A faint shudder ran through the ship as she dropped into FTL, leaving the Hades System far behind. Yolanda smiled to herself, then keyed the stardrive into safe mode. They would remain in FTL, safe and untouchable, until they reached the RV Point, whereupon they would join the rest of the fleet. Or so she’d heard. All hell was likely to break loose, sooner or later, and Hades was immaterial to the overall outcome of the war, now the supply dumps had been captured or destroyed.
“We’re under way,” she said, formally. “ETA at RV Point One roughly four days, seventeen hours.”
“Then inform the crew to stand down and relax for a day,” the Captain ordered the XO. “We will return to intensive drilling tomorrow.”
“Aye, Captain,” Commander Gregory said. “The crew could do with a rest.”
Yolanda turned her attention back to her console and flicked on simulation mode. There was nothing to do while a starship was in FTL, if only because the onboard computers were more than capable of handling the drives and ensuring that nothing went wrong. She knew that civilian craft rarely bothered to man the bridge between the stars, but the Solar Navy insisted that military ships maintain a bridge crew at all times. It did have its advantages – she could use the console for everything from simulations to playing games – and yet it was also boring as hell.
She plunged her mind into the simulators, but there wasn't anything new. The captured Tokomak cruiser had managed to purge and destroy her computer banks before surrendering and even the best human technicians had been unable to draw anything useful from the remains. Instead, there were endless scenarios pitting Freedom against any number of Galactic starships, ranging from pitiful Horde-controlled starships to Tokomak and Varnar warships. The latter were always dangerous, even if the Tokomak had proved themselves to be less formidable than anyone had thought. She had a feeling – and she knew the intelligence department shared it – that the Varnar would be ordered to take part in the drive on Earth.
But it would leave their homeworld uncovered, she thought. They would be reluctant to risk themselves.
She pushed the thought to one side – it was hardly her concern, as it was well above her pay grade – and concentrated on the simulation. It was immersive, so immersive that it was a shock when Commander Gregory shook her lightly, disengaging Yolanda from the datanet and bringing her back to reality. Yolanda jumped, then glanced around in shock. It was always unpleasant to be yanked out of the datanet, no matter the situation. Early versions of the neural link, she’d heard, actually caused brain damage if they disconnected too quickly.
“It’s the end of your shift,” Commander Gregory said, dryly. “Much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I don’t think you should push yourself too hard.”
Yolanda felt herself flushing with embarrassment. It was a rookie mistake, all the more irritating because she’d thought she’d managed to overcome the problem in basic training, before she'd been allowed to serve on a starship. Commander Gregory didn't seem angry – Sergeant Bass would have issued at least three demerits for her mistake – but it was still embarrassing. And to think she'd only just been promoted!
“Go get some rest, then relax,” Commander Gregory ordered. “I’ll see you in the tactical section tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Commander,” Yolanda said.
She gave her console one last check, out of habit, then stood and passed it to her replacement, Ensign Hammond. The young man gave her an admiring look – it felt absurd to have anyone looking up to her – and then sat down. Yolanda waited long enough to see if he had any questions – they were common when the starship was in normal space – and then left the bridge, stepping through the hatch into Officer Country. Martin was on duty, just outside the hatch.
“I think there’s no danger of being boarded in FTL,” she said. “Why are you even standing guard outside the bridge, anyway?”
“I think it's meant to get us out of Marine Country for a while,” Martin said, after a moment’s thought. “Or maybe it’s just to make sure we don’t forget how to stand guard.”
Yolanda frowned. “Stand guard?”
“If you fall asleep on watch you can be summarily demoted,” Martin admitted. “But if there’s an enemy force creeping up on you, it can be much worse.”
“It makes sense,” Yolanda decided. She gave him a smile. “Join me in my quarters after your shift ends?”
“If your roommate isn't there,” Martin said. He smiled back at her. “I don’t want to shock the poor dear.”
“I don’t think anything could shock her,” Yolanda said. Simone had been raised in the Solar Union, by a family that seemed to have multiple adults, both male and female. She'd once tried to talk Yolanda into joining a group marriage that would have included at least ten people from each sex. “But I’ll let you know if she arrives.”
“Thanks,” Martin said. “but you’d better run along before the Lieutenant arrives. She’s been checking up on us at random intervals.”
Yolanda nodded, then hurried on her way.
***
President Allen Ross knew he would never have been elected on Earth. He was diplomatic, but he was also blunt and plain-spoken ... and the media, which made or destroyed candidates, would have ripped him apart. It had been one of the reasons he had been so thoroughly sick of politics on Earth before the Solar Union had been founded – and one of the reasons he had emigrated as soon as he’d been able to convince himself the Solar Union would last.
He’d tried to get involved on politics on Earth, only to discover it was impossible to make a real difference. But on one of the many asteroid Cantons, it was possible to have one’s say and to make a difference. By the time he’d run for President, he had a good reputation, by the Solar Union’s standards, as a mover and shaker. He would never be photogenic, he would never fill every little demographic box, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was being able to do the job.
But there were certain elements he would have preferred to leave to others, if it had been possible.
“You talk a bold case,” Ambassador Allis said. “Are you sure you can win?”
“Yes,” Allen said, bluntly. “The reports from Hades were quite clear.”
He studied the alien thoughtfully. The blue-skinned race – humans tended to call them the Blues, because their real name was unpronounceable – was humanity’s oldest ally, the first to see the potential of free humans fighting alongside them. Kevin Stuart himself had brokered the deal that had traded weapons and tech manuals for mercenaries, starting a working relationship that had lasted for over fifty years. The Blues might be larger and more powerful than humanity by far – although that was in question, these days – but they were honest allies.
Until the end of the war, he reminded himself. Alliances only last as long as they are convenient.
“We expect the Tokomak to make a plunge for Earth soon,” he said. The last report from Kevin Stuart, outdated by two weeks, had stated that the Tokomak fleet had yet to arrive. “We intend to meet that fleet and destroy it.”
The Blue peered at him, doubtfully. “Are you sure you can stop such a large fleet?”
“We don’t know,” Allen admitted. “But we certainly intend to try.”
He paused. “We ask you to join us,” he added. “You have firepower that could make a decisive difference.”
There was a long pause. “We would be risking much,” the Blue pointed out. He held up a hand before Allen could say a word. “We understand the dangers of allowing the Tokomak to run free, or the simple fact that they will come after us next. However, if we send most of our forces to assist you, our own worlds will be uncovered.”
Allen sighed. It was the old problem, even though it had probably saved Earth’s bacon more than once. The Varnar could not send a fleet to hammer Earth into submission without leaving themselves wide open to the Coalition. It was why they had called on the Tokomak in the first place. But the Coalition had the same problem when it came to defending E
arth ...
“There will never be a better chance to break the Tokomak,” he said.
“But the Varnar will still be active,” the Blue said. “We might lose enough of our ships to guarantee our defeat in the war.”
The hell of it, Allen knew, was that the Blue was right. If the Coalition won the battle at a high cost, the Varnar would have a chance to beat both humanity and the Coalition before they could recover. The Varnar were the wild card; if they jumped one way, the war might be lost ... and if they jumped the other way, they might be destroyed by the Tokomak.
“I understand your point,” he said, finally. “I trust you will make use of the tactical data we sent you.”
The Blue waved his long slender fingers, their version of a nod. “It will be good for us all to know the Tokomak aren't invincible,” he said. “We will spread it far and wide.”
“And prepare for an offensive,” Allen added. “We may have a chance to win the war outright.”
“We shall see,” the Blue said. “We will have a large fleet in place to take advantage of your victory, should you win. But we dare not advance too far from our worlds.”
The tyranny of FTL sensors, Allen thought. They would know if the Tokomak started to advance on their homeworlds ... but if they weren't in place to intercept the enemy ships it would be impossible to save their worlds.
“We wish you good hunting,” the alien said. “And goodbye.”
The alien bowed – a human gesture he’d picked up – and retreated through the hatch. Allen watched him go, feeling the cold weight of responsibility settling down around his shoulders, a cross he sometimes doubted his ability to bear. The Solar Union called him President and granted him power, but it wasn't enough to reshape the universe to his will. Not even the communal vote could change reality.
He looked up as Admiral Stuart entered through the side hatch. “You heard?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Mongo Stuart said. “They can't be faulted.”
“I know,” the President said. “But we could do with their help.”
He sighed, then looked around the office. It was bare; Steve Stuart had designed it personally, according to legend, and the voters would have been mortally offended if he’d added a single piece of decoration. There was nothing in the room, save for a desk, a handful of chairs, a projector and a handful of portraits, showing the last nine Presidents of the Solar Union. Allen wondered, with a trace of resentment, just how they would have handled the Tokomak, if the threat had come to fruition in their time. They’d known it might happen ...
... But Allen was the one on the spot when the gods finally noticed the human race.
“The fleet is in position,” Mongo assured him. “We should be ready to give them one hell of a nasty surprise.”
“I know, Admiral,” Allen said. “But will it be nasty enough?”
On Earth, he’d felt ... a depression sapping his strength, sapping the wills of his countrymen to stand up for their country. It had been nothing he could have placed his finger on; a sense, perhaps, that resistance was not only futile, but wrong. Or, perhaps, a sense that one simply couldn't fight City Hall, that even winning one battle would be a pointless victory. The government would have its revenge. And all the hotheads who had talked of gunning down federal agents or shooting the bureaucrats ... it had come to nothing.
There had been no challenges, he’d thought, no frontiers to cross. No dreams for the young, no hope of anything, apart from a 9-5 job if they were lucky. No wonder America and the West had become dependent on antidepressants, he'd thought at the time. They had been taught to dream and yet their dreams were ruthlessly squashed.
But the Solar Union had lacked that depression, he knew. The children of the Solar Union were untouched by the shadows of the past. They could build a society without the hang-ups that had damaged the United States to the point the country started to come apart at the seams. It was the hope of the future, the rebirth of the human dream ... assuming, of course, they survived the coming war.
He shook his head. There was no time to get pensive about the future.
“We will certainly give them a few surprises,” Mongo assured him. “One way or the other, their complacency will end soon.”
“I got a complaint from Earth,” Allen said. “They’re demanding that we exclude them from the Declaration of War.”
Mongo snorted. Allen knew how he felt. It wasn't funny, not really, but there was definitely a certain something about it. The Galactics barely noticed Sol as a political entity in its own right. They certainly didn't draw any distinction between the Solar Union and Earth, let alone America, France, Germany and Russia. He had a feeling that trying to explain political divisions on a tiny planet on the edge of explored space to the Tokomak would be a waste of time. They would probably only demand to know why humanity hadn't united itself under one rule yet.
They would probably have expected Steve Stuart to make himself ruler of the world, he thought. The idea of a separate state would have stunned them.
He looked up at Mongo. Fame – true lasting fame – was rare in the Solar Union, but the Stuart Family were definitely famous. What would Steve Stuart make of the Solar Union as it was now? Or, for that matter, what would he make of the war? Would he come up with something new or ...
“You’re thinking about my brother,” Mongo said. “I could tell by the look on your face.”
Allen scowled at him, schooling his face into impassivity. “What would your brother make of this?”
“George Washington kept slaves,” Mongo said.
Allen blinked. “That makes no sense,” he protested.
“Steve used to say it, every so often,” Mongo said. “He would come back home, without fanfare, and reporters would gather round him, ready to write down everything he said as if it were pearls of wisdom from a prophet. And he would always remind them that George Washington kept slaves.”
“I don’t see the point,” Allen said.
“Steve’s point was that Washington, who was effectively deified by America, was only a man,” Mongo said. “He was a good military leader, a great politician and a true patriot, but he was only a man. Some of his acts, like keeping slaves or burning Indian townships, make him out to be a far darker character than the saint we were taught to revere. He was just a man, without all the answers, let alone a modern sense of values. Steve wouldn't be able to come here, sit down at your desk and hand out answers like glasses of beer at Oktoberfest.”
Mongo shrugged. “Don’t look to me for your answers, I think he meant,” he added, after a moment. “Find them for yourself.”
Allen smiled. “Thank you for that clarification,” he said, dryly. “But I’m not sure it was particularly helpful.”
“Neither is being spoon-fed the answers – right or wrong,” Mongo countered. “And that was something Steve knew better than to do, even before he became our Founding Father.”
***
“The fleet is ready to depart?”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” the Admiral said. “We have a direct course set for Earth.”
Neola clicked her fingers. “And the new training programs?”
“They have been problematic,” the Admiral admitted. “The crews are not used to them.”
“Then tell them to get used to them,” Neola snapped. She would have preferred to wait longer, to get her ships and crews ready for the coming fight, but time wasn't on her side, not when word was already spreading through the empire. The Old Ones would hear about it soon and relieve her of command. “The humans are unlikely to play by the rules.”
The Admiral bowed, then retreated, leaving her in the CIC.
“The new exercises are having a devastating effect on morale,” He’cht observed, from the shadows. “Your crews are not prepared for scenarios that aren't scripted right down to the last detail.”
“So I have heard,” Neola said. The Admiral had complained loudly. So had every commanding officer of every ship,
without exception. Complaints about the new regime were probably also winging their way up the gravity points too. “But can we beat the humans?”
“It depends,” He’cht said. “Do you have more firepower than the humans? Probably. Do you have more flexibility than the humans? Probably not. You will just have to hope that you have enough firepower to make their flexibility immaterial.”
Neola sighed, bitterly.
One hour later, the fleet dropped into FTL and started the crawl towards Earth.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Japanese Government finally passed the long-awaited law forcing all Japanese women to have at least four children before reaching the age of thirty. This law, which is intended to replenish the ethnic Japanese population (which has been in decline for the last seventy years) has been hotly opposed by protesters both in and out of Japan. However, with the Conservative Government in firm control, it is unlikely the act will not be enforced. It is as yet unclear what penalties will be assigned to women who fail to comply with the law.
A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons Page 32