Steve shrugged. Even if he were freed, it was unlikely he would ever see his wife and children again. They’d be interrogated once more, than probably put into a witness protection program. They hadn't known about what was coming, but it wouldn’t stop people blaming them for it.
He turned and strode out of the room, back to the CIC. After a moment, Mongo followed him.
“Iran is going to be destroyed,” he said, flatly. He activated the interface, bringing the ship’s weapons online. It wouldn't be too difficult to destroy Iran. A handful of large kinetic warheads would smash most of the cities, while smaller missiles would take out the military bases and oil installations. “They’re all going to die.”
“No,” Mongo said.
Steve blinked in surprise. It was Kevin who would have argued for mercy – no, not mercy, a more subtle revenge than mass destruction. But Kevin was light years away.
He leaned forward. “Why not?”
Mongo met his eyes evenly. “Do you remember Jock Hazelton?”
Steve nodded, puzzled. Jock Hazelton had been a young lad living near the ranch, only a year or two younger than Mongo. He’d been a quiet, withdrawn child, so no one had suspected him of being responsible for a series of thefts and pieces of vandalism all over the countryside. Steve still recalled the angry interrogation from his father when he, as one of the rowdier children, fell under suspicion. It hadn't been until he’d been caught in the act that everyone had realised that Jock Hazelton had been to blame for all of it. His embarrassed family had left the region soon afterwards.
“Do you remember,” Mongo demanded, “how we were all blamed for it?”
“Yes,” Steve said. It had rankled; the threats, the sharp eyes following them wherever they went, the awareness that their father had come far too close to thrashing all three of his sons on suspicion. By the time the truth had come out, distrust had seriously damaged the community. “I remember.”
“So tell me,” Mongo said, “how you can hold the entire population of Iran to blame for what their leaders have done?”
Steve took a breath. “They didn't overthrow the government,” he protested. “They ...”
Mongo snorted. “I seem to recall you spending most of your time bitching and moaning about the feds,” he said. “But you didn't take up your rifle and go Henry Bowmen on them.”
He pushed on before Steve could say a word. “You know that life in Iran isn't comfortable,” he said. “But you also know that Iranians are held in terror by scumbags like that lot” – he jerked a thumb towards the holding cells – “and any resistance is severely punished. How can you blame them for not rising up when resistance seems futile?”
Steve glared at him, trying to think of a response. Nothing came to mind.
“I hate those bastards as much as you do,” Mongo snapped. “But is it right to destroy their entire country, taking out millions of innocent people, just because you’re angry at the fuckers in charge? You have the power to punish those who are truly guilty, to hold them to account for their sins, yet you intend to flail around like the idiots who never suspected poor little Jock!”
He took a long breathe. “Steve ... you’re building a government here,” he said. “The last thing you want is to convince everyone that you’re a power-mad monster on a scale worse than Hitler. Because that’s what you will be, if you slaughter everyone in Iran.”
“Our Great-Grandfather died fighting Hitler,” Steve said.
“And what,” Mongo demanded, “do you think he’d make of you?”
He sighed. “Steve, you need to think about more than just revenge,” he said. “I know you’re hurting, I know you're angry and I don’t blame you for being either. But you have to think about the future too. What sort of impression does it give the rest of the world if you commit genocide?
“The tech monopoly will slip, sooner or later,” he added. “There are already plans to produce more superconductors with purely human technology. Then there’s the guys who think they can produce a primitive fusion reactor. Antigravity might not be too far away, thanks to the theorists – and if they do manage to master superconductors, they can probably produce antigravity too. What will happen if the world governments fear and hate us instead of agreeing to work with us? Your dream will die!”
Steve fought to keep himself calm. His love for Mariko demanded revenge; his love for what he’d created agreed with Mongo and insisted that something more subtle had to be done, instead of mass slaughter. But would it be enough to make the point that acts of terrorism would not go unpunished?
“Yes,” Mongo said, when he asked. “Kill a few thousand soldiers and evil bastards like the theocrats of Iran won’t give a shit. They’re just chattel to them. But kill the leaders, show them there’s no place to hide, and they will be scared. And, while you’re at it, destroy Iran’s nuclear program once and for all. Let the world see what we can do without bombing a country into radioactive dust.”
Steve took a long breath, suddenly feeling very tired. “Make the target selections,” he ordered. “I want the entire government wiped out.”
“I was going to suggest taking them as prisoners,” Mongo said. “We can find some hard labour for them to do, once we've finished interrogating them. God alone knows what else we might find out along the way.”
He paused. “And who knows what Iran will become without the Mullahs holding them back?”
***
Gunter Dawlish had spent most of the afternoon trying to get a read on just what had happened in New York. There had been explosions, he knew, and over a hundred people were dead or wounded, but there were also thousands of rumours flying around. A ship had been boarded, the crew had been captured, and Iran was involved somehow. The internet, source of millions upon millions of rumours, had even suggested that the explosions in New York were the first steps in a war between America and Iran. But there had been no other military moves as far as he could tell.
His cell phone rang. “Mr. Dawlish,” Steve Stuart said. “Would you care to join me?”
“Of course,” Gunter said. He might be a lunar citizen now, but an invitation to Mr. Stuart’s flagship was still a rarity. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m bringing you up now,” Stuart said. “Brace yourself for teleport.”
Dawlish closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was standing on a teleport pad, facing Stuart. The man looked as if he had aged ten years overnight, although Dawlish wasn't sure where that impression came from. It was hard to be certain, but Stuart had always looked to be in his late thirties.
“Come with me,” Stuart said.
He didn't say another word until they were in his cabin, looking at a holographic image of Earth. Small icons moved around, each one – Gunter realised slowly – representing a ship, an aircraft or a satellite. He couldn't help admiring the sheer detail of the image, even as it started to focus on Iran.
“I want you to pass on a message,” Stuart said. He sounded in control of himself, but Gunter could hear the edge of rage underneath his words. “The Government of Iran launched the terror attacks in New York City as a diversion, so they could kidnap ... kidnap one of my people. With the assistance of the American Government, we tracked down our missing person and captured the kidnappers. We have clear proof that they came from Iran and that their mission was ordered at the very highest levels.”
Gunter sucked in a breath. “Do you have proof of this?”
“We will give you full access to the recordings,” Stuart said, “but understand; we are not asking you to judge. Nor are we asking the United Nations for permission to go after the bastards who killed fifty-seven American citizens and kidnapped one of my people. We are going to go after them right now.”
He looked Gunter in the eye. “Right now, the senior government ministers of Iran are being taken from their country,” he said, “along with their entire council of religious leaders. They will be interrogated; the results of their interrogations may lead to the identification of o
thers who need to be taken into custody. Instead of a full-scale invasion and the deaths of countless Iranians, the guilty – men who have held their own government in a state of tyranny since the revolution against the Shah – have been removed. They will be tried for their crimes and, if found guilty, executed.”
Gunter hesitated, unable to take in the sheer scope of what he was being told. “You are kidnapping the entire government?”
“We are taking its senior leadership,” Stuart said. He nodded to the display. “We are also eradicating every last trace of Iran’s WMD program. Their nuclear sites, their chemical weapons stockpiles and even their small selection of biological weapons are being removed and destroyed. The scientists will also be taken. They will not be permitted to return to Iran.
“Given what we could have done, in response to an outright act of war, this is a comparatively mild response,” he concluded. “But we want you to take a message to the world.
“Over the last seventy years, it has been extremely difficult to hold rogue states accountable for their actions. Their leaders don’t give a shit about random bombing raids or cruise missile attacks; no, they use them as propaganda to make us look like the bad guys. It took a full-scale invasion to hold Saddam to account for his actions, which forced us to fight a bitter insurgency in the country for eight years. Now, we have determined the best way to proceed, one that genuinely does hold the leadership of such states to account.
“For every attack we can trace back to a country, we will go after that country’s leadership,” he concluded. “We’re not interested in trying to force them to surrender, we’re not intent on claiming land for ourselves, we’re merely interested in punishing them for supporting terrorism. None of the arguments against sparing a country’s leadership will hold any ice with us. Such attacks will be avenged.
“There are those who will say, perhaps out of fear, that we are overreacting. But really, is our way not better than slaughtering thousands of innocents?”
“It certainly seems that way,” Gunter said, finding his voice. “But I know many governments will disagree.”
“Of course they will,” Steve said. “It isn’t sporting to go after your fellow leaders. It might give the bastards ideas.”
He paused, then went on. “This attack killed over fifty American citizens, citizens who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he added. “Does it seem right to let it go unavenged?”
“I don’t think so,” Gunter said. “But I think you’ve opened up one hell of a can of worms.”
“I know,” Steve said. “But we couldn’t leave it hanging either.”
***
“And that’s all that happened,” he concluded, as he sat next to Mariko. “The government is being interrogated now, while the rest of Iran seems stunned. They’ll react, sooner or later, but not for a while.”
He paused. “Am I a hypocrite?”
Mariko considered it for a long moment. “I don't think you preached against war and devastation while unleashing war and devastation, so you’re not a hypocrite,” she said. “It's no sin to change your mind or even admit that you might have been wrong.”
“I’m not good at that,” Steve admitted. Flexibility might be one of the watchwords of the Marine Corps, but he knew they couldn't be too flexible. “I was prepared to burn Iran to ashes before Mongo ...”
“Gave you a speech telling you that you were being a damn fool,” Mariko said, without heat. “And he was right.”
Steve sighed. “Whatever happened to girls that always supported their men, no matter what?”
“They only existed in fevered male imaginations,” Mariko said, dryly. “And besides, wouldn't you prefer me to tell you when you’re being an asshole?”
“I suppose,” Steve said.
They sat for a long moment in silence, then Steve opened his mouth. “I didn't really think through what I was doing, did I?”
“There comes a time when you have to act, rather than think,” Mariko said. “I’ve handled operations when the plan, as detailed as it was, suddenly went to hell and I had to improvise on the spot. And you're very good at reacting to the unexpected.”
She paused. “But you’re also in a position where you have ample time to stop and think about what you’re doing,” she added. “And that is what you will have to do from now on.”
“I’m not going to run for President,” Steve said, suddenly. “After we hold elections, I’m going to find a place to set up a homestead and stay there. Someone else can take the reins for a while.”
Mariko reached out and touched his hand. “Wherever you go, I will be with you,” she said, softly. Her hand felt very warm against his coarse flesh. “Why don’t we set out as traders?”
Steve had to admit he was tempted. There was a whole universe out there, after all, and starships that could support a small number of humans indefinitely. They could take a small amount of trade goods and move from system to system, selling their wares. No one would know or care about their lives on Earth, assuming they cared about Earth at all. Instead, they’d just be two aliens among uncounted trillions.
“We could do that,” he said. But there were other problems, other issues. Did he have the right to take even a small trading starship for himself. “Once Earth is ready to defend itself, we could leave.”
“Oh, Steve,” Mariko said. She shook her head slowly, then reached out and pulled him towards her for a kiss. “You’ll never allow yourself to put down your work.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Captain Perry/Shadow Warrior, Earth Orbit
Kevin couldn't help feeling nervous as Captain Perry returned to Sol. They’d been away for over two months and anything could have happened in that time. The Horde could have launched another attack, another alien race could have arrived ... or all hell could have broken loose on Earth. It was a colossal relief, when the ship finally slipped out of FTL some distance from the moon, to exchange signals and counter-signals with Shadow Warrior and confirm that everything was fine.
He looked down at his display as the ship entered orbit around Earth. A number of dead satellites and pieces of space junk were gone, plucked out of orbit and taken to the moon to serve as raw materials. In their place, there were a handful of inflatable space stations and a couple of odd-looking spacecraft. It took him several moments to realise that they were intended to transport large numbers of colonists to the asteroid belt. And they were built with purely human technology.
Smiling, he keyed his display. “All hands will need to go through debriefing before starting shore leave on Earth,” he said. “Please don’t try to leave before then, as you also need to be briefed on conditions on the planet itself.”
He looked over at Jackson and nodded. “You have the bridge.”
“Aye, sir,” Jackson said. “I have the bridge.”
Kevin stood, walked through the hatch and down towards the teleport chamber. Flying back to Earth had felt quicker than travelling into unknown space, although he knew there was no real difference. Perhaps it was the effort of digging through the vast quantities of data they’d recovered from the alien world. The scientists had barely been seen outside their cabins and research compartments, where they had been working their way through technology the aliens considered primitive and pre-contact humanity would have considered incredibly advanced. In the meantime, Edward Romford and his staff had been working out the details for hiring troops from Earth. They seemed to believe there would be no shortage of volunteers.
He paused outside Carolyn’s door – they’d become closer on the return flight, although he still hadn't managed to talk her into bed – then shook his head and walked on until he stepped into the teleport chamber. Inside, the teleport operator was already inspecting the system, as if he knew precisely how it worked. Kevin nodded to him, stepped up onto the pad and sent the command directly through the interface. The silver haze rose up around him, then faded away, revealing Shadow Warrior’s telep
ort bay.
“Steve,” he said. His brother was standing by the hatch, a grim half-smile on his face. “It's good to see you again.”
“You too,” Steve said. “Quite a bit has happened since you left.”
Kevin eyed him, worriedly, as Steve turned and led the way out of the compartment. His brother looked ... tired, as if he had been working far too hard. Normally, Steve was brimming with energy, ready to do whatever he thought he had to do. But now ... he was acting as if he had no energy at all. But Steve said nothing more until they were back in his cabin and the hatch was firmly closed.
“Take a beer from the fridge,” he said. “And pass me one while you’re at it.”
Kevin opened the fridge and discovered a handful of bottles of beer, rather than the cans he’d been expecting. Each of the bottles was marked with an image of the moon, etched into the glass, and a name he didn't recognise.
“They were produced on the moon,” Steve said. “One of the moonshiners I knew from the ranch asked permission to set up a small brewery. I gave it to him and ... well, those are the first results.”
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