2075 - Space Corps Central Command Office
The Council Chamber was an intimidating place.
It was a dark room that played host to its members alone, and no one else. Visitors were welcome to sit in the observational gallery above, but the room itself contained just thirteen chairs positioned around a large, oval-shaped mahogany table in the center of the floor.
Harlow had never felt welcome here. This space was meant for the old and the rich, and he was neither. Something about it was inherently uninviting—exclusionary by its very nature—with a latent hostility palpable in both its design and décor. He sensed it acutely, and he knew he didn’t belong.
But even so, he took his place at the head of that table, just as he’d done every Monday morning for the past forty-two weeks, and sat in the chief commander’s chair—an overly opulent piece of furniture he’d never liked. It was meant to resemble a throne, but these stylistic choices rendered it horribly uncomfortable, with a hard wooden seat and intricately carved legs elevating it a bit too high off the ground.
From this vantage point, he surveyed the Council. Today, every seat was occupied, and all twelve generals were in attendance.
When he first assumed this role, he’d been somewhat intimidated, and still held a lingering veneration for those he was tasked with supervising, fragile as it may have been. Now, though, as he stared at them, the only thing he felt was disgust.
He already knew the sort of news he’d receive, and the manner in which they’d tell him. He anticipated the condescending looks he’d get and the disrespect he’d be shown, which they didn’t even bother hiding anymore. He felt their contempt for those they believed to be beneath them, as well as their callous disregard for the war they were losing. He sensed their arrogance, and cowardice, and disloyalty before they even spoke a word.
They didn’t deserve their places here. They didn’t deserve the numerous chances they’d been given, or the grace they’d been shown many times over. But most importantly, he decided, they didn’t deserve a chief of staff who made an effort, while they returned absolutely none.
His musings were interrupted when Victor dragged a chair through the doorway and pushed it to the far corner of the room, just as he’d been instructed. He got a few odd looks, but none of them said anything, and as he took a seat with that pistol in full view, Harlow scrutinized those assembled there with a scowl.
It was time to call the meeting to order. However, the words simply wouldn’t come. Even polite formalities tasted like poison on his lips, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it. So he decided, on this particular day, that he wouldn’t. It was the wrong choice, he knew, but he had nothing left to give.
“Victor,” he said, turning toward the corner of the room, “call the meeting to order, and state the time and date for our records, please.”
Non-members weren’t afforded a place here, nor were they permitted to speak unless they’d been called to testify before the Council. They all turned around with expressions fully communicating their disdain for his presence, which was solely tolerated at the Chief Commander’s discretion.
Victor shifted uncomfortably. “It’s . . . Monday, August 26, 2075, 07:58.”
He paused, as if recalling words he’d heard many times before, but had never been asked to say. “Presiding director is David Harlow, Chief Commanding General of the Global Space Corps, operating as primary representative for all personnel, member states, collaborators, and subsidiaries.”
“Thank you,” Harlow said, turning to face the Council once more. “Proceed.”
None of them said a word. The air felt unnaturally still, and every sound, from the rustling of a piece of paper to the suppressed clearing of a throat, seemed amplified in the weighted silence that followed. They avoided his eyes, and seemed hesitant to move, or even breathe. They were waiting for him to speak, but he didn’t, and they remained that way until General Howard finally broke the silence.
“Are you . . . alright, Sir?” he asked in a hesitant tone.
Harlow sighed. “No, Howard—no, I’m not. But if I can drag myself down here in my current state and be present and attentive, then the rest of you can humor me with the dignity of a response, at the very least.”
He waited for a reply, but none came, and after a few more seconds, he sighed again. “Well, Howard, since you’re the only one who bothered speaking up, you can go first. How are things at the Academy?”
“Calmer than normal, Sir. Not much is different than last week. We’ve just finished up the summer term, which always seems to represent a lull in the chaos between spring and fall. It’s been a relatively uneventful time for us, which is better than can be said for most here, I think.”
Harlow nodded. “Thank you, Howard. It’s refreshing to hear good news, for a change.”
General Howard nodded back, and Harlow’s gaze shifted to the rest of the table.
“Who’s next?”
He was met by resounding silence.
“Fine. If no one volunteers, we’ll go around the room.” His eyes landed on the seat next to Howard’s. “General Everett, how’s Forty-Second Regional? I know we’ve had quite a few problems there, and in your last report, you said you were addressing them.”
Everett took a deep, nervous breath. “Well, Howard may have had good news, but unfortunately, I don’t. We’ve sustained more losses this week.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Harlow answered in an impassive tone. “How many?”
Everett hesitated, then shifted in his seat. “Three armored carriers, nine small transports, a scout vehicle, and sixty-three recon drones.”
“Sixty-three?” Harlow asked incredulously. “We just placed an order for several hundred more, but it sounds like that won’t be enough. Why is the loss rate so high?”
“It’s the same issue we’ve always had out there,” Everett replied. “Those aren’t combat-related losses; they’re theft. The locals know our routes, and they’ve been staking out our supply lines because they know we can’t defend them. We’re spread too thin. They’re shooting them down and disassembling them for parts.”
“We’ve dealt with scrappers before, but never like this. Why the sudden escalation? What changed?”
“The people themselves, for one,” Everett replied. “These used to be crimes of opportunity, but recently it’s resembled organized gang activity. Those attacks are becoming more frequent, and they’re getting more coordinated, too. We suspect some of the local warlords are behind it, and intel says they’ve likely got contacts on the inside. For every security measure we put in place, they always seem to find a way around it.”
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“Call them what they are,” General Gray said from his place at the far end of the table. “Those aren’t citizens, they’re pirates, and they need to be dealt with accordingly. Every single one of our supply depots needs a wide perimeter designated as a no-go zone, with violators being shot.”
“General Gray, I share your frustration, but we can’t condone firing indiscriminately on civilians,” Harlow said. “Until they’re designated as hostile entities, they’re entitled to due process, and there’s not much we can do aside from increasing our security.”
“That’s an issue I’ll be raising to Headquarters, then, because this is becoming unsustainable.”
“Just toss it on the pile of things they’ll never address,” General Conrad whispered under his breath.
“Conrad.” Harlow smiled. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Your report on Eastern Regional seems to have been delayed, and I never received it. Why is that?”
Conrad hesitated, then sat up straighter. “It was ready to go, Sir, but we’ve been dealing with a . . . problematic situation over the weekend. I didn’t want to deliver outdated information, so we’re in the process of revising it.”
“Deliver it to me right now, then,” Harlow said. “I’d like a summary of what happened, and next time, I need to be notified immediately.”
“Of course, Sir,” Conrad replied. “Please excuse the delay; we’re trying to relay these events as accurately as possible.”
“You mean you haven’t found a way to craft the narrative in your favor yet.”
Conrad moved as if to speak, but Harlow cut him off. “Tell me the truth, or I’ll go to someone else who will. But one way or another, I’m going to find out.”
Conrad paused, then gave a resigned nod. “EcoDome Outpost was attacked last Thursday, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Yes. I was led to believe that was a minor incident, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me otherwise”
“Yes, Sir. We’ve been on-site assessing the damage—I went there personally—and we’ve got a better idea of the scope of it now.”
“How many casualties?” Harlow asked.
“A few. There was substantial material damage, as well, but the facility itself—”
“General Conrad, that’s not what I asked for. How many servicemen were lost?”
Conrad hesitated. “Forty-seven,” he said quietly.
Harlow inhaled sharply. “The initial report said five.”
“It took us a while to get an accurate number.”
“How many are stationed there?” Harlow asked. “It’s around two hundred, isn’t it?”
“That’s correct.”
“And you lost nearly a quarter of them? In a single incident?”
Conrad’s reply was barely audible. “Yes, Sir.”
Harlow could scarcely mask the fury in his voice. “When were you planning on telling me? How long did you intend to suppress this information?”
Conrad shrugged. “It wasn’t deliberate, Sir. All personnel are under strict non-disclosure orders until the final report is complete.”
“Does that order extend to your chief?” Harlow asked. “You don’t think I deserve to be notified of initial findings?”
Conrad didn’t respond.
Harlow regarded him with a pointed stare, then took a deep breath. “How many injuries?”
“At least sixty. Most were treated on-site, but nineteen were serious enough to warrant evacuation.”
“Why wasn’t I briefed on this immediately?” Harlow asked. “Why am I learning the details on Monday morning, in the same meeting as everyone else?”
“We’ve been handling it internally, Sir. I didn’t want to burden you unnecessarily—not with how busy you’ve been.”
Harlow scowled. “We’ve got protocols in place for situations such as these, which you’ve apparently chosen to disregard. I can’t do my job if you don’t do yours. What’s next, am I going to have to read local news reports to find out what’s going on out there? Because that seems to be faster.”
Silence settled over the room once more, and General Conrad shook his head.
“Good,” Harlow replied. “Clear your schedule, because you can expect to be called up to my office for a meeting later today. We’ll discuss this incident in private, and you’d better be quite a bit more forthcoming, do you understand? No more withholding information.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Harlow let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s not an isolated outpost, either. There’s a refugee camp nearby, as well as several homesteads and the training center for prospective colonists. I know some civilians must’ve been caught in the crossfire.”
“I’m sure they were, but we don’t keep track of those numbers. It’s up to them to report their losses.”
There was a long pause as Harlow contemplated these words.
“So, what’s your plan?” he asked in a tone every bit as dead as those soldiers. “How are you going to proceed?”
Conrad shrugged. “EcoDome leadership is still reeling, as expected, and they anticipate future attacks, but we’ve got a solid foothold in the region. When repairs are complete, I was planning to dig in, hold the position, and keep supplying reinforcements. It’s just a few disjointed groups providing the bulk of the resistance now, and we can outlast them. Despite recent events, we’re optimistic about the prospect of long-term success.”
“That’s an incredibly vague proposition,” Harlow said. “How do you define ‘long-term’?”
There was no reply.
“Answer the question. What’s your timeline?”
“Until they surrender. I don’t anticipate it’ll take much longer.”
“Yes, but they’re always on the verge of surrender in your reports. I’d like to believe you—the best news I could ever receive is that a conclusive victory is just around the corner—but you’ve been saying that for over two years now. When will that day come, and how many more have to die in the process?”
“Not many, I hope. As I said, we’re confident it’ll be soon.”
“Is that so?” Harlow asked. “Because there’s a point at which we need to admit this isn’t working, and I’d say we’re long past it.”
“With all due respect, Sir, it seems to be working just fine. We’ve made significant territory gains in the past few months.”
“I don’t know how you can count anything as a gain, with those kinds of losses. The cost is too high. And there’s another aspect of this that concerns me, as well—are you not worried about desertion?”
“We’ve considered the possibility, and we’re not overly concerned,” Conrad said.
“Really?” Harlow asked. “Those EcoDome vacancies need to be filled immediately. How do you think their replacements will feel, knowing they’re stepping into the shoes of those who were slaughtered in a massacre? An event, by the way, which you’ve fully admitted is likely to happen again.”
“We addressed that topic in our meeting with regional command. Everyone was in agreement—the likelihood of mass desertion is very low. The area’s heavily guarded, and we control most access points.”
“That’s your argument? That it’s physically difficult to leave?” Harlow asked. “Because if morale is low enough, some of them might just be scared enough to try, consequences be damned. And where do you think they’ll go, if you’ve given them nowhere to run?”
This was a rhetorical question, and Conrad had no answer.
Harlow stared at him intently. “They won’t stay with the losing side—not when surrender’s more attractive. I’m no expert on the region, but I’ve read enough reports to know that those opposition groups may be tough survivalists, but beneath that coarse exterior, they’re smart. They treat their prisoners well, and even allow recruits to integrate into their communities if they’re willing to fight for them. It won’t be long before a few of ours figure that out. And then we’ll be putting down an insurgency that’s not only willing to fight to the death, but which is composed of our own former soldiers. They’ll know the layout of our bases, our delivery schedules, our security weaknesses, and all manner of classified information. All it would take is the defection of a single officer over the rank of captain to tip the scale in their favor.”
Conrad was silent at this, and Harlow sighed. “We’ve been throwing bodies and equipment at this problem for far too long. We need a better solution, or else we need to withdraw from the region entirely and focus our efforts elsewhere.”
General Petrov, a Russian man with a thick accent and a seemingly permanent scowl, clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “I don’t like it,” he said. “Nobody disputes that our current situation is reflective of poor discipline and tactics—” he shot a pointed glance at Conrad, “—but pulling out when we’re so close to our objective is unthinkable. You seem to forget, too, just how hard we fought for our current budget. If it’s revealed to be a waste, they’ll never approve it again. All of our objectives would suffer. We’re constantly justifying ourselves to Headquarters, and if we ended a campaign without achieving any of our stated goals, funding for the whole branch would be at risk. There’s got to be another way.”
Harlow shrugged. “Those are all excellent points. But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? We’ve had years to debate strategy, and you’ve all got entire teams working under you whose sole job is to answer those questions. You’re the experts, so I’m opening the floor to suggestions. Go ahead.”
He looked around the table, and was met by twelve silent stares.