“The last of the battlestations has been destroyed,” one said. The scent of despair grew stronger. “They are at liberty to destroy our industry, if they wish, or lay waste to our world.”
It was a horrifying thought. They had been raised to believe that strength and determination was all that separated them from their rightful prey. The concept of a war won by mass production, by crushing the enemy under an endless stream of starships and missiles, was alien to them, even though it was how they’d been brought to heel by the Tokomak. But now, teeth and claws would be insufficient against the new threat, the new masters of the universe. Losing their industry would ensure their certain defeat.
“The people will fight,” another said.
“The people will die,” a third stated, flatly. He was old; the others, privately, suspected it wouldn't be long before he was overthrown and devoured by an eager subordinate. “They cannot stop the enemy from destroying this world.”
They shared a long moment of horrified recognition. The Tokomak had crushed them - and, now, the humans were going to do the same. No, it was worse than that. The humans had somehow united over a dozen different races of prey and turned them into predators. No one, not even the Tokomak, had managed that. There was no way to avoid recognising that they were staring absolute disaster in the face.
“Then we submit,” the third said. “Bare our throats and offer our submission to our new masters.”
“The people will be horrified,” the second said. It was a mark of his shock that he wasn't calling for a honour duel, even though the mere suggestion of surrender called for it. “They will demand our heads!”
“Then they will die,” the third said. He waved a clawed hand towards the display, showing the advancing fleet. There was literally nothing in their path until they entered orbit, if they deigned to come close enough to allow the PDCs to target them. “Do you want to see warheads exploding on our worlds again?”
There was a long chilling pause. “Order the defences to stand down,” the first said. No one argued with him. “And contact the enemy fleet. Tell them ... tell them that we surrender.”
***
“I’m picking up a message from the planet’s surface,” Yeller said. “I think they’re surrendering!”
Hoshiko blinked. “You think?”
“It’s very ... florid,” Yeller said. He frowned down at his console. “But yes, I think they’re surrendering.”
“Thank God,” Hoshiko said.
She keyed her console, bringing up the message from the surface. It was incredibly flattering; she skimmed through nearly a hundred lines before she was convinced the Druavroks were actually offering to surrender, although their words were so colourful it was impossible to be sure. The offer to bare their throats was understandable, at least, but some of their other phases were difficult to parse. Were they literally offering to castrate themselves for her?
But their eunuchs become passive, she thought, remembering the doctor’s dissection of a handful of alien corpses. They may be offering to metaphorically castrate themselves.
She looked at the tactical console. “Are they standing down?”
“Yes, Captain,” Biscoe said. The display updated rapidly. “They’ve shut down the remaining defence platforms and deactivated their shields. We could finish the job in minutes, Captain, if we opened fire.”
“Hold that thought,” Hoshiko said. Tempting as it was, she wanted the industry intact if possible. Human settlers within the sector were going to need it. “Order the marines to secure the remaining orbital facilities. The crews are to be returned to the planet’s surface, pending their ultimate disposition. And then ...”
She hesitated. Her grandmother had told her stories of her grandfather, who’d fought in the Pacific War. Japan had surrendered, in the end, but hundreds of Japanese had vowed to fight on despite orders from the Emperor. It was sheer luck that they hadn’t managed to prolong the war. If the Druavroks did the same thing, after offering a formal surrender, she doubted she could keep the Grand Alliance from turning their worlds into radioactive rubble.
“We’ll secure the PDCs on the ground, then deal with their other worlds and enclaves,” she added. Hopefully, no matter what had happened at Martina, they would surrender without further ado. “Do they want a formal ceremony?”
“Their Great Lords wish to grovel before you, it seems,” Yeller said. He paused, studying the latest message from the surface. “I think ... their Gal-Standard isn't bad, but some of their words don't translate well.”
“We will be happy to hold a ceremony, once the planet is secure,” Hoshiko said. She scowled at the thought of going down to the surface, then shook her head. Their Great Lords wouldn’t want to grovel before anyone else, even a representative she picked personally. “Tell them I’ll be on the ground once the PDCs are secure.”
“Aye, Captain,” Yeller said.
“And warn the crews not to let down their guard,” Hoshiko added. She wanted to laugh in delight at ending the war, but she knew better than to take everything for granted. “This could just be a very deadly trick.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Texan-led forces from the Alliance for the Preservation of the United States invaded California in support of rural militias that have come under heavy attack from the remains of the state’s government. The vast majority of the state’s National Guard either melted away or defected, allowing the Alliance to seize key positions without a significant fight. Outside observers, however, have warned of a humanitarian crisis as the drought bites harder in the Californian cities.
-Solar News Network, Year 54
“Here they come,” Thomas muttered.
He couldn't help feeling a flicker of fear as the Druavroks walked out of their enclave, their clawed hands held in the air. They looked like tiny dinosaurs, complete with gleaming white teeth and sharp claws; they carried no weapons, but he knew they didn't need them if they charged the small group of humans. And yet, as they approached, they threw their heads back and bared their throat, inviting the humans to cut them open. It was, to them, a very primal gesture of submission.
And if they were human, they’d be on their hands and knees, prostrating themselves before us, he thought, morbidly. It was hard to find any joy in the sight. They’re accepting us as their new masters.
“They’ll be off-world by the end of the day,” Captain Ryman said, as the Druavroks walked past the humans and into the freighters waiting for them. “They’re no longer welcome on Amstar.”
Thomas nodded. Two months had passed since the Battle of Druavrok Prime, since the Druavroks had offered their unconditional surrender. The Grand Alliance had been working hard to clean up the mess since then, rounding up Druavrok forces and repatriating them back to their homeworlds. Very few multiracial worlds were willing to tolerate the Druavroks any longer, even though they had submitted. In the end, Thomas thought, a race that had intended to carry out a program of ethnic cleansing had wound up the victim of a very similar problem.
But at least they’re not being killed, he thought. We could have exterminated them from the universe and they know it.
“I understand you volunteered to remain here,” Captain Ryman said. “The Grand Alliance will be pleased to have you, I think.”
“It struck me as a career opportunity,” Thomas said. He’d been a Captain, to all intents and purposes. He didn't want to go back to being a mere ensign. “And the Grand Alliance made a very good offer.”
Captain Ryman smiled. “The trick will be keeping it going, now that a dozen races have started to remember why they don’t like each other very much,” he said. “But I think we can handle it.”
Thomas couldn't disagree. Captain Ryman and an ever-growing staff of humans and aliens had worked miracles, hammering out a treaty that bound the sector into a semi-united alliance of worlds. It was less united than the Tokomak Empire, he had to admit, but it was that very looseness that would ensure its success. That, p
erhaps, and the simple fact that the alliance would treat every intelligent race as an equal, rather than the caste system that had pervaded the Tokomak Empire.
And there’s a need for mutual defence when - if - the Tokomak return, he thought. Or if a new threat appears, now the empire is gone.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he said. “And there will be a human system within the sector?”
“The first settlers are already on their way,” Captain Ryman agreed. “They’ll have a dozen fabbers, taken from the Druavroks, to set up their own version of the Solar Union. Given time, and technological advancement, they may even merge with our Solar Union when the time comes.”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.
“Enjoy the peace while it lasts,” Captain Ryman added. “We’ll be starting anti-piracy patrols soon, as well as making contact with other worlds on the edge of the sector. Who knows what we might encounter next?”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “But whatever it is, I’m sure we can handle it.”
***
“They destroyed themselves,” Max said. “They destroyed themselves rather than accept the orders to surrender.”
He stood in the middle of a blackened wasteland, all that was left after the Druavrok enclave had used nuclear weapons to destroy itself. His suit blinked up warnings as he looked around, alerting him to high levels of background radiation. It wouldn't be safe, even for an enhanced human, to walk through the remains of the enclave without protection. But the Druavroks were gone.
“They were holding the line against every other race on the planet,” Hilde said, from where she was watching him. “It must have terrified them to discover that they had been ordered to surrender, that they had been ordered to submit. They certainly didn't feel as though they’d lost.”
Max thought he knew what they’d been feeling, but he didn't understand. The Druavroks had laid waste to their own enclave, rather than surrender; they must have known, on some level, that the orders were genuine. But they’d been holding out ... they didn’t want to just give up, after fighting for so long. They’d blown themselves up as a gesture of spite and defiance towards their own leaders, as well as those they considered to be prey.
“Madness,” he said, finally.
“But it could have been worse,” Hilde said. “And you know it.”
“Yeah,” Max agreed. “It could have been.”
He closed his eyes in pain. There was no shortage of footage from the war, showing the Druavroks tearing through innocent villages, slaughtering and eating the defenders as casually as humans would eat cattle. And some of those victims had been human. There would be no sympathy for the Druavroks at home, no suggestion that they had been the innocent victims of human aggression. And yet, looking around the blackened ruins, he couldn't help feeling that it had been a terrible waste.
“Come on,” Hilde said, gently. “We need to get back to the shuttle before night falls.”
Max nodded and turned to follow her as she led the way out of the wasteland, gritting his teeth as more and more warnings flickered up in front of him. The Druavroks, as a final gesture of spite, had designed their nukes to create as much fallout as possible, ensuring that the planet’s residents would have to spend years decontaminating the soil and cleaning up the mess. Perhaps their Great Lords would pay the bill, but even if they did it would still be hard to repair the damage they’d done. It was yet another reason, part of his mind noted, why living in space was far superior.
“So tell me,” Hilde said. “Are you really going to Sparta?”
“Yes,” Max said. “If they’ll have me, I’ll go.”
“Good luck,” Hilde said. “Just remember what I said about mental toughness.”
“I remember,” Max said. He’d have to work hard, very hard, to earn a place among the marines, but he was confident he could do it. “And yourself?”
“We’re staying here for the moment,” Hilde said. “There are other surrenders we have to take, if they actually see sense and surrender. If they don’t, we’ll have to hunt down and kill the renegades before they trigger off another war. And, after that ...”
She sighed. “The Grand Alliance needs training officers for marines and groundpounders, so it looks like we’re elected to take the job. It should be something different, if fun.”
“I thought you said you didn't like training recruits,” Max said.
“I don’t,” Hilde said. “But those are marine recruits. Here ... we’ll be putting units together from recruits from a dozen different races. There will be a whole series of interesting challenges to overcome.”
Max had to smile. “You do realise they can't all go to the same toilets?”
“That’s going to be one of the challenges,” Hilde said. “Integrating the different races is going to be tricky, very tricky.”
Max felt a sudden stab of regret. His affair with Hilde wasn't serious - it couldn't be serious, even if he stayed in the sector rather than heading back to Sol. She had her career and he had his ... there was no way they could be together forever, even if such love existed outside romantic simulations and VR programs. And yet, part of him almost wished he could stay with her.
“I’ll see you again, sometime,” he mumbled. “And I’m sure there will be other reporters on their way out here.”
“Just in time to miss the ending,” Hilde agreed. By their most pessimistic calculations, Sol had received one or more of the original courier boats a month ago. “I guess you’ll have fame and fortune once your recordings are widely distributed.”
“There are more important things than fame and fortune,” Max said. He shook his head in wry amusement. Six months ago, fame had been all-important. “And besides, there will be hundreds of commenters willing to take my recordings and pontificate on the meaning of it all.”
He sighed as the shuttle came into view, waiting for them. “You never know,” he added, thoughtfully. “You might see me again in a few months.”
“Just try not to get killed at Sparta,” Hilde warned. “It starts out hard, very hard, and gets harder as you go along.”
***
Griffin rose to his feet as Captain Stuart stepped into his office, looking pensive. He hadn't seen her since he’d left Amstar, although they’d exchanged messages frequently after the Druavroks had finally offered their surrender and submission. Now ... he couldn’t help feeling oddly nervous at seeing her again. By any reasonable standard, she’d not only won the war, she’d proved her point decisively. If his career wasn't in the crapper already, it sure as hell would be once Fleet Command had a chance to evaluate the outcome.
“Captain,” he said.
“Please,” the Captain said. “Call me Hoshiko.”
“Hoshiko,” Griffin said. It felt odd to address his superior by her first name, even in the privacy of his office. “Welcome to Martina.”
Hoshiko smiled as she sat on his sofa. “You’ve done wonders with the place, Griffin.”
Griffin nodded. If nothing else, the attack on Martina had spurred the planetary council into investing much more of the planet’s GDP into defences, industrial nodes and a shipbuilding industry. Given time, Martina would rival a dozen other worlds in the sector, as well as being strong enough to beat off a fleet of enemy battleships. The disunity that had once kept the planet from becoming a major power in its own right was a thing of the past.
“I thank you,” he said, awkwardly. “Would you care for tea? Or coffee?”
“Coffee would be fine,” Hoshiko said. She crossed her legs as she leaned backwards. “I owe you an apology, Griffin.”
“I owe you one too,” Griffin said. “You were right.”
“I could easily have been wrong,” Hoshiko said. “I made the decision to leave Martina - and you - to its fate while taking the fleet to Druavrok Prime. I did so knowing- knowing - that you would likely be facing the most powerful enemy fleet, a fleet that might well smash the defenders and scorch the entire planet. I knew that an
d I still made the decision to abandon you.”
“It was the right call,” Griffin said. “If you’d come here instead, you might well have scared them off and the war would have continued.”
“Perhaps,” Hoshiko said. “But I still feel bad about it.”
“I think that proves you’re human,” Griffin said, dryly. He understood her feelings, all too well, but she’d been right. “You made a call, based on what you knew at the time; hindsight proves it was the right call. I don't think anyone will say that of me.”
“You had every right to call a Captain’s Board if you felt you had no other choice,” Hoshiko said. “It was your duty.”
“Hindsight will say that I made a dreadful mistake,” Griffin said. “That I sacrificed my own career in an attempt to keep you from doing the right thing.”
The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) Page 40