"I figured as much," said Wit. "It wasn't like Bog to disobey an order."
"The villagers said Bog would have taken down all the Remeseh if not for the chapel. The woman was inside. When the Remeseh set it on fire and padlocked the door, Bog went for it. He tried to give himself enough cover to reach the door, but it was a trap. They had three snipers waiting. They burned the church, not to kill the people inside but to flush Bog out." Averbach shook his head. "I should have been with him. I could have taken the snipers."
"I sent you south," said Wit. "You obeyed orders. That's what you should have done."
They flew south, but saw little through the jungle canopy. After an hour of searching they headed back to Pakuli and delivered Bogdanovich's body to the medical team who would prepare it for shipment back to Russia.
Another one lost, thought Wit. That was four in Indonesia. Four too many.
He had hoped that the Indians would join in the fight. He could use the PCs; they were excellent trackers. But the Indians were being skittish. The PCs were willing, but the powers that be didn't want to commit troops.
I need more men, thought Wit. I should have taken that Maori bastard, Mazer Rackham. I could use him about now.
He sent a squad up into the jungle south of Toro village, but he didn't expect them to find much. The Remeseh were long gone by now--they had likely been long gone before Wit had even reached the village.
He returned to his tent and set up his terminal. Calinga had collected all the video he had taken at the village and sent it to Wit's inbox. Wit reviewed the footage along with his own and edited a three-minute piece that showed the horror and suffering in Toro. He didn't censor himself. He showed everything. The bodies. The mourning. The ashes. He added no music. He didn't need to sensationalize it. The raw video would speak for itself. He titled the file "Victims of the Remeseh," then added the date and location. He then uploaded it to the nets and waited. The following morning several news organizations had picked up the video, though even these had buried it.
The story getting the most attention on the nets was an unexplained interference of space communications. Scientists on Earth and Luna said it was an increase in cosmic radiation, although no one could determine a source. In fact, the interference seemed to be coming from all directions at once, raising background noise to a shout and making it impossible to communicate in space. A reputable astronomer was doing the rounds on the talk-show circuit prattling on about unexplained gamma bursts, but he offered up no explanation. Many commercial and passenger flights to and from Luna were temporarily suspended, and representatives from the space-mining industry were making official statements to the press, assuring the families of corporate miners that the companies were doing all they could to ensure the safety of their employees and to determine the source of the problem.
Wit's first thought was terrorists. It was a brilliant way to cripple commerce and devastate the economy, particularly in those countries that had become so dependent on the space trade. But he eventually dismissed this idea. He couldn't imagine a terrorist group with enough scientific talent and resources to construct a device powerful enough to pull off this level of interference, to say nothing of getting the thing in space.
What's more, the inference was gradually getting louder: The background noise was increasing in volume, suggesting that the device in space was either increasing in power, or whatever was causing it was getting closer to Earth.
A news site had a related headline stating: NUTTY NETTERS PEG INTERFERENCE ON ALIENS.
Wit selected the link and read the article. The reporter was having a laugh at the hundred or so vids that had popped up on the nets recently, claiming that the interference was caused by aliens. Wit followed the links and watched a number of the vids. Many were talking heads: mostly conspiracy theorists rattling off quasi-science and making vague references to government cover-ups. (Nutty indeed.) Others were quite entertaining. They ranged from the ridiculous to the comical to the sadly pathetic. Poems, songs, even a puppet show, which Wit couldn't help but laugh at. Most of them had zero production value, but several had been made using every device of movie magic to create creatures and environments so lifelike and so believable that Wit had to watch them two or three times to find the imperfections that disproved their authenticity.
The comments for most of the vids were what he would expect. Hate, mockery, cruel personal attacks. But occasionally, particularly on those vids that had re-created aliens with striking realism, the comments were more congratulatory: Well done! Looked real. You almost had me. Peed my pants!
Wit knew the vids were fake. But he couldn't help but wonder: What if the radio interference is aliens? What if the conspiracy theorists were right? What if an alien army was approaching Earth at this very moment? It was a far-fetched idea, yes, but it was possible. And if it were true, his troops would be completely unprepared. He couldn't allow that. He had to train them for such a contingency. They would scoff, yes, laugh at him even, but he had his duty. And yet, how do you train soldiers for an enemy you don't understand? How do you prepare them for a completely unpredictable situation? Would the aliens be hostile? There was no way to tell for certain until it was too late. No, the only training I can give my men is to analyze before they act in a strange situation, and to presume hostile intent in all cases.
The following morning, Wit gathered all of the MOPs in Indonesia. Many were in the camp in Sulawesi and joined him in the mess hall. The others stationed in nearby villages or in New Guinea joined him via holo.
Wit stood in the holospace facing them. "I have some vids I want you to see," he said. He played them a few of the alien vids from the nets. Their reaction was not unlike the comments online. They laughed. They scoffed. They mocked. They applauded and whistled at the realistic endeavors.
"Hey Deen, is that your girlfriend?" someone shouted when a particularly nasty alien roared on-screen.
"Couldn't be Deen's girl," someone else shouted, "she's much uglier."
More laughter.
"I'm surrounded by comic geniuses," Deen deadpanned.
When the vids finished, Wit stepped back into the holospace.
"What gives, Captain?" Lobo asked. "We gearing up for some aliens?"
"Maybe," said Wit.
The room laughed, but when Wit's expression stayed flat, the laughter quickly died and a confused awkwardness took its place.
"You can't be serious, Cap," said Deen. "I've seen a hundred of those vids. They're all bogus."
"Is that what you do with your free time, Deen?" said Chi-won.
"Hey, what is this? Pick on Deen Day?" said Deen.
"Seriously, Captain," said Mabuzza. "Haven't we been seeing alien invasions since, like, the nineteen hundreds?"
"But that doesn't mean it won't happen," said Wit, "and that it won't be terrible when it does." He paused and scanned the crowd. "Situation. A hundred aliens drop into this camp and start killing everyone. What do you do?"
There was a silence, then someone said, "Run like hell."
The men chuckled.
"All right," said Wit. "New situation. A hundred Remeseh charge into camp and begin killing everyone. What do you do?"
"Send them to hell," said Deen, to another round of laughter.
Wit smiled. "I'm glad to see we have a plan for the Remeseh." He paused again, then in a louder voice asked, "What do we train for?"
The man answered in unison. "Every contingency!"
Wit doubled his volume. "What do we train for?"
"EVERY CONTINGENCY!"
"A contingency is a possible event that cannot be predicted with certainty," said Wit. "And we cannot with one hundred percent certainty dismiss the validity of this idea. Is it likely? No. It is possible? Yes. Is it absurd? You may think so, but I would rather be trained for the absurd than dead."
The men said nothing. He had their attention.
"Which militaries in the world are preparing for such an event?" asked Wit. "Answe
r: none. Which militaries are prepared for tech weapons far beyond our own? Answer: none. Which militaries would be caught with their pants down and completely unprepared for this? Answer: all of them. But not us. What do we train for?"
"EVERY CONTINGENCY!"
"So how do we prepare?" asked Wit.
They answered him with silence.
"You analyze before you act," said Wit. "You have no idea what you're up against. Your previous training and tactics may get you killed the instant you attempt them. You can't assume this enemy will think or fight or react like a human. A terrified human will flee. A terrified pit bull will jump for your jugular. How will an alien respond to fear? Does it experience fear at all? Analyze before you act. Take note of everything. Their movement, weapons, group behavior, anatomy, reactions to the environment, speed, equipment. Even the smallest detail is valuable new intelligence. Analyze before you act." A few of the men were nodding. "And in all cases," said Wit, "without exception, you always presume hostile intent. You must presume they want to kill you. That doesn't mean you shoot first, it just means you never, never, never trust. And when they do show hostility, you do not hesitate to take them down."
He looked at each of the men in turn. "Situation. A hundred aliens drop into camp. What do we do? Deen?"
"Analyze before we act, sir. Presume hostile intent."
"Correct. And what do we do if they prove to be hostile?"
"We send them to hell, sir."
"You bet your ass," said Wit.
CHAPTER 23
Kleopatra
The beeping alert on Lem's desk woke him, and he peeled himself out of his hammock. He drifted to the desk and waved his hand through the holospace. Chubs's head appeared. "The Formics are approaching Kleopatra," said Chubs.
"Have they vented?" asked Lem.
"No. They're decelerating. Fast. We did some additional, long-range scans to see why. It looks like a mass of ships has congregated at Kleopatra and positioned themselves directly in the Formics' path. They've essentially built a blockade."
"How many ships?"
"Twenty-four by our last count. Data from the sky scanner continues to come in, so we may have some more ships pop up as we get closer. We're still quite a distance behind the Formic ship, but we were closing the gap with the Formics decelerating. I went ahead and ordered the flight crew to match their deceleration and maintain our distance until you could get up here."
"I'm on my way."
Lem threw on his uniform and made his way to the helm. He was still buttoning his jacket when he arrived and met Chubs at the holospace. The systems chart had been replaced with a rendering of all the ships positioned in space forming the blockade. There was a bit of distance between each ship, but together they made a giant wall between the Formic ship and Earth.
"Who are they?" asked Lem.
"Corporates and free miners," said Chubs. "We can tell from their shape and design that there are ships from Juke Limited, WU-HU, MineTek, and several clans of free miners."
"Then people know about the Formics," said Lem. "Does everyone know? Does Earth know?"
"Impossible to say," said Chubs. "But I highly doubt it. We're still way too far away for the Formic ship to show up on Earth scopes. The ship's too small and too dim. The only way Earth could know the ship exists is if someone out here told them. And the interference here is as thick as ever. These ships forming the blockade can't communicate with Earth any more than we can. Just because they know doesn't mean anyone else knows. Plus notice that they're all mining ships. No military ships among them. These aren't ships sent from Earth. They were already out here. My guess is, one of them saw the Formic ship on their sky scanner and alerted the other ships in the immediate vicinity. Transmissions within a few hundred kilometers get through fine, and this is a main flight path. So there's going to be traffic. Plus the interference would cause ships to cluster together anyway to try to figure out what was going on."
"When will the Formics reach them?"
"Within a few hours."
"Those ships have no idea what the Formics are capable of. They'll try to communicate with them like the Italians did. We've got to tell them what we know."
"We can't, Lem. We'd have to get close enough to reach them on the radio. That would put us within range of the Formics' weapons. There's likely to be a battle, and we would be thrown into the middle of it."
"We can't sit back and let them die, Chubs. Some of those ships are our own people."
Chubs lowered his voice. "May I speak to you in private, Lem?"
Lem was surprised by the question but he obliged. They moved into the conference room adjacent to the helm, and Chubs closed the door behind them.
"We can't lose sight of our mission, Lem. We've got intel to get to Earth."
"We're not losing sight of anything," said Lem. "We're saving people's lives. We don't have to join in the fight. We don't even have to slow down. We fly in fast and transmit a message to the ships as we pass. We tell them to flee. We send them everything we know, and we get out. We've been waiting for the Formics to decelerate so we can pass them and beat them to Earth. This is our chance."
"It's too dangerous, Lem. We can't go anywhere near the Formic ship. It's set to vent at any moment. If we're even remotely close to it when it does, we're ashes. Consider another alternative. We change course now. We get off the ecliptic and move up in a tall parabola, going high over the Formic ship while it's stopped. Then we come back down toward Luna. That way, even if the ship vents, we're too far away to suffer any damage."
"Then everyone on those ships will die," said Lem. "They'll stay and fight and they'll die. Plus we would lose valuable time taking a circuitous route. Look, I've heard your counsel. I appreciate it. I acknowledge that what I'm proposing is a risk. But I'm making the call here. We're not ditching anyone else to save our own necks. I've done that too many damn times already. We're staying the course." He wiped his hand through the holospace over the conference table in a particular sequence, and the navigator's head appeared. "Accelerate back to our previous speed," said Lem.
"Yes, sir." The navigator looked to his left as he reached for his controls.
"Hold that order," said Chubs.
The navigator stopped moving. Lem was shocked. Chubs had just challenged Lem's authority in front of a member of the crew. The navigator didn't move. He was either so stunned by Chubs's insubordination that he was too shocked to fulfill Lem's orders, or he was actually following Chubs's orders over Lem's.
Chubs waved his hand through the holospace, and the navigator disappeared. "You can't do this, Lem."
"I am the captain of this ship. Don't tell me what I can and can't do."
"You don't understand, Lem. I can't let you do this."
Chubs's expression was calm and his tone polite, but the implication was clear. He was claiming to have more authority. He was completely undermining Lem's position as captain. It was total insubordination, if not outright mutiny. Lem opened the door and waved two crewmen inside. When they entered, he gestured to Chubs. "This man is removed from office. He is to be confined to quarters for the reminder of this flight. I want him off this helm."
The two crewmen looked sheepish and didn't move.
"Is there something unclear about those orders?" said Lem. "Place this man under house arrest."
There was an awkward silence. The two crewmen glanced at one another and then looked at Chubs, as if waiting for him to give them orders.
Lem suddenly understood. He wasn't actually the person in charge. He had never been in charge. Not for one minute of the expedition. Chubs was the real captain. And everyone knew it but Lem.
"You don't actually have the authority to remove me, Lem," Chubs said kindly. "Your father was afraid that we might get in a tough situation, and he gave me the authority to override any decision that might put you in physical danger. And in my judgment, what you're proposing puts you in danger, so we won't do it."
His tone w
as polite but final.
Lem turned to the two crewmen, who averted their eyes, embarrassed.
Lem laughed inside. This whole trip had been a charade. His entire assignment: serving as captain, overseeing the field tests, safeguarding the glaser. It was all one of Father's games. Father hadn't given him any authority. Father hadn't trusted him. He had merely allowed Lem to foolishly play pretend. All because Father didn't think Lem intelligent enough to make his own decisions and command his own destiny.
"I've been in danger this whole trip," said Lem. "That never stopped you before."
"You were never in danger during the bump," said Chubs. "And Weigh Station Four caught me off guard. I made a mistake by agreeing to join El Cavador. Had I known then what we know now, I never would have allowed it. Your father will have my head for that. I'm not making that mistake again."
Lem smiled. "Well, I appreciate now knowing the real situation."
"We'll take the parabola route," said Chubs. "And we will issue these orders in your name, so that no one will know that there's been any interference in your authority. This will be treated as if it were your decision."
"Thank you," said Lem, without a hint of sarcasm. "That's very thoughtful." He wasn't going to act like a petulant child. He wasn't even angry with them. They were merely doing their jobs.
"And for what it's worth," said Chubs, "I think your course of action is better than what we're actually doing. We'll burn a lot of fuel changing course like this. We have the fuel, yes, but doing this will deplete nearly all of our reserves. We'll still make it to Luna, but we won't be able to deviate course again. We'll be coasting into home. So if it were up to me, we'd plow ahead and take the risk. But it's not up to me. It's not my ship."
"It's not my ship, either," said Lem.
Chubs nodded. They understood each other.
Lem excused the men and stayed behind in the conference room, standing at the window. Soon the canvas of stars in front of him rotated slightly as the ship changed course. There would be a fight at Kleopatra, Lem knew. Or a slaughter, more likely. Lem didn't believe he could have saved all of the ships, but he was certain he could have saved a few. It would have been a simple matter of convincing them to flee--which wouldn't have been that tough of an argument to make, really. Instead, he was cutting them loose and running away, just as he done to Podolski and El Cavador and his own men.