The Origami Dragon And Other Tales
Page 12
Long Shot
ETA: 100 days
I have just finished reading the complete the Jeeves and Wooster series today. Say what you like, but the classics are remembered for a reason. I read them all because I enjoy them and because I don’t have anything else to do today. Or tomorrow, or the days after that. Time I have in surplus. I sleep twenty hours out of every twenty-four. It’s still not enough. When the moment comes I will be awake for eighty hours straight, but until then my free time seems infinite.
To keep myself sharp, I run the engine statistics and make slight recalibrations which improve efficiency by some infinitesimal amount. It takes me two hours. I am bored.
ETA: 75 days
I can feel the fear, even now, even out here. They told me that the drugs would cut down on the adrenaline, cut down on all the hormones that would make me feel nervous. They were right for a change, but there is more fear than chemicals. A thin note of complaint plays in my ears as the sensors do another sweep. Fear is a pattern of thought. I can see it in my own EEG if I want to. You can tell a lot from those little brain waves, especially if you have time.
I have time. So much time.
Exactly five kilometres to my left and a few hundred metres behind me is my wingman. Baris and I haven't spoken in a while. Three months, four days and twenty seven minutes, more or less. My instruments tell me that he is still in position.
Don't get me wrong, I like the guy. We had long chats at one point, but words run out eventually. What is there to say these days, really? He is still alive. So am I. We finished our last philosophical argument months ago, and now we settle down to wait. We keep our minds to ourselves in an attempt not to think about the mission. I hate our mission.
We fly the most destructive weapons humanity has ever produced. We are Armageddon’s helmsmen. We are the stars of death and war, and we are coming for you.
At sub-light levels, so don’t hold your breath. Baris and I fly two of only a handful of the experimental bombers that are part of the Long Shot project. We are Earth’s last chance, and we will never be able to forgive ourselves.
We are going to bomb the Enemy. Or, at least, humanity's enemy. If we were flying to bomb my personal enemy, we would be flying in the wrong damn direction, believe me.
ETA: 62
Nervous. Of course, the drugs won't do anything about that if it’s only in my mind. My camera scans the stars for something. Anything. A comet passed a few light years away. I watch its light-memory from years ago, record it for later. I detect a rock coming closer, light seconds away... scanning. All I can do is watch and wait.
When the Lottery chose me for the war, my parents tried to get me off it on psychological reasons. My half-brother even tried to take my place. Didn't work, though. It seldom does. The tests they made me do (they made us all do, at some stage) showed that I was:
1) Highly intelligent (apparently), BUT with negative leadership qualities because
2) I am so deeply introverted that
3) I sometimes forget that other people can't read my mind. Or even that they exist at all.
I wonder if Baris can read my mind. Perhaps I should tell him about my fears.
No.
Either he has his own fears, in which case mine will merely compound them when I intrude in his solitude or he has no fears, and I will create them when I intrude in his solitude.
Of course. Academic.
Back to books for me, for now. Perhaps Sherlock’s rational thought will be comforting.
ETA: 60
There are two dimensions of personality in which the MilNav are interested.
Negative. Bias thought towards own position. Correct:
There are many dimensions of personality in which the MilNav are interested. Every Sol person sits personality tests at set stages in their lives. One of the vital dimensions is extraversion/ introversion.
The extremes of this scale are highly amusing. Some people have nervous systems with low excitement of the brain. They need to look for interesting activities, stimulation. Extroverts. Tend to be social, friendly, charismatic. Entertainers and serious party animals, they often die young while chasing another hit of excitement. They serve only on the biggest spaceships and stations, where their primary duty is to raise morale. Under the guise of second junior officers they pull pranks and drink a lot. Few make it any further up. Battle commanders need a temperate personality.
Some people have systems in which arousal is so high that sitting quietly and staring at the wall is an intense experience. We are better thinkers that soldiers. We are the introverts, and we mostly live inside our own heads. Try to avoid the exciting world, because over stimulation of the nervous system = negative health consequences.
As you might expect, this does not make us popular at parties.
58
There was this girl.
It doesn't matter.
56
Still nervous. Did I mention I am slightly neurotic, or did the military already tell you that? Would have been a lie, anyway. Hyper-neurotic is the word. So is Baris. I've seen his scores when I hacked the system one time. So are we all.
Neurotic is all part of the genetics. Paranoia we were taught at our specialized flight school.
Forever looking over our shoulders. Forever second-guessing ourselves. Compulsive checkers of safety seals, emergency lights, vectors, food preservatives and so on so on so on. What is a curse for normal people is a blessing out here. Out here, you can never be sure enough. Of anything. That’s why they choose us, train us, send us. We check everything always, and we survive.
Carefully does it.
A rock. About the size of my fist. Travelling at the same speed as us plus ten percent, same direction, nearly. I've been watching it for days now, just in case.
Spent the day checking the engine algorithms. There was a .0-0090000200032 error in one of them. Correcting now... done.
54.1
She sure was a beauty. Even by modern standards. Even without surgery.
My options were: research scientist, recluse, finance analyst, computer programmer. None of these seemed endearing. That was pre-enlistment, naturally. Once enlisted, there was only really one option.
I wonder where she is now? Doesn't matter. Going for a run.
54.2
Virtual run. Complete. Tired now.
53
Received: LS-1 from LS-6.
Harmless
It drives the psychologists wild. We don't talk for days, months, and then that's all we have to say to each other. One little meaningless word? They rave about it as if we are telepathic. As if we accidentally invented Einstein.
Stupid. Why need more? One word says all.
Baris is OK. Still sane. Still healthy. He has also been watching the rock. A few of the scans I ran showed high metal. Abnormally high metal readings. Probe? Negative. Just a rock.
Baris agrees. Just a rock. He knows that I know that he has been watching that rock for days, and so have I. Not like there is anything else out there. That’s what he was saying: just checking that I know.
Just checking in.
Extroverts can't take the silence. They need constant talking. Constant conversation to stimulate them. Tend to go mad in extended isolation. Not hypothetical. They have run tests. Crews isolated for long periods of time like we are have to be introverts or stored in the deep freezer. We are both.
Send: LS-1 to LS-6
Y.
50
The Long Shot project. The name says it all. The technology was apparently easier than the crew problem. Then they found us, the few, the talented, the disposable. They lock us in vast bombers and send them into the stars to attack high value targets. They don’t expect us to succeed, but if we do we achieve more than a battle fleet ever could.
We travel quietly but so, so terribly slowly. This means we take about two years to get to our destination. Two years in the same ship. Crews go crazy. The personal interactions lead to conflict. We don’t
play well with others, so the silence is refreshing after living on a planet of twenty billion souls.
That’s why they send us out alone. Of all humanity, only we are able to bear it.
Inside each ship is a single mind, and inside each mind is a whole different reality, a whole different universe with unique rules and experiences. We can spend eternity exploring just one of these internal universes, and still there will be unknowns. This is true of all humans, but especially of us. Each mind is a treasure, a wonder, but if we die out here there will be few who notice, fewer who care. After all, who cares for a few more deaths in a conflict that has consumed thousands of lives already.
War is hell. At least it’s quiet out here.
We are deep space bombers. Deep. Deep introversion, deep into enemy territory, deep water, deep trouble.
All this is possible because of the hyper drive. Everyone’s heard of it, and how it allows us to Jump at faster than light speeds. Only two people understand it, and they are the two most intelligent people on Earth, but that's OK. For some reason the Jump needs to be piloted by a human. Computers can only do so much, it seems. It is a delicate job.
The Jump works. We copied it from the Enemy, before we were fighting. The good old days. I met one once. Seemed OK. Can’t say more for most humans.
Once again, why am I fighting in this war?
Should I remove that last part later? Who cares? What are they going to do, court martial me for writing bad things about them? This diary is meant to be confidential, so they can’t use it in court. But they read it.
Of course you do.
Stealth. Jumping is just too obvious: may as well let off a few fireworks and announce yourself on every radio frequency available. We have tiny FTL engines. Tiny Jumps. Tiny energy to be noticed. When we get close enough, we go sub-light. It takes months to get to the target as sub-light because
48
It doesn’t matter. I hate parties.
47
I told them that I wanted to take my music. Old stuff. Good stuff. The Admiral said no. I said I was taking it anyway. He said that was going against a direct order. I asked what he was going to do about it? Kick me out of an army I never wanted to fight in? Send me home?
He said I could be court martialled. I asked him, what then, threaten to put me in solitary confinement until the end of the war?
He laughed at that. I knew he would. I got my way. The music plays over me in my ship’s womb-like cockpit. I’m suited up, suspended in gel. The suit gives me force feedback to exercise in, and controls the ship. It feeds me, and keeps me healthy. It’s a strange experience.
Safe?
44.1
Who am I kidding?
44.2
Have you ever seen the design of my ship? I doubt it, as even I don’t know every part of the damn thing. Only three people on Earth have access to all the blueprints. It isn’t a secret to say that almost all of it is made up of a huge sub-light engine ringed with a hell of a lot of bombs and covered by a thin skin of crazy stealth technology. The Jump drive and cockpit are tucked inside somewhere like tiny appendixes that the surgeons just couldn’t be bothered to remove. The whole thing costs more than a small Pacific island.
The plan is straightforward: we Jump far from the system undetected, and spend a few months getting up speed. All that time accelerating means we arrive in the system sub-lights at speeds that only missiles can match. And there will be missiles. They know about us. A few of us got close enough to drop our bombs a few times, apparently. Lots of destruction. They can’t stop us unless they can predict us, and detect us a long way away, but neither is likely. We pass through the system like the Devil’s own shadow, avoid interception, drop our bombs and are gone like a bad dream.
Then we Jump our way home, tiny distances at a time.
Average casualties for this job 47%, including people who just don't bother to go home afterwards (32%, maybe).
That’s why they send us out in pairs, now. Supposed to help.
I'll go back. This time, I will talk to her. Defend myself against those creeps.
30
Countdown. Checking life-support systems.
29
Rechecking life-support systems.
28
Engines. Checking. Disagree with computer's analysis. That’s why they don’t send robots. We joke that they can’t: the robots would get too lonely.
27
Checking the computer. This is crazy; I don’t want to bomb anybody. But humanity lies in the scales of my actions, according to the propaganda. Personally express disbelief.
26
Computer error. All fixed now.
25
Check and recheck bombs. Ready to begin 20-day countdown check.
22
OK, who left the time-dated message on my system? Popped up today and scared the living blood out of me. So no thanks to whomever that was. For the record, I am not planning dissent. Or passing through the system without sending out my bombs. Is that what happened in the past, did Long Shots mutiny? And if anyone touches my family there will be trouble. Trouble, do you hear me? Read my record. I can and will find you.
Received:LS-6 to LS-1
Threat msg plant?
Send: LS-1 to LS-6
Y! Jerks.
Not just me, then. Great way to motivate the soldiers. Still, Baris was an orphan. They don't even get luxury of the lottery. I wonder what you threatened him with?
Me?
15
I spent most of my youth as an elective mute. Nobody asked me what I thought about this, naturally. Not that they listen anyway. Which was the point, really. Just another reason why I am the way I am, why I am where I am.
10
They don't even get a chance to surrender. That’s what really eats at me. This isn’t a battle, this is a slaughter. They won’t know what hit them. That’s the point, I know, but I hate it. This isn’t fair. I wonder if they would ever do the same to us?
Apparently this is a big fleet-building system. The place where they fling ships together behind the battle lines. Too well defended for conventional attack, they say. That’s why it was chosen for us. Won’t be the first time intelligence got it wrong though. Probably be a first if they get it right.
Time to forgo all contact with Baris from here on in. I say my goodbyes.
5
Uh oh. The passive sensors show big time space ships here, orbiting the suns. Bigger than anything I’ve ever… energy collectors? Makes sense, I suppose. We should be close enough to use the telescopes soon. Too many to take out in one go?
No. I have so many bombs.
4
Farms! They’re just farms. Massive amounts of food being grown in this system. Probably feeds a hell of a lot of people. Must be enough to feed… swift calculations… Earth’s entire population, give or take. Supplies the
people! They are people, too. Don’t let the propaganda men tell you otherwise.
My superiors would be pleased. 'This could win the war' I bet. They always say that, but we still seem to be fighting.
Me? Not happy. Starvation is not an acceptable combat technique. Think of the civilian casualties: they will never forgive us. Need to talk to Baris. Time is running out.
Needs must… breaking silence.
Sent LS-1 to LS-6:
Civilian s.stations. Remove from the target list
I can see a few large floating shipyards, too, and a dozen big cruisers. At least we can hit those.
3
LS-1: received from LS-6
Concur.
Relief. Doesn’t technically matter what Baris thinks, because I am in command of this flight. Nominally. This added responsibility is courtesy of my IQ being 0.5 higher than his, and 27 points higher than the officer who chose us for this mission. I know; I hacked the system again.
As if Baris would do anything I told him to just because I’m in command.
2.1
Preparing bom
bs. Only need to use half now, and half again for the second section of battle ships. There will be bombs to spare.
2.2
Rechecking bombs.
So soon.
0
Firing bombs.
They don’t all go where I mean them to.
The computer fights me over how the bombs are used. It targets the farms. We argue. This ship is no longer mine to command.
Taking some damage from long range weaponry.
Armour holding.
Bomb impact.
Destruction.
Waste, one of the farms falls into the sun.
Wait… start cycle again. I can’t stop it.
I can’t stop it. But I can try, for if I don’t try then what am I?
My computer pings, and new code flashes across my screen. My bombs explode shortly after I shed them, killing nothing. Finished. Three bombs left. I prevent them from firing just in time.
Checking position of LS-6
Uh-oh
Attack +1 day
Baris is dead. I think I may have killed him with my fallout.
He must be dead, I can’t find him. We were set to meet up outside the system, but he is not there. Like, where I expect him. Where he is supposed to be. The problem with stealth bombers is that I can’t tell where he is, and he can’t tell where I am either. Until now, we kept in touch with low power lasers and serious precision flying. If he doesn’t let me know his location before I Jump, I will never find him again.
Replaying records of bombing run. Maybe he is still OK.
+2
No, I think he is dead. Camera recorded fires behind me. Out of system now, preparing for first Jump. I have no choice if I want to survive.
+3
.
+4
.
+5
.
+6
Poor Baris.
+7.1
Will be spending the next month getting home. No company at all. And, when I get there, a court martial. Probably. May as well not bother.
+7.2
Another hidden pop up message. I’m going to find out who programmed these things, and I’m going to make them suffer. It is hard enough being alone without also being bombarded with propaganda and coercions.
You win, though. I’m coming home. You don’t need to make threats about my life support: I’m coming home anyway. Don’t worry about me. Or the billion-dollar flying bomb you put me in that cost more than a battle cruiser.
Coming home.
Minus a wingman
+18
Just not the same. Now I truly am lonely. I am the only mind amongst the empty byways of space, and the weight of nothing is suffocating. It was always enough to know that people like me existed, in case I wanted to contact them. I never felt the urge. Now, I do, and I am… all alone.
+24
This is definitely why they send us out in twos. Even I get lonely out here. Bored. Scared. No second set of sensors. No crew, no conversation.
No help.
+30
My Jump drive is broken. Must have been damaged in the brief battle, possibly even by my own bombs. I don’t want to die here, but the mechanics of the drive are beyond me. On the other hand, I really don’t want to die. Out here. Alone. So.
+300
Done. I hope the repairs hold. The work has kept my mind distracted.
+400
Why bother? If this thing had a self-destruct code… No. There is work for me on Earth, and I cannot be selfish. I am surrounded by a billion miles of pressing stillness. I fall through the light of dead stars, buried beneath the rubble of my own self-worth. I should not have been sent out here.
+404
The silence screams at me. I pulled the trigger that killed so many. Yes, I could have killed more, but I should have killed less. I should have known that the bombs would fire automatically. Because of me, only one farm was destroyed; because of me, many will die of hunger.
+823
So long without writing. My work and my guilt consume me, but at least the work is finished. One more Jump, and I’m home. It’s been so long, so long, so long. I yearn for human company.
+824
Holding near Sol. Huge fleet 'beneath' me, between me and Earth.
Big news today, one of the fleets hit a major enemy system. Knocked out a lot of enemy ships. Also, what I recognized as the sun-farms. Lump in stomach when I think of what that means for those poor aliens who will now starve to death.
Or not. Can’t starve when you’re vaporized. Our brave commanders nuked them mercilessly from a million miles away. Everybody celebrating their incredible valour. Yellow cowards. We have to get much closer than that, we are forced to see what it is we kill.
New ships arriving in system soon, judging from the Jump waves. Moving closer to the fleet.
Ordered to. Don’t think they trust me too well. Wonder if they know I am still part armed with the ordnance, since I didn’t drop it all? I am stealth, after all. Three quarters of the fleet don’t even know I’m here. Don’t think they will know I’m armed. We aren’t supposed to come back with bombs, but…I killed more enemy craft on that last run than any battleship hero could claim.
Have to write report.
Fake ignorance of basic principles of English syntax and vocab due to massive... trauma/social difficulties in early life/time spent away from society/major mental deficits. What now?
+831
Baris is still alive! He was forced to Jump out of the target system. He also had problems with his ship, but not as bad as me. He arrived outside the sol system nearly two months before me. He says he is so far away because his sensors are messed up. Makes sense. He is travelling in on his sub-light engines and wait, hold on, hit the big red button. Surely he isn’t thinking about
He drenched the system with lasers until he found me, but since mine are the only sensors set to detect the lasers…. He will be here in two days. I don’t think the rest of the fleet knows, just me. Can’t tell them, either, because… hell. I just don’t want to. The conquering fleet now joined the fleet below me. News casts of celebrations. Not impressed. Others on Earth feel same way, apparently. Minority, but a vocal one.
+832.1
They sent my report back, with another threat of court-martial if I don’t comply with regulations and write a proper one. Perhaps it was the use of pictograms that pushed them over the edge. If the fleet commanders want to court martial me, they are going to have to wait in damn line. Far more important people are going to want to bust my chops by the end of all this.
I intentionally didn’t bomb the farms. I fought the computer and prevented it from bombing the farms as well. If I had my time over again, I would go back and not bomb the farms in exactly the same manner. I am unrepentant on this point.
Faking communication device damage
Faking computer error.
Better be on the safe side. Faking mental breakdown.
Pretending to be catatonic. Ship lock down and stealth to prevent being boarded. Floating away from fleet – somebody will be coming after me soon.
+832.2
Received:LS-6 to LS-1
Look. They did what? Terrible!
Send: LS-1 to LS-6
Y! Y! Those were civilian farms.
Received:LS-6 to LS-1
By the by. Bomb coming yourwaysoon. prep eject. Also, large EMP from bomb.
Send: LS-1 to LS-6
WT?!
Received:LS-6 to LS-1
Cowards
Send: LS-1 to LS-6
Agree sentiment, question action.
His sensors were always fine. It was no coincidence that
Preparing evacuation. Baris has a wicked sense of humour, but this is no joke. Perhaps now he is just wicked. Best get ready to get out of here. The ship can shield the escape pod – good use of the world’s resources there.
Received: LS-6 to LS-1
Take care of yourself. Was nice knowi
ng you. Pity about the rest of the race.
The funny thing is, he had it all planned. Planned well, I might add. We are like that, sitting and thinking for hours before we even do anything.
The plan was simple: built up speed coming in-system, just like we trained for. He had the time. My arrival delayed him, but only slightly
When he finally was detected he just flashed the correct entry authorization. He got close, close enough to drop the bombs he had kept from our earlier run. Lots of bombs. They can’t stop him, and when his work was done the fleet was no more.
He passed through the system at incredible speed, avoided interception, and is gone like a bad dream.
Eject!
The EMP kills my computer, the sensors, the black box. Everything.
I sit in my ejected cockpit and wait a while before turning the emergency systems back on.
The fleet is dust beneath me. Baris aimed his bombs well. It was what we were trained for, after all. The bombs were city killers, and did their work admirably.
The EMP wiped out all evidence from my computers of our earlier attacks. There is now no evidence of my glorious battle prowess, except in my memories and my journal. Ah well, I’m sure I can have those scrubbed out somehow. I’ll need to.
These things happen. As for my earlier behaviour? As if they will care anyway. I’m going back to Earth. I wonder if it’s possible to become a politician if you hate people or have more than half a brain. Without a fleet, Earth will need to try politics again.
Worth a try. Somebody will have to put paid to this madness.
To my surprise, she is waiting for me…
…time passes.
(I wonder where he went?)