The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  The short table that Parks occupied was raised up on a high dais, the table itself set at a shallow angle so that it faced both the speaker’s chair, the gathered assembly and another table on the opposite side of the speaker. Two large screens on the back wall, either side of a large bronze IWC emblem, were feeding imagery of the current speaker for the benefit of all those present. Right now, they were focused on a man named Stockwell, one of the many elected spokespersons for the world of Oracle IX. Stockwell was in the process of rounding off his time in the speaker’s chair, with a summary of his preceding speech. The man appeared a great deal more stressed and frustrated since the last time Parks had seen him, and not without good reason.

  “… and coupled with the lack of resources, things are taking considerably longer than we had originally anticipated,” Stockwell concluded.

  “But you have now completed the evacuation of the northern, eastern and western continents?” said a man sat centrally on the table opposite from Parks’ own.

  Stockwell nodded. “For the most part, yes. The residents have either all been transferred – or are in the process of being transferred – to their designated systems, for re-population and integration. However, many of the issues that arose during the operation were far more complex than our contingency planning made allowance for, and we are running some way behind schedule.”

  “How far?” the same man asked.

  “Well,” Stockwell started, before pausing, as if searching for a means to deliver the news in a way that made it sound far less terrible than it was. “Current estimates suggest we are maybe twelve to sixteen weeks behind, if not a little longer.”

  Exasperated groans and a ripple of mumbling made its way across the hall, in a multitude of different languages. Stockwell gave a detectable shrug, looking quite apologetic for the news he had delivered, though Parks felt it wasn’t entirely the man’s fault.

  As discussion between the assembled delegates ensued, Parks looked over the men and women who sat at the two tables on the dais. Three people occupied chairs behind each. On his own, to his left side, was Amanda Jenkins, the CSN’s Admiral of the Fleet, David Turner’s successor. In the middle sat the president of the Confederacy, here to handle any delicate political matters that may require her attention.

  On the table opposite were three elected officials of the Independent worlds, each acting under different capacities – Eric Herrman, the prime minster of Alba and their effective host; chancellor of the Council, Salvador Fry; and Admiral Joyle Lynch, the acting fleet commander of the United Naval Forces.

  Of them all, Parks was most well acquainted with Jenkins, though the relationship they shared was very clear cut. Unlike the friendship that he and Turner had enjoyed together, he had never known Jenkins to allow anyone to get close to her, preferring those she worked with to never address her on a personal level. Jenkins had been promoted to Turner’s position on the day of the man’s retirement and had taken to the seriousness of her role immediately, allowing no excuses and no cutting of corners. She worked to ensure that every instruction was followed through to the letter, and that every task was completed perfectly and on time. She was the perfect replacement. Parks was of the opinion that she and Estelle de Winter would probably get on like a house on fire. Jenkins ignored Parks’ obvious distraction, her focus firmly on the agenda for that afternoon.

  Parks could hardly see the worth of his own attendance. His involvement in various aspects of the operation notwithstanding, whatever else these people might see in him was surely misplaced. At one end of both tables sat two clerks, typing feverishly away at keyboards, making a note of everything that was being said. Parks watched one of the women’s fingers darting quickly over the keys for a time, before he reached forward and poured himself another glass of water. He raised the glass to his lips and turned his attention away from the clitter-clatter of typing, to focus back on what Stockwell was saying.

  Stockwell slipped on a pair of glasses and leafed through a great wad of papers that he clutched in his hand, before discarding them and tapping at a console in front of him. On the large screens behind him, a planet appeared – Oracle IX. It was rendered as a graphical model, with the continents highlighted with various colours. On both sides of the model various statistics, colour blocks, percentages, pie charts and legends filled the space.

  “The impact to Oracle IX is far greater than any of us could truly have imagined,” Stockwell said. “First and foremost we must convince much of the population to abandon everything they have grown to know and love, and leave it all behind. That’s a difficult task to achieve without arousing suspicions, causing panic, or letting the entire planet fall into a state of anarchy.”

  Nods and mutterings of agreement filled the hall from those who had faced exactly the same issues, though they had only needed to deal with the situation on a relatively small scale in comparison.

  “And I’m afraid to say that there are an increasing number of people who are no longer buying the explanation of an impending natural cosmic disaster as a reason for why we are moving well over six billion people from their homes. The conspiracy theorists are all over the networks, posting their opinions on what they believe is really happening. Quite a few of them have hit the nail right on the head. This is no longer looking like guesswork, more like an information leak; they know that there is a plan to deliberately cause the supernova of five stars in Imperial space, to, as they put it, eliminate the extended threats of the civil war.”

  The noise of mumblings increased, and Parks managed to ensure his gulp of water made it down his throat the right way, so as not to draw attention to himself with the onset of a coughing fit. The cosmic disaster explanation for why entire regions of space – the Iliad and Elvitis systems to name but two – had been evacuated, had never been a very powerful argument in his mind. There were far too many flaws. Astronomers had already attempted to debunk the near-civilization supernova threat as fantasy, stating that the signs would have been visible for years. Equally, they had dismissed the notion that five stars within Imperial controlled space had all suddenly become unstable at the same time as highly suspect.

  But then again, when you controlled every media outlet within the known galaxy, you could declare almost anything as the actual truth. The astronomers had been silenced, paid off and swept back under the carpet, just like every other influential, potentially interfering voice. But how much had that cost them? Parks didn’t want to think of the number, but it was probably approaching the cost of the entire ATAF project itself. Still, it was better than telling people the truth – that the Mitikas Empire was no more; that they had succumbed to their own mistakes; to the Enemy; to those damned Pandorans. The Grace Report was eyes-only for a good reason.

  Stockwell continued, “We’ve been met with fierce opposition to the relocation project and, in some places, have recently resorted to martial law and forced evacuations. We even contemplated leaving some of the older and less able citizens behind, in order to speed up the task.”

  The comment was met by what sounded like a mixture of both understanding and disapproval across the hall.

  “And that doesn’t even begin to deal with the costs to businesses.”

  Parks had heard about this issue before – large businesses on some worlds had refused to move unless they were substantially compensated by the alliance. With interest. None saw the Imperial civil war, or the perceived threat of cosmic annihilation, as such a serious issue as had been put forward, and the alliance had struggled to find other ways of convincing them to abandon everything without divulging the real reasons behind why they had to leave. Then there was the impact to different cultures upon arrival at their new homes – it was almost like picking up an entire zoo-load of animals, cramming them in one big cage and hoping that there would be something left when it was opened up at the other end.

  People up and down the hall were nodding their heads and mumbling to one other in recognition of what Stockwel
l was saying. The animations on the screen continued to play out, displaying regions of the southern continents that were yet to be dealt with.

  “Mr Stockwell, if I may,” Chancellor Fry began from the opposing table. “You were given five years’ advanced warning of Operation Sudarberg. I don’t mean to trivialize the task, but when we are so close to the execution phase, we shouldn’t expect you to still be looking at relocating a quarter of Oracle’s population. Why is this still an issue?”

  Even from this angle, with Stockwell’s back to him, Parks could tell that Stockwell was glaring at Fry. Parks got the impression that Stockwell felt as though he was being interrogated, and that his patience was reaching its limit.

  “Because, Chancellor, delegates of the Helios Confederacy, and members of the Council,” he swept a hand around the room, over the other seated ambassadors, “we were simply not given the support and resources that were needed in order to execute such a massive operation in such a short space of time.”

  “As we already established, Mr Stockwell, you were forewarned five years ago, and only in the past eighteen months did you decide to take action. This is simply not an issue any of us can afford to dally on,” Fry replied, speaking as though to an errant school boy who had made repeated excuses for not completing his homework on time.

  Indeed, Parks thought, Stockwell, with his jaw now flapping, looked as though it was he who had eaten it, rather than the dog.

  “A timeframe that we have struggled to meet with the meagre transport assistance that we were afforded, I would remind the Assembly.” Stockwell turned an accusing look towards Parks’ table, his eyes moving over the admiral and the president. Jenkins didn’t so much as flinch at the shot from Stockwell. Parks’ and the president’s eyes met each other briefly, before they turned to the admiral, whose attention was locked on Stockwell.

  The transport that Stockwell spoke of had been taking place over the past several months. Hundreds of vessels had been utilized, clustering around planets and transporting millions of people from one star system to another. The scale of the operation had been staggering. There had even been talk of resurrecting some of the older generation ships and interstellar arks, vessels with a tremendous capacity for passengers, in order to handle the task more effectively. But, with the advent of jump technology, such vessels had been decommissioned centuries ago and few could be considered space-worthy. Some now existed only as outdoor museums. One of the few starships capable of effectively taking the burden of such an undertaking had been CSN Dragon, and Parks hardly needed reminding of how that had all ended.

  In the absence of such massive vessels, they had instead opted to do it in a piecemeal fashion, utilizing the services of existing transport and commerce vessels, borrowed indefinitely from companies such as Gloucester Enterprises. Special Operations they had called it, the entire project being contained and overseen by the combined military support of the UNF and the CSN; including the White Knights. The alliance had done an admirable job of keeping the entire operation under wraps, a miracle considering they were quite literally moving entire planets’ populations across the galaxy.

  “Our resources, until lately, have been rather strained, Mr Stockwell,” Jenkins responded calmly.

  Stockwell didn’t look at all convinced by the explanation. “Whilst, Admiral, I would like to believe that what you mean is that you were focusing your efforts on enabling the relocation of smaller colonies, as opposed to a planet with a population of over six billion people, perhaps you were in fact referring to your predecessor’s misinformed decision to engage the Enemy in direct military action, whilst they were in possession of the galaxy’s most powerful battleship?”

  There came a rumbling from the gathered assembly, the sort a studio audience might deliver following a curt remark from someone they were watching. Indeed, Parks felt the comment to be unfair. He leaned forward to his microphone, keen to put in his answer before Jenkins did so.

  “Mr Stockwell, the decision to intercept and re-take CSN Dragon from the Enemy forces was not Admiral Jenkin’s to make. The responsibility of that decision lay entirely with myself and the former admiral of the fleet of the Confederation Stellar Navy.” He recalled how the two had had an ulterior motive at that time, wishing to put the ATAFs through their first real test run and discover if the money and time had been invested wisely. “It was important that the attempt to recover Dragon was made as soon as the opportunity arose. For that purpose, I enlisted the help of United Naval Forces—”

  “And, if it would please the council,” a familiar-sounding voice interrupted, “a decision that resulted in achieving nothing but wasting a great deal of time, resources and lives.”

  Parks followed the turning heads, to a man midway up the semicircular seating and was forced to suppress a vocal sigh. Adrian Parsons; the know-it-all, egocentric, infallible, governor of Torelli. A grand pain in the arse would probably be a better way of describing the man, Parks thought. Here was yet another reason why he would prefer to avoid attending such assemblies. Parks knew that he would probably now have difficulty getting a word in edgeways, now that Parsons had decided to stick his oar in. Still, he would try.

  “Anything we could do to prevent the Enemy from attaining a significant advantage in military engagements was always going to be given an extremely high priority, Mr Parsons,” Parks said.

  Parsons appeared to sneer. “Commodore, I really do not think that the Enemy could actually gain any more of an advantage over us,” he said, looking around at the rest of the assembly, with an air of both amusement and disdain. “Do you?”

  Parks attempted to speak without gritting his teeth. “As was already discussed in the Menelaus Commission Report, it was still within all of our interests to at least attempt the recovery of Dragon.”

  “Yes, and as was also made clear, a decision for which we are still picking up the pieces today. The United Naval Forces effectively lost two carriers that day, along with a not-insignificant number of naval personnel. Despite your own beliefs, Commodore, I am still far from convinced that the shift of focus fitted into our strategic paradigm. I’m sure the good men and women here will agree with me that that incident was not all that conducive to our overall goals. If left to me, I would have ensured that the decision-making was performed from a top-down perspective, to enable full transparency and joint-working among all involved parties, rather than the contestable, quick-win solution that was actually served up.”

  Parks couldn’t help but scowl back at the man. That was something else he disliked about Parsons – he liked to use a lot of business speak, favouring the use of long, obscure and often detestable phrases whilst putting his point across. At times, Parks had little idea of what the man meant. A somewhat condescending, plain-spoken summary would usually then follow for his implied benefit. Parsons could go on like this for days, seeming to love the sound of his own voice. Parks suspected that the man’s extensive vocabulary was merely a front to make him sound more intelligent than he really was. It was likely that the man actually knew the square root of bugger all about anything.

  “The opportunity to engage Dragon came within a very narrow window, Governor,” Parks attempted once more, feeling almost as if he was starting to paraphrase everything that had already been written down. “And, again, as has already been made clear in the report, all necessary parties were consulted prior to commencement.”

  “That I understand, Commodore—”

  Then why the bloody hell are you continuing to make this into such an issue? Parks wanted to retort.

  “—but what I do not understand, or have a full understanding of, is how the Confederacy is said to be selectively choosing their partnerships. I have heard claims of how the Helios Confederation is attempting to manipulate the present situation, with a view of manoeuvring themselves into a position where they can attain a galactic supremacy. Somewhat troubling if true, I must say.”

  Parks opened his mouth to speak.

 
; “These are not my views, I should add, only observations, based on opinions that are already readily known and available,” Parsons added, his words barging their way in front of Parks’, forcing them back down his throat.

  Parks shut his mouth again. Worded any differently and Parsons’ commentary might have sounded like an accusation, one which could have created bad blood between Alba and the Confederation. But the man had carefully dotted disclaimers through the statement, in effect requesting them not to shoot the messenger.

  He noticed how members of the assembly were moving their eyes between Parsons, himself and Stockwell. Clearly Parsons was suggesting that Oracle IX was simply not as important to the Confederation as other systems and worlds, and that the impending Operation Sudarberg could be used to push aside a nation that didn’t fit into the Confederacy’s so-called goals.

  Barely an hour in. Parks was getting tired of this already.

  “Would you care to comment?” Parsons goaded.

  “Mr Parsons, please!” Prime Minister Herrman cut in, glaring at the man. “If you read as much as you say, then you will be aware that these claims have been debunked and rejected many times. We are wasting valuable time in discussing it. The subject is closed.”

  Parsons leaned back in his seat without another word, but with a rather smug look on his face. Whatever his overall goal might’ve been, he had at least succeeded in embarrassing both Parks and the Confederacy.

  Herrman looked back to Parks. “Please, continue.”

  Parks made to do so, but Jenkins’ caught his eye, the admiral letting him know that she would field the discussion from here on.

  Jenkins said, “Mr Stockwell, the point being made was that we have only recently completed the transport of all remaining refugees out of Imperial space. A difficult task, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”