“Cowards,” Bute growled.
“The Tokomak outgun everyone else by several orders of magnitude,” Mongo said. “There’s a difference between cowardice and practicality.”
“Or so they claim,” Kevin said. The data Ando had passed to them had raised a number of issues. For starters, just how many Tokomak starships were actually on active service? And how many of their crews were actually trained to fight a war, rather than ceremonial displays? There was no clear answer. “But we have to assume the worst.”
“Then we will be committing ourselves to war,” Ross said. “Is there any alternative?”
“We would have to offer our unconditional surrender,” Kevin said. “At best, we might hope for a subordinate position in their empire. At worst ... they’ll order us back to Earth.”
He shuddered at the thought. There were times when he looked back on Earth and silently thanked God that he no longer cared about the planet. He did have some relatives living in Montana, in the United States of America, but they had chosen to remain there. The thought of having to go back there himself, of having to live there, was horrific. And then there was the final, unspoken possibility.
“They might choose to exterminate us,” he said, quietly. “It would be against their laws, but they make the laws.”
“So you said,” Ross said. “Would they break them here?”
Kevin looked from face to face, willing them to understand. “The vast majority of the Galactics don’t have either the ability or the inclination to push the limits,” he said. “We – humanity – does. I believe we have already improved on Galactic technology in a number of areas, with the promise of far more improvements to come. The Tokomak would see us as their worst nightmare, a race developing technology that will leave everything they built obsolete. Exterminating us would seem a reasonable alternative.”
“But they can’t exterminate us,” Ross said. “We sent dozens of ships out beyond the edge of explored space.”
“There’s no guarantee that any of those ships will manage to set up a colony,” Kevin said. “Or that the colony would be able to retain high technology. We think they can, we think they will, but we don’t know. I believe we have to assume the worst.”
“I wish I disagreed with you,” Mongo grunted.
“So surrender isn't an option and nor is flight,” Ross said. “Do we gird ourselves for war?”
“That would require an open discussion in the Senate,” Bute reminded him. “There are limits to how far we can go without open public participation.”
“That runs the risk of the Tokomak discovering that we know what they’re doing,” Mongo said, sharply. “The longer we keep the preparations under wraps, the better.”
“I don’t think they keep us under close surveillance,” Bute sneered. He swung around to glare at Kevin. “Do they?”
“We believe neither they nor the Varnar have made a real attempt to embed sources in the Sol System,” Kevin said. “They have tried to turn a few of our people, which we have been intending to use to send them false information when it seemed appropriate. However, they could have managed to get people through the security screens without being noticed.”
“It seems absurd that anyone would be prepared to betray his own race,” Bute mused.
“It has happened before and it no doubt will happen again,” Kevin said. “Intelligence work, Councillor, is always smoke and mirrors. There is no way to be sure that there isn't any enemy intelligence agents operating within the Solar Union. We might well have missed something.”
He paused, then went on. “But any discussion in the Senate would be reported over the news networks,” he added. “It would not remain confined to the Sol System indefinitely. They might pick up on it simply by reading our open source news programs.”
Bute smiled. “Do you think they read the crap we put out?”
“Why not?” Kevin asked. “We read theirs.”
Ross tapped the table. “So what do you propose? We cannot mobilise the fleet to attack targets outside the Sol System without the Senate’s permission.”
Kevin and Mongo exchanged glances. “I propose we proceed with the plan to snatch one of their ships,” Kevin said, finally. “In the meantime, we can start laying the groundwork for full mobilisation. We can take the issue and put it before the Senate nearer the time, when the Tokomak will be committed to their course. By then, we would be ready to launch a blow as soon as the Senate consented.”
Ross frowned. “And if the Senate didn’t consent?”
“Then we would have to pray we could stop the offensive when it reached the Sol System,” Mongo said. “Frankly, Mr. President, with so many ships in the enemy fleet, even our plan to smash it well away from Earth has serious problems.”
“It will be a gamble,” Ross said.
“War is always a gamble,” Mongo said. “But in this case, we have a choice between fighting and perhaps losing, or surrendering and definitely losing. The best we can hope for is being their slaves for the rest of time, our technology limited and further development forbidden. And at worst ...”
“Yes, we know,” Ross said.
He nodded to Kevin, who sat down.
“This is the situation this council was formed to meet,” he said. “A deadly threat that would only become worse if left to fester, or brought into public view. Do we now authorise an attack on an alien ship? Or do we hold back and wait for them to commit themselves to the offensive? Do we have any other options?”
“We could show some of our weapons,” Marie said, slowly. “Show off what we can do and claim we have far more in reserve, if they don’t leave us alone.”
“That would run the risk of convincing them to strike hard and fast,” Mongo said. “They’d call our bluff.”
“Why, if they thought they’d be destroyed?” Marie asked. “We’d give them a defeat no one would be able to ignore.”
“They’d lose nothing by launching an attack,” Mongo said, patiently. “At worst, the sudden shift in galactic power would be underlined; at best, they would smash us flat before we could build more wonder-weapons. And as we would be bluffing, Councillor, we’d be smashed. All we’d do is give them warning that they would be facing advanced weapons.”
Ross sighed, loudly enough to catch their attention. “Do we authorise an attempt to snatch an alien ship?”
Kevin watched, keeping his face impassive, as the councillors voted. Steve would have hated it, he knew; a handful of men, all part of a council the population didn't know existed, had just cast a vote for war. The entire Solar Union would be committed, if the Tokomak realised what had happened to their starship, without ever knowing the decision had been made. It was an ironic inversion of the ideals his older brother had held ...
... But those ideals were unworkable in the real world.
Kevin had never been as tightly bound to them as either Steve or Mongo. His rebellion against his own family had taken him into the CIA, where he’d learned that the world was rarely black and white, but covered in shades of gray. There were times when he’d had to hold his nose and work with people his brothers would have unhesitatingly called terrorists – and they might well have been right. And yet, working with those terrorists had seemed the only option at the time. Washington had never shown the willingness to actually stand up and put enough firepower on the ground to earn itself a vote in the post-war world.
And Washington would never have had the nerve to consider trying to meet a threat ahead of time, he thought. Certainly not a threat on this sort of scale.
“The vote has been taken,” Ross said. “We will proceed with the operational plan.”
And God help us, Kevin thought.
“I will brief you on the planned operation when it’s ready,” Mongo said, addressing the council as a whole. “But we will have to wait for the opportunity to snatch one of their starships.”
“Their squadron en route to Hades might be a good place to start,” Kevin said.
�
��Indeed,” SPEAKER offered. “There will definitely be several chances to snatch an enemy ship.”
“Good,” Ross said. “We will meet again in a week, unless something happens that requires us to meet sooner.”
Kevin frowned. There was no shortage of people monitoring the Solar Union’s politicians, dissecting their lives and looking for signs they were unsuited to public office. It was one of the perils of running for office in the Solar Union; there were no privacy laws that applied to politicians. Given time, someone would notice that several Senators were gathered in the same asteroid, at the same time, along with the President and Mongo. Hell, it was quite possible someone was even tracking Kevin’s movements outside secure intelligence facilities. And if they found something, what would they do? Keep it to themselves or spread the word?
“I understand you had a good time on Varnar,” Mongo said, as they made their way down to the secure coffee room. “You actually did some work too, I hope, as well as playing James Bond?”
“There was enough unsecured data on the planetary datanet to confirm some of what we learned from our sources,” Kevin said. It would have horrified Mongo – or Steve – to learn just how much information came from human information brokers, back in the pre-space days. “But you know how imprecise intelligence work can be.”
“At least you’re smart enough to admit it,” Mongo grunted. They stepped into the coffee room and sat down at a small plastic table “What do you think Steve would make of this?”
Kevin hesitated. He doubted Steve would approve. Even if he accepted the logic, he was unlikely to be happy about it. And yet, there was no real choice.
“I think he would have accepted it,” he said, not entirely truthfully. “But he wouldn't have wanted to keep it from people indefinitely.”
Mongo jabbed a finger at him. “That’s why you never quite fitted in with Steve and me,” he said. “You could always hair-split an argument until the guilt and sin were cut into nothingness. Steve and I were always more willing to point the finger and proclaim sin and evil.”
“You and Steve were Marines,” Kevin countered. “You worked in platoons and companies and regiments, always able to rely on your fellows. I was an intelligence officer who was sometimes in more danger from my superiors in Washington than I was in the field, directly or indirectly. Learning how to split hairs was a survival skill.”
Mongo grunted, then looked away.
“You should know the next class of recruits will be graduating in two weeks,” he said, after a moment. “How many of those young men and women will be dead in five years?”
“I don’t know,” Kevin said, flatly. He stood and strode over to the coffee pot, then poured them both mugs of strong coffee. “But I do know that we don’t have a choice.”
“Steve would have understood that,” Mongo said. “But he would have hated committing us to war without asking the people.”
Kevin nodded. “There’s no choice, though,” he said. “If they knew we knew, they would take precautions against us acting first.”
“So you say,” Mongo said. “Or do you think the population would be opposed to war?”
“I wish I knew,” Kevin said. “There’s no way to know.”
He shook his head. The Solar Union wasn't America – even the America he remembered from before the Hordesmen had arrived. Most of the population was politically involved, directly or indirectly. There was no shortage of information flowing through the system to keep them informed, too. But, if there was a popular vote, would they vote for war?
“But we don’t dare ask,” he concluded. “The slightest leak could destroy us all.”
“Sure,” Mongo growled. “And if we fuck up, we could destroy everything too.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rioting broke out in Cairo following reports of water rationing programs to be instigated by the military government of Egypt. Water shortages, an ongoing problem caused by over-farming and poor governmental planning, have been growing worse in North Africa for years, despite plans to construct new water purification complexes and pipelines along the coastline. Sources within the government state that insurgent attacks within Egypt itself have only made the problem worse.
-Solar News Network, Year 52
“Graduation Day,” the Commandant of Sparta said. “Today marks the day you become true citizens of the Solar Union.”
Martin watched as the Commandant’s gaze flickered over his audience. “Some of you come from Earth, others from Luna or Mars or one of countless asteroid settlements, but you all have one thing in common,” the Commandant continued. “You all swore to defend the Solar Union – and the human race – against all enemies, foreign and domestic. It is that willingness to put your bodies between civilisation and its enemies that separates you from the common herd.
“From this day, many of you will go out to starships, or join military units preparing for a war we hope will never come. You will join millions of others who have sworn the same oath, undergone the same training and taken the same risks. And you will be honoured for your willingness to serve, to put the good of society ahead of your own personal good.”
Maybe, Martin thought, that’s why there are so many temptations. The people who pull away from them are the ones with the strength the Solar Union needs.
He kept his face impassive. The Sergeants had warned them, time and time again, that they were now Marines, the best of the best. They weren't allowed to show any emotions as they graduated, after passing the gruelling week-long final test. Instead, they had to appear blank and emotionless one final day, before they were sent to their first true units. Martin honestly couldn't wait.
“This is your day,” the Commandant finished. “Enjoy it.”
There was a smattering of applause, mainly from the watching audience, as the speech came to an end. Martin felt a sudden stab of envy – he had no family who would come to watch, but some of his squadmates had family watching their graduation – and then pushed it aside, sharply. His family were the Solar Marines now – and Yolanda. He’d looked for her among the starship crewmen, wearing their light-blue uniforms, as they marched into the auditorium, but he hadn't seen her. They’d exchanged enough messages, though, for him to be sure she was there.
Sergeant Grison cleared his throat. “Marines,” he said. “You may advance.”
Martin turned in unison with the others, as they’d rehearsed, and followed the Sergeant up to the dais. The Commandant smiled, greeted each man by name, and shook their hand firmly before pinning a single silver badge on their collars. It was the globe-and-starship insignia of the Solar Marines, glittering under the bright lights. Martin felt a wave of pride, almost as if he were walking on air, as he realised he’d made it. He was a Marine now, not a maggot. No matter what happened in the future, no one would ever take it from him.
I did this on my own, he thought. No one insisted I had to qualify. I earned this!
Sergeant Grison led them through a large hatch, then into a smaller compartment. “You are authorised and encouraged to take the remainder of the day off,” he said. “Check your implants for your departure times tomorrow, then go spend some time with your friends and families. If you have neither here, go see who might have turned up from the Retired Jarheads Association. There are quite a few who are willing to play mentor to a newcomer to the Solar Union.”
He smiled at them all, an open genuine smile. “For what it’s worth, I am very proud of you all,” he added. “Well done.”
Martin watched him stride though the door, then joined in the cheering as the recruits realised – finally – that they’d made it. They were safe and sound, now; they didn’t have to worry about being ejected from the camp for a single mistake. But then, they now had the risk of being shot at and killed for real ... he shook his head, then checked his implants. He had orders to report onboard the SUS Freedom, the following morning. Until then, his time was his own.
He nodded to the remaining Marines – h
alf of them had already headed off to meet their families – and then stepped through the door, heading down towards the lobby. Yolanda was waiting for him, looking oddly waif-like in her blue uniform, her dark hair tied back into a bun. She wore a silver star on her collar, marking her as a qualified starship officer. It would become a gold star if she ever rose to command rank.
“I’m off to Freedom,” he said. “And you?”
“Snap,” Yolanda said. “Did you ask for us to serve together?”
Martin shook his head. He honestly hadn't thought it was possible. The Solar Union sent its crewmen where it thought it needed them, without taking their personal needs into consideration. And why should it? They had signed their rights over to the Navy when they’d sworn the oath. Martin had expected to go years between meeting Yolanda, if one or both of them wasn't killed on active service.
“No worries,” Yolanda said. She glanced around, wistfully. “Is it wrong of me to wish my father was here?”
A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons Page 16