tampered with. It can only be accessed by you genetically and only if you have the pass phrase the two of you apparently set up before we left.”
“Okay. Why are you giving it to me now?”
“I was also told that you were to receive it when we had achieved the ability to bombard Mars.”
“And if we hadn’t?”
“Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
J.D. snickered. “Any idea what’s on it?”
“Not a clue.”
“Then let’s say we find out what our glorious leader requires,” J.D. said, continuing on to the command sphere.
Michael Veritas was waiting for them at the entrance, being cautiously held up by two assault miners and a few securibots. He gave J.D. and Marilynn a friendly smile as they approached the hatch. Per a previous agreement, he’d been allowed to record the daily grind of life aboard ships at war. And though he hadn’t been aboard J.D.’s since the Battle of the Needle’s Eye, he’d made a special request to be there for this latest endeavor. J.D. had agreed on the condition that every word and image Michael took was subject to her approval for release. Part of her didn’t want the reporter to witness whatever was about to take place. But she knew that the future had a right to see the machinations of war and ultimately to render its own judgments. He could record the events for posterity, she’d decided, but that didn’t mean she’d allow it to be viewed in the present. With J.D.’s approval, the miners and securibots backed away from Michael as he joined them in entering the hallowed sphere.
Michael was immediately directed by another officer to the least obstructive spot and there, leaned against the part of the bulkhead he’d been given permission to lean against. J.D. took the command chair as Marilynn sidled up beside her. As a privacy field was created around the two of them, J.D. slipped the data crystal into her console. The holo-display activated once J.D.’s code word and DNA had been verified. Soon she was looking at a holographic image of President Sandra O’Toole.
“Congratulations on your victory,” she started. “In addition to the plan discussed and agreed to prior to your departure, there is one other.” Sandra paused momentarily and lowered her chin, almost defiantly, as J.D. shot Marilynn a furtive glance. Marilynn shrugged her shoulders. “I realize,” continued Sandra, “the order I’m about to give may seem draconian, but please keep in mind that I give it with the full knowledge of its implications and do not do so lightly. My reasoning should become self-evident shortly.” There was another brief pause as Sandra, with a single sentence, changed the face of the war and how the Outer Alliance planned on prosecuting it. “Fleet Admiral Black, you are hereby ordered to destroy, in its entirety, the city of Burroughs, Mars. Nothing should be left standing, nothing left alive.”
J.D. immediately leaned forward and paused the hologram. This time she did not look toward Marilynn, and if she was aware of Michael’s presence, she gave no indication. She kept her eyes focused on the stilled image of the President and momentarily brought her hand up to the scarred side of her face, but she did not touch it. Seconds passed as, less than an inch from her mangled flesh, J.D.’s fingers twitched slightly, as if trying to decide for themselves what to do. Slowly, J.D. brought the tips down on the surface of her mottled face and with her other hand pressed a button that allowed the message to continue.
“Please understand,” said Sandra, “that this order is not being issued out of vengeance. I’m ordering you to kill, by my estimate, twenty million people without the chance of reprieve in order to get at one man. One man who, if allowed to live, will continue to order the wanton destruction of hundreds of millions more. He must die, Admiral, in order to ensure that future generations don’t. And the only way to do that is to take out all of Burroughs in as thorough a manner as possible. He’s hiding in there somewhere, Admiral. I know him. He won’t leave the capital, because it will be politically ill perceived. And he believes we won’t kill an entire city just to get to him. You must prove him wrong. With their President dead and Mars devastated, I can negotiate the peace. I’m sorry to lay this on you. Part of me was hoping that you wouldn’t be in a position to view this, but you are. These are your orders, but I will take full responsibility. The data crystal Marilynn handed to you will not self-destruct. You may keep it as evidence of my culpability should someone ever blame you personally for the order you’ve just received. This is the closest any of us have come to finishing this thing. Follow this order, Janet, and end this war.”
J.D. leaned back in her command chair and took a deep and measured breath. She first looked to Marilynn and, for the first time, to Michael. Both, she noticed, stood stock-still—either as a result of what they’d just witnessed or guessed. She lowered the privacy field.
“Lieutenant Awala.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“Send these prepared targeting coordinates”—J.D.’s fingers now worked her console—“to the fleet captains. Commander Lee…”
“Admiral.”
“You are to target Burroughs for a specific attack.”
Michael Veritas’s face registered concern but he said nothing. Marilynn’s demeanor remained stoic.
“Yes, Admiral,” came Jasper’s quick reply. “Specifically which targets in Burroughs?”
J.D. wasn’t sure why, but unbidden, an image of Katy staring up into the Martian sky in abject terror leapt from her mind.
Allah forgive me, but I cannot do this thing. I cannot become the one I destroyed, cannot become Gupta. Cannot become the evil we seek to destroy. There must be another way to eliminate the madman that doesn’t necessitate the deaths of twenty million civilians, no matter how complicit they were in the rise of Sambianco and his ilk. Maybe Justin was right. Maybe the means are the ends. J.D. thought back on her recent conversation with her second-in-command. Suchitra, dear Suchitra. It is you, my friend, who’ll have the last laugh.
“Admiral.”
“Yes, Commander Lee,” answered J.D., suddenly aware that the entire command sphere had ceased its work and was now staring at her.
“Which targets in Burroughs?” repeated Lee.
J.D. pursed her lips and then answered. “The executive office complex of the UHF.”
Unseen by the crew but noticed by J.D. was the look of palpable relief on Michael’s face. “And,” continued J.D., “make sure the first shot hits Hektor’s office dead-on.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Commander Lee with obvious relish.
“Admiral,” Fatima broke in, “the flotilla reports targets locked and awaiting your order to commence bombardment.”
J.D. nodded. “Comm Officer.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“Fleetwide communication with a link to the Martian Neuro.”
A military-issue mediabot suddenly appeared in front of her, and a few seconds after that, the comm officer, with a slight nod, signaled J.D. the go-ahead.
“Citizens of Mars,” she began, “my name is J. D. Black, and I’m the Senior Fleet Admiral of the Outer Alliance. You’ve chosen to wage war against the Outer Alliance rather than to let us depart in peace, and as a result, for nearly seven years we’ve been fighting a war the likes of which humanity has never experienced. But you’ve not only supported a government in war against the military forces of the Outer Alliance, you’ve supported it in war against the civilians of the Outer Alliance. Had any of you ever stopped to consider the folly of attacking a civilization whose citizenry is spread wide over the outer reaches of the solar system when your own civilization has them concentrated on three tiny specks in that same system? Or the folly of attacking an enemy’s multitude of sparsely populated mobile settlements when you cannot defend your own immobile and vastly more populated homes?”
J.D. allowed her words to resonate before choosing to
continue. “We, the citizens of the Outer Alliance, have every right to treat you, the citizens of Mars, as your perversely named United Human Federation has treated the one hundred and seventy-nine million permanently dead of Jupiter and the over one hundred million permanently dead of the Belt. And is currently, I might add, on its way to treating every living citizen of Saturn. By the din of the number of souls who scream out for vengeance alone, we have the right and now most certainly the ability to destroy just about every child, woman, and man on Mars—” J.D. paused, speaking her next words with sadness and deliberation. “—and it was your leaders who have given us that right.”
Knowing that if they hadn’t already been, then they would certainly now be waiting on her next words, her verdict as it were, she made sure to wait what she felt would be an interminable amount of time—a full minute. One full minute just staring at the mediabot. One full minute looking as if then and there she were deciding the fate of billions.
“Be grateful to the Lord so few of you believe in, and so many of you have chosen to mock us for, that we are not your government. Give thanks that we follow the teachings of the one you despise, the Unincorporated Man, who would have none seek vengeance. Give thanks that we follow the leadership of his successor, the Unincorporated Woman, whom you have spent so much time and effort demonizing yet who, in this moment of your greatest vulnerability, has chosen to save you. If it were up to me,” said J.D., purposely lying through her teeth, “you would all be dead. But my orders are clear: You are not to be treated as you treated us, murdered in your homes for having different beliefs.”
J.D. waited in order to let hope build in those listening below. Then with unmerciful glee, she crushed it. “But you’ve abused the power and might that having this planet has given you. You’ve used it and the advantages it has given you to destroy and murder a people who only wanted peace. And so, by order of the President of the Outer Alliance and with the support of our Congress, you are hereby deprived of your planet. At the conclusion of this broadcast, a bombardment of Mars will commence. As in our initial assault, we will continue to destroy any installations deemed to be of military value. They will be destroyed at our discretion, and any civilian deaths, though regrettable, will not impinge on our schedule. If you even suspect you’re near such an installation, I would strongly suggest you remove yourself from it immediately. So that we’re clear, I will now spell out for you what the deprivation of planetary rights entails.” More seconds hung on J.D.’s words as she looked away from the mediabot and reviewed something on her display panel. She then looked up and continued her diatribe. “As you have lost the right to inhabit Mars, we will now make Mars uninhabitable. The great majority of our strikes will be to the ecology of this planet. We will release organisms into the soil, air, water, and atmosphere that will undo much of the terraforming done here. Because it will take years for this planetary virus to take effect, we’re going to expedite the process. In the coming days, we will aim to blot out the sun with the detritus from a constant barrage of ordnance as well as a nanovirus designed to limit the upper atmosphere’s absorption of light. All large bodies of fresh and salt water will be poisoned, making them toxic for all life to such an extent than even microbes will find no sustenance from them. As the sun goes, winter will come, and I assure you, it will be an endless one. Some of you may survive if you can find portable fusion reactors, rig up hydroponic gardens, and generate artificial light, but make sure you filter the water and the air very, very carefully.” J.D.’s smile was cold and mocking. “You may even begin to appreciate what it’s like to live on an asteroid. On those terms and those terms alone will you be allowed to live—and I use that term loosely—on the planet you’ve used so grievously against us. If you do choose to stay, we won’t hinder you, nor will we attack your cities. But if your government has your best interests in mind, if they have any pretense of caring for your well-being, they’ll see to your evacuation. Though you’re mostly pennies to them, you might have some value. If they do offer to evacuate, I suggest you take it. You’ll of course be refugees, forced from your homes and made to take a dangerous journey to a place not of your choosing, far from all you know and love. When you wish to curse us for what’s been done to you, hate us for what you’ve lost, and condemn us for what you’ll never get back, remember whose actions it was that brought us to your doorstep. Remember Alhambra—” J.D.’s visage was replaced by an image of the religious conclave, full of life, and then after, that same conclave as space wreckage with bodies and parts of bodies floating about. “—and ask them, Why? Remember Jupiter—” Images of defenseless settlements being blown to smithereens by Gupta’s armada, along with the surviving recordings of the terrified families within those settlements, filled the screen. “—and ask them, Why? And now the Belt—” Images of various armadas sending fusillades of rail gun fire into anything that moved, from tiny asteroids to installations to space docks to shuttles as well as the bloody results of those attacks appeared in all their contemptible glory. “—and ask them, Why? As a people I despise you for the evil you allowed by your acquiescence to President Sambianco’s false promises; by your belief in the dream of majority, you signed up in droves to ultimately become Sambianco’s willing executioners. But as individuals, and especially for your children—truly innocent—who are about to suffer unbearable loss and pain for the decisions of others, I hope you do survive. And may you never forget.” J.D. took one last long stare into the mediabot and said, “End transmission.”
A collective sigh of relief seemed to pervade the command sphere as J.D. resumed her normal duties—as if nothing more were going on than a simple drill or another in a series of tactical maneuvering exercises. But those around J.D. seemed to realize the enormity of what was about to happen, and began working with a heightened sense of urgency more typical of a ship under attack than of a ship completely safe from one. The holo-tank was now filled with a perfect replication of the planet below. J.D. stood up from her command chair and, placing her hands behind her back, stared contemplatively at one of humanity’s greatest achievements. What had once been a desolate, arid, and inhospitable environment had been, through the triumph of science and ingenuity of man, made into a resplendent world. Mars was green—so very, very green. Marked by innumerable and majestic mountain ranges thick with verdant forests and dotted with large splashes of cobalt seas. As a dreamscape there were few that could compare, and as planet none could compete—Mars had always been J.D.’s absolute favorite.
“Begin bombardment,” she said with her eyes still fixed on the planet and without a hint of remorse. In moments, tens of thousands of tracers from the rail guns of sixty heavy cruisers could be seen arcing their way toward three uninhabited regions of Mars, the plumes of destruction stunningly visible even from orbit. And it was then that Michael Veritas took the last of his four great pictures of the war.
Via Cereana
Ceres
The news Mosh had received from Mars tore at him like the claw of an angry predator. He now knew how terrible a mistake he’d made in trusting Sandra O’Toole—even in trusting his wife. But that was in the past, and Mosh McKenzie was not a man who lived in the past. He’d always charted the course of his life with the utter assuredness of a CEO and the deft maneuvering skills of a white-water river guide. Now was no different. One way or another, he would rectify the mistake he’d made in leaving one tyranny only to be complicit in propping up another. He entered the cordoned-off military bay and boarded the specially marked shuttle. He nodded to the pilot, who returned Mosh’s greeting with a cordial tip of the head. Mosh then settled into the copilot’s chair.
Once the shuttle was safely out of the bay and heading out toward the Via Cereana, he looked over to the pilot.
“Can we talk?”
Joshua Sinclair considered the question. “I think so.”
“A lot rides on this.”
Sinclair grunted his acquiescence. “Since we’re obviously not here to
coordinate industrial capacity,” said Sinclair, making reference to Mosh’s purported reason for the rendezvous, “I suggest you cut to the chase.”
Mosh took stock of his friend of many years, nodded his quiet agreement, and allowed a grim smile to emerge. “I need your help to commit treason.”
AWS Warprize II
Upper orbit of Mars
Jasper Lee looked up suddenly from his console. “Admiral, there’s a message coming through from planetside I think you may want to hear.”
J.D.’s ears perked up; then she nodded toward her XO.
“It’s coming from a far suburb of Burroughs, but it has an Alliance operative ident code.”
“I thought we already ID’d and secured all our agents.”
“We have, Admiral. All agents are now either working on Mars with field support or have already been brought up to the flotilla.”
A small grunt emerged from J.D. as she reviewed the message. She then looked back over to her XO. “Get me Nitelowsen. She should still be on the surface.”
After a moment, Marilynn’s voice popped through. “Fleet intelligence. How may I direct your call?”
J.D.’s lips curled upward. “Commodore Nitelowsen, Commander Lee is going to send you a message with an intelligence subcode. See if you recognize it.”
After a moment, Marilynn’s voice shot back. “It’s part of a recognition code, but only part. And it’s an old one, but still listed as secure. Could be a trap.”
“Do we respond?”
Both yes and no were heard simultaneously. J.D.’s eyes showed alarm as she looked over to her XO, who was desperately trying to locate the source of the communications breach. He looked up a moment later with a victorious grin as he sent both the name and location of the hacker over to his boss.
“I don’t think it’s a trap,” said the voice.
