Drawing Battle Lines

by Robert Culp

  I direct the tech to open the channel, “Greetings Mr. Slungar, I am Sonia MacTaggert, commander of the starship Prophecy. We are on a mission of exploration and wish to learn about your planet. A starport is not necessary, but I would like to meet with you. I have smaller craft that are capable of landing in small areas, ideally about an acre in size. If you’re unfamiliar, that’s approximately four square kilometers. Where shall I direct my shuttle to land?”

  “I’m sorry Madam, but I lack the authority to grant such a request. If you’ll allow me, I’ll be in touch with—my goodness, who? I’ll start with the military I guess; they can grant you landing privileges while the government tries to figure out who they want to send to meet you.”

  “Perfectly understandable, sir. May we launch a few probes that will make our desired observations for us?”

  “I also lack that authority, but I will pass on to our aerial defense forces that you are doing so and that your probe is not a weapon. That will be an accurate report, yes?”

  “Of course, sir,” I tell him. “We have no desire or reason to attack you.” At this time, anyway and I hope it will stay that way.

  “Very well, I shall then say that I will speak to you later. I or someone from the government, will we be able to reach you on this frequency?”

  I glance at Nicholson; she nods in the affirmative. “By all means, sir. We look forward to hearing from you. Or a governmental representative, of course.”

  “He has closed the channel, ma’am.”

  “Can you tap into their communication satellites?” I ask her.

  “They may see that as spying,” Athena has joined us.

  “Which it would be,” Celeste says. “But if we figure out how to interpret what they’re already sending, we’re just overhearing.” We all turn to look at her, “There’s a difference between me pressing my ear to the wall to hear what you’re saying and me walking into the room and just listening.”

  “That sounds good,” I say. “Worst case we ‘overhear’ an encrypted conversation and we record it for decryption practice.”

  “I’ll get on it, ma’am,” the communications chief says. The rest of us move away and leave her to her work.

  Athena raises a finger, “I have a concern.”

  “Speak,” I say.

  “There is no evidence that this planet has visited any other planet, correct?”

  “Correct,” Celeste says. “And if you’re going with this where I think you’re going; I have a similar concern.”

  “So I’m the only one in the dark?” I look between them. “What’s the issue?”

  “His grammar was almost textbook,” Celeste says. “How does he know our language? There was no delay indicative of an automated interpreter, he answered questions as quickly as you asked them.”

  Athena says, “The odds of the same language developing along the same path on different planets defy calculation.”

  Celeste breaks the silence between us, “You asked about probes, Captain?”

  “Not at this time,” I say. “Let’s wait until we have their overt permission. We don’t want to be mistaken as the heavy handed, overly domineering potential invader.”

  “As you wish, ma’am,” Celeste says. “Shall we do anything other than normal ship’s duties as we wait?”

  I get a call from Shawna before I can answer, “Prophecy Actual this is Thrumlee, a flight of three is ready to launch, are we green?” Three? Oh, the stealth fighters and the shuttle.

  “Negative,” I say. “Not right now, but maintain a five-minute readiness posture.”

  “Wilco.”

  “Nothing in particular,” I tell Celeste. “But get things in a ‘self-handling’ mode, I want you to join me for the trip down if we get permission. You, me, and four body guards to keep Chief Sergeant Okkam happy.”

  “Very well, equipment?”

  “The lightest armor variant we have for all of us. Okkam will want us all in marauder suits, but that sends the absolute wrong message. But so will showing up in our flight suits. Side arms for all, the troopers can carry long guns but at sling arms.”

  “I’ll spread the word, any particular troopers?”

  I shake my head in the negative and she nods and turns away. I take my chair to await contact from the planet. I accept a cup of coffee from the passing steward as he visits each bridge station in turn.

  “Captain, you may find this of interest,” says Chief Nicholson. I walk over to her station.

  “What’s new?” I ask her.

  “I’ve been listening to their radio traffic for about an hour now,” she says. “The bulk of it is pretty benign, typical political propaganda. Various pundits across the political spectrum, commercial advertisements, a fair amount of musical programming, but what’s of interest to me is two broadcasts from two different governments. Both are painting themselves as the good guys, as most governments do, but both believe not only is war inevitable, but a nuclear exchange is very likely, even imminent.”

  Athena has joined us. “Passive scans have revealed that seven of the countries possess crude—by our standards—fissionable weapons.”

  “Make a note,” I tell her. “If we get access to their libraries, scan their journalism archives. I want to know if they really expect nuclear war or if they’re rattling sabers.” I turn to face Athena, “Do you have an idea what they’re fighting over?”

  “My assessment is water,” she says. “The bulk of what we have detected on the surface is either salty or polluted. Either way, most of it is unfit for human consumption.”

  “A nuclear war? Given the level of technology you’ve described it will kill millions. And it’s over water? That seems pretty extreme to me. Perhaps I’m spoiled in that I’ve always had access to it, or access to people that did. I just can’t imagine waging stakes that high over water.”

  “Forgive my interrupting ladies,” says Chief Nicholson, “But most news broadcasts contain a mortality due to dehydration feature on a daily basis. And it’s towards the end of the broadcast.”

  “Which means it’s old news,” Celeste says. “They’ve gotten accustomed to it. Scores, possibly hundreds die each month because they lack clean water. I believe history will prove that throughout the known galaxy, wars have been fought for less.”

  “But nuclear?” I still can’t believe it. “That will poison their planet for generations.”

  “Each broadcast I heard,” says the comms chief, “from each government painted the nuclear war as winnable.”

  “There’s no such thing,” I say.

  “They don’t know that,” says Athena. “Yet.”

  “Incoming communication from the planet for you, Captain,” says the tech.

  “I’ll take it here.” She nods that the channel is open. “This is Captain Sonia MacTaggert of the starship Prophecy with whom am I speaking, please?”

  “Good morning Captain,” says a baritone voice from the speaker grille. “I am President Roger Fotsdam, of the free nation of Dugalle. Welcome to our world. So there are interstellar societies other than the Malorians, or are you affiliated with them?”

  “There are and we are not, Mr. President. Or is there some other title by which I should address you?”

  “No, Captain, that will be fine. Are you here to help us?”

  “In a manner of speaking, sir. We are here to help your planet but we will not provide assistance to one nation and withhold it from others.”

  “I am admittedly disappointed to hear that, Captain,” he says. “I had hoped you could give us an edge which would make the pending war unnecessary.”

  “Mr. President, it is my considered opinion that all wars are unnecessary. Speaking of opinions, my staff believes that what you will be fighting over is clean water, is that accurate?”

  “It is,” he says with a finality that leaves the “obviously” unsaid.

  “What if I told you that we can probably find a way for both, for all, nations of your world, to c
reate your own potable water? Would that be of interest to you? To the other nations of your world?”

  “Indeed it would, Captain. Indeed it would.” There’s a pause from the speaker grille; I gesture to the tech. Her finger touches a control.

  “He’s muted the transmission; the channel is still open. He’s back. I’m taking you off mute.”

  “Captain,” he says, “I want to hear more of what you have to say, perhaps you and your staff can join us somewhere? I understand from Professor…what was his name…Slungar. Professor Slungar that you can fly down to us, is that correct?”

  “It is, sir. But as I said, I would want to visit more than one nation and I would prefer to do so at one time. Is there a place that we could all meet? A sanctuary, or neutral place?”

  We hear muttering and side bar conversations on his end. “We have a Consortium of Nations, if I were to supply you with a set of coordinates, I hope latitude and longitude would be sufficient, how long would it take you to get to us?”

  “Mr. President, once I leave this ship I can be anyplace on your planet within half an hour.”

  “Impressive, Captain,” he says. “But we can’t make things happen that fast. Perhaps we can meet there at two hours after sunrise three days from now?”

  “I’m curious, sir. I mean, yes, I can make that time, but why three days?”

  “Because it will take me that long to convince my counterparts that this isn’t a ruse which will result in an attack while they are away.”

  “That makes sense, sir. In three days then. In the meantime, may we launch some probes to take measurements and samples of your planet? It may actually help you sell the ‘interstellar visitor’ story.”

  “In as much as it is my authority to grant that request, Captain, you may launch your probes.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. Also, we can determine latitude easily. We will need an index point to agree on longitude.”

  “Of course you will, Captain. In your scans I’m sure you have come across an island with no bipedal life forms on it?” I glance at Celeste who gives me a thumbs up and mouths “I’m on it,” then departs. “We calculate its location as…what did I do with it? Oh, here it is. That island is 24.4879 degrees South by 46.6742 degrees West. Given that reference point, can you calculate other locations?”

  “I’m certain we can, Mr. President.”

  “Excellent, then let us plan to meet at 29.9511 degrees North by 90.0715 degrees West.”

  “In three days then, Mr. President. Good day.”

  “Good day, Captain.”

  Once I’m sure the channel is closed, I open one to Shawna. “Launch the two stealth fighters and stealth shuttle. Stand down the passenger shuttle for the moment; I don’t think we’ll need it. Weapons Hold, avoid detection and engagement. Return to Prophecy within two hours.”

  “Prophecy Actual this is Thrumlee, roger launch, weapons tight, avoid eyes, ears and arms. RTB two hours.”

  I turn to Celeste, “Launch four self-recovering probes. Please program them to map continents and waterways.” She nods and turns to issue the commands.

  Forty-five minutes later we get a report from the stealth ships. “Prophecy this is Sneaker, we estimate seven major countries, based on power grids they average 32 metropolises each, we see lots of walls and fences that tells me boundaries are important here.”

  “Prophecy Actual this is Thrumlee,” she sounds concerned, “I’m detecting numerous aircraft launches.”

  Celeste chimes in, “Confirmed. Two fighter-sized and two larger than fighter-sized craft from four different installations, total sixteen bogies. The larger craft fit the profile for medium to long range bombers, I estimate two fighters, two bombers times four.”

  I was afraid of this. “Thrumlee, Spooky, Sneaker, this is Prophecy Actual. Rules are unchanged: avoid engagement. Attain a higher altitude, avoid detection, and continue to monitor the situation.”

  “Prophecy, this is Thrumlee, wilco. Break. Spooky, Sneaker, this is Thrumlee, I have the lead.”

  “Thrumlee has the lead,” Spooky answers.

  “Sneaker is between and below.”

  Just like a man. “XO,” I turn to Celeste, “are the bogies vectoring for our ships?”

  “They don’t seem to be,” she studies the displays as her fingers dance over her computer console, “Negative, Captain. It appears there are two flights, eight ships each, bound for the capital cities of adjacent nations. At this time there’s no reason to believe those ships are capable of space flight.”

  “Best guess on intentions?”

  “I’m guessing nothing positive,” she says. “We detect fissile material coming from each flight of four.”

  “Time to weapons release?”

  “Based on the distances, predicting capabilities similar to our history…four to eight hours.”

  Are we about to witness the beginning of a nuclear war?

  “XO, send a comm to each of the launching nations. Advise them that we have targeted their ships carrying the nuclear devices and we will destroy, no neutralize, the weapons in flight if they do not recall them. Ask for a one-week period for us to run tests and analyze results. Assure them that the Creator would not have given them a planet and not allowed a way for their plentiful water to flow.”

  “But, Captain,” the weapons tech says, “I can’t pinpoint each individual bomb…”

  “They don’t know that,” I assure her. To Athena I say, “We’ll be in the conference room. Commander Mac Fadden, wrangle the science department heads and join me there, please.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The department heads are typical scientists. They respect no timetable other than their own. Celeste finally herds in the last two.

  “Everyone take a seat, please. We have some significant problems that need impressive solutions.” Some sit, others continue to mill around filling coffee cups and engaged in muted conversation. “I said, ‘sit down and shut up!’” I bang my empty coffee mug on the table for emphasis. The handle snaps off. Damn, I liked that one, too. They are all soon seated and silent. “Here is the situation: The nations on the planet below us do not have ready access to their planet’s potable water, I believe that is called the ‘hydrosphere.’ Apparently, things are coming to a boil, no pun intended. When I left the bridge, at least two of those nations were initiating bombing runs. Nuclear bombing runs; dirty fission weapons. Anticipated ordnance release is now less than three hours. I want solutions and I want them now. Speak.”

  Dr. Hinds, the planetologist speaks first. “Are there any frozen or subterranean resources?”

  “Operations, this is the Captain,” I say into my perCom, “Please forward all scans—processed or otherwise—to the conference room.” To those assembled I say, “I forgot you might not have had access to anything other than view ports.”

  The ship’s botanist is next. “Surely there is plant life here? It’s getting water from somewhere, perhaps we can find out from where and how.”

  “We’ll search for nearby comets and asteroids,” says Dr. Herbert from Astrophysics. “There may be ice that can be harvested.”

  They all huddle around the monitors on the table, which have come to life, filling with the data dumps from the scans.

  “Captain, this is the bridge.”

  “Go ahead,” I trigger one of the holoComs not in use.

  “Ma’am, we relayed the message. Both nations, Surgia and Dugalle, told us to stay out of their problems or we would be considered enemy combatants.”

  “So if we do nothing, they go to war. If we do anything, they declare war on us.”

  “I concur with your assessment, ma’am. Your instructions?”

  It doesn’t matter what I do, there will be tremendous loss of life. Even if we don’t fire on them, they will send every missile they have at us. And they will accelerate their research efforts to develop new weapons in the hope that they develop something that CAN hurt us. But in the meantime, every missile
launched will either detonate on our hull—which I can’t allow—or our defense systems will destroy them within their planet’s gravity well—which is morally just as unpleasant. Their missiles will be aimed at us, but the radiation and the fallout will destroy their planet. It is a lose-lose situation. “Recall the fighters, probes, and shuttle.”

  “Recall the fighters, probes, and shuttle, aye.” I click the holoCom off and sit down.

  “The probe data says there are some aquifers, ma’am,” It’s Dr. Hinds. Gods bless him; he doesn’t want to give up. “They just don’t have the drilling technology to reach them.” I look at him. “There’s like a shell under the top layer of the crust, just under the bedrock, there are holes in it, not many I’ll grant. But there are tremendous amounts of water there, they just can’t get to it.”

  “That’s right, ma’am. Those holes are how the plant life gets water. The largest trees have taproots that reach through the shell; the smaller trees have roots that tap into those roots, it’s a process that repeats all the way down to the grasses. Almost all of the cities are built around oases.”

  Rikk chimes in, “And what water they get they probably sell at a premium. So it’s not the elites or the middle classes that can’t get water, it’s the millions of the lower class that can’t get it. And the political pressures are what is behind the desire for war.”

  “There are no comets in the immediate area,” says Dr. Herbert, the astrophysicist, “But both moons have polar ice caps, those could be harvested.”

  “No, they can’t,” Celeste speaks up. “One moon is claimed by Surgia, the other by Dugalle. And even if there were a way around that, neither nation has lunar space travel capability that can meet that time frame.”

  “And for those reasons,” the astrophysicist continues, “I didn’t mention the nearby asteroids.”

  “Thank you all for your assistance,” I tell them as I stand. “But the point is now moot, we are leaving. Please return to your stations.”

  They all look at each other, Rikk is the only one that nods. I suppose he understands. Celeste gives me a blank stare, but I want to think I see some sadness in it. “But Captain,” Dr. Hinds says, “These people are going to destroy themselves if we don’t help them.”