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Admiral Absen stared at the main screen while the rest of the crew of the operations center went mad with joy and relief. The expanding inferno of plasma and debris caused his Sensors officer to pull the view back, then pull back again, the scale of the devastation enormous even at this distance.
“It’s gone,” he said wonderingly into the confused hubbub of the operations center.
It was all Absen could do to remain in his chair, and for the first time since he had sat in his stateroom aboard the Tucson staring into the muzzle of a loaded .45, he felt absolutely spent, crushed, wrung out. A small child could have knocked him over with a stuffed toy. Trying to lift one hand seemed an impossible task.
Is this what victory feels like?
Nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won, Wellington had said. Absen had never understood what that meant until now, as he stared upward at the screen at the spreading cloud and few remaining pieces of the Destroyer tumbling in toward the sun. They wouldn’t fall into the star, not at their current speed, but no one would be catching them either.
“What in hell was that thing?” Absen managed to ask, dragging himself forward in his chair to rest his hands on the console in front of him. His vision seemed tunneled, and his breathing came at great effort. Raising his voice, he rasped, “What in the Sam Hill just happened?”
As usual, Lieutenant Commander Johnstone answered first, one jump ahead of anyone else. “The video shows some kind of enormous missile striking the Destroyer at almost half the speed of light. I can’t even get a good image capture – it’s just a streak that I have to process to infer its characteristics. Whatever it was, sir, it was big enough to kill it in one blow. At least, after it had been battered so badly.”
“It wasn’t ours.” Absen almost made it a question, because he was almost certain of the answer.
“Not that I know of, sir.” Johnstone looked around as if to solicit input from others. No one said anything. Then he held up a hand to his ear, an unconscious gesture having nothing actually to do with the chips in his head. “I have an anomalous transmission.”
How Johnstone could pick out one “anomalous transmission” from the thousands that must be streaking around the solar system, Absen had no idea, but the man had a positively spooky talent for his CyberComm duties, so the Admiral nodded encouragement.
“The net picked it up just before the thing hit the Destroyer. A voice transmission in the clear.”
Johnstone played it.
This message is for all the people of Earth: Warrant Officer Alan C. Denham, USMC speaking. I didn’t die in the battle ten years ago, but I bet I have now. I piloted the captured Meme ship that must have just slammed into the Destroyer. I hope it’s dead, or if it’s not, I hope you can now finish it off. I wish all of humanity well and reserve my hatred for our real enemies. I ask that you do the same, and remember that it’s not biology that decides if we are human. It’s the choices we make.
“Greater love hath no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends.” Zeke Johnstone used to quote that at me, and then, when the chips were down, he put his money where his mouth was, dying to protect his family. If I can do the same, I think I’ll finally be happy. Maybe in a minute or two I’ll be seeing him on the other side, if there is such a thing.
This is Skull, captain of the captured Meme ship Alan Denham, signing off.
Absen licked dry lips. “Replay that on all channels. Everyone should know.” Under his breath he said, “Because we need heroes like that.”
***
Rick Johnstone finished his shift mechanically, his brain well trained by the chips in his head. They did all the work while his mind took a dazed vacation. He passed messages and patched parties through his board like an old-fashioned telephone operator. With the damage to many bases and the Van Allen belts of Earth filled with ionizing radiation, comms had gone to hell in the proverbial handbasket.
Moving Orion toward a lunar orbit helped, and once more the old warship-turned-station proved its worth as the nerve center of EarthFleet. Rick was thankful for the busyness, for it kept him from thinking of Grissom Base on Callisto, and the bomb that had wiped out the surface facilities and the invading force with it. With still no idea who had done that, and no word from those in the bunkers, all he could do was work and wait.
Wait to see if Jill still lived.
With the Destroyer gone, the guidance packages on the rocks seemed to lose their abilities to adjust. Once Rick thought about that, it made sense. The barely intelligent engines could not easily see around their own asteroids, could not look to the front to figure out what to do. Fully fifty percent soon developed projected tracks that would miss the planet. Those could be ignored.
The remaining forces took care of the rest and, though they were ready to do it, the captain and crew of Orion did not have to throw themselves in front of a flying mountain after all. Rick felt very glad of that, and also happy to finally end his shift as his relief showed.
Clumping along in his vacuum suit toward his quarters, he had to dodge the revelry that spilled into all the main corridors. Stateroom doors stood open and everyone seemed to have a drink in his or her hand. Fumes from dope or hash drifted through the ventilation system, and no one seemed to care, least of all him. Music...
Let them party, he thought. They earned it. All I want to do is get this damned suit off, shower and sleep, and maybe when I wake up, there will be a message from Jill. At least for us there’s a chance. For others, their hopes have already been dashed.
He pushed through knots of people, hands slapping him on the back in greeting. A bleary blonde tried to lay a kiss on him but he pushed her gently away with a smile. From one darkened cabin he heard the unmistakable sounds of coupling and he reached over to shut the door.
It’s like those films of VE day or something, with people dancing in the streets and kissing strangers. They think it’s all over. For now, it is, but I’m married to a Marine and, no matter what my inclinations, I’m a Navy man.
For us...will it ever be over?
