A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons (23 page)

“It would have been easy for you to save her life.  You could have warned her, or gone to the police, or even threatened your father and uncle to keep them from harming her.  And yet you not only watched her die, but participated in the murder.”

There was another torrent of swearing from the defendants.  The bailiffs stepped forward and half-marched, half-carried them towards the door.  Martin watched them go, feeling nothing but cold hatred in his heart.  Men like them had played a large role in wrecking the ghettos, aided and abetted by outsiders who had honestly thought they had been doing his people a favour.  But really, who were his people now?  He glanced down at his dark-skinned hand and thought, coldly, just how easy it would be to be white.  Or yellow.  Or a whole stream of colours that simply didn't occur in nature. 

And, in doing so, prove there was no
point
in colour-racism.

“The courtroom is now open,” the Judge said.  “In line with the Fair Trials Act, all evidence gathered by the police will be placed online for public study.  The sentence itself will be carried out one week from today, unless strong grounds arise for questioning the evidence.”

Martin watched a handful of men – reporters, he guessed – race for the door, then followed them at a more sedate pace.  Most of the audience seemed pleased at the result, although some of them seemed to think a stronger punishment was in order.  Martin found himself rolling his eyes at the suggestions – including impalement and castration – before remembering some of the gangbangers in the ghetto.  Horrific punishments had been their
thing
, both to keep people cowed and to indulge their sadistic tastes.  But eventually the latter became more important than the former.

It was nearly an hour before Yolanda joined him, looking paler than ever.  “I had to review the records,” she said, as she clasped his arm.  It was so intimate a gesture that he almost pulled away in shock.  “They did more than just murder the young man.”

“I wish I was surprised,” Martin said.  He wanted to ask which way she’d voted – and for what – but he had a feeling she wouldn't want to answer.  “People like that thrive on terror – and terrorising people.  It keeps everyone weak and scared, so weak and scared they don’t realise they’re in the majority.”

Yolanda stopped and looked up at him.  “That was profound,” she said. “Have you been reading?”

“Thank you,” Martin said.  “Lieutenant Robbins gave me a reading list to go through in my spare time.  I didn't know I
had
spare time, but apparently I was meant to cut some of my time elsewhere.”

They shared a grin.  Spare time was always hard to come by on
Freedom
, even when the starship was in FTL.  There was never any shortage of things to do.

“I didn't understand this asteroid at first,” Martin continued.  “But I think I do now.  It’s a filter for those who can't or won’t become good citizens.  Those murdering bastards could have stayed here indefinitely, safe from whatever they were fleeing and yet taking no part in the rest of the Solar Union, if they hadn't killed their daughter.  Their mere presence would have helped urge their daughter to make something more of herself.”

“Sickening,” Yolanda said.  “Why did they even come here if they knew they would have to play by the rules?”

“They probably thought the rules didn't apply to them,” Martin said, shortly.  “Or that they enjoyed exemption from some of the rules, based on race or sex or religion or ...”

He shook his head.  “And then they committed a crime and now they’re going to die,” he added.  “Better that than demonising an entire race or religion.”

“I voted to kill them,” Yolanda said.  “They were evil bastards.  There’s no doubt about their crimes.  They willingly murdered two people for falling in love.  They deserve death.  So why do I feel guilty?”

Martin shrugged.  “You’re a decent person?”

“I voted to kill them,” Yolanda repeated.

“Some people can't be saved,” Martin said.  He felt pity – but only for Yolanda.  “Some people are raised to think they can do anything, but I don’t think those bastards were.  I think they knew they were doing something wrong and they did it anyway.  So fuck them!”

Yolanda shook her head, sadly.  “There are supposed to be four days of shore leave left,” she said.  “I think we should go somewhere.”

Martin smiled.  “I can ask the Major,” he said.  “But we’re meant to be within airlock range of
Freedom
.”

“Blast,” Yolanda said.

“We could always find a hotel,” Martin said.  He reviewed the duty roster quickly.  He’d been told to stay close to the ship, but not too close.  “There are several on the asteroid that are better than the sleeping caves.”

“Yeah,” Yolanda said.  “A chance to sleep in ... I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Martin said.  “Me too.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

A mother is in jail tonight in Boston, USA, after shooting two criminals who attempted to break into her house.  The third – surviving - criminal stated, upon his arrest, that the homeowner did not call a challenge, even though they had broken through the window and were ransacking her kitchen.  In a statement before the media, the Governor warned that private individuals taking the law into their own hands could not be tolerated
.

-Solar News Network, Year 53

“If we had any doubt about their intentions,” Kevin finished, “it has gone now.”

He sat back and took a breath.  The Special Security Council had scrutinised the data with gimlet eyes, asking question after question when they didn't understand something.  On one hand, Kevin appreciated being asked smart questions; on the other hand, they sometimes went over the same material time and time again.  It was more than a little frustrating.

But then, everything is riding on the decision to go to war
, he thought. 
Give them time to study the intelligence properly.

“So it would seem,” President Ross concluded.

Bute leaned forward.  “Are we sure we jumped a Tokomak ship?”  He asked.  “For the masters of the universe, that ship sure fell easily.  Did we attack another race of scavengers by accident?”

Mongo cleared his throat, loudly.  “The alien captives are definitely Tokomak,” he said.  “The Galactics have no way to change their species, certainly not without leaving traces behind.  As for the poorly-maintained ship ...”

He sighed.  “The British Empire had the same problem before Admiral Fisher and the First World War,” he explained.  “There was no creditable threat to British naval dominance, so the Brits became more obsessed with polishing the ships until they gleamed rather than preparing for war.  Captains were promoted for keeping their ships looking good when the Admirals visited, while gunnery practice went by the wayside.  Officers were expected to wear perfect uniforms rather than crawl through the tunnels to inspect the ship’s condition for themselves.

“Their dominance had become something granted to them by right, rather than something they’d worked to earn and keep.  It was, they thought, the natural way of things, because the last time they’d faced a real opponent was during the War of 1812.  The USN had similar problems before the Horde visited Earth, in many ways.  No one really paid any attention to the Chinese plans to build hundreds of long-range antiship missiles until it was almost too late.

“And, in this case, some of the Tokomak Admirals are actually thousands of years old,” he added, dryly.  “I don’t think the Brits ever had someone older than seventy or so commanding a battlefleet.  The Tokomak Admirals will have had far longer to forget what’s actually important in a military.”

“So you feel they pose far less of a threat than we had thought,” Ross said.

“If we had the same number of starships,” Mongo said, “we would wipe them out in an afternoon.  It would be nothing more than a victory parade from here to Tokomak, smashing their ships like cardboard as we advanced.  I’d say we could still beat them even if we had only a tenth of their numbers.  But we don’t.  We’re quite badly outgunned even with our tech advances.”

“We could share what we’ve learned with the Coalition,” Ross said.  “Invite them to join us in open war.”

“Most races would probably balk without evidence the Tokomak could be beaten,” Bute pointed out.  “The Tokomak
do
have a lot of ships and they know where to find the Coalition homeworlds.”

“They know where to find us too,” Marie countered.  “They’ve known about us for centuries, Councillor; they just haven’t cared.  Or do we have hidden colonies the rest of us aren’t meant to know about?”

“You’re not meant to know about them,” Kevin said, although it was an open secret.  Quite a few asteroids had crammed a miniature tech base into their habitats, then used fusion drives to punch their way out of the solar system.  It was quite tempting to think that, if the Tokomak won, one day one of those asteroids would rebuild human civilisation and come back for revenge.  “However, all of those colonies are merely lights tossed into the darkness.”

“Which leaves us with the problem of needing a victory, both to convince them to leave us alone and to get the Coalition to support us,” Ross said.  “Or are there ways we could approach the Varnar?”

“We can certainly
try
,” Kevin said.  “There have to be quite a few Varnar who know they’re being used, but don’t know how to deal with it.  I don’t think there's anything particularly subtle in the proxy war.  And the Varnar have definitely learned a few lessons from four hundred years of fighting.”

“How true,” Mongo agreed.  “
They
wouldn't have let their guard down if they were patrolling a seemingly unoccupied system.”

“The Varnar have strong ties to the galactic economy,” Bute said.  “They would have strong reasons to support the Tokomak in any case.”

The President held up a hand.  “Based on what we now know,” he said, “do you have a plan?”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Mongo said.

He activated the holographic display.  A handful of stars appeared, blinking red.

“The Tokomak plan is to secure these stars and turn them into naval bases, then strike directly for Earth,” he said.  “It looks as if someone with more theoretical knowledge than experience came up with the plan, because the simplest way to achieve their objectives would be to charge straight towards Earth as soon as their battleships assemble at Varnar.  To a layman, the plan blocks the Coalition from either helping us or continuing their war with the Varnar; to a spacer, the naval bases can simply be ignored.  I suspect, however, that the Tokomak CO will be unable to change the plan, even if she realises how flawed it actually is.

“My intention is to raid those bases as soon as the advance elements arrive,” he continued.  “Their obsession with logistics puts
America
in the shade; they’re sending hundreds of freighters as part of their fleet train, with millions of tons of supplies.  Capturing or destroying those supplies will put a real crimp in their operations.  Worse, they will have to retake those stars as quickly as possible or they’ll look weak in the eyes of the galaxy.”

“Or launch a thunderbolt towards Earth,” Bute commented, sourly.

“It’s one of our contingency plans,” Mongo assured him.  “We will meet their fleet in interstellar space and destroy it.  They won’t know what has hit them until it is far too late.”

Ross frowned.  “Are you sure this is workable?”

“I think we have no alternative,” Mongo said.  “They will either secure their naval bases and then advance, or – as the Councillor suggested – throw caution to the winds and advance anyway.  The latter would definitely be the better option for them.”

“I will be setting up a new intelligence base on Varnar and bringing in some of the resident assets,” Kevin added.  “We’ll know when their main fleet arrives and is ready for deployment.”

And see if we can rope Mr. Ando into helping us
, he thought. 
He clearly isn't backing the Tokomak.

“Very well,” Ross said.  “How long would it take us to prepare?”

“Call up the reserves, prep the fleet, recall the merchant skippers ... around three to four months,” Mongo said.  “The downside is that we would take an economic hit.”

Kevin groaned, inwardly.  The Solar Union had produced a class of small light freighters that could, with a little work, be converted into small warships.  There were literally thousands of them plying the spaceways now, bringing human trade goods to the Galactics and obtaining samples of alien technology in return.  But Mongo was right; if the crews and their ships were called home, as part of the Naval Reserve, the human race would suffer an economic downturn.  Israel had suffered the same problem until the Middle East had collapsed into an orgy of bloodletting and mutual slaughter.

“We could take it,” Marie said.  “Most of our economy is not dependent on trade with the Galactics.”

“True, but there would be headaches,” Mongo said.  “Thankfully, we’re not dependent on the Galactics for anything other than intelligence.”

“All of which leads us to a very different question,” Ross said.  “We have bent the rules almost to breaking point in keeping this a secret from the general population.  Can we do that any longer?”

Mongo took a breath.  “The moment we start debating the question of war,” he said, “we run the risk of alerting the Galactics.  There are no shortage of traders in the Sol System who will happily sell information to outsiders, particularly as we will no longer be trading with them.  I would honestly prefer to keep it a secret as long as we could.”

“But the news will leak,” Marie countered, tartly.  “The Naval Reserves being called up cannot be concealed, nor can the sudden shortage of freighters.  A blogger or two will put it together soon enough, Admiral, and we cannot silence them all.”

She was right, Kevin knew.  The CIA had been able to wield
some
influence over the Mainstream Media on Earth – although sometimes the media had published anyway, often costing lives or valuable intelligence sources – but the Solar Union had no such power.  Outside of libel or slander, there were no restrictions on press freedom in the Solar Union; hell, he was mildly surprised someone hadn't put it together already.  Or maybe they had and they were just keeping their mouths shut.  It wouldn't have happened on Earth, of course, but the Solar Union produced a more responsible species of journalist. 

Because they can be sued if they lie or misrepresent the truth
, he thought. 
And because reporters can genuinely be held to account
.

But they couldn't be here, he knew, because they
would
be reporting the truth.  And the Solar Union was designed to avoid government secrecy, after all.

“So we put the issue before Congress,” the President said.  “And call for a general vote.”

Bute coughed.  “There will be quite a few willing to speak against war,” he said.  “Do you really want to take the risk they’d vote
no
?”

“There’s no choice,” the President said, sharply.  “Launching an attack on a single cruiser is pushing my powers to the limit.  Going on the offensive when the enemy isn't in the Solar System is well beyond them.  Captains and crews will balk, Senator, and that will prove disastrous.”

He took a breath.  “Unless anyone has any strong objections,” he said, “I will call for a joint meeting of Congress and the Senate two days from now.”

“Make it three days,” Marie advised.  “You’ll get the kids out of schooling for a day.”

“Kids can't vote,” Bute pointed out, sharply.

The President scowled at them both, then turned his attention to Mongo.  “Admiral, I want a précis of the situation,” he said.  “We won’t discuss the plan openly – everyone will understand that, I think – but we do need to convince them that the situation is dire enough to start a war.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Mongo said.

Kevin understood the President’s doubts.  Even for the Solar Union’s population, used to starships and asteroid settlements and the bounty of alien technology, it was hard to comprehend the sheer crushing power of the Tokomak, of a race that could soak up thousands of losses and just keep coming.  Were they even imaginative enough to be scared?  There was no way to know.

But their plan does show a certain level of imagination
, he thought. 
Crude and flawed, but imaginative.

He shook his head.  The Solar Union maintained a faith in its politicians that had long since faded from Earth, if only because no politician lasted long enough to go bad.  Or so they hoped ... would that faith survive, Kevin asked himself, the coming war?  America had never really recovered after Nixon, or Carter, or Clinton.  Bush and Obama had been either antichrists or messiahs, depending on who was asked.  And the Presidents that had followed Obama had been dependent on a tottering political structure unable to adapt to the post-Contact world.