The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I trust you have reviewed the data,” Hoshiko continued, after a moment. “The interview with Captain Ryman, the debriefing of the refugees, the intelligence recovered from the freighter’s databanks ... is there any doubt over what’s happening on Amstar?”

  Griffin shook his head. The evidence was overwhelming. No one would have expended three warships and an entire freighter, to say nothing of risking a shooting war with the Solar Union, just to set up a trick of some kind. The idea of one alien race trying to exterminate everyone else ... humans hadn't found it hard to come up with justifications to commit genocide against their fellow humans, why wouldn't an alien race come up with a reason to slaughter billions of different aliens? God knew there were humans who had advocated, in all seriousness, exterminating the Hordes in response to their crimes against humanity.

  “I have very little information on these ... Druavroks,” Captain Hamish Macpherson said, curtly. “My datafiles are curiously scanty.”

  “I have put in a request for more information from Martina,” Hoshiko said. “But, from what little we know, it seems they now want an empire of their own, instead of holding up someone else’s empire. Taking Amstar makes sense from an economic point of view, but outright genocide ...”

  Her voice grew very cold. “I intend to take this squadron to Amstar and put a stop to it,” she added. “It is our duty.”

  There was a long pause. Griffin felt his blood run cold. He understood the impulse, he understood how far their standing orders stretched, but it could be a terrible mistake. The Solar Union had no treaty with anyone on Amstar, nor was it directly threatened by the Druavroks. It was hard to escape the feeling that they were about to commit a direct violation of their orders.

  He cursed Admiral Stuart under his breath. As a captain, it was his right and duty to argue with his commanding officer, if he believed it necessary, even in front of other captains. But as a commander, he couldn't argue in front of the senior officers. He was supposed to present a united front with his captain, even as he disagreed with his commodore. There wasn’t anything in regulations for a semi-permanent arrangement where the captain and the commodore happened to be the same person.

  “Captain,” Captain Joanne Mathewson said, finally. “Is this actually wise?”

  “There are times when wisdom will not serve,” Hoshiko said. “Our orders say, basically, that we are to protect human settlements throughout the sector - and, in more general terms, throughout the galaxy. Humans are being threatened with extermination by the Druavroks, along with countless members of over twenty other races. It is our duty to respond, to save them from certain death. It’s the right thing to do.”

  And you weren't interested in intervening to prevent the fighting on Earth, Griffin thought, coldly. He didn't actually disagree with Hoshiko’s stance - Earth was reaping what it had sown over decades of mismanagement - but she lacked even basic comprehension of how everyone else felt about the affair. What makes this different?

  “There's another issue,” Hoshiko said. “We have orders to find allies, to meet strange new races and make friends.”

  “And boldly go where lots of people have gone before,” Captain Abdul Hassam said, deadpan.

  “Yes, but they live here,” Macpherson said. “They don't count.”

  Hoshiko ignored the byplay. “The point is this,” she said. “Humanity is not the only race under threat. If we intervene to save members of other races, we may win new allies.”

  “And start a war with the Druavroks,” Griffin pointed out. “Captain, with all due respect, we don’t know the slightest thing about what we’re getting into.”

  “We know they’re murderous bastards,” Hoshiko said. If she was angry at his comment, and she had every reason to be, she hid it well. “They’re killing humans, Commander.”

  “We have no idea how many starships they have,” Griffin said. “They may - they may - back off when they realise the humans in this sector have powerful protectors, but it is far more likely they will see our actions as a declaration of war. We are six months from Sol, Captain. There is no hope of receiving reinforcements in less than a year - and that assumes Admiral Stuart sends them when Sol needs protection itself.”

  “They’ve already declared war on us,” Hoshiko pointed out. “Slaughtering humans cannot be allowed, Commander.”

  “Perhaps we should ask for orders from Earth,” Captain Patrick Faison said. “Our standing orders call for the defence of humans, Commodore, but also to avoid conflict with powerful alien races.”

  “It will take a year to send a message to Earth and receive a reply,” Hoshiko said. She sounded angry for the first time. Griffin didn't really blame her. “By then, Amstar will be a graveyard and the bastards will have moved on to a new target - Martina, perhaps. We have to act now, while the humans on Amstar still have a chance.”

  She tapped the table. “Our standing orders are to protect humans, make friends and spread the reputation of the Solar Union,” she added. “Going to Amstar and preventing genocide will accomplish all three. It isn't as if most races will go to the wall for another race.”

  Griffin nodded, conceding the point. The Tokomak had never tried to foster any sort of pan-species unity, perhaps suspecting that - once unified - their subject races would turn on them and demand change. Indeed, there were few races in the galaxy that would cross the road to piss on another race, if he happened to be on fire. They’d be far more likely to view the whole affair as a kind of spectator sport, rather than something that involved them. But humanity ... if humanity made a stand against genocide, who knew where it would lead?

  “It is unlikely the Druavroks have technology to match ours,” Hoshiko continued. “They were probably not encouraged to innovate, any more than the Varner were. Their technology is almost certainly second-line Tokomak gear, rather than anything new.”

  “But they will have a lot of it,” Griffin pointed out. “Our supply line is a shoestring, Captain, if that. Our supply of missiles is very limited and we have no Hammerhead Missiles. We could kill one of their ships with every missile we fire and still lose the war.”

  “I admit there are risks involved, Commander,” Hoshiko said, curtly. “There are always risks involved. Standing up to the Tokomak was a risk. They had - and still have - hundreds of thousands of starships. But if we allow the prospect of risk to blind us, we will have no hope of doing anything beyond sitting in orbit until we are attacked again. This is a chance to take a stand against genocide and, by doing so, win friends and influence opinions.”

  She paused. “The decision is mine,” she added. “The squadron will depart Martina in two hours, which should be long enough to prepare the base for independent operations. If any of you want to file an objection, please inform me and it will be noted in my log.”

  Griffin kept his face impassive with an effort. Technically, he could challenge her, call for a full council of war and a vote, but he knew he might well lose. And losing a challenge would mean court-martial when he returned home, with the verdict a foregone conclusion. No board composed of commanding officers would countenance a challenge with so little evidence against its target.

  “I have reservations,” Captain Faison said. “But we cannot with honour allow genocide to proceed unhindered.”

  The hell of it, Griffin knew, was that Faison had a point. Griffin was old enough to recall hundreds of small genocides carried out on Earth, each one watched by outside powers with overwhelming firepower and no will to intervene. By the time something was done - if it was - the genocide was nearly completed and hundreds of thousands of people were dead. And yet, the only problem had been lack of political will. Stopping the Holocaust had required a full-scale war against Nazi Germany and it had been too late to save millions of victims. The Nazis would have ignored a string of protests from the outside world as they completed their grisly task.

  But we don’t know what we’re going to encounter at Amstar, he thought. The Solar Union
had stopped a Tokomak fleet dead in its tracks, but who knew how powerful the Druavroks actually were? Hoshiko might be right - they might not have been able to improve upon Tokomak technology - yet there was no way they could take that for granted. This might be the first shot in a whole new war.

  “Good,” Hoshiko said. “Prepare your ships for departure. If your crews have messages they wish to send, have them uploaded to the base before we leave. I’ll be sending a standard report to Sol informing them of our discoveries and my intentions.”

  And they won’t be able to tell you to stop, Griffin thought. The year it would take for any message to reach you would be more than long enough for you to start a war.

  “Dismissed,” Hoshiko said.

  The holographic images vanished. Griffin wondered, inwardly, just how many of the commanding officers agreed they had to intervene, but there was no way to know. Hoshiko was right, after all; regulations insisted that they had to do everything in their power to protect human lives, even humans who weren't Solarians. And besides, it was possible they’d make a few friends and allies at Amstar.

  “You don’t approve,” Hoshiko said, flatly.

  “No, I don’t,” Griffin agreed. “Captain, there are too many unpredictable elements here.”

  “That’s always true,” Hoshiko said.

  “Yes, it is,” Griffin said. “The problem here, however, is a matter of practicality. Do we have enough firepower to compel the Druavroks to abandon Amstar? If so, are they going to take the defeat lying down or will they launch a counterattack? And if they do, can we stop it?”

  “They’re hardly going to dispatch a full-sized fleet to Sol,” Hoshiko pointed out. “It would be a blunder on the same level as dispatching a fleet and army to Sicily in the middle of the Peloponnesian War. Their rivals will be delighted.”

  “If they have rivals,” Griffin reminded her. “Our intelligence concerning changes in this sector is sadly lacking.”

  “Then it's high time we learned,” Hoshiko said.

  Griffin took a breath. “There's another issue, Captain,” he warned. “One that you have to consider carefully.”

  Hoshiko lifted a single eyebrow.

  “We have an ... emotional revulsion at the thought of genocide,” Griffin said. “The idea of committing mass slaughter of helpless innocents is bad enough, but exterminating every last member of a given race, or an ethnic group, is repulsive to us. And that’s how it should be.

  “But such emotions can also blind us to the practicalities,” he added, when she said nothing. “We are one squadron of ships, Captain; nine heavy cruisers and a handful of support vessels, facing an alien empire of unknown power. We may be about to bite off more than we can chew. I understand the impulse to stop the genocide, but we also have to be aware of the dangers. The Druavroks may not even be capable of understanding that genocide is wrong. We could wind up going to war to impose our own view of the universe on them.”

  “One shared by the Tokomak,” Hoshiko pointed out. “They banned indiscriminate planetary strikes on pain of death and destruction.”

  “But clearly not by the Druavroks,” Griffin countered. “And the Tokomak are no longer around to enforce the rules.”

  “I understand the risks,” Hoshiko said, after a moment. She sounded almost pensive as she studied the remains of her tea. “But they have to be faced.”

  She cleared her throat. “I want Captain Ryman and his crew to remain onboard, for the moment,” she added. “Speaker To Seafood is to be turned over to the base - they can look after her until we return to Martina. It's a five-day flight to Amstar at best possible speed, so Captain Ryman should be able to assist us by the time we arrive.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Griffin said.

  “I’ll record a message for Fleet Command now,” Hoshiko said, as she finished her tea and placed the cup on the table. “If you wish to record a message of your own ...”

  Griffin shook his head. He did have his doubts, but there was no point in airing them to Fleet Command. By the time they decided what - if anything - to do, the situation would have already moved on. Hoshiko’s orders were so vague, at least in part, because there was no way she could call home and ask for clarification. Her great-uncle had given her, quite literally, the power to bind and loose. She could form an alliance with alien powers if she wished without ever overstepping the bounds of her authority.

  “That won’t be necessary, Captain,” he said. He finished his own coffee and rose. “With your permission, I’ll see to the freighter and her crew.”

  “Thank you,” Hoshiko said. She gave him a smile. “And thank you for your honest opinions too.”

  But you’re not going to listen to them, Griffin thought. Hoshiko was the CO, after all. The buck stopped with her. I tried.

  He left the cabin and headed down to his office. There was work to do.

  Chapter Five

  Heavy fighting spread across Bavaria for the first time in three months, following the effective collapse of the German Government. The Bavarian Government has declared its intentions to preserve a little of Germany and its willingness to accept refugees of Germanic descent only. Non-Germans are warned that they will be shot out of hand if they attempt to cross the border.

  -Solar News Network, Year 54

  “It’s hard to imagine,” Max Kratzok commented, “that there are other ships out there.”

  Hoshiko nodded as she entered the observation blister and stepped up beside him. There was literally nothing to see in FTL; nothing, save for an endless darkness that had been known to drive grown men into panic attacks. It scared Earthers, who expected to see stars streaking past, but the Solarians saw nothing to fear. They grew up surrounded by the endless darkness of interplanetary space, after all. She peered into the darkness for a long moment, then turned to look at him. The reporter was young, his brown hair cut close to his scalp and his features sculpted into a reassuring handsomeness that was too bland to be natural. She couldn't help thinking that he hadn't - yet - learned the value of individuality. But then, putting people at their ease so they would talk to him was part of his job.

  “They’re wrapped in their own bubbles of compressed space-time,” Hoshiko said, as she sat down on the loveseat. Traditionally, couples could use the observation blister for making out - assuming, of course, that they weren't on duty. “They can't see us any more than we can see them, but they’re out there.”

  “FTL sensors can pick them up, I assume,” Kratzok said. “There’s no risk of an accidental collision?”

  “The squadron is spread out,” Hoshiko confirmed. “Even if we were flying in formation, Max, the odds of an accidental collision would be very low. It takes deliberate malice to ram one starship into another at FTL speeds.”

  Kratzok shrugged. “I spoke to John Ryman,” he said, as he turned to look at her, leaning against the transparent bulkhead. “The picture he painted wasn't pretty.”

  “No,” Hoshiko agreed. Captain Ryman’s son had been in line for a command of his own, before he’d landed on Amstar. Now ... he was badly shaken by his sister’s rape, their narrow escape and the deaths of his friends. “It wasn't pretty.”

  “And we’re heading to Amstar to intervene,” Kratzok added. “Is that a good idea?”

  Hoshiko gave him a long look. “On or off the record?”

  “Whatever you want,” Kratzok said. “I assume you’re recording the conversation yourself.”

  “I am,” Hoshiko confirmed.

  She smiled, rather tightly. One advantage of implants that few Earthers realised was that everything could be recorded. If Kratzok decided to publish a version of their conversation that was at odds with reality, she could upload her own version to the datanet and demand compensation for being misquoted. Her grandfather had loathed reporters - or, at least, he’d loathed their editors - and he’d insisted on writing strong laws prohibiting the kind of bullshit, as he’d put it in his Commentary, that had brought the American media establish
ment to its knees. Not that she’d need the recordings, if push came to shove; she could merely object to the quote and force them to prove she’d said what they claimed she’d said. And if they couldn't, she could collect some pretty heavy compensation. Most media outlets in the Solar Union knew better than to take the risk.

  “Call it off the record, for the moment,” she said, carefully. “I may change my mind later.”

  Kratzok nodded in understanding. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

  Hoshiko took a moment to think before answering the question. It galled her, although she would never have admitted it, that she had no idea why Kratzok had requested the assignment to the Jackie Fisher. The Solar Union Navy had no problems with embedded reporters, as long as they respected the limits, but her squadron had been dispatched so far from Sol that Kratzok’s reports wouldn't reach home for months. She had wondered, absently, if he’d managed to get into trouble with his superiors too, yet there had been nothing in his file suggesting that he was anything other than a roving reporter in good standing.