“Commander Kane is here, sir,” the steward announced.
“About damn time.” Thomas heard the response from the CO’s cabin of Singapore. As the steward moved aside, Thomas floated into the space.
Commander Sean Duncan pushed his way over, grasping Thomas in a handshake that came very close to a hug. In zero-g, it made for awkward positioning, but Thomas took it with good humor.
“And,” Duncan said, grinning, “you just had to get a bigger ship than me, didn’t you?”
“We’re always just compensating,” Thomas said with a smile, then he noticed Admiral Chandler hooked into a seat at the forward end of the room. “A pleasure, Admiral.”
“If you two boys are finished your love-in,” Chandler growled with good humor, “I have a mission to discuss.”
Thomas glided over to the settee and pulled himself down, while Duncan returned to his own chair. Through the portal, the contour lights of Admiral Moore could be glimpsed, faint illuminations designed to stop the warships from actually bumping each other at such close quarters. She was a beautiful vessel, he was proud to admit—and yes, she was bigger than Duncan’s Singapore.
Any more good-natured banter remained absent, though, and Thomas saw gravity in the expressions of Chandler and Duncan. It matched his own. Singapore had jumped to Centauria earlier that day, with the admiral aboard and a very special cargo primed for launch. H-hour was less than three watches away.
“So you both know the goal,” Chandler began without preamble. “All of us have seen Abeona’s orbital defenses before, and while they haven’t rebuilt their orbital platforms, don’t for a second think they’ve lessened their vigilance. Terran assets on the planet have been trying for months to ascertain what kind of surface weapons they have, but it’s been impossible to secure the full picture.
“Thomas,” he continued, “your role in this operation, I’m afraid to say, is to draw Centauri fire. A cruiser like Moore can take a hell of a pounding and give back twice as hard, and I have every faith in her captain’s ability to fight her well.”
Thomas nodded his thanks to the praise. It hadn’t always been so.
“Sean,” Chandler continued, “your role is simple—get within range and deliver the Dark Bomb. We have to get within ten thousand kilometers of the surface if the weapon is going to penetrate all the way to Abeona’s core.”
“What sort of danger zone do we expect upon detonation?”
“Worst case,” Chandler replied, “is thirty thousand kilometers, so as soon as you launch we have to turn tail and scramble.”
Duncan nodded.
“We have assets on the surface who will disrupt the Centauri defensive network,” Chandler added, “so ideally we’ll have a clear window to get in and get out before they can mount a coordinated defense. But… we just don’t know how many backups they have, or how effective our assets’ efforts will be.”
“Is Singapore going to try and sneak in with Moore distracting at a distance?” Thomas asked. “Or am I providing close escort?”
Chandler gave him the expectant look he remembered well from their days long ago, aboard Victoria.
“What do you suggest, Mr. Kane?” XO Lieutenant Chandler had never just given his subbies the answer without forcing them to take a stab at it themselves.
“I recommend close support, sir,” Thomas replied immediately. “Moore’s fate is ultimately irrelevant, but if Singapore doesn’t make it to the launch point, this whole mission is for nothing. If I’m half a world away, and one sharp Centauri operator spots Singapore, I’ll be in no position to assist. If I’m nearby causing a ruckus, you can still sneak in like a hole in space, but then run for cover if required.”
“I agree, sir,” Duncan said. “With all the orbital noise, we can stay very stealthy even if Moore is nearby drawing attention. But if things go to shit, they’ll do so very quickly, and our chances of making the launch point are greatly improved if there’s a big cruiser nearby.”
Chandler nodded thoughtfully, a sparkle in his eye as he glanced between the two men.
“Very well—close support. And allow an old man a moment of pride. I’m very glad to have both of you here with me. This mission is our century’s Hiroshima, and it’s hard, but we are servants of Terra and what we do is for the good of all humankind.”
“I’m glad to have you at my side as well, sir,” Duncan said, with none of his usual bravado. “I’m not going to lie to either of you. When I learned what this mission is for, I felt my heart tear in half.”
Thomas sharply exhaled the breath he suddenly realized he’d been holding. So he wasn’t the only one struggling with the moral quandary. He glanced at Chandler, hoping to see empathy for Duncan’s admission. He was disappointed.
“I hear you,” Chandler said, face stoic. “War is a terrible business, and whether this mission happens or not, we three will all suffer nightmares for what we’ve done in the service of the State. But war is our terrible business, and it is our duty to obey.”
“I understand, sir,” Duncan said, “and we will. I just wish, in this case, there was another option.”
“So do I, but if we want to end the war quickly—before Terran forces are exhausted and our economy is ruined—we need to act boldly, and now.”
Duncan’s resolve was strengthened, Thomas could see. His old friend hated what he was about to do, but he was going to do it anyway.
“Sir,” Thomas said slowly, “I feel that it is my duty to ask—is there any other way? Is there another, less populated target which we could hit?”
“Why do you feel it’s your duty to ask that?” Chandler demanded, eyes suddenly hardening. “Your duty is to obey.”
“Yes, sir, and I always have. I will suffer those nightmares you speak of for the rest of my life—and I accept that. As officers, however, there’s one instance when we are not only permitted but required to question our orders, and that’s when we are given an immoral order. As an officer—of whatever rank I may be—it is my duty to question an immoral order.”
“This is not an immoral order, Mr. Kane. Horrific, yes, but not immoral.” Chandler’s jaw tightened. “Abeona is the headquarters of the entire rebel movement. It is the factory of war machines and the nest of spying vipers which so assault us. If there was an obvious, isolated surface target for us to hit, we’d do it—but there isn’t. The Centauris scatter their bases across the planet, hiding beneath civilian populations because they think we won’t strike there. That entire planet is the brain and brawn of our enemy, and it became a legitimate target the day the Centauris opened jump gates on Earth’s surface and started laying waste to our greatest cities.
“If you want to talk about immorality, Mr. Kane, I suggest you consider the actions of our enemies. Terra is the victim in this war, and we have done nothing but defend ourselves. This mission, this single, decisive act, will decapitate the rebels and demoralize their scattered network of resisters. This act we are about to perform may be horrific, but it is for the good of all humanity. It will bring peace.”
“The good of the State is the good of all,” Thomas quoted easily from his school days. He’d heard that phrase every day growing up. He’d enforced it as a young platoon commander when his troops questioned their actions against irregular Sirian fighters. He’d believed it in his heart for as long as he could remember. Until now.
“Exactly,” Chandler said. “The good of the State is the good of all.”
Thomas looked over at his friend Sean Duncan, but saw only a resignation to following orders. He looked back at his mentor Eric Chandler, and saw the fire of righteous justice burning bright. He thought of his wife, Soma Kane, and her blissful acceptance of whatever the State told her.
Then he thought of Katja Emmes, and remembered the hardness in her eyes as she accepted this mission without question. But she’d given her soul to the State, he knew, and as much as he knew he loved her he couldn’t follow her there. She was lost, both to him and to her own humanity.
Jack Mallory, at least, had gone kicking and screaming. But Thomas knew that Jack was too afraid of Katja to defy her. He’d hate himself forever, but he’d do his job. Of all the people involved in this genocide—for there was no other word for it—Thomas actually found himself most impressed with Breeze. She had clung to the Dark Bomb right from the beginning, and now she’d landed herself the position of Deputy Minister of Defense.
She was ultimately responsible for this mission. He didn’t believe for a second that she thought it would bring peace, or that she believed she was serving humanity. She was out for herself, and the death of seven hundred million people was just a means to an end. She’d publicly deny that to her grave, but at least she’d be honest with herself about it.
That took real strength, and Thomas had been humbled enough over the past year to realize that it had been a trait sadly lacking in him for far too long. What did that say about Terran society if its most admirable representative was Charity Brisebois?
Thomas finally decided to be honest with himself, but as he looked back at his mentor and his oldest friend, he took another page from Breeze’s playbook.
“I’m sorry for making this an issue,” he lied with perfect sincerity, “and for threatening to place doubt in all our minds. Thank you for clarifying it for me, sir. This mission is essential to the safety of Terra and the welfare of all humanity. I know that we three will all do our duty.”
“Duty is the great business of an officer,” Duncan said with a hint of relief. He was quoting the brilliant Admiral Horatio Nelson. “All other private considerations must give way, no matter how painful it is.”
“Struggle is the father of all things,” Chandler echoed, quoting the martyr Adolph Hitler. “It is not by the principles of humanity that man lives, but solely by means of the most brutal struggle.”
Words upon which the Terran State had been built, Thomas knew. Words he’d been taught at the earliest age. The struggle was never against one’s fellow citizen, but against anyone who threatened society as a whole. For centuries this had been the struggle against the environment of hostile worlds, and for recent generations on Earth it had been the struggle against the MAS virus, which had killed billions before finally being contained and subdued.
He had experienced the primal thrill that came from combat, the struggle to keep one’s own life and take another’s. It had been years since he’d been conscious of it, but he knew the sense of almost orgasmic triumph when he emerged victorious in battle, when he still lived as his foe fell. He knew the deep urge to fight that rested within humanity’s soul, and this war was an outlet for all of Terra’s citizens, whether they fought in person or just cheered from the home front.
This mission was Terra’s jaws closing on the jugular of its greatest rival, Centauria, and from this would come domination of the pack once again. No other colony had the resources to fight humanity’s home system, and the natural order would be restored. But first, seven hundred million innocent people had to die.
Chandler reached out to clasp hands with his old subbies.
“Stay strong in the next few hours, my friends. History will be the judge of our triumph here today.”
* * *
Thomas looked at the three young officers who stood before him. It wasn’t quite like the old days in Victoria, but then, his career had taken a radically different path from that of his mentor. Just as Chandler had earned the unswerving loyalty of two young subbies all those years ago, Thomas could only hope that he was worthy of even greater loyalty now.
John, Chen, and Hayley stared back at him, their expressions displaying mixtures of confusion and horror. Thomas had just revealed to them the purpose of the mission.
“There’s no way anything will survive on the surface,” John said. “No matter what happens, that planet is going to be shredded.”
“Correct,” Thomas said, watching them all closely, “and this is why I’ve called the three of you here. I need to ask you each to do something for me, which may go against your personal beliefs. But I need your help.”
Chen was pale, and speechless. Hayley’s face was locked in a frown. John dropped his gaze momentarily, but managed to keep himself composed.
“What do you require of us, sir?” he asked.
Thomas glanced at the door to his cabin, reassuring himself that it was closed. He’d sent his steward down to the galley. There were no witnesses.
“I require you to assist me… in preventing this mission from succeeding.”
All three stared at him in new shock.
“I remain loyal to Terra,” Thomas said, “but this mission goes beyond nations. This mission is about the future of humanity. I cannot, as an officer of good conscience, allow it to succeed.”
“You’re talking mutiny, Captain.”
“That risk is mine alone,” he admitted. “I will go to my grave saying that none of you were complicit, and that you were merely pawns in my… evil plan.” He offered a wry smile. “But the truth is you’re all too smart to fool, and when the time comes I’ll need you to act without hesitation.”
“So you’re asking us to choose between our loyalty to the Fleet, and to you personally?” Hayley snapped.
“In this one instance, yes I am.”
“Well, then, fuck the Fleet,” she growled. “I always wanted to be a pirate queen.”
“I’m not suggesting we go buccaneer, Hayley… just stop this single mission from succeeding. Then we go home and report the failure like loyal Fleet officers.”
“So the rest of the ship won’t know?” John asked.
“Correct. I think I know how we can do this, but it’ll take the four of us to pull it off.”
John nodded thoughtfully, glancing at the subbies before looking back to his captain.
“Sir, I’m in.”
Thomas fixed his stare on Chen, who’d been silent since he’d learned the mission’s true purpose.
“Chen, what are your thoughts?”
The young man was still pale, but he finally looked up with certainty.
“I signed up to defend Terra, sir, but now it looks like the rebels aren’t the real enemy. I won’t join the rebels, but I’m happy to help stop this madness. I’m in.”
Thomas took a deep breath, looking around at his three loyal colleagues. He was asking them to commit the ultimate military crime and, despite his assurances, he had no guarantee that he could truly protect them if it came to a Fleet Marshall Investigation. By agreeing to help him, they might be signing their own death warrants.
Looking into their eyes, he saw reflected back what he knew was in his own. If this mission was allowed to succeed, he’d never be able to live with himself. It would be better to die knowing that he’d tried, than to live with seven hundred million murders on his conscience.
“Thank you, my friends.”
“What’s the plan, sir?” John asked.
If he was honest with himself, Thomas had to admit that he’d been devising the idea since the moment his true orders had been revealed.
“We’ll never be able to launch one of our own weapons against another Terran warship—not without some record making it back to Fleet. But it just so happens we have a Centauri weapon on board, and I think we can make use of it…”