3.28.
John stood under the shower, letting the hot water rush over him as the radio blared in the background.
“--still unpredictable. The controversial decision to fire upon Earth made by General Turnball remains under review. The general is expected to face a court martial for his decision, although those under his chain of command have been cleared. Their board of inquiries have determined that they were following a lawful order at the time that they relayed the General’s instructions. As the source of those orders, General Turnball faces a higher level of scrutiny. Whether the General will face consequences for his actions remain undetermined at this time.
“Taskforce Ragnarok remains elusively in the shadows, as attempts to identify the stalwart defenders of Earth who emerged in her hour of need continues. Of the Einherjar, we have only successfully identified one combatant. John Doe, the twelve year old Yonohoan child soldier who lives in Washington State. His legal guardian, Doctor Olivia Nunes, has given a statement requesting that the public respect John’s privacy at this time as he struggles to cope with the aftermath of his heroic defense of his adoptive planet.
“The last enemy holdout in Mesoamerica was successfully destroyed a few hours ago by the advanced infantry soldiers under the leadership of Eolai of the Yonohoah. Eolai issued a statement saying that he regrets the loss of life, and that he wished the negotiations with the enemy leader would have lead to a general surrender, as has happened elsewhere across the globe.
“The trial for the war crimes committed by the enemy soldiers in St. Petersburg is scheduled for …”
John stepped out of the shower and began drying himself.
He was famous.
He didn’t want to be.
But he was.
“Eighty-seven,” he said to himself. He had taken eighty-seven lives in the defense of Earth. He looked down at his hands.
They were steady.
He felt no regret.
No, that wasn’t true. He regretted the way that Olivia looked at him when he’d told her what he’d done. He regretted the fear that he heard in Emily’s voice when he’d called her the day after the combat ended to make certain she was safe.
He was a hero.
But he was frightening, because of the things that he could do.
He sighed, brushed his teeth, and returned to his room to dress.
Despite Olivia’s request for privacy, there was a media presence outside the house when he left. He ignored the questions as he got into the car that was waiting for him.
Emily smiled at him eagerly as he took his seat next to her. Peter tipped his hat at them and drove off.
“So are you ready for school?” she asked.
“If I wasn’t you’d still be waiting for me,” he said.
“You know what I mean. Are you looking forward to it?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Although I’m also afraid that everyone is going to be afraid of me.”
“It’ll be fine. We staged a walkout because of you, you know? Everyone thinks that you’re a hero and that heroes deserve to go to a real school, not be stuck at home with a stupid tutor,” Emily said.
“I appreciate the protest on my behalf,” John said. “I’m surprised it worked.”
“When the news got out that one of the heroes of Earth was being discriminated against because of the abilities he’d used to defend the planet, the school caved immediately,” she said.
“They’re not worried that I’ll use my abilities on campus?” he asked.
“They’re terrified, but fuck them,” Emily said. “ I know that you won’t hurt any of my friends, and that’s what I told everyone when we arranged the walkout.”
“I’ve killed almost a hundred people, Emily,” John said.
“I know. You did what you had to do,” She answered. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” John said. And they rode the rest of the way to school in silence
~~~~~~~
Major Mary Phillips stood across from the enemy soldier. He was wearing a paper-gown. She tasted oranges and her fillings tingled with the sensation of the suppression field that were keeping the technology implanted in his body from working. A small PHDA between them was translating for them.
The interrogators had been questioning him for hours before they’d heard something interesting and called for a supervisor. Mary was a little nervous to be in the room with someone so dangerous, but she needed to confirm the intelligence herself.
“Exactly what proof do you have to back up your claims?” she demanded.
“Proof? None. But it is the truth. The war was orchestrated not by the emperor. His thirteenth son. He is the one. Soon will be coup. Maybe already happen,” the translator chirped after the man finished speaking.
“You’re certain?” she asked.
“Yes. But it is speculation. I know some things and suspect some things, but I am on periphery of the conspiracy. Not trusted with all details. My job agitator. That’s why St. Petersburg. No joy in that, but orders were orders.”
“Yeah, you were just following orders. I understand,” she said, a smile on her face. “Let’s go into those orders in detail, shall we? And please detail exactly what steps you took in following them.”
“Of course. I am pleased you understand. I took no joy in ordering those executions,” the soldier said.
“Don’t worry. We have legal precedent for this sort of situation. We know exactly how to deal with you.”
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“That is a great relief,” the soldier said. “I will cooperate with your justice system however I can.”
“Excellent,” Mary said. “I need to know everything you can tell me about this conspiracy.”
~~~~~~
Lisa Desmond sat at the table with sixteen captains. She gauged each of them in turn and determined to get straight to it.
“I will give you each ten thousand Acklatic credits for every six months of service that you give me,” she informed them. “I wish for you to raid Rosantean space. Engage their military, strike at them economically, whatever you can do to cause disorder.”
The captains exchanged looks. “We have no issues with this, no. But we will not bomb cities or kill civilians. Intentionally, at least.”
“That’s fine. I understand. You’re privateers,” she agreed. “I expect you to act like it.”
“Ten thousand for six months? Yes, that is good,” another captain said. “But perhaps a bounty would be better?”
She nodded. From her purse, she pulled a magazine. “This is premium entertainment literature from Earth. For every Rosantean vessel you destroy, I will give you one such magazine,” she promised.
The captain’s eyebrows rose. One by one they took turns examining the Playboy, and in the end they all agreed to her generous terms.
An hour later, the Defiant was on its way to another center of scum and villainy, while the captains headed off for Rosantean space to pillage.
It was a most profitable arrangement for everyone involved.
Except for the Rosanteans, of course.
~~~~~~
Nierlha stood over the corpse of his father. He smiled. Patricide agreed with him. The old fool had been, well, a fool, and the empire was in much better hands now that Nierlha would be tending the helm.
He did regret the deaths of two of his older siblings. But that was the price of politics.
He ordered one of the soldiers in the room to take care of the body, then he went to sit in his father’s chair. He collected himself, considered the course of actions which had led him to this.
He had sent out a scout to locate the Darkworld known as Earth.
He had sent out an agitator to fabricate casus belli.
When that hadn’t worked as well as he’d hoped, he’d sent another agitator to bombard the planet itself. That, at last, had gotten the attentions of the Yonohoans.
He smiled. The Yonohoans were so stiff and formal despite their public presentations of playfulness. Of course they’d go to war over a Darkworld.
And of course they’d win it, too. That was an important consideration to make. Nierlha hadn’t expected to win the war that he’d provoked; in fact, every loss that his father and his generals experienced had only added to the narrative justifying his takeover of the empire.
And now it was done.
“Contact the Yonohoan senate,” he instructed the room’s AI. It chirped with acknowledgment of the command.
He waited.
And waited.
“What is taking so long?” he asked
“They are debating another matter. We are on hold,” the AI informed him.
Nierlha frowned in displeasure. “Did you convey that it is important?”
“Yes, your imperial highness,” the AI answered. “They placed us sixth in line.”
“Call their idiotic answering service back and tell them that the new emperor wishes to discuss terms of peace!” he bellowed.
The computer chirped that it was complying.
Ten minutes later, the familiar image of Senator Osantos appeared. Nierlha frowned. He’d been expecting to be addressing the entire senate.
“Nierlha. So. How does it feel to be a regicide, a fratricide, and a patricide all in the same day?” Osantos asked cheerfully.
“I took no pleasure in the steps that must be taken to ensure the survival of my people, Senator,” Nierlha answered. “My father would not see reason when I begged him to sue for peace. My brothers and sisters were behind his every misstep. Though it pains my heart, I must look past the bonds of family in order to ensure the future of my Empire.”
“Right,” Osantos said. “So now you want to talk peace, is that right?”
“There is no profit in a war between us. We will withdraw entirely from the battlefield. We will offer reparations to both planet Totola and planet Earth for the damage incurred by my expansionist predecessor. And we will--”
“Your terms are rejected,” Osantos said, interrupting him. “Have a nice day.”
The connection cut out.
Nierlha frowned at the empty air for a moment where the senator’s hologram had just been. “Call them back!” he shouted.
The computer began to comply, then all the technology in the building abruptly died as the imperial capital was struck by a kirata beam, fired from stealth, by the Tumbaruna Toko. The Yonohoan ship, purring in the darkness, fired upon the defenders that were all around it for a few moments before they could respond to the sudden attack, then vanished back into the slipstream.
Nierlha sat in the darkness of his father’s office and looked around in confusion. Six of the soldiers in the room abruptly fell over, killed when the wetware in their heads short circuited. He wondered how he was going to get out of the room now that the servos that opened the doors would no longer function. Without the decorative holograms, the stark walls were unfamiliar.
He had might as well be in a peasant’s apartment, he realized. Why weren’t there any paintings or sculptures? Why was all of the beauty of the office stripped away the moment the power failed?
Outside, the city reeled in the aftermath of the kirata beam’s devastation. In a society where every convenience was solved by technology, many were lost on what to do when the vehicles fell from the sky and the vending machines stopped producing their food. Thousands would die.
The Yonohoan government would remain unremorseful for the actions of the Toko , going so far as to explicitly state that they had been involved in the planning of the attack. By interstellar law, the enemy capitol city was a legitimate military target once open war had been declared. This was not a surprised attack on an unsuspecting foe; the Yonohoans were within their rights. The use of a kirata beam instead of a plasma lance was a measure of restraint.
For that matter, the Toko might have cracked the planet, killing billions. Others had done it before under less pretense than the Yonohoans had for their actions.
The Rosanteans had started this war.
The rest of the universe would watch as the Yonohoans, and the Earthlings, saw it through to the end.