“Joe,” Skippy called me only a couple minutes later. “I found something interesting.”
My Spidey sense tingled. “Interesting in an oh-shit-we-are-in-huge-trouble-again way, or interesting in a nerdy science way?”
“Science is not nerdy, Joe,” he sniffed. “You should try it some time.”
“Sorry, Skippy, I didn’t mean any offense. So, no immediate danger?”
“Nope, no danger at all. Joe, you once asked me whether a planet orbiting a red dwarf star could be habitable.”
“Uh huh, yeah, I remember that.” At the time, I had been vaguely insulted to learn that Earth’s star, The Sun, was considered a yellow dwarf star. A dwarf! I found that insulting. “You told me that conditions around a red dwarf have to be absolutely perfect for a planet there to be habitable. You found one here?” I asked excitedly.
“Um, no. Close enough, in this case. I did find a rocky planet in this star’s Goldilocks zone, but this planet cannot actually support human life. The atmosphere has too much carbon dioxide, and almost no free oxygen. The good news is that because of the carbon dioxide, the atmosphere is reasonably thick, about ninety percent of sea-level normal on Earth. And the greenhouse effect from all that carbon dioxide trapping heat keeps surface temperatures at the terminator from freezing.”
“Terminator?” When I heard ‘Terminator’, I automatically thought of the killer robot movies.
“This planet is so close to the star, it is tidally locked; one side always faces the star, like the way Earth’s moon always shows one side facing your planet,” Skippy explained with unexpected patience. “The side facing the star gets baked by solar radiation, while the far side is frozen in eternal darkness. The edge of the planet, between the daylight side and the night side, is called the ‘terminator’.”
“Oh. Sorry, I should have remembered that. Being between the hot side and the cold side, wouldn’t the terminator area have strong winds?” Somewhere in high school, I had read that what we call ‘weather’ is a mechanism for distributing heat across the surface of a planet. Also I remember that ‘meteor-ology’ is not about meteors, but about weather. That made no sense to me back then, and it still puzzled me.
“Very good, Joe!” Skippy said in the tone of voice parents use when a small child has done something simple. “Yes, there are strong winds there. Anyway, I thought you would be interested to know about this planet. It was mentioned in the Thuranin long-range survey data about this star system, however, that data is almost two thousand years old and I did not know whether conditions had changed. A single solar flare could have significantly altered the nature of the planet’s atmosphere, but it still looks good. Gravity is 78 percent of Earth normal.”
Skippy had told us this system was uninhabited, that is why Chotek had agreed to come here. “You don’t see any sign the Thuranin, or anyone else, had been here recently?”
“Nope,” Skippy confirmed.
I sighed, because I knew what was going to happen next; while Skippy was working on building a Q-ship from our two salvaged transports, Major Smythe would want his team to go down to the surface for training. And the science team would be eager to go there also. And I would have to argue with Chotek for permission to send teams to the planet.
Or not. Hans Chotek had been surprisingly adventurous recently. Maybe he would like to go down to the surface himself, so he could tell people he had walked on another planet insetad of just an airless moon, when he got back to Earth.
Before any talk about anyone going down to the surface for a picnic outing, we had what I hoped would be a brief meeting to review Skippy’s latest info on our two salvaged transport ships. I was anxious to get them refitted for the mock attack operation.
“Let’s get it over with,” Skippy announced as I was sitting down. “we can get only one usable ship out of these two hulks. Uh!” He shushed me as I was opening my mouth. “Please shut your crumb catcher and let me talk, or this will go on all freakin’ day. In order to make a believable Q-ship, it needs to have shields much better than a typical transport is fitted with. The shield generators of both these ships are in terrible, horrible, no-good, unforgivable condition. I don’t know how these ships managed to survive as long as they did, Joe. One of the reasons the ship you cleared was selected to be abandoned is, a micrometeorite impact damaged its reactor shielding, because the energy shields were so weak. I will have to strip shield generators and reactor components out of both ships, and even then, our Q-ship will barely be capable of conducting a believable attack on the Ruhar negotiators. The shield generators I can work with; with modifications, they will last for a short battle and no more. The reactors are complete scrap; the best I can do is to make them hot and fill them with radiation so they appear to be operating on a sensor scan. To power the ship, I will need to use capacitors, and that will require pulling capacitors from the Dutchman. I did warn you about this before we started this whole operation; the condition of the transports was an unknown. Now I know, and what I’ve found is the ships are in very poor condition. It will be stretching our resources to get even one ship ready for the mock attack.”
The room, or technically aboard a ship it is a ‘compartment’, was silent. “Hello?” Skippy called out. “What, no monkey is going to challenge my data?”
“It’s not your data we would challenge, Skippy,” I explained. “If we challenged anything, it would be the conclusions you drew from the data.” As I spoke, I patted myself on the back for using such fancy words. “And,” I looked at the blank faces around the table, “we got nothing there. We have to trust your judgment. It is,” I let out a sigh everyone was feeling, “disappointing that we went through so much effort, to get only one Q-ship.”
“One barely capable Q-ship, Joe. Seriously, the ship we end up with is going to quickly get pounded into dust by the Ruhar or the Kristang or both. It is dicey whether an attack by our Q-ship would be perceived as a credible threat by the Ruhar. And I did warn you about that.”
“I know, Skippy, I know. Mr. Chotek, I recommend that Skippy proceed with modifying one ship, whichever one he thinks best.”
Chotek sat stiffly upright; I could tell he was disappointed also. And worried, deeply worried. “I agree. Mr. Skippy, please proceed as you see fit.”
“Colonel Bishop?” Margaret Adams spoke from the other end of the conference table. She technically wasn’t senior staff; I had invited her to the meeting because she had been involved in clearing one transport, and I knew she was deeply emotionally invested in the operation. “What will happen to the Kristang aboard the ships?”
Oh shit. I knew what she meant. I should have mentioned that upfront.
Before I could answer, Skippy unhelpfully replied. “That is a good point. The Ruhar and Kristang will scan the debris, after our Q-ship is destroyed. We will need Kristang bodies, male of course, as part of the debris. To make the attack believable, we can’t have any females or childen, so-”
Before he could continue, I interrupted. “That is not the point, Skippy. We do need to keep some male Kristang corpses aboard the Q-ship. The remainder of the, remains,” I cringed at the word, “we will treat with care and respect. The Kristang aboard those ships were civilians. We need to-” To what? What could we do with thousands of dead Kristang?
Skippy surprised me. Again. “Colonel Bishop, I do understand your meaning. As you stated, the Kristang civilians aboard those ships were not our enemy. I propose that when I am finished building our Q-ship, we jump the Flying Dutchman closer to the star, and send the Kristang remains aboard the other transport ship, on a trajectory down into the gravity well. A burial in space; going out in a blaze of glory, I believe is the expression. No pun was intended.”
“Staff Sergeant?” I directed my question to Adams. “Is that acceptable?”
Adams thought a moment. I knew that female and her three children, huddled in a locker, were in her mind. “That is acceptable. For now.”
“For now?” Skippy asked
, puzzled. “What could we do after the burial?”
“Payback,” Adams said simply. “Not tomorrow, not the day after that, but someday. No matter how long it takes. I’m a Marine, Sir,” she looked directly at me. “Semper Fidelis. The lizards need to learn what payback means, someday.”
“Someday, Staff Sergeant.” I felt the same way.
Someday was going to be a long, long time away.
“Hey, uh, Joe?” Skippy called me when I got back to my office. His holographic avatar didn’t activate, so I assumed he wanted to talk seriously about something.
“What is it, Skippy?”
“This is probably a conversation you and I should have in private.”
“Got it.” I pressed the button to close the door of my tiny office.
“This is an unpleasant subject. I mentioned that we need several bodies of adult male Kristang aboard the Q-ship. The ship will self-destruct following the attack, and the Kristang will certainly scan the debris. They will expect that whatever clan conducted the attack will have been careful not to leave behind any clues pointing to them, so searching the debris will mostly be an exercise for the benefit of the Ruhar. It would be highly suspicious if there were no traces of Kristang DNA from the crew in the debris field.”
“Uh huh, you did mention that.” The adult male bodies aboard the transports were civilians, except for one crew member who had apparently been caught by a mob and stabbed to death. His body for sure was going aboard our Q-ship, along with three others. I had privately instructed Skippy to set aside more adult male bodies, in case we somehow acquired another ship for the attack. “I don’t like using civilian bodies for the attack, but we have to do it.”
“Hmm. Something that is morally distastefully, but necessary, can be acceptable? You know my moral compass does not always align with yours, Joe.”
Oh, crap. “It depends, Skippy. Those civilians are victims, and I do not like the idea of using their remains in an action against their own people, but I will do it to protect my own people. What is necessary, beyond what we have already talked about?”
“This is the part where the conversation needs to be kept private. You promised Sergeant Adams to treat the remains with respect, except for the adult males we need to leave behind as evidence of a Kristang clan being involved. The problem is, the attack will not be seen as the action of a Kristang clan, if the debris contains only male DNA.”
“Oh shit.”
“If a Kristang clan conducted such an attack, the crew would be volunteers for a suicide mission. These are typically criminals, or disgraced warriors sent by their families to atone for their crimes. Or they often are younger sons who have limited prospects, and hope their sacrifice will elevate the standing of their family within the clan. These suicide volunteers are provided females to, uh, ‘comfort’ them during their final mission.”
“Damn it,” I spat.
“Joe, it would be suspicious if some female Kristang DNA were not found among the debris. I do not like it, but I do think it is necessary.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“Sergeant Adams is very much not going to like it. Joe, I wish you had this discussion with me, before you promised Adams to give all the remains a respectful burial in space.”
I wish the beer can had mentioned needing female DNA aboard the Q-ship, before my conversation with Adams! “Adams is not going to know about this.”
“But-”
“But nothing. Skippy, this is what we call a ‘lie of omission’. For some reason I am not an expert about, not telling a person something, is considered morally superior to than telling them a lie. We are simply not going to tell her, or tell anyone else, got it? You can use your bots to collect female remains, and hide them somewhere aboard the Q-ship? And enough for a second ship, if we can get one. Do not tell me how many female bodies we need, please, I don’t want to know.” My mind flashed back to high school history class, when I heard about kings being buried with their servants, while those servants were alive. I could not imagine the terror of a Kristang woman, already living a life of miserable slavery, knowing she was being used as ‘comfort’ on a suicide mission. Humanity were not the only people who needed to pay back the Kristang warrior caste; their own people needed a measure of retribution.
Right then, I had enough other problems to deal with.
“I can do that, Joe. I did consider doing it without telling anyone at all, but I felt the need to check with you on the morality of such action.”
“You are always right to check with me, Skippy, and don’t be concerned about my feelings. As the commander, I need to deal with this shit, so my people don’t have to.”
“Technically, Joe, Count Chocula is in command of the mission.”
“You didn’t tell him, did you?” I asked, alarmed.
“Phhhht!” Skippy made a raspberry sound. “No way would I ask Chocky-boy’s advice on anything important. The less he is involved with a mission, the more likely we are to succeed. He talks to me all the freakin’ time, and I tell him the minimum he needs to know. Or I ignore him. When I, uh, went on vacation for seventeen hours, Chotek didn’t notice until the ship’s power cut out, because he is used to me ignoring him.”
It would be better for everyone if Skippy developed at least a cordial working relationship with Chotek; someday he might need Chotek’s good will. “Skippy, please, I know you can’t stand the guy, but can you dig down into your endless well of patience and try to work with him? Please?”
“I can try, but you’d better have a bottomless well of patience with me, because Earth’s sun will be a cold, dark cinder before Hans Chotek and I get along.”
“The guy will be dead by then, Skippy.”
“Exactly.”
Major Smythe did indeed want his teams to go down to the surface for training. Hans Chotek also wished to go, but resisted the temptation. My guess was he didn’t trust me to handle the ship by myself. And maybe he was worried Skippy would take another ‘vacation’. The science team was torn between wanting to see what Skippy’s bots were doing to convert two derelict transports into a Q-ship, and wanting to explore a planet that orbited a red dwarf. We compromised on members of the science team splitting their time on the surface and on the ship. To make sure we could evacuate the entire surface team in one trip, I limited the number of people on the surface to the number that could be transported in the two dropships assigned to stay on the surface. For pilot training, dropships shuttled from the ship to the surface and back, but two were always near the ground teams, ready to whisk them away on short notice. Also, the ground teams had portable shelters that they could live in for several weeks if needed, and stealth netting to conceal the shelters.
I was patting myself on the back for having thought of all possible problems, when I happened to look at my tablet. In the center of the display was the planet. Next to the planet were a dot representing our pirate ship, and two adjacent dots for the salvaged transports attached to our docking platforms.
Then I had a bad thought. “Skippy, uh, it is possible you could work on those transports somewhere else? Like, away from the ship and the planet?”
“Um, maybe, why? Is being close to my awesomeness making you swoon, Joe?”
“Not even a little. I’m concerned that if you have another, you know, episode, it could be bad for the Dutchman. And the planet.”
“I am not going to explode, Joe,” he declared with sarcasm. “And if I do, I should be way, way far from the planet. That atmosphere there is reasonably thick, but it will not protect the landing party from me exploding. Even if I was on the other side of the star, the planet wouldn’t be safe. Gravity waves would cause the star to send out intense solar flares that would fry the planet’s near side.”
“Exploding is not the only potential problem,” I insisted. “You once told me that if you were to lose containment, your full mass is about a quarter that of the planet Paradise. Having that much mass suddenly pop into thi
s spacetime would disrupt the orbit of the planet, and cause quakes down there that could kill the away teams.” Too late, I realized that almost the entire science team, who were the people we needed if Skippy went AWOL again, were down on the planet. That was poor planning by some idiot named Joe Bishop. The United States Army had a lot of explaining to do, why they put that moron in charge of anything more complicated than emptying a trash can.
“Hmmm. Joe, I am mildly impressed that you consider the effect of my mass upon the planet. However, to avoid negative effects on the planet in the extremely unlikely event I were to lose containment, I would need to be on the outer edge of this star system, which would ruin the whole reason we came all the way here in the first place. Settle down, Joe, I am not going anywhere. Trust me, I got this. I am right in the middle of a very delicate operation on the Q-ship, so please leave me alone for a while to do my job.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Skippy did not, in fact, explode, or lose containment or go AWOL while he was working on the Q-ship. Despite my worries, work on the Q-ship proceeded smoothly and ahead of schedule. When he finished, we carefully and respectfully packed most of the dead Kristang into the other transport, and cast it down into the star. Although Skippy wanted to get moving, I held the Dutchman in orbit, until we saw the transport burn up in the star’s photosphere.
“Excellent! We have a Q-ship,” Chotek announced happily as we prepared to break orbit. “What’s wrong?” He added after seeing the expression on my face.
“Sir, that’s the problem. We have ‘a’, as in one ship. And ‘Q-ship’ as in not a real warship. I am concerned that our mock attack, with a single old converted transport ship, will not be perceived as a serious threat. We will only get one chance at scaring those Ruhar negotiators. It would be a shame to waste all this effort, Sir. It would be worse than a shame; if the mock attack doesn’t succeed in breaking the negotiations, we will have ruined our best, maybe our only, chance to keep aliens away from Earth.”
Black Ops (Expeditionary Force Book 4) Page 20