“Wait!” said the 2O stepping to the center of the bridge. “Helm, stop the ship immediately.”
“Aye, sir,” said the helmsman, firing the braking thrusters.
What the hell is he doing? Wondered Adiger as he watched the 2O, now standing near dead center of the bridge, approximately four meters ahead of the command position.
Adiger could think of no reason why the 2O would know something that none of the rest of them did that would justify stopping the ship, and, the longer they waited to rendezvous with Sir Doran, the likelier it would be that the defenders there would fall or flee, or both.
“Helmsman, belay that order,” said Adiger, using his most authoritative voice. “You will proceed on course, as fast as this ship can go, until we arrive at the given coordinates. Any order to the contrary, unless it comes from me, you are ordered to ignore.”
“Aye, sir,” said the helmsman.
“No,” said the 2O angrily. “Belay THAT order.”
“Belay the Captain’s order?” asked the helmsman. “Sorry, sir, I cannot comply.”
“Oh, is that right?” asked the 2O, still sounding angry and, perhaps, slightly afraid. Either way, the man had clearly lost it. Probably the result of the intense stress of battle—especially one such as this. Adiger was about to speak, but the 2O spoke first.
“So you can’t follow my order, even though I’m a commander and you’re just an ensign, is that right?” he stared at the helmsman.
“Yes, sir, that’s right. The captain outranks you, sir,” the helmsman replied.
“Oh, yeah? Well there’s something here that outranks the captain,” said the 2O. He suddenly drew his sidearm and waved it around the room, to the shock of the entire bridge staff. He then pointed it at the helmsman and said, “You see this thing in my hand?”
The helmsman didn’t reply; meanwhile, Adiger subtly began to undo the fastening that held his own firearm.
“I asked, do you see it?” the 2O demanded sharply, still staring at the ensign.
“Yes, sir, I see it,” the ensign said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You have a gun.”
“This thing in my hand,” said the 2O, “Is a fleet admiral. No, better than that, it’s the goddamn queen. You hear me?”
The helmsman nodded.
By now, Adiger had successfully undone the first of two restraints that held his firearm inside its holster. Freeing the weapon was proving to be rather difficult, considering that Adiger had to rely on the subtlest of movements—since the deranged 2O had now moved to a position where he could see the entire bridge, and his eyes stared with the determination of a hawk, searching for anything suspicious.
“Now, listen to your queen,” said the 2O. “She’s just given you an order. She says stop the ship. Are you going to obey your queen?” asked the 2O, waving the gun around. “Or do you want to be executed as a traitor?”
The helmsman, a junior officer, glanced to Adiger, who subtly nodded, indicating that it was all right, he should go along with what the crazed 2O was saying, for the time being, rather than risk getting killed.
“I’m stopping the ship now, sir,” said the nervous-looking helmsman. After a moment, “We’ve now come to a full stop.”
“Good, that’s very good,” said the 2O. “Now set an alteredspace course for somewhere. I don’t care where. Just, any place other than here.”
By this point Adiger had managed to undo the second and final restraint; his handgun was now free to be drawn, should he decide to draw it. Although now the 2O had moved far enough away that, should Adiger draw and fire, it would be difficult for either of them to strike the other, so long as they each used handguns, which was all they had.
I have hundreds of marines on this starship, just a few decks below, thought Adiger. And yet I never bothered to post so much as one on the bridge. Adiger wanted to slap himself. Although he could not have foreseen this exact scenario, he could think of many reasons why having some security forces on the bridge would be a good idea.
“Calculate the jump,” said the 2O. “Tell me when it is calculated—and make it fast!”
“Uh, yes, yes, of course,” said the helmsman, who appeared to be a nervous wreck.
Adiger decided it was time to speak up; hopefully he could not only get the 2O’s attention, but actually lure him close enough that Adiger could reliably shoot him—assuming he was unable to talk him down from this insane stand he had made. “Mister Anderson,” said Adiger. “Maybe you should tell us just what is going on. I think you owe us that much, at least.”
The 2O stayed planted where he was, back still against the window. “What is going on,” said the 2O, “Is that I’m saving your lives. All of you. And I’m doing it without so much as a thank you. Well, you’re welcome. You ungrateful bastards.”
“It’s funny,” said Adiger. “To me it doesn’t look so much like you’re saving our lives as you are threatening us with a gun. But maybe the difference between the two is just a nuance.” Come on, get over here, thought Adiger. React to me and walk closer.
The 2O responded with a question. “Do you have children, Captain?” Then, before Adiger could reply, the 2O said, “All of you,” his eyes scanned the bridge from left to right, “Do any of you have children? If so, raise your hand. Do it! Go ahead. Raise them high.”
Several hands shot up into the air.
“Now, if you love your kids, keep your hands in the air,” said the 2O.
None of the raised hands lowered.
“Now, if you don’t want to be there to see your kids grow up, graduate school, get married, and give you grandkids, and all the rest, go ahead and lower your hands.”
All hands remained.
The 2O nodded, looking pleased.
“You see,” said the 2O. “I’ve got kids too. Two little girls, four and five. They live on Saitera-Alpha III. Don’t be surprised if you haven’t heard of it. It’s only got a population of about one billion people. Well, my two little girls are there. And I love them. And…they’ve both already lost their mother. She died two years ago!” It seemed that the 2O began to cry a bit, although he still continued to rave loudly.
“And, the thing is,” the 2O continued. “I don’t want those little girls to be orphans. Just like the rest of you with your hands up, I want to be there to see my little girls grow up, every step of the way—I want to see it. And I’m certain that you all feel the same.” His eyes swept the bridge again, left to right. “You can go ahead and put your hands down now,” said the 2O.
“Helmsman, have you calculated that course, yet?”
“I have.”
“Good, then jump the ship.”
“Wait,” said Adiger. “Do not jump the ship.”
“And the Captain speaks up again at last,” said the 2O. This, ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, fellow humans, this is the monster who would rob us of all future memories we could share with our children. Yeah, that’s right. Because this man, who, because of the color of a pin on his chest, for some reason gets to boss us around. Like we’re somehow less of a person than him…and not just that, he gets to tell us when to die too?” The 2O finally did take a few steps closer to the center of the bridge, then stopped.
“I don’t know about all of you,” said the 2O, looking around the room, but always keeping Adiger in sight of at least his peripheral vision, it seemed. “But I’m not okay with that. Especially when moving the ship into that skirmish, against more than three-hundred ships, is suicide. Hell, this entire battle has been one giant, collective suicide! All the ships, all the defenders, everyone who does not flee and save themselves, well, they’re really no different than a suicide cult. Am I right?”
No one answered. He had asked it in such a way that it seemed directed at no one, and rhetorical in nature.
“I said, am I right?!”
“Yes.” “Yes, sir.” “You’re right.” “Absolutely.” A chorus of filled the bridge. No doubt because nobody wanted t
o be shot by the 2O. Though it did make Adiger worry some, that, despite the 2O’s ravings, and his antics—especially his decision to wave a gun around threatening everyone—he still may have won over a few sympathizers with his talk of choosing to live, for your kids, rather than choosing to die, pointlessly, in a battle that clearly could not be won.
The last thing I need is a full-blown mutiny on my bridge, thought Adiger, realizing that he had allowed this to go on too long already. True, the 2O remained an uncomfortable distance away; even with fourteen shots, Adiger was uncertain he could fatally hit the target, which he considered to be the 2O’s head. Adiger was practiced enough that he could probably successfully shoot the 2O if he aimed for the 2O’s center of mass. But, what he worried about, and did not wish to risk, was the very likely possibility that in between being struck by the bullet and actually dying, the 2O would go berserk and shoot at anyone and everyone he could.
If only I could get him to move even closer, thought Adiger.
“Mister Anderson,” said Adiger, “We all have a duty we are sworn to do, and it is in the doing of that duty that we best protect our loved ones, such as your children, and keep the peace.”
“The peace? You call this peace?” asked the 2O. “Are you mad? This has been one of the greatest bloodbaths in the history of the galaxy and it’s not even over yet!”
“They brought the battle to us,” said Adiger, “Don’t forget that.”
“Aye, so they did,” admitted the 2O. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we cannot stop them. And that the longer we stay here, the more likely it is that we die. Try and tell me that’s not true, Captain, go ahead. We’re all listening.”
Adiger did not know what to say. The battle did seem impossible to win; it had from the start, but wasn’t it the ideals that mattered more than the outcome? he thought. Would it not be better to die, resisting evil, rather than getting to live but choosing to do nothing, allowing innocent life to be subjected to such cruelty and malice? Adiger, for one, believed that was so. Though, clearly, his 2O thought otherwise.
“You see, he is speechless,” said the 2O triumphantly, after Adiger had not replied. “Even the Captain knows that this is nothing but a suicide mission. And a command to go and fight alongside Sir Doran and his pathetic ships is no different, in any way, than a command to die. Am I wrong, Captain?”
Adiger was worried that the 2O, no matter how crazed he was acting, was still, nonetheless, winning some of the bridge staff over to his way of thinking.
“The two are very different,” said Adiger.
“Oh, they are, are they?” asked the 2O. “Please do tell us how, exactly, the outcome is any different between me shooting myself, right now, with this pistol, or else me waiting a few more minutes to die when this starship is utterly annihilated—because we both know, hell, I think we all know,” again he scanned the bridge, “That if we go to those coordinates, there won’t be any coming back. So tell me, Captain, what is the difference?”
“The difference, Commander,” said Adiger, “Is that we, each of us, swore an oath to defend and protect the people of the Empire. Even if it costs us our lives. None of us swore an oath to kill ourselves with a handgun.”
“You’re right, we did take an oath,” said the 2O. “But, honestly, what’s the difference? Lead in the skull or the whole body blasted apart, shredded by starship debris? Or, possibly, blown out into space? In every case, it all ends the same way, with us dead!”
“Shooting oneself can help no one,” said Adiger. “But risking one’s life, and even sacrificing it, I would argue, not only is something done in the service of your countrymen and for your Queen, it is also such a noble act that stories of it may inspire others when they learn of it.”
“Inspire them to do what? Charge meaninglessly to their own deaths too?” asked the 2O.
Adiger decided to take things in a different direction. Maybe undo whatever damage the 2O had done to the conviction of any member of the bridge crew who was taking him seriously—and perhaps too afraid to die themselves!
“Earlier, you mentioned your children and you spoke of loved ones,” said Adiger.
“That’s right. We’ve all got them. That’s why we should choose to live, not just for ourselves, but for them. They need us in their lives just as surely as we need them! Choose life, everyone, not death!”
“Well, for many of us, our loved ones are right down there,” he pointed to the projection of Capital World on the 3D display. “And the plain and simple truth is, we are all that stands between them and a bloodthirsty horde that, if we allow it, will slaughter the people we love. How can you, any of you, even consider thinking about abandoning them now, when they have never needed us more?”
The 2O chuckled darkly. “Oh, Captain, Captain, Captain,” he said. “We both know—we all know—that it is far too late to save anybody on Capital World. This battle we are fighting in, it’s a farce and we all know it. At best, it’s a symbolic gesture, at worst a pointless suicide. But whatever you want to call it, the inescapable fact of the matter is this battle is unwinnable. Just look!” He pointed to the tactical display, which clearly showed vastly more red lights than the blue and the green combined.
“Numbers don’t mean everything,” said Adiger. “Sometimes, determination to win, when defeat means losing everything, can inspire a man to fight that much harder. History has shown us that time and time again.”
“Yes, in some kind of ancient melee perhaps that was true, but does the urgent need to win, or whatever you call it, inspire battleships to have stronger armor? Can it inspire missiles to become more powerful? Or guns to not overheat?”
Adiger did not answer.
“Of course not,” said the 2O. “Because those things are all governed by the laws of physics. And, like physics, there are facts of battle that might as well be called laws. Such as the fact that, while Q may win wars, numbers win battles.”
“Not so fast,” said Adiger. “Like I said before, there are many examples throughout history of smaller, weaker, inferior forces defeating, and in some cases overwhelming, a superior adversary. That must be us now!”
“You cannot overcome a deficit in battle by simply wanting to win extra hard,” the 2O countered.
“Sure you can,” said Adiger, “If it keeps you less likely to rout, like you would have us do.” Adiger’s plan was working; the 2O wasn’t being very quick about it, but slowly, ever so slowly, he had moved closer to Adiger, and continued to move closer to him as their argument continued. Almost close enough, thought Adiger.
“So, you would honestly have us believe that, should we fight it out, to the last man, aboard the last warship, there is a chance, a real chance, that we could win the day?”
“Yes,” said Adiger. “Of course there is.”
“Captain, and everyone else, remember, this is the Dread Fleet we’re talking about. It has us outnumbered at least four to one, and probably more. Now everyone here knows that a ratio of three to one is already considered an overwhelming force. So what then is four to one, I ask you?” said the 2O, still inching closer, ever so sluggishly. “And let’s not forget that the enemy we are fighting has the ability to have the entire fleet bunch together and pool their shields into one giant shield, rendering them essentially invulnerable to any kind of energy attack. For us to actually strike any one of their ships with a beam weapon would literally require us to hit that shield with the equivalent amount of energy that it would take to bring the shields offline of each and every one of their many thousands of ships combined! So what, I ask you, do we have that is anything even remotely near a match for that?”
“We have the ISS Victory,” said Mister Ivanov.
The 2O glanced at the Ops chief and, for one worrisome moment, Adiger thought the 2O would walk away and approach the Ops station, moving himself much farther away, making himself a much harder target to hit. But, fortunately, although the 2O shot Mister Ivanov a condescending glance, he did not a
ctually approach him.
“The ISS Victory,” the 2O said with a derisive snort.
“Well, for starters, it is the most powerful and strongest space-going object ever built,” said Mister Ivanov.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, thought Adiger, knowing that if the 2O got into an argument with Mister Ivanov, it was very likely the 2O would move away and Adiger needed him to move closer.
The 2O nearly laughed. “I ask what can match an infinitely huge, phalanx-covered death fleet, and he says the ISS Victory.” Then he actually did laugh. “The ISS Victory…I’m surprised the Dread Fleet didn’t immediately flee at the sight of it!”
“I’ve got a better answer than the ISS Victory,” said Adiger, an idea popping into his brain just then.
“Oh, do you?” asked the 2O.
“That’s right,” said Adiger.
“Well then, let’s hear it,” replied the 2O.
Adiger mumbled some gibberish.
“What was that?” asked the 2O.
Adiger mumbled some gibberish again.
“I can’t hear you; speak up,” demanded the 2O.
Adiger mumbled even more gibberish.
The 2O waved his gun at Adiger, but Adiger was quite certain the 2O would not be able to hit him where he was—still sitting in the command position, from there. At least it seemed very improbable. So, Adiger mumbled some gibberish again. Then clutched his throat, as if to imply there was something wrong with his voice.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said the 2O as he approached, getting closer so that he could hear whatever it was that Adiger, allegedly, was trying to say.
Once the 2O was sufficiently close, Adiger made certain his right hand had a good grip on his side arm, with his index finger resting ever-so-gently on the trigger. Then he said, at full volume. “Mister Anderson, I will ask you this one time and one time only. Set down your firearm, place your hands against the wall over there,” he pointed with his left hand to keep his right hand concealed, “And please do it immediately.”
The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) Page 33