Armageddon

by Craig Alanson

  “Got it, Sir,” she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Gunny Adams told me the background of our current problem. I have a question.”

  I snorted. “If you only have one question, that would be fantastic.”

  “One question for now,” she arched an eyebrow to let me know I was not off the hook yet. “You are hoping that, instead of sending a battlegroup to Earth to complete the mission of the two ships you destroyed, the Maxolhx can stay close to their territory and examine the wormholes that Skippy caused to act violently.”

  “Correct,” I confirmed. “There is a lot we have to do, before the Maxolhx hopefully decide there is no reason for another mission all the way to Earth’s local wormhole, but basically that is the idea.”

  “I understand it’s not going to be easy. My question is, why didn’t you do that the first time?”

  “You mean, why did we destroy those two ships, instead of giving them a nice distraction to investigate closer to their home? I keep forgetting that you, and Adams and a lot of people, were not with us during our Renegade mission. We did think of trying that, but, um, hey Skippy?”

  His avatar shimmered to life on my desk. “You called?”

  “Yes, and I know you were listening, so don’t pretend you don’t know what the XO and I was talking about. Can you fill her in on the subject?”

  “Certainly,” he said with a gracious bow to the ship’s executive officer. “Major Desai, we did consider distracting those ships, but there were two reasons why that would not have worked. First, dumdum Joe’s slow brain did not dream up the idea of making wormholes act violently until very late in our mission. At that point, the two target ships had already departed from their base, so by the time the Maxolhx leadership decided that investigating local wormholes was good enough to cancel the mission to Earth, those two ships probably would have already gone through the last wormhole and out of communications range. The other problem is that those two specialized long-range cruisers were supplied and controlled by the Maxolhx’s Technology Research Group. The TRG has a long-standing and viciously jealous rivalry with the Thuranin military’s own research organization, and TRG would very much not like being told to stand down because the military could handle the wormhole investigation much closer to home. The effort to modify ships for a mission to Earth was a project that required diverting significant resources from other TRG projects. As you know, once a large project acquires a certain momentum it is difficult to stop, even if the original purpose of the project is no longer needed.”

  She tilted her head and rolled her eyes. “No, that never happens in the Indian military.”

  “Oh,” Skippy was taken aback by her comment. “I think you are incorrect, Major. I do not mean any disrespect for your home country, but I can provide numerous examples of-”

  “Skippy,” I winked at Desai, “she was being sarcastic.”

  “Oh. Hey, I knew that,” he sniffed. “Duh.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, knowing it was best to play along with him. “Did that answer your question, XO?”

  She nodded. “It answered my first question, but now I have another. What makes you think the Maxolhx will now be satisfied with analyzing wormholes closer to home, and not want to send another expedition to Earth?”

  “That’s not what we think, it’s what we hope,” I admitted. “There are a couple factors in our favor. Most important is the Technology Research Group is capable of modifying a pair of their ships, but they don’t have enough ships of their own to make a full battlegroup. So, the mission to Earth has been reassigned to the Maxolhx military, and-”

  Skippy finished for me. “Their military is not enthusiastic about devoting resources to investigate odd behavior of Elder wormholes, which they consider to be a minor curiosity rather than an immediate threat. They are concerned about recent developments that could be an immediate threat to the Maxolhx coalition. Over the past couple years, the Thuranin were getting their asses kicked so badly by the Jeraptha, they were forced into joint operations with their hated rivals the Bosphuraq. The combined Thuranin-Bosphuraq offensive was producing results, until our friend Admiral Tashallo of the Jeraptha 98th Fleet not only seriously kicked their combined asses in a surprise attack, he got Bosphuraq and Thuranin ships to commit flagrant treachery and fire on each other. Since that battle, cooperation between the birdbrains and the little green MFers has been frozen, with both species separating their war fleets and assigning ships to defend their territory against the other side. Fighting between their two fleets has broken out in seven star systems and around one strategically important wormhole cluster. This split, between species who are supposed to be allies, has caused the Maxolhx to step in, and weakened their entire coalition. The Maxolhx military therefore believes they have better things for their ships to do, than fly all the way to Earth so a bunch of egghead scientists can poke around a wormhole nobody really cares about.”

  “Well,” Desai tapped her front teeth with a fingernail while she thought. “That does answer my question. Thank you, Mister Skippy.” She knew the beer can loved it when people called him ‘Mister Skippy’. “Except-”

  “Oh boy,” I groaned. “Yeah. Except that, right now, the Maxolhx think those two ships were destroyed to stop them from going to Earth. Unless we can think of a reasonable explanation for why the loss of those ships had nothing to do with Earth, and somehow sell that bullshit story to the Maxolhx without them knowing we were involved, then they will be very interested in sending ships to pound our homeworld into a radioactive cinder.”

  “Yes,” she was satisfied that I understood her concern. “Sir, where are we,” and by ‘we’ I knew she meant ‘Joe Bishop’, “on developing a story to sell?”

  “Working on it, XO,” I slumped in my chair. “Working on it.”

  I did work on the problem, so did everyone aboard the ship, including Skippy and Nagatha. None of us had a plausible explanation for why the destruction of the two Maxolhx cruisers could be unrelated to their mission. None of us thought up an explanation, because there wasn’t one, and there wouldn’t ever be one. We were screwed. Humanity was screwed.

  No, I did not give up. I examined our options, and determined we needed a backup plan, in case we couldn’t stop the battlegroup from reaching Earth. Until we thought of a way to make the Maxolhx change their minds about a second mission to Earth, the backup plan was the plan. For that backup plan, I worked with Nagatha and-

  Speaking of Nagatha, she was almost fully back to normal, although she insisted she was now better than before, so there was a new definition of ‘normal’ for her. Whatever. What mattered to me was that she sounded and acted like the old Nagatha, with the exception that she now slipped in bits of salty language that startled me and made me laugh.

  Nagatha being fully restored was the only good news in an epically crappy week. To end the suffering of the crew, I called the senior staff together. “I’ll make this short and simple. We are in major trouble and we need to be realistic. The beta site might soon be the only place in the Universe with living humans,” I swallowed hard when I said that. “There aren’t enough people there, or aboard this ship, to make a viable population. We can’t get more people from Earth, so I am taking the ship to Paradise. We will bring people, humans,” I added, because ‘people’ had a broader definition now. “From Paradise to Avalon.”

  People around the table looked at each other in surprise. Except for Smythe, who first shot a sharp and, I thought, unfriendly and disapproving look straight at me, before turning to look at the others. It seemed to me he was judging the reactions of his colleagues. “Colonel,” he spoke first. “What precisely do you mean by ‘bringing’ people?”

  Desai knew what he meant. “Sir, surely you do not intend to reveal our secret to people on Paradise? We have been ordered very specifically not to do that. Not ever.”

  “Those orders,” I reminded everyone, “were issued by people on Earth, which is now cut off from us.”

 
Desai silently gave me a look that said I always found an excuse to ignore orders. She was right about that, but every time I ignored orders, I really did have a damned good reason. At least, at the time I thought I had good reasons. Orders issued on Earth were inflexible, and after we went beyond Gateway, we needed to be flexible to survive. Not only to survive, we had to be flexible to Save. The. World. Way back when I had first taken people from Paradise to attack and capture a Kristang frigate, that had been a direct violation of orders from Earth, for us to maintain loyalty and obedience to our lizard saviors. Taking the risk of landing on Newark had been against orders. So was landing on Paradise twice. Then there was the minor issue of us landing on a Kristang planet and sparking a freakin’ civil war.

  Oh, I also committed mutiny by stealing a starship. Ignoring orders was kind of my thing, so really it is UNEF Command’s fault for issuing orders they knew I was likely to view as suggestions. Totally not my fault at all.

  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  Smythe spoke before Desai could continue. “You do not intend to tell people who we are, and why they should come with us?”

  “It is, uh-” Damn, I suck at finding the right words to express what I was thinking. “For the good of humanity,” I explained, the words sounding lame and wrong even to me.

  “Colonel,” Smythe’s unfriendly expression was back on his face, and I saw his shoulders tensing, like he was preparing to do something. Without realizing it, I pushed my chair slightly away from the table. “Many crimes have been committed, under the justification they were for the ‘good of humanity’. Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, they all said they were doing the right thing.”

  “Damn it,” Desai muttered under her breath. “We are not talking about killing people, Smythe,” she left out his superior officer’s rank. I encouraged a free exchange of thoughts in staff meetings, but that was pushing it. Then my executive officer looked at me. “Is that correct?”

  “Whoa. Smythe is correct. No, that’s wrong, I, ugh. Let me explain, please. I will not force anyone to leave Paradise against their will,” as I finished that statement, I saw Smythe’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. “What I want to do is contact Lieutenant Colonel Perkins directly, and tell her the truth. Her, just her. One person. Her background is intel, and she has access to personnel files. A lot has changed since the Force shipped out from Earth, but she might be able to suggest which people are likely to come with us to Avalon.”

  “So, you do intend to tell the truth to people, these candidates who might join us,” Desai concluded. “What happens to people who are told the truth, and do not agree with go to Avalon?”

  That part of the plan was a huge problem, and I had struggled with it. Huge, like, that problem was an elephant and it was sitting on my chest. “The candidates will be vetted by Perkins before we approach them with the offer-”

  “Sir, respectfully,” Reed interjected, using the tone that meant what she was about to say would not sound respectful at all. “That is bullshit. You can’t put the burden of responsibility on Perkins. I understand what you’re doing, but, Desai is right. We would be risking Earth if we tell people on Paradise the truth about us.”

  “I am only considering this because Earth is already at maximum risk,” I explained patiently. “The Maxolhx are sending a battlegroup there, and there is nothing we can do to stop them. That is already happening. If someone on Paradise can’t or won’t keep their mouth shut, at this point that won’t change the inevitable.”

  “We don’t have to tell them the truth,” Margaret Adams said with quiet authority. When she spoke, people listened.

  “How is that, Gunny?” I asked.

  Smythe’s attitude toward her was not unfriendly, but it was also not approving. “We should lie to them?”

  “Not lie, exactly,” Adams said with the barest hint of a shrug. “We don’t have to tell them the whole truth, just the important parts. Sir,” she looked at me. “You need to talk with Perkins, face to face, so she knows this is legit. No one else needs to know you are alive. Anyone we ask to come with us to Avalon, all they need to know that humans have a starship and a secure place to live. They do not need to know about Skippy, or screwing with Elder wormholes, or even that we have access to Earth. Used to have access to Earth,” she added.

  “You expect people to leave the world they now consider home, based on vague promises from someone they barely know?” Smythe asked with an expertly arched eyebrow.

  “It worked on us.” Adams pointed at Desai and herself. “It worked on all of us. We left Paradise based on vague promises from someone we barely knew.” Now she pointed at me.

  “Ah, you’re right,” Desai made a faint shrug, and avoided looking at me. “Yes, it did. Colonel Bishop’s line of, bullshit,” she pronounced the word in a way that made it sound elegant. “Was very persuasive.”

  “I told as much of the truth as I could at the time.” It was my turn to shrug. I didn’t do it as well as Desai. “Gunny, you’re right, thank you. We can create a story that contains enough truth so people on Paradise can make an informed decision, but not give away the fact that we came from Earth, or that we have help from an awesomely magnificent ancient Elder AI.”

  “That is going to be tough,” Reed said partly to herself. “How do we explain not ever having been on Paradise, if we’re supposedly not from Earth? We can’t say we’re Keepers, UNEF-Paradise will have personnel records.”

  “I can hack into computers,” Skippy finally joined the conversation. “But I can’t hack people’s memories. Somebody down there knows every Keeper who left Paradise.”

  “Skippy is right,” I agreed, the wheels turning in my head as I ran through options. “Hey, I remember that before the Force shipped out to Camp Alpha, UNEF sent an advanced team ahead to scout the place. There were rumors that other groups went other places, even to the White Wind clan’s homeworld. We could claim to be one of those teams that never came back,” I said with building enthusiasm. “Yeah. Something like, we were aboard a Thuranin ship when our Kristang hosts tried to take over, and the aliens all killed each other. That’s how we have a starship.”

  Smythe did the eyebrow thing again. I needed to take body language lessons from him. Maybe it was a British thing. “We expect people to believe that humans, on their own, learned how to operate a Thuranin ship, and keep it going all this time?”

  “We can work out the details later,” I said, not wanting reasonable objections to get in the way of me cooking up a good story. “Besides, humans on Paradise have no idea what it takes to fly a Thuranin ship. All they know is, Thuranin are little green cyborg clones.”

  “That is a good point,” Smythe agreed with a nod. There might have been a hint of admiration in that nod, or maybe I just wanted there to be. “Colonel, while I do not like the prospect of outright lying to lure people to Avalon, I believe we must keep the overall situation in perspective. The humans on Paradise were military. They are,” he actually smiled, “used to being told only part of the truth.”

  “That’s how we got suckered off Earth in the first place,” I agreed bitterly. “All right, are there any objections to us setting course for Paradise?”

  The objection came from an unexpected source. Margaret Adams. “That’s it, Sir?” She tilted her head and performed the best arched eyebrow of the day. “We are giving up? Just walking away from trying to save Earth?”

  “No, Gunny.” What I had to say was important, so I took a breath to give me time to get my thoughts squared away. “We are not ‘just’ doing anything. We are doing the hardest thing we can do: facing a terrible reality. We failed. No, I failed. The Maxolhx are going to Earth, and with the blockade of Gateway, we can’t even warn people back home. We are going to salvage what we can, no matter how much that hurts.”

  “It sure sounds like you’re giving up,” she replied, and there wasn’t anger in her words. There was hurt. She was disappointed in me, and that hurt her worse than anything e
lse I could have done. At that moment, I felt lower than a snake’s belly. I regretted being alive.

  “Gunny, I can promise you that until the moment I meet Perkins, I will try to think of an alternative. A way to keep the Maxolhx away from Earth. I wish we could delay this decision, but our goal should be to rescue as many people as we can off Paradise. That’s the thing we haven’t talked about yet. The people down there who decide not to go, and the people we don’t tell, they are dead. They are all dead. When the Maxolhx get done destroying Earth, they will come for the humans on Paradise. We may be deceiving people who volunteer for Avalon, but we will also be saving their lives. The sooner we begin pulling people off Paradise, the more people we can save.”

  “Yes, until someone down there talks about what they heard,” Desai warned. “Colonel, at some point, the Ruhar authorities will notice the human population is declining.”

  I knew she was right. “UNEF Headquarters will notice also, maybe Skippy can help with that?”

  “I can screw with their databases to obfuscate matters,” he used a big fancy word that meant to obscure. “But there is a limit to what I can do. However,” he made a sound like he was pausing to take a breath. “Given the limited life-support capacity of the Flying Dutchman, we can only take a few people with us on each trip to Avalon. The human population will decline so slowly, it is certain that some idiot monkey down there will get drunk and talk too much, long before the authorities notice people are missing.”

  “Well, that solves one problem,” I admitted. “Each time we come back, we will need to listen carefully, to determine whether our secret has been exposed. That will slow us down.”

  “Oh, that’s not a problem, Joe,” Skippy announced almost cheerily. “I can leave a submind in the Ruhar computer system to monitor their communications, and of course the Ruhar are listening to UNEF’s message traffic and phone calls. We can ping the submind upon return, and know instantly if the coast is clear for us to approach”