The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) (5 page)

“We can try,” Hoshiko said.  “And the others?”

“Mainly tired, although the younger ones managed to get some sleep on the flight,” Shari said.  “I think they would have been in real trouble if the flight had lasted much longer, Captain - there’s a limit to how far genetic enhancement goes - but thankfully we caught them in time.  I’ve had them all sedated, for the moment; I imagine they’ll be glad of the rest.”

“No doubt,” Hoshiko said.  They
were
citizens of the Solar Union, after all.  Protecting them was her job.  “And the refugees?”

Shari’s face darkened.  “I haven't seen them personally, Captain, but I’ve been following the reports from the medics.  These people have been through
hell
.  They were half-starved before they were loaded onto the freighter and the food processors simply couldn't keep up with the demand for food.  I haven’t seen so many cases of bad nutrition and genetic problems since I was working on one of the intake asteroids, just after I qualified as a doctor and we were getting yet another flood of refugees from Earth.  I’d be surprised if some of the children don’t wind up dead within the next couple of weeks anyway, no matter what we do.”

Hoshiko winced.  “Is there nothing we can do for them?”

“I’ve put the worst cases in stasis, but I’ve already run out of stasis pods,” Shari said.  “They really need extensive nanotech-treatment, Captain.  I can work on them one by one, once we have the rest of the refugees under control ...”

She shook her head.  “They really need better facilities,” she admitted.  “We’re not set up to handle so many casualties.  Ideally, we need to keep them in stasis until we get them back to Earth or a fleet base.  The facilities on Martina may not be sufficient for the task.”

“Thanks to the Tokomak,” Hoshiko said, sourly. 
Humanity
had been able to unlock the full potential of nanotechnology, but the Tokomak had made damn sure that the nanites they supplied to their client races were deliberately limited.  Having made themselves effectively immortal, they’d been determined to make sure that no one else lived so long.  “Can we adapt a local autodoc?”

“Probably not,” Shari said.  “The Tokomak made certain the base codes couldn't be altered without special access permissions.  Trying would merely render the autodoc useless.”

“And we don't have a full-fledged AI on the squadron,” Hoshiko muttered.  It was the one concession to the Tokomak fear of artificial intelligence, although humanity’s homemade AIs hadn't become monsters.  The Tokomak must have had a bad experience with AI somewhere back in the mists of time.  “Cracking the base codes would be beyond us without one.”

“Yes,” Shari said.  “Those limitations are hardwired into the base codes.”

The Tokomak might have had a point, Hoshiko conceded, privately.  Immortality had turned the Tokomak into a stagnant race, unable to advance because of the growing population of oldsters who kept a firm lock on the levers of political power.  Her grandfather, Steve Stuart, had departed the Solar Union because he feared what would happen if he remained as President indefinitely, but there were others who were growing older and older ... and not dying to allow the younger officers a chance to claim the highest positions.  Great-Uncle Mongo was
still
fleet commander despite being in his second century ...

But we’re expanding
, she told herself, firmly. 
There will be room for all of us for thousands of years to come
.

Great
, her own thoughts answered her. 
I’m sure the Tokomak thought the same when they cursed themselves with near-immortality
.

It was a chilling thought.  The Tokomak Navy was the finest in the universe ... when it came to parades, formation flying and stately advances towards its few targets.  It hadn't been prepared for anything outside its understanding of warfare, let alone how a determined and innovative race could actually produce newer and better weapons.  Could the Solar Navy end up that way, one day?  Humanity had had long periods of stagnation on Earth, after all ...

She pushed the thought aside, angrily.  “Do what you can for them,” she ordered.  By now, her officers would have reviewed the recordings she’d made.  “Have a report on their condition uploaded to the datanet by 1700.”

“Aye, Captain,” Shari said.  She cleared her throat as Hoshiko turned to go.  “Do you expect the locals to play host indefinitely?”

Hoshiko sighed.  The human settlements on Martina had agreed to allow the refugees to land, thankfully, but they’d insisted on being paid in advance.  Hoshiko had paid out of her emergency expenditure fund, yet she knew it wouldn't last indefinitely.  Galactic currency was no longer worth what it had been, two years ago, and human currency was barely recognised outside Sol.  It was just another reason to be confident that life in space was far superior to life on a planet.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “We may have to arrange transport to Sol.  Or see if they can find homes here.  But as long as they’re safe, for the moment, that’s all that matters.”

“Yes, Captain,” Shari said.

Chapter Four

Heavy fighting broke out on Intake Asteroid Five between two separate groups of refugees with Earther grudges.  Solar Marines moved in, separated the combatants and deported them back to Earth.  Their families seemed relieved to be rid of them.

-Solar News Network, Year 54

If he were forced to be honest, Commander Griffin Wilde would have had to admit that he cordially disliked his commanding officer.  She was young, the granddaughter of the Solar Union’s founder ... and given command of a squadron as a punishment - or a reward - for shooting her mouth off in public.  Griffin, who had seen too many half-trained officers be promoted for being well-connected or ‘diverse’ in the United States Navy, didn't like the idea of such dangerous ideas infecting the
Solar
Navy.  She wasn't an idiot, he had to admit, but she didn’t always think before she acted.  It would have been better if she’d been broken of such dangerous habits before she reached flag rank.

But it wasn't
quite
flag rank, Griffin thought, as he stepped into the cabin.  Admiral Stuart had given his grand-niece a ship command
as well
as squadron command.  Hoshiko should have insisted on a promotion to Commodore, and being assigned the staff she needed to serve as the squadron’s commanding officer, instead of trying to split her time between serving as a starship’s commanding officer and serving as the squadron commander.  Griffin was honestly unsure if Hoshiko, determined to keep command, had insisted on the arrangement or if her great-uncle hadn't been bothered to make a final judgement.  The only thing he could say in her favour was that she hadn't expected
him
to serve as captain while only drawing a commander’s pay.

“Commander,” Hoshiko said.  She was seated on a sofa, sipping tea from a cup.  “Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Griffin said.  He sat down facing her and rested his hands in his lap as the steward appeared, carrying a mug of coffee.  “The freighter has been completely emptied, for the moment, and we've stripped out the computer cores for analysis.”

“Good,” Hoshiko said, as Griffin took the coffee from the steward.  “Did you decompress the ship?”

“I’d prefer to wait until her crew decides what they want to do with her,” Griffin said.  “The ship really needs to be scrapped, Captain, but they may have other ideas. 
And
there are probably personal possessions onboard that need to be recovered.”

“Understood,” Hoshiko said.  She wasn’t overruling him on a whim, at least.  “And our crews?”

“Returned to the ship, Captain,” Griffin said.  He frowned, inwardly.  There had been something in the way she’d spoken that worried him.  “The freighter is currently abandoned and depowered, save for a single beacon.”

Hoshiko nodded, slowly.  Griffin studied her, feeling a tangle mixture of impatience and resentment.  She wasn't just young, she
looked
young, like so many of her peers.  They’d embraced the fantastic potentials of technology while many of the Earth-born had shied away from them.  And they saw no limits in the universe around them.  But there
were
limits, Griffin knew, and some of those limits were deadly.

A low chime echoed in the room.  “It's time,” Hoshiko said.  “Are you ready?”

Griffin wanted to roll his eyes as the first holographic image popped into view, followed by eight more.  Hoshiko had eight captains under her command, rather than the regulation nine; it wasn't the least of the problems facing the squadron that Griffin, a mere commander, had a vote if it came to a council of war.  Admiral Stuart should really have kicked his niece upwards, into flag rank, and allowed someone else to take command of
Jackie Fisher
.  It would have made the discussions a little less awkward.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” Hoshiko said.  “Thank you for attending.”

There was a brief pause as the holographic images organised themselves.  Griffin sighed, inwardly; there was a
reason
most meetings were meant to be face-to-face, rather than via hologram.  The captains could be using holographic masks to conceal their true feelings; hell, they could be completely naked and no one would know, as long as they had the common sense to ensure their images wore a mask.  Hoshiko might be a child of the Solar Union, but even
she
had good reason to appreciate personal meetings.  She must have a motive to insist on holographic communications for
this
meeting.

“I trust you have reviewed the data,” Hoshiko continued, after a moment.  “The interview with Captain Ryman, the debriefing of the refugees, the intelligence recovered from the freighter’s databanks ... is there any doubt over what’s happening on Amstar?”

Griffin shook his head.  The evidence was overwhelming.  No one would have expended three warships and an entire freighter, to say nothing of risking a shooting war with the Solar Union, just to set up a trick of some kind.  The idea of one alien race trying to exterminate everyone else ... humans hadn't found it hard to come up with justifications to commit genocide against their fellow humans, why wouldn't an alien race come up with a reason to slaughter billions of
different
aliens?  God knew there were humans who had advocated, in all seriousness, exterminating the Hordes in response to their crimes against humanity.

“I have very little information on these ...
Druavroks
,” Captain Hamish Macpherson said, curtly.  “My datafiles are curiously scanty.”

“I have put in a request for more information from Martina,” Hoshiko said.  “But, from what little we know, it seems they now want an empire of their own, instead of holding up someone else’s empire.  Taking Amstar makes sense from an economic point of view, but outright genocide ...”

Her voice grew very cold.  “I intend to take this squadron to Amstar and put a stop to it,” she added.  “It is our duty.”

There was a long pause.  Griffin felt his blood run cold.  He understood the impulse, he understood how far their standing orders stretched, but it could be a terrible mistake.  The Solar Union had no treaty with anyone on Amstar, nor was it directly threatened by the Druavroks.  It was hard to escape the feeling that they were about to commit a direct violation of their orders.

He cursed Admiral Stuart under his breath.  As a captain, it was his right and duty to argue with his commanding officer, if he believed it necessary, even in front of other captains.  But as a commander, he couldn't argue in front of the senior officers.  He was supposed to present a united front with his captain, even as he disagreed with his commodore.  There wasn’t anything in regulations for a semi-permanent arrangement where the captain and the commodore happened to be the same person.

“Captain,” Captain Joanne Mathewson said, finally.  “Is this actually
wise
?”

“There are times when wisdom will not serve,” Hoshiko said.  “Our orders say, basically, that we are to protect human settlements throughout the sector - and, in more general terms, throughout the galaxy.  Humans are being threatened with extermination by the Druavroks, along with countless members of over twenty other races.  It is our duty to respond, to save them from certain death.  It’s the right thing to do.”

And you weren't interested in intervening to prevent the fighting on Earth
, Griffin thought, coldly.  He didn't actually disagree with Hoshiko’s stance - Earth was reaping what it had sown over decades of mismanagement - but she lacked even basic comprehension of how everyone else felt about the affair. 
What makes this different?

“There's another issue,” Hoshiko said.  “We have orders to find allies, to meet strange new races and make friends.”

“And boldly go where lots of people have gone before,” Captain Abdul Hassam said, deadpan.

“Yes, but they live here,” Macpherson said.  “They don't count.”

Hoshiko ignored the byplay.  “The point is this,” she said.  “Humanity is not the only race under threat.  If we intervene to save members of other races, we may win new allies.”

“And start a war with the Druavroks,” Griffin pointed out.  “Captain, with all due respect, we don’t know the slightest thing about what we’re getting into.”

“We know they’re murderous bastards,” Hoshiko said.  If she was angry at his comment, and she had every reason to be, she hid it well.  “They’re killing humans, Commander.”

“We have no idea how many starships they have,” Griffin said.  “They
may
- they
may
- back off when they realise the humans in this sector have powerful protectors, but it is far more likely they will see our actions as a declaration of war.  We are
six months
from Sol, Captain.  There is no hope of receiving reinforcements in less than a year - and that assumes Admiral Stuart sends them when Sol needs protection itself.”

“They’ve already declared war on us,” Hoshiko pointed out.  “Slaughtering humans cannot be allowed, Commander.”

“Perhaps we should ask for orders from Earth,” Captain Patrick Faison said.  “Our standing orders call for the defence of humans, Commodore, but also to avoid conflict with powerful alien races.”

“It will take a
year
to send a message to Earth and receive a reply,” Hoshiko said.  She sounded angry for the first time.  Griffin didn't really blame her.  “By then, Amstar will be a graveyard and the bastards will have moved on to a new target - Martina, perhaps.  We have to act
now
, while the humans on Amstar still have a chance.”

She tapped the table.  “Our standing orders are to protect humans, make friends and spread the reputation of the Solar Union,” she added.  “Going to Amstar and preventing genocide will accomplish all three.  It isn't as if
most
races will go to the wall for another race.”

Griffin nodded, conceding the point.  The Tokomak had never tried to foster any sort of pan-species unity, perhaps suspecting that - once unified - their subject races would turn on them and demand change.  Indeed, there were few races in the galaxy that would cross the road to piss on another race, if he happened to be on fire.  They’d be far more likely to view the whole affair as a kind of spectator sport, rather than something that involved
them
.  But humanity ... if humanity made a stand against genocide, who knew where it would lead?

“It is unlikely the Druavroks have technology to match ours,” Hoshiko continued.  “They were probably not encouraged to innovate, any more than the Varner were.  Their technology is almost certainly second-line Tokomak gear, rather than anything new.”

“But they will have a
lot
of it,” Griffin pointed out.  “Our supply line is a shoestring, Captain, if that.  Our supply of missiles is
very
limited and we have no Hammerhead Missiles.  We could kill one of their ships with every missile we fire and
still
lose the war.”

“I admit there are risks involved, Commander,” Hoshiko said, curtly.  “There are
always
risks involved.  Standing up to the Tokomak was a risk.  They had - and still have - hundreds of thousands of starships.  But if we allow the prospect of
risk
to blind us, we will have no hope of doing
anything
beyond sitting in orbit until we are attacked again.  This is a chance to take a stand against genocide and, by doing so, win friends and influence opinions.”

She paused.  “The decision is mine,” she added.  “The squadron will depart Martina in two hours, which should be long enough to prepare the base for independent operations.  If any of you want to file an objection, please inform me and it will be noted in my log.”

Griffin kept his face impassive with an effort.  Technically, he could challenge her, call for a full council of war and a vote, but he knew he might well lose.  And losing a challenge would mean court-martial when he returned home, with the verdict a foregone conclusion.  No board composed of commanding officers would countenance a challenge with so little evidence against its target.

“I have reservations,” Captain Faison said.  “But we cannot with honour allow genocide to proceed unhindered.”