by Trevor Wyatt
“War is the mother of all invention,” I mutter to myself in the dark, cold and silent interior of the space shuttle.
“What was that?” Ashley asks.
I shake my head, still engrossed in thoughts.
As a result of our leaps and bounds in technology, earth is now rebuilt. What was estimated to be completed in another one thousand years has been completed In a shorter time. I hear it’s a beauty to behold from above.
I suddenly realize that we are a tenacious species. Humanity will fight until its last breath, and then it will keep on fighting. Different species may, now and again, try to lock heads with us. However, humanity will always triumph. We will always succeed. Nothing—no one—can stop us from achieving our goals.
No one can snuff out our desire to explore the unknown. To live freely in the known universe and to purse happiness and contentment.
The dream of humanity in the stars cannot be snuffed out so easily.
“Shuttle Freedom to The Seeker,” Ashley says. “Approaching.”
“This is The Seeker,” says the communications officer. “Maintain current heading. Shuttle bay 05 is your entry point. Welcome back, Captain.”
“Copy,” says Ashley.
Ashley guides us into the landing bay. As soon as the shuttle bay is repressurized, we are both walking out of the shuttle. Seconds later, we are walking in CNC.
“Captain, in your absence, the Tyreesians have sent in several messages requesting an update on their demands,” the tactical officer says, turning to look at me and Ashley.
“They are taunting us,” Ashley says, then looks at me.
I say to the tactical officer, “Are we ready for battle?”
“Yes, sir,” the officer replies. “Although, I would advise against taking on the Tyreesian fleet. We barely made it out alive from our previous encounter.”
“Noted,” I say.
I turn to the navigator. “Set course for the Omarian system. FTL factor 5. Get us there ASAP.”
“Aye, sir,” he replies and goes to work on his workstation.
Six hours later, we drop out of FTL at the edge of the system and begin to Omarias II.
The alarms go off, and soon the CNC descends into organized chaos as the officers begin to rattle off information to me and the captain.
“Sir, long range scanners detect ten Tyreesian war vessels holding formation near the planet,” spits the science officer.
“They’re staying away from the sun,” comes the reply from the tactical officer. “Meaning we can’t hope to set off a thermonuclear explosion to take them out like the last time.”
“Captain, we are being painted by a long range weapons system,” the tactical officer breaks off to say.
“Are their weapons system online?” I ask.
“Long range scanners say no, sir,” replies the science officer. “But there’s still a lot we don’t know about Tyreesian technology. I may be wrong.”
“Sir, a ship is breaking formation and edging closer towards the planet,” the navigations officer says. “Its flight path will bring it into the gravitational well of the planet, but is forward momentum will cause it to swing by, putting it right in our fronts at a distance of five hundred kilometers in three minutes.”
“An intercept course?” I ask, for clarification.
“Yes, sir,” he replies, his eyes peeled on his work station, though I can see it all on the screen.
“Maintain current speed and bearing,” I say. “When we’re within range of the particle beam, bring us to a full stop.”
“That will also put us in range of their weapons sir,” says the tactical officer.
“I’m well aware of that, commander,” I say.
“What’s your play, sir?” This question comes from the operations officer.
“My play?” I ask, my eyes focused on the view screen, where I can see the nine ship formation beyond the planet and the lone ship making to intercept us. Superimposed on this image are readouts like distance, speed, bearing, and some telemetry information.
“My play is, I just want to talk.”
“Sir, I advise raising shields,” says the tactical officer. “The ship is now within range to fire upon us.”
“Negative, commander,” I reply.
“Sir, we are being hailed,” says the communications officer.
“On screen.”
The screen switches to show a Tyreesian on a command seat in the ship’s control center.
A familiar face. The one who nearly scuttled the progress we built.
Leader Greer.
He gives me an evil smile—at least that’s what I think. Maybe to him, it’s a humble smile.
But I doubt it.
“Hello, old friend,” he says.
Now I’m sure it’s evil.
Ashley
I wonder how Jeryl can be so calm and cool in the face of the very thing that threatens to destroy him and all he’s worked for. It’s one of the very qualities that has endeared him to me—one of those rare talents that makes him a very great leader.
Though I am the one sitting in the captain’s seat, it is Jeryl Montgomery, the Vice Admiral, who runs the show. He’s standing before the view screen, right in my front. His posture is solid and firm. He’s standing in full length, his hands fisted at his sides. I can see a portion of his face. From what I can tell, he’s extremely passive. You would think Jeryl and Greer had never had a previous encounter.
“Leader Greer,” Jeryl says, his voice casual, but determined. “It’s wonderful to see you still alive. It broke our hearts to find out that your shuttle had been destroyed. My people tell me there was a catastrophic failure to your engine which cascaded to affect the entire ship.”
Leader Greer blinks a bit, as though confused. Again, I look at the Vice Admiral with renewed admiration. I don’t think I could ever have thought of a better opening line. Throwing them off their game…They’ve been planning this for a while. You cannot win against them when you’ve only learned about the game on the eve your destruction.
The only way to defeat them would be to change the game or change the rules. Only then can you two play on equal footing.
“Erm…” Greer stammered.
Jeryl uses this opportunity to continue.
“Say, Leader Greer, I can’t help but wonder how you were able to escape from the explosion,” he says. “We knew you guys were working on a matter transport technology. We just didn’t know you had perfected the technology…”
Greer begins to recover from his confusion.
“I have no idea of what you speak,” he says.
“Come on,” Jeryl presses. “Then tell me, how is it that Nova Security Camera shows you leaving your shuttle with ten of your other delegates…or should I say partners in crime?”
This time, Greer has a response. “Here’s one question for you, Jeryl. How were you able to determine we have a matter transport technology being developed if you don’t have a similar program?”
Jeryl doesn’t reply. His hands seem to tighten more, almost turning white.
Greer who had leaned forward in an accusing manner, now relaxes back in his command chair like one who has won a conquest.
“I thought as much,” Greer said. “You humans can talk all you want about Galactic peace. But we know that deep at heart your race are a warring clan. You can know no peace until you have masters. And the Tyreesian Collective have elected to be your masters.”
Jeryl looks at the Tyreesian for a few seconds before bursting out into laughter. The Tyreesian is startled by this behavior and only looks at Jeryl aghast.
Jeryl goes on until he begins to cough and hold his belly.
“I’m sorry, but did I say something funny?” Greer asks, genuinely puzzled.
I can only feel sympathy for him because I know every step, word or decision Jeryl makes is calculated to evoke a certain response or arrive at a certain endpoint. What I don’t know is what the fuck Jeryl has planned.
“Did you really mean all that?” Jeryl asks.
Greer doesn’t respond. Rather, he blinks severally. I have a feeling he’s beginning to feel stupid.
“Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery, it’s over,” Greer roars. “Your little game is over. Your little council is over!”
“Nothing is over until I say it is,” Jeryl clamps back.
And I watch as the Tyreesian flinches.
Jeryl says, “You think you can just crawl out your little hole and begin to make demands? Do you know who you’re dealing with? You’re dealing with the Terran Armada. We don’t respond to threats. And we sure as hell don’t negotiate with terrorists!”
There is a profound silence.
Greer is vibrating with rage on his seat. Waves upon wave of anger from Jeryl crashes against the hall of the CNC as well. I can feel his anger and frustration over the last few weeks come to bare. Finally, I see him exchanging his cool for his anger. I don’t know if this is by design, or if it’s a mistake and he slipped. With Jeryl, you can’t tell until it’s all over.
Greer relaxes in his command chair.
“You think we are joking?” Greer says. “You think we will not do what we say we will do? You think my people are weak and make empty threats? Let me tell you what you don’t know, Jeryl Montgomery of the Terran Armada. We are not the Sonali you all but defeated in your little war. We are far superior to you. We are not afraid to crush you and we will, if you resist.”
“And what does that say about your species?” Jeryl replies, his voice contrastingly calm and reasonable. He almost sounds as though he is imploring a mad man (in this case Greer) to see reason.
“What message do you leave for the universe?” Jeryl proceeds. “That you are lovers of violence? That you only care about yourselves? That you have no regard for other life forms? That you…”
“I’ve said this before,” Greer cuts Jeryl off, much to Jeryl’s surprise. “The universe doesn’t care what you think. The universe was here long before we were born and the universe will remain long after we are gone.”
“So what do you think the other races will think of you?” Jeryl continues. “No doubt they have learnt of your plans. If they have not already cut all ties with you, maybe they want to see if you can’t be persuaded otherwise. But I promise you, should you proceed on this course, it will not end well for you.”
“So is that why you’re here? To persuade me?” Greer sneers.
I can hear the contempt in Greer’s tone. I can also feel my heartbeat rising.
“Vice Admiral,” the tactical officer says. “The science officer has alerted me to rising energy discharge form the other nine vessels. They are bringing their weapons system online. I advise we raise our shields.”
“Time’s up, Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery of the Terran Armada,” Greer says. “We can talk all we want about what’s right and what’s wrong. That won’t change our decision. The Galactic Council has to be stopped or else we will destroy the entire Omarias II colony.”
There is a silence.
I let out a puff of air and silently suck in another lungful.
Seconds tick away into minutes.
Greer holds Jeryl’s gaze.
The crew are all looking between Jeryl and Greer.
Jeryl breaks the ice with a nonchalant shrug.
“Why don’t you go ahead and do it,” he pronounces. “Hell, we’ll help you do it.”
A series of gasps sweep across the CNC crew. I look around and confusion light up the officers’ eyes. They look at each other for an explanation, but no one knows what is happening.
Greer is also confused. He blinks again and again, licking his lips more than once.
“I won’t hesitate to do it, Jeryl,” Greer says, though in a weaker, less certain voice. “Is a stupid club really worth the lives of seventy-five thousand humans?”
Jeryl smiles.
“Your plan is evidently flawed,” he starts. “Do you think we don’t know that the Nova Corporation was never behind the plans to establish a galactic council? They do far too much business with the Tyreesians nowadays that it is difficult to tell if they are a Terran colony or a Tyreesian colony.”
Jeryl shrugs again.
“So, if the Tyreesian Collective feels like blowing up their business partners, have at it,” Jeryl continues. “Know this, however. We know that that traitor Lucien Parker and his goons of Terran Nationalists are all sponsored terrorists by the Nova Corporations. And when you think of it, it’s ironic. Money flows from the Tyreesians to Nova Corporation to Terran Nationalists.
“So, if you want to blow up some allies then…by all means.”
Greer looks at Jeryl wide eyes. The crew have the same expression. They are all held spellbound by Jeryl’s supposed fearlessness.
Many have said Jeryl is a war monger. I know this isn’t true. However, sometimes it is difficult to say that. Now is one of those times when I don’t know if Jeryl gets off on fighting wars.
Greer begins to talk, when Jeryl raises a finger and Greer shuts it.
“Oh, one more thing,” Jeryl says. “While we’ve been talking, the fleets from all eight parties to the Galactic Council have entered this system and are en route to this location. You can start glassing the planet, however, know that when you do, all these ships will come and it will mean the beginning of an interstellar war that will sink your little Collective into fire and fury that the Galaxy has never, ever fucking seen.”
There is a brief pause.
“Your choice,” Jeryl ends by saying.
He turns around and makes a cutting motion with his hand as the signal gets terminated.
I look at Jeryl. Mouth agape. He smiles at me.
“Feel like having some fun today, Captain?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.
Leader Greer
I was absolutely taken by surprise that I find myself staring wide-eyed at Jeryl Montgomery’s image on the screen. How had the Terran uncovered the truth of the operation? Adding to my shock is the sting of the Vice Admiral’s obviously calculated smirk. This bastard is mocking me, daring me to reply!
But there is nothing I could say, nothing I could do.
I slapped the controls without uttering a word, cutting off the comm link to Montgomery’s ship. Enraged, I feel my face darken to navy blue as I spin my chair around to face the Nova Corporation representative sitting where the camera had not seen her.
Anjali Bagawati appears every bit as dumbfounded as I am, which does not give me any comfort. At this moment, I am maintaining self-control only by a supreme effort. If not for my restraint, I would have physically attacked this woman.
My hands grip the arms of my chair so tightly that I know my nails would leave half-moon cuts in the plastic padding.
Never had I hated the Terran race as much as I do at this moment.
“What do you know about this?” I ground out in as calm a tone as I could manage, though I know I sound as if I’m being strangled.
The woman’s eyes turn ghostly pale and the whites of her eyes shows all around her pupils. “I—I—nothing, I assure you, Leader!”
“Nothing!” I barked, leaning toward her and baring my teeth. “Nothing?” I croaked a mirthless laugh. “Your security fails utterly, and you know nothing about how it could have happened?”
“W-we did detect some sort of minor fluctuation in the power levels of our—”
“Did you or did you not assure me that your systems were impregnable?” I somehow gain control over myself and my voice is now almost at a normal pitch.
“I did, and they are, but as I say, this fluctuation must have masked a breach. I don’t know how it could have been done. Nothing could get past the AI. Nothing!”
I fix her with an ironic gaze. “And yet,” I say. “And yet.”
I gesture at the blank view screen. The after-image of Montgomery’s mocking face seemed to persist there like a repulsive stain.
“I can’t explain it,” sh
e murmurs.
“Leader Greer?” The tremulous voice came from the ship’s communications officer.
“Well, what is it?” I didn’t bother disguising my anger.
“I, uh, there are some news broadcasts coming in that I think you should s-see,” the officer says. I find myself taking some small, mean satisfaction in the man’s cringing tone.
“Patch them in,” I say.
“Yes, Leader.”
Anjali Bagawati and I watch in growing astonishment and anger as the news feeds began unspooling.
“Our lead story concerns information obtained by sources on Omarias II indicate that the Nova Corporation’s Interstellar Finance Division has been instrumental in laundering money from the Tyreesian government to Terran Nationalist Party officials. Nationalist spokesman reject the claims, saying—”
“Terran Nationalist Chairman Lucien Parker said today that the allegations that the Nova Corporation installation on Omarias II has quote, “No ties whatsoever,” unquote, to his party. Observers on New Washington say that videos and sound recordings obtained at great risk by Union operatives show otherwise, and—”
“Nova Corporation board member Debra Sharjah categorically denies links between Nova and the Terran Nationalist group, as shown in this section of a question and answer session with her this morning.”
Sharjah’s face swims into view. It was fixed in a stern expression as she says, “There is not and never has been any contact between Nova and the Terran Nationalists. We are a freedom-loving company and do not take any political stands whatsoever. This story turns out to be entirely false, based on lies planted by rivals.”
I glare at Bagawati. “That’s the story you people are going with?”
“Look, I tell you—I know nothing about it.” She struggles to recover her aplomb. “I doubt that your group will be able to come up with anything better on such short notice.”
“So you haven’t spoken with your superiors?”
“No, the slipstream’s been quiet so far this—” The communicator band on her wrist buzzes, and she emits a slight gasp. Looking at the ID readout, she says, “It’s my manager.” She rises from her seat. “I’ll have to take it in my quarters, Leader.”