“Third, in order that you cannot resume the war at a later date, your mobile fleet will be reduced to one thousand starships for the next hundred years. The ships you choose not to keep will be surrendered to human representatives, within the next two months. You will be permitted to retain what degree of planetary fortifications you regard as suitable, but you will not be permitted to fortify any of the gravity points that remain in your possession. In order to ensure you keep your word, human inspectors will have full access to your worlds, industrial stations, shipyards, naval bases and anywhere else they feel they need to inspect.”
He met their eyes. “Failure to allow access will be regarded as an admission of guilt and a cause for war.”
“This is outrageous,” the second Tokomak snapped.
“It’s better than the terms you would have offered us,” Steve pointed out. “In addition, the Solar Navy will maintain picket forces along the gravity point chain leading from Tokomak Prime to N-Gann and a marine garrison at Tokomak Prime itself. Those ships and their supporting facilities will be funded by the Solar Union and the Galactic Alliance.”
He took a breath. “Finally, you are to admit - openly - that you imposed your will on large swathes of the galaxy by force and repeatedly broke your own rules in order to do so. We will not demand reparations, nor will we support others if they wish to do so, but we want you to acknowledge that you treated the remainder of the galaxy very badly. You will not be allowed to continue to delude yourselves, or others, about who was right or wrong in this war. There will be no doubt about what you and your ancestors did.”
Or about what you were planning to do, he thought. He’d seen the files. You were planning to commit genocide in a truly galactic scale.
“If you accept our terms, the Solar Union will do everything in its power to ensure that this is truly an end,” he concluded. “We will do our level best to prevent your former victims from victimising you in turn. We will welcome your admission to the galactic community on even terms and allow you access to our markets, where you can sell your goods on their own merits. These terms are harsh, but not - we feel - unjust. However, as I said, if you refuse to accept these terms we will impose them by force.”
The second Tokomak leaned forward. “You will protect our worlds?”
“If there is no other choice,” Steve said. Thankfully, most of the races that would want violent revenge were in no position to take it. That would change, hopefully after things had calmed down and the galaxy had moved on. Steve had no illusions about how long history could linger and overshadow the contemporary world - he’d grown up in the American South - but the Solar Union worked because it had made a deliberate decision to leave the past in the past. “We can and we will block all attempts to attack your worlds, as long as you’re behaving yourselves.”
He kept his face as expressionless as possible. The Solar Union might reject the terms. He’d pushed his authority about as far as it would go, if not a little further. And the Tokomak themselves might reject the terms. It would be suicide, but they might prefer to fight it out to the bitter end than accept defeat. He knew - and he thought they did too - that the rest of the galaxy would not have to bomb their worlds to ash to take revenge. Simply unleashing a flood of innovation would do it. The Tokomak would be unable to compete and find themselves, eventually, stagnating beyond all hope of recovery.
Unless the shock of the defeat reshapes their society, he thought, dryly. Their Empress was very capable. Who knows who else might be lurking in the crowd, ready to reshape the universe once again?
He kept that thought to himself. The Tokomak would be rendered largely harmless for a hundred years. By then, the galaxy would have moved on. Perhaps they’d try to beat the human race - and the rest of the alliance - but the only way they could do that would be to become them. Who knew? It was astonishing how old grudges faded away once people realised they didn’t have to keep carrying them. Even as a young man, Steve wouldn’t have picked a fight with someone whose ancestors had fought on the wrong side of the Civil War and he wasn’t about to start now. And maybe the horse would learn to sing.
“You have one day,” he said, standing. “Either you accept our terms or we will force you to do so. Good day.”
“You leave us with very little,” the first Tokomak observed.
“You have taken much from the rest of the galaxy,” Steve pointed out. “You were planning to exterminate my entire race. I think we’re being quite merciful in leaving you with enough to protect yourself, if not to threaten the rest of the galaxy. But, by all means, keep complaining. There is nothing else you can do.”
He ignored their splutter of protest as he stepped through the hatch. He couldn’t show weakness, he couldn’t show doubt ... he couldn’t allow them to think, for a moment, that they could delude themselves into thinking it wasn’t the end. He knew what would happen if they tried to keep fighting. Billions upon billions of innocent people, most of them Tokomak, would die. He didn’t want to watch it happen, not if it could be avoided. The Tokomak didn’t have to die for freedom to ring across the galaxy.
The marines nodded to him as he walked past. Steve had told them what to do before the meeting had even started. They’d escort the Tokomak back to the teleport chamber and send them home. They’d have twenty-four hours to make up their minds ... he wished he knew, now, which way they’d jump. He’d seen plenty of governments and corporations make stupid decisions because a small minority had bullied them into making a mistake, because the minority didn’t have to pay the price for whatever they forced the government to do. That, at least, had changed. Iran had expected bombardment, when the mullahs had defied the Solar Union. Their leaders had been assassinated instead. It was funny how reasonable they’d become when they realised it would be the leaders, not their young servants, who would be killed if they continued to press things. Steve didn’t regret it. There were rules and laws that should not be broken without serious consequences.
And we did the Iranians a big favour, he thought. He’d never liked Iran, but his dislike had always been targeted on its government and religious fanatics rather than the people themselves. Things might even have calmed down permanently if the reformers had managed to take advantage of the sudden power vacuum.
He made his way through the ship until he reached the observation blister. Hoshiko was already there, staring towards the planet itself. Even from a distance, Tokomak Prime looked odd. The planet was encircled by two and a half rings, the final ring battered and broken by the battle. Both sides had cooperated, when the shooting had finally stopped, to do emergency rescue and recovery work. Steve hoped it was a sign of a more positive future to come.
“Grandfather.” Hoshiko didn’t look away from the planet. “How did it go?”
Steve stood next to her. “I gave them the demands,” he said, feeling slightly uneasy. He’d never shied from dictating to two-bit tyrants, when he’d founded the Solar Union, but he felt slightly dirty laying down the law to the Tokomak. He wasn’t sure why. Cold logic told him he needed to make sure the Tokomak could never threaten the human race again. “And they have one day to answer.”
Hoshiko nodded, slowly. “And if they refuse?”
“You’ll have to smash their defences,” Steve said. The Solar Union couldn’t occupy the planetary surface permanently, but it could seize or destroy the remaining industrial base and claim the system itself. And then Tokomak Prime itself would almost certainly starve. “And that will be the end.”
“It seems wasteful, somehow,” Hoshiko said. “Grandfather, is it normal to feel at a such a loose end?”
“When you think you’ve won and it’s all over and you don’t know what to do with yourself?” Steve laughed. “I’ve been there. Believe me, I’ve been there.”
He shrugged. “There will always be work to do as we wrap up the war. You’ll have to assign ships and crew to remain on station, here and along the chain. You’ll have to help me batter out all
iances, or at least agreements, with the remainder of the Galactics. And then you’ll have to go home and see what our people think of the outcome. They might tell us to go back and do a proper job of it.”
Hoshiko snorted. “And what would they do, if they were here?”
“They’re not here,” Steve said. “Distance may lend enchantment, but it takes away comprehension.”
“Yeah.” Hoshiko turned back to the display. “I just won the greatest war ever fought, in all of known history. And I feel at a loose end. Can I exist without war?”
“Soldiers have been asking themselves that question since time out of mind,” Steve said, slowly. “Our family - both sides of the family - have been soldiers, sailors and airmen since our countries were founded. They joined the military when there were wars on and when there were no wars on, because they felt they had a duty. And then some of them came home and asked themselves, deep inside, what they’d really been fighting for.”
“Like you,” Hoshiko said.
“Yes.” Steve knew he couldn’t deny it. “Back then, I came home to a land that seemed just as insane as the one I’d seen consumed by war. The government was jammed up, infested by ignorant bureaucrats who could be relied upon to make the wrong choice whenever they were confronted by a problem ... steered by idiots who claimed to believe the government was inherently racist and sexist and yet wanted to give the government even more power. There seemed to be no room for someone who just wanted to be an honest human being, nowhere you could go to get away from the meddlers ... wherever you went, they’d simply follow you, daring you to resist. There were a bunch of fools, back when I was in my middle age, talking about armed resistance. I knew they were going to get killed, but I understood. God, I understood.
“But that’s not what it’s about, not really. We fight to keep our people alive, first and foremost; we fight to maintain our way of life, to protect our right to live our life as we please. If we didn’t maintain those freedoms, we ... we might have been dominated by foreigners instead of home-grown bureaucratic tyrants.”
“I don’t think that makes sense,” Hoshiko said.
“You’ve never lived outside the Solar Union,” Steve said. He clasped his hands behind his back. “You simply don’t have any real perspective.”
“We’re a very long way from the Solar Union,” Hoshiko pointed out, dryly.
“You don’t have to live here,” Steve countered. “You’ve spent your entire life in the Solar Union or serving on Solarian starships. You could go to one of the outer cantons and live life there, but you’ve never been anywhere you couldn’t leave if you wanted to. Even here” - he waved a hand at the bulkhead - “you volunteered to join the military. People on Earth ... they have limits you might understand intellectually, but not emotionally. There were far worse places to live than the United States of America. Some of them bred the most terrible things.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Hoshiko said.
“You should.” Steve favoured her with a smile. “Or you should read the book I wrote about it.”
“They made it required reading,” Hoshiko teased. “Was it so bad they had to force people to read it?”
“No.” Steve found himself reddening. “They did that without my consent.”
“And you couldn’t say no?” Hoshiko arched her eyebrows, looking achingly like her grandmother. “You, the Founder?”
“I gave up my formal authority when I stepped down,” Steve said. “I thought the Solar Union should develop on its own.”
“Yes.” Hoshiko met his eyes. “And yet, you’re trying to convince us to meddle on Earth.”
“It’s our homeworld,” Steve said.
“One we’ve outgrown,” Hoshiko said. “It’s time to reach for the stars.”
“I know how you feel,” Steve said. “But there’s a lot on that planet that shouldn’t be allowed to die.”
“Yes,” Hoshiko agreed. “But how many of us are you prepared to have die to protect a heritage we’ve outgrown?”
Steve’s wristcom buzzed before he could answer. “Go ahead.”
“Sir, this is Falkner in Communications,” a voice said. “We’ve just picked up word from the planet. They’ve accepted your terms.”
“Thank God,” Steve said. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He hadn’t really wanted to imagine what would happen if the Tokomak refused to surrender and end the war. The slaughter would be horrific beyond imagination. “Inform them we can hold a formal signing ceremony tomorrow.”
He tapped the wristcom to close the channel, then looked at Hoshiko. “It’s over. It’s really over.”
“Yeah,” Hoshiko said. She didn’t sound convinced. “But history never ends. Does it?”
Chapter Forty
Martin had never really liked ceremonial duties, even ones that allowed him to carry loaded weapons and expect attack at any moment. At best, they were boring and tedious; at worst, they tended to dissolve into chaos at random moments, after the enemy had had plenty of time to note where the marines were positioned and target them before they started shooting. He’d done enough time on Earth, after he’d joined the Solar Marines, that he’d be happy never to have to carry out any ceremonial duties again.
He kept a wary eye on the Tokomak delegation as they walked into the conference chamber, magnificently ignoring both the marines and the newshounds, and signed the formal surrender accords with a flourish. His CO had warned him to be careful, pointing out that the Tokomak had invented most of the microscopic and nanoscopic devices the marines used for covert operations. They might be armed to the teeth, seemingly-harmless enhancements actually designed to unleash death and destruction on unwary targets ... they’d teleported through the biofilter and enough security sensors to pick up a nanotech killer lurking in their bloodstream, but that meant nothing. Martin refused to allow himself to relax until the ceremony was complete and the Tokomak were off the ship.
“Well,” Major Grafton said. “I guess the war is over. Back to work tomorrow.”
Martin nodded. Word had come down from the highest levels, as soon as the Tokomak had accepted humanity’s terms. Admiral Stuart was requesting volunteers to stay and man the picket that would remain in the system, keeping an eye on the Tokomak and making sure they didn’t try to cheat. Martin was morbidly sure they would cheat, once it sank in that they were horrifically vulnerable if someone wanted a little revenge. He sure as hell wouldn’t trust an outsider to protect his worlds and he was pretty certain the Tokomak would feel the same way. They’d cheat. He was sure they’d cheat. And he’d be there to catch them when they did.
If Yolanda wants to stay, he thought. Being apart from her for a few months was understandable. It was sheer luck they’d been assigned to the same fleet, let alone the same ship. But being separated for at least five years would be sheer hell. I’ll ask her before I make any real plans.
The crew seemed to explode into party mode as soon as the Tokomak were off the ship. Martin watched in amusement as small parties appeared out of nowhere, senior officers and chiefs letting their hair down and dancing with junior officers and crew in a manner that would have led to courts martial under other circumstances. He pushed his way past a pair of crewmen who were kissing so desperately it looked as if they were going to set each other on fire, then quietly ignored one of his marines who was arm-wrestling a burly crewman. There’d be trouble tomorrow, if things really went over the line, but otherwise ... he smiled, taking a bottled drink someone slipped him as he made his way into Officer Country. Whoever was brewing alcohol onboard ship would probably also be in trouble tomorrow.
He put the thought aside as he reached the CIC. Yolanda was standing by the display, looking lost and alone. Martin wondered, suddenly, why she didn’t have many friends apart from himself. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t personable. And he’d fight the man who dared say she was ugly. On Earth, she had looked a little out of place. Racist policies had made sure of
it. But there was nothing unusual about her on a Solarian ship.
“I thought the CIC was supposed to be shut down,” Martin said, as she greeted him with a smile. “Are you hoping for extra credit?”
“Someone has to stay on duty,” Yolanda said. “And ... I didn’t feel like joining the party.”
Martin sat down and reached for her. “I thought we were safe here.”
“We are, in theory.” Yolanda sat on his lap. “But it only takes one idiot to restart the war.”
Martin let out a breath. “I was wondering ...”
He swallowed hard, then started again. “I was wondering if you wanted to stay,” he said. “I ... I’ve been asked to stay, but I don’t want to stay without you.”
“Admiral Teller’s volunteered to remain as CO here,” Yolanda said. “I’d have to put in for a transfer.”
She frowned. “Is there any reason to go back?”
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