by Nick Webb
“What are they doing?” said Commander Oppenheimer.
Proctor stroked her chin, her arms folded. “Living up to their name. They’re swarming. But look—notice that they’re not coming towards us. They’re just swarming around their hives. Without the control of the meta-space Swarm, they’re probably resuming the type of behavior they would have exhibited thousands of years ago in their natural state. Which to me, looks like a purely defensive mechanism.” Her finger traced along the patterns formed by the lines of Swarm fighters. “Look. It’s like they’re flying in a web formation around their ships. Minimizing the space one of our fighters could safely fly through.”
Commander Oppenheimer approached her from behind. “Captain, we’ve got fifty anti-matter torpedoes locked on target. We can end them once and for all, right here.”
“Thank you, Commander. Let’s hold off on the genocide until we know what we’re dealing with here,” she said, almost absentmindedly, still staring at the swirling lines of Swarm fighter formations. It was almost hypnotic. And beautiful. They were, without a doubt, an entirely different animal, different species, than the last time she’d faced them. The last time they were the Swarm. This time, they were truly Valarisi. They had reverted back into the form they’d been for eons before the Swarm had subjugated them.
Now the question was, what was the Valarisi’s true nature. Hostile? Domineering? Territorial? Or just defensive, inward-looking, and docile?
“Change course. Enter an equatorial orbit. Keep our vector such that the distance between us and the carriers remains constant.”
Oppenheimer exploded. “Captain? Are you serious? We have our chance to end them, now!”
She spun around and took a menacing step towards him. “That will be all, Commander. No more outbursts. Do I make myself clear?”
There was an icy silence cast over the bridge. For years now, there’d been simmering tensions between them, but it had seemed they’d reached a comfortable detente. It had been over two years since he’d directly challenged her in front of others. He never stopped challenging her in private, and she welcomed that, in fact. It kept her on her toes. Kept her honest. But outbursts in front of the bridge crew were unacceptable.
“Clear, Captain,” he replied, through gritted teeth. He turned and stepped back to his station.
She softened her tone. “Look. I understand you’ve all lost friends, family, to the Swarm. It’s an entirely natural impulse to want to grind every last trace of them into rubble. But this mission is bigger than revenge. It’s bigger than thumping our chests and spiking the football. It’s about understanding. Knowledge. Data. The best way we can protect ourselves in the future is to understand the threats we face. Know them so completely that we understand them better than they understand themselves. Certainly more than they understand us. And we will understand nothing about them if we just steamroll over them and leave a glowing cloud of slag in our wake.”
From the looks in their eyes, her bridge crew didn’t look convinced. To tell the truth, neither did she. Her fingers itched with the impulse to shove Lieutenant Diaz out of the tactical chair and press the triggers herself. “Remember. The Valarisi,” she pointed up to the carriers on the screen, “are as much a victim of the Swarm as we are. The Swarm nearly destroyed us. Nearly. But them? The Valarisi? They lost everything. They lost their planet. They lost their identity. They lost their wills.”
Oppenheimer cleared his throat. He’d finally calmed down, but the ice in his glare was still present. “They lost their will. The question is if they ever regained it. We have no evidence that says they did. For all we know, they’re still the Swarm. We have nothing that suggests otherwise.”
She sat down in her chair. “Actually, we do. Ever since Granger flew into that black hole, the Valarisi stopped behaving like the Swarm. Have they struck any of our worlds? Have they displayed any aggressive behavior? No. They have not. So lets take the chance to learn about them—both the Valarisi and the Swarm—while we have the chance.” She nodded towards Ensign Prince at the helm. “Equatorial orbit, please, Ensign.”
The Chesapeake veered to starboard and accelerated to orbital speed around the red planet below. As the distance between them and the surface shrunk, the fleet of Swarm carriers dropped behind the horizon. “Sensor sweep. What are they doing now?”
Ensign Diamond scanned his console readouts. “Looks like the fighters are returning to their bays. Power levels dropping back to what they were right as we arrived.”
Proctor nodded. “Well that confirms that hypothesis. They’re more interested in defense than offense. Ensign Prucha,” she turned to the comm station, “prepare to transmit a meta-space signal to the Valarisi.”
He looked perplexed. “Uh, in what language, Captain?”
“English will do. The Dolmasi and the Skiohra both know English, due to the Swarm controlling them. I presume the Swarm taught the Valarisi English as well, in addition to any number of languages.”
Oppenheimer grunted. “And if not?”
“Then we’ll learn theirs.”
Several minutes passed while Prucha transmitted and the tactical crew poured over their scans. Eventually, Prucha looked up, shaking his head. “Sorry, ma’am, not reading any sort of reply, or any indication at all that they’re reading us.”
The shout from tactical nearly made Proctor jump. “Captain! There’s a ship that just q-jumped into orbit!”
She spun around. “Who? Who the hell even knows we’re here?”
With a general sense of dread, she realized that there could only be one answer. The Valarisi had reached out through the Ligature and summoned … someone. An ally? Dolmasi? But they were supposedly neutral—at least, not hostile to humanity. Skiohra? Their ships, all six of them, were too big—the tactical crew would have recognized one immediately. But who?
“Reading their transponder….” Lieutenant Diaz’s face contorted in a mix of confusion and anger. “It’s … it’s a frickin news channel. Transgalactic News Corporation.”
One hundred lightyears beyond the Veracruz Sector
Bridge, ISS Chesapeake
Proctor stood up slowly. “What the blazes is TNC News doing out here?” Her mind spun with the possibilities, the implications. “We’ve got a leak. Someone leaked classified information to the media.”
“Not just classified. Level Tau Twenty,” said Commander Oppenheimer.
“They’re deploying an array of camera drones.” Lieutenant Diaz tapped through on his console to bring up a schematic map, which he sent to the front viewscreen. A semi-transparent three dimensional grid appeared, showing the planet, the Chesapeake, the Swarm fleet hovering above the north pole, and the TNC News vessel, with an expanding array of smaller blips corresponding to the array of camera drones expanding into all orbits around the planet.
“They’re going to capture the video from every angle, of course,” murmured Proctor. “Broadcast it to every UE world. The final end of the Swarm. Scoop of the century.”
“Scoop of the millennium,” said Diaz.
“Patch me through. I want to talk to them.” Proctor was angry, and could barely restrain the rage from creeping into her voice. Someone had tipped them off. And the consequences were staggering. Not only did it mean that someone up high in IDF, or her own crew, was willing to compromise the highest classification levels, but it also meant something far worse.
The Valarisi were doomed. Now that the masses knew this last hive of Swarm carriers existed, there was no way, politically, that she could not destroy them. Her hands were tied. If she came home empty handed, having spared, in the public’s eye, the genocidal scourge of humanity, she’d be figuratively drawn and quartered. With over ten billion human deaths and countless cities destroyed, there was no way the public would let her get away with going soft on the Swarm.
But this isn’t the Swarm, she thought, defiantly. These are Valarisi. They are victims, just like us.
“Line open, Captain.”
A telegenic, familiar face appeared on the screen. Angelina Murphy, the main anchorwoman for TNC News. The public face of the giant news corporation that filled half the screens on Earth every night, and whose news program was syndicated to every other UE world. This was a risky mission—they could have sent one of their backup news anchors, but they sent the big guns. Of course, who else would broadcast and document the final fall of the Swarm?
“Captain Proctor! So good to see you here! I hope you don’t mind if we take a front row seat to history. I promise we’ll keep out of the way—”
“What … the hell … are you doing here, Murphy?” Proctor seethed.
Murphy held a hand to her chest in mock hurt. “What am I doing? I’m staying out of the way. But Captain, we’re well within our constitutional rights to be here. And given that this is a monumental moment in history, we have a duty to be here.”
Proctor chose her words carefully, since even confirming the classification level of classified information was illegal. “Mrs. Murphy, this is a … sensitive mission. I assure you, when and if the time comes to pulverize that Valarisi fleet, you’ll be the first to know. God knows we all need a good pick-me-up. But until that time, I must ask you—I insist—that you leave. Now.”
Murphy laughed. Laughed. Proctor had half a mind to launch one of the anti-matter torpedoes and add a paltry two dozen to the billions of humans who’d already died. After ten billion, what was one more? Ten more? A million? War had numbed them all. It had dehumanized them.
The thought galvanized Proctor’s will. The fact that war had dehumanized them was just one more reason to give this mission a chance. To save the Valarisi rather than punish them for the crimes of their Swarm overseers. To reclaim her own humanity by sparing an entire race the pain of suffering humanity’s thirst for revenge.
“Captain Proctor, please remember you’re on camera. To be honest, I’m shocked. I haven’t heard any UE or IDF official ever use the terminology—the propaganda—of the enemy. I was under the impression that this is a Swarm fleet, not a Valarisi fleet. And Captain, you don’t intimidate me. Break the law if you will. Shoot us down. Take out our cameras. But we’re not going anywhere. The people have a right to know what becomes of their tormenters. They have a right to see the final downfall of the Swarm.”
Checkmate.
Proctor shook her head., dammit. She glanced at Ensign Prucha and drew a finger across her throat. He terminated the signal, and she turned to face her bridge crew. “I refuse to be forced into a military action by that … nitwit. Options. I want options.” She stared at them in turn. Ensign Prince at helm. Diaz and Diamond and their crew at tactical. Prucha and his people at comms. Finally, she bore her eyes into Oppenheimer at the XO’s station. “Well, Christian?”
“Ma’am, with all due respect, it looks like our hands are tied. If we let those Swarm ships live, if we do anything other than pulverize them with the cameras rolling, you’ll be sacked within the week and prosecuted in the court of public opinion. You’d go from hero to villain overnight.”
Something about his face when he said that. He was looking at her, but … not quite at her, more above her left shoulder. He was subtly avoiding her gaze. His brow was ever so slightly furrowed.
Her gut told her he must have had something to do with it. How in the world did the news media know the Chesapeake was going to be in this system? He must have leaked the information.
She shook her head. No. It could have been any number of lower level intelligence officials at IDF CENTCOM. Hell, it could have been a janitor overhearing something, and excitedly telling his sister who told her dad who wrote an anonymous note to the tip hotline at TNC News.
Or it could have been General Norton himself. They’d never gotten along, ever since his shenanigans during the Swarm War. He was on the record as wanting the Valarisi completely destroyed.
“Like I said, I’m not going to have my actions determined by some bitch with a microphone,” she said, glaring at him.
“Admiral,” said Lieutenant Diaz, “UE law says we can’t interfere with the press, sure. But it also gives exceptions. If civilians are under attack, the rules of engagement clearly give us the prerogative to … uh … usher the civilians under attack out of danger.”
Proctor felt a broad smile bloom over her face. “Lieutenant Diaz. Brilliant.” She turned to Ensign Prince. “Adjust course. Come at the Valarisi ships, and at the point where they break off from their defensive formation, then swing wide and move towards the TNC News vessel. See if we can draw them in.”
Commander Oppenheimer grunted. “Ma’am, you’re not actually going to put civilians in direct danger, are you?”
She shot him another piercing glare. “Of course not. We’ll blow a hole through any swarm fighter than makes it within ten klicks of the civilian ship. But the moment the first fighter crosses the line of engagement, that unties my hands and I can order the TNC ship out. By force if I have to.”
Oppenheimer clucked his tongue. “You’re playing with fire here, Captain.”
She sat back down and strapped her restraints in preparation for possible battle. “No. I’m fighting fire with fire.”
One hundred lightyears beyond the Veracruz Sector
Bridge, ISS Chesapeake
The kilometers between the Chesapeake and the Valarisi fleet ticked down, and soon the enemy fighters were swarming again, swirling around the fifteen carriers like a buzzing hive.
“Still no change in the Swarm’s defensive posture,” said Lieutenant Diaz. “They’re reacting, but not offensively.”
Proctor nodded. “Maintain course.”
The carriers loomed large on the screen, like black daggers set against the crimson backdrop of the red planet below. After another few minutes they had gotten close enough to actually see the fighters themselves swarming around the carriers.
“Ballsy, your boys ready?” she said towards the comm.
After a pause, Lieutenant Volz replied. “Ready, Captain. We’ve been ready for this day for five years.”
Another minute passed. The Swarm fighters continued their defensive cloud formation around the carriers, but nothing else.
“Captain!” Ensign Prucha pointed at his console. “I’m reading a meta-space transmission from one of the Swarm carriers. It’s directional. Pointed straight at us.”
“Can we translate? What are they saying?”
Prucha shook his head. “It’s … it’s just gibberish.” He studied the readout. “Wait … hold on.”
“What is it, Ensign?” Proctor leaned forward.
“It’s changing. To … more gibberish.” He frowned. “Ok, changing again….” His brow stretched up to his forehead. “It’s changing to … Russian. Now Portuguese. And now Spanish….”
“What does it say?”
Prucha mouthed the word, then said it for the whole bridge to hear. “Paz.”
“Paz,” she repeated. “Peace.”
“Why are they transmitting in Spanish?” said Oppenheimer.
Prucha shrugged. “Looks like they’re cycling through all their known languages. Now it switched to French. There’s Farsi.”
“Status of their fighters, Lieutenant Diaz?”
“No change, Captain. Still flying in their defensive cloud formation.”
Proctor repeated the word. “Peace.”
“Captain, language changed again. It’s English. And they added a word.” Prucha looked up at her, his expression pained. “Peace, please.”
One hundred lightyears beyond the Veracruz Sector
Bridge, ISS Chesapeake
Captain Proctor had unstrapped her restraints and stood up, but couldn’t even remember doing it. She’d been mouthing the words, peace, please. Peace, please. She watched the Valarisi fighters continue swarming around the carriers, looking less and less like angry bees and more like elegant swans circling their nests.
“Captain, more q-jumps detected. Reading several more vessels in the v
icinity,” said Diaz.
“Who?”
Diaz shook his head in disgust. “Three more news organizations. Uh, make that four. And there’s a ship claiming to be with the Survivors of New Dublin society.
Proctor knew the situation was getting out of hand. “Survivors of New Dublin? That’s a feisty crew if I ever saw one.”
Oppenheimer had come to stand next to her, watching the new arrivals on the screen. “They’ve been the most vocal of all the survivors organizations, pushing IDF to hunt down the remaining Swarm ships and eradicate them.”
She sighed. “Then they’re here to make sure we do it. Make sure we wipe them out.”
“Looks like it.”
Prucha waved her down. “Captain, the Survivors of New Dublin ship is hailing us.”
“Onscreen.”
A well-dressed older man met her gaze on the screen. “Captain Proctor! So good to see you. Especially now. This will be a day long remembered for all New Dubliners, and for all of United Earth. God bless you.” He held up a hand when she started to reply, cutting her off. “Don’t worry, we’ll stay out of the way. We just wanted a front seat to history, and stand as witnesses to the final judgement against humanity’s greatest enemy.”
His face disappeared, replaced by the swirling formation of fighters surrounding the carriers.
Peace, please.
“Christian, we can’t do this. They’re begging us for peace. They are every much a victim of the Swarm as we are.”
His lips tight, eyes squinted, but he nodded. “That may be so. But our actions here were predetermined by the Swarm itself. That sludge out there in those ships, that intelligent goo, Valarisi, they’ve been the main tool of the Swarm for ten thousand years. And whether they deserve it or not, they have to go.”
“New meta-space message from IDF CENTCOM, Captain,” said Prucha. “Uh, belatedly warning us about all the incoming visitors. General Norton says that, quote, under the circumstances please dispense with the science and intel gathering and commence the attack immediately.”