To Challenge Heaven, page 27
“Good.” Howell picked up his iced tea glass and sipped from it. “A part of me wishes they’d been smart enough to just throw in the towel, and maybe they would’ve been, if we’d shown them all of Admiral Swen- son’s ships from the get-go. I doubt they would have, though. Hell, I would’ve doubted that even before we got here, before I had a chance to sit down across from Sherak and realize how totally, utterly clueless she is about why anyone might possibly object to what the Liatu did to the Tairyonians. But she genuinely is, and the Hegemony’s hubris—its sheer arrogance—is a terminal condition.” He shook his head. “And if the Liatu are that frigging stupid, then so be it.”
“I wish it hadn’t come to this, too,” Sarah Howell sighed, as she scooped a second serving of green beans onto her plate. “I hate the thought of where it’s going to end.”
“I know you do, Honey.” Howell captured her hand in his and squeezed for a moment. “And under other circumstances, I’d agree with you.” He shook his head. “But not under these. It doesn’t have to happen if they don’t choose to be stupid after all, but you and I both know they will. And like Dave Dvorak’s always said, stupidity is its own reward.”
Sarah looked at her husband, her gray eyes somber, and he squeezed her hand again.
“I think Dad’s right, Mom,” Tifton said quietly. She looked at him, and he shrugged. “Anybody with a gram of common sense who’s seen Inexorable should be able to figure out that he really, really doesn’t want Admiral Swenson pissed with him. We may not have given Sherak and Hyrak the guided tour, but they saw enough to know we’re way ahead of them technologically. Heck—” around his mother, Captain Howell tended to use rather milder expletives than in her absence “—Navy Commander Segmar and his people should have known that before Sherak ever came aboard, if only because they can’t even see us unless we let them!”
“I’m pretty sure they do know that,” Sarah said. “Or that they would, if they’d only admit it to themselves.”
“And the fact that they won’t—or can’t—admit it is the reason there’s no way we can avoid this,” Howell said. “And, I’m sorry, Honey, but it doesn’t really break my heart.”
His voice turned harder on the last sentence, and Sarah gazed at him.
She understood her husband almost too well, she sometimes thought. And she knew exactly what he was thinking at that moment.
The Planetary Union had chosen Tairyon for the first point of contact with any Galactic beyond the Shongair for a lot of reasons. Most of those reasons were the result of coldly logical analysis. Some of them weren’t, and she knew that for her husband, what the Liatu had done to the Tairyonians weighed at least as heavily as—indeed, probably more heavily than—any of those logical analyses.
The rest of the human race saw Judson Howell as a larger-than-life, heroic character, and she already knew that was how history would record him. And history would be right. She knew that, too. But she was the woman who loved him, and she knew that despite the chilled steel strength of his convictions, he was still only a man. She’d held him in the night as Governor of North Carolina while he’d wept over the megadeaths he’d been unable to prevent. She’d seen his grim determination to resist the Shongair invasion to the last, even when he knew Thikair had begun preparing the bioweapon to kill them all and that he couldn’t stop it in the end. She’d watched him as President of the Planetary Union, fighting for the strength and the mental integrity to set aside his passionate hatred for the Shongairi who’d wreaked such carnage upon his people and his planet. She’d seen him find that strength and integrity and genuinely endorse Dave Dvorak’s mission to the Shong System. But she also knew what that had cost him.
Judson Howell had his own illusions. One of them was that he operated on the basis of coldly pragmatic logic, and logic and pragmatism did play an enormous part in his thinking. But what made him who he truly was, what had transformed him into the figure which could unify an entire planet—an entire species—had nothing to do with pragmatism. That had come from his sheer unflinching, unyielding moral integrity. His compassion. His inability to not stand up for the victimized, the broken. The abused. His belief in an adult’s responsibility to do what he knew was right, whatever the cost. He made mistakes—she’d seen that more clearly than almost anyone else, as well. But when he did, and when he recognized that he had, he moved heaven and earth to correct them.
And when that moral integrity, that sense of responsibility, was married to logic and pragmatism, when they reinforced one another rather than conflicting with one another, it transformed him into Juggernaut, and God help anything that got in his way to doing that “right thing” that drove his unstoppable progress.
The Howell Doctrine came from that marriage of pragmatism and morality. It came from his understanding that the Hegemony would never tolerate a species as dedicated to change as humanity. For him, the possibility of the Galactics finding somebody else, somebody more powerful than the Shongairi, to conquer humanity, force Dvorak’s “monkey boys and girls” into the static Hegemony mold, was almost as unacceptable as the far more likely probability that the Hegemony Council would simply sign off on a quiet little planetary genocide. And because he understood that, because that was unacceptable, the only pragmatic alternative was the creation of the Terran Alliance.
All of that was true, but it was his burning, bone-deep outrage at all the other “quiet little planetary genocides” and their like that had given him the blazing, almost messianic drive to push the Alliance into existence against all odds. And what the Liatu had done to the Tairyonians was the perfect example of the actions, the policies, the casual ruthlessness and callous brutality, that fired that outrage. He’d known what they’d done before he ever came here. Now that he’d actually seen it, observed it in all its horrific details, he could not—would not—tolerate its continuation.
And he was right. The entire purpose of the Howell Doctrine was to draw a line in the stars. To tell the Hegemony that its days of chewing up the “lesser species” and spitting out the splinters were over. And that made the Tairyon System the perfect place to begin drawing that line. It would be at least seventy-five years before the Council discovered what had happened here. It would almost certainly be a lot longer than that, actually, with the Planetary Union Navy playing spider-in-the-web, picking off each Hegemony starship as it arrived. But eventually—and sometime quite soon, on the scale of the Hegemony’s enormous, glacial existence—the Council would find out. And when that day came, this star system would serve as the iron proof of what the Terran Alliance truly stood for.
It was unlikely the other Galactics would understand that any more than Sherak could grasp the reason for Howell’s outrage over the Liatu’s treatment of the “nuisance animals.” But humanity would. And the other members of that future Terran Alliance would. And that mattered far more than whether or not the Hegemony ever understood, because it was what would touch that Alliance with the same flame of moral integrity and sense of justice that infused the man Sarah Howell loved.
It was only that she dreaded the price he would pay. That he’d already paid, yes, but the future prices, as well.
“I know it doesn’t break your heart,” she told him now. “And to tell the truth, it doesn’t break mine, either. But it’s going to be ugly, Judson. We all know that.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “And maybe one day, years from now, I’ll be less ‘okay’ about the number of Liatus who are about to die of terminal stupidity. But this isn’t that day, Sarah. Even if I wanted to, I can’t let it be that day. When the Hegemony finds out about this, maybe a couple of centuries from now, we need them to understand that we were able to do this to their best hardware now, less than fifty Earth Years after we first gained access to their tech base. We need them to sweat bullets at the mere thought of what we might have learned and applied to our combat capabilities in those intervening centuries. And we need to be able to point to Tairyon and the Tairyonians as proof we mean what we say about not resisting them solely out of self-interest but also out of our certainty that there’s a better way to interact with ‘lesser species’ than the ones they’ve chosen. And the very best—maybe the only—way for us to accomplish those objectives is to take advantage of the Liatu’s willingness to be our example for the other ‘Founders.’”
“And for ourselves,” she said. “Don’t try to pretend that isn’t just as important to you. To us.” She shook her head. “To prove we meant it when we said we wouldn’t stand for the Hegemony’s policies. And to take that first step on the path that will commit us all to stay the course, because if there’d been even the most remote chance the Hegemony might have left us alone, or even offered us membership, despite our inventiveness, it won’t now. It can’t.”
“If I’d thought there ever was any chance of either of those things, that might worry me,” Howell said. “But there wasn’t. So this is my next best shot. Draw our line, and build something so big, so powerful, so terrifying to the Hegemony that it doesn’t dare cross us.”
He looked at her, then glanced at their son before his eyes returned to her face.
“What the Hegemony is forcing us to become saddens me,” he admitted. “Maybe it even frightens me a little. But one of the things the Galactics have forgotten, or maybe never understood at all, is that life is change. Anything that refuses to change, isn’t life, it’s stasis, and stasis would be the death of everything that makes us human in the first place.”
“Preaching to the choir, Dad.” There was a trace of sorrow in Captain Howell’s eyes, as well, but there was no hesitation to go with it. “Preaching to the choir.”
FIRST MINISTER SHERAK’S OFFICE,
PALACE OF GOVERNMENT,
CITY OF ITHYRA,
PLANET TAIRYS,
TAIRYON SYSTEM,
419.9 LY FROM EARTH,
DECEMBER 26, YEAR 42 TE.
“Excuse me, Domynas.”
Sherak swiveled her left eye up from the correspondence on her display as Adjunct Yursak stepped through her office door.
“Yes, Yursak?”
“I’m afraid the human Howell is on the com.”
Sherak’s right eye joined her left, and her hide took on a slight tinge of gray she wouldn’t have let most Liatu see. Then both of her eyes swiveled to the date/time display.
“I see,” she said, and air whistled through her breathing slits as she drew a deep breath. “I suppose you’d better put him through.”
“At once, Domynas.”
Yursak dipped his head, covering his eyes briefly, then withdrew. A moment later, the message center’s wallpaper came up on her display. She gazed at it for a maunihirth or two, steeling herself, then touched the “ACCEPT CALL” icon.
The human, Howell, appeared. Behind it, she saw what could only be the command deck of a warship, and she knew the pickup’s focus had been widened to make sure she saw it.
“Greetings, First Minister,” it said. “Should I assume you have a response to my demands?”
“You do realize,” Sherak said coldly, “that whatever you may be in a position to do to my people, here in this star system, the rest of the Hegemony will eventually repay you a thousand times over?”
“Assuming the rest of the Hegemony is as competent and capable as you are, I’ll await their attempt to do that with confidence.” Sherak flushed an angry orange-red at the human’s dismissive tone, but it only went on calmly. “And as I believe I’ve already pointed out to you, the rest of the Hegemony isn’t here right now. So, what is your response?”
“I’m sure you already know.” Sherak’s voice was colder than ever. “We know about your other two ships, and Navy Commander Segmar is prepared to resist you with every weapon we possess. You may have a few technological tricks we don’t, but if you enter attack range of this planet, we will rip your ships to pieces. Even if you ‘win,’ the cost will be terrible, and that doesn’t even consider what will happen when the Hegemony Council learns of your actions! So I suggest you think very, very carefully before you fire the first shots of an all-out war between your single miserable species and the entire civilized galaxy.”
“Among my people,” Howell said, “there’s a saying—‘you can judge a person by the company he keeps.’ That’s why we have very little concern over the state of our relations with your own species, since the Liatu are among the scum of the galaxy.” His mouth shaped another of those curves. “As for the rest of the Hegemony, we have another saying—‘you can tell even more about a person’s character by the enemies he makes than by the friends he keeps.’ And, that, First Minister, is why we don’t really care about the enmity of the Galactic Hegemony, either. In fact, we’ve come to the conclusion that enmity between us and the Hegemony’s morally degenerate and intellectually impaired members is not only inevitable but actually constitutes a badge of honor. It’s long past time someone proved it’s not the arbiter of the galaxy anymore, and we’re perfectly ready to accept the job.”
Despite herself, Sherak’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Deep inside, she’d believed Segmar and Third Minister Lyralk were right. That not even a species as mad as these humans would truly embrace the inevitable self-destruction of a challenge to the entire Hegemony. But now—
“Enjoy your contemplation of what will ultimately happen to us,” Howell said before she could get her thoughts back into any sort of order. “I doubt it will be as much consolation as you may think in the next day or two.
“Good day, First Minister.”
FLAG DECK,
PUNS INEXORABLE,
TAIRYON SYSTEM,
419.9 LY FROM EARTH,
DECEMBER 26, YEAR 42 TE.
“Very well, Admiral Swenson,” Judson Howell said formally, turning from his com terminal as he killed the link to First Minister Sherak. “You’re authorized to proceed.”
“Yes, Sir!” Francisca Swenson responded, then turned to the circular column at her flag deck’s center. Its surface was configured into individual com screens that displayed the faces of every squadron, division, and ship commander of 2nd Fleet. They didn’t really need the visual interface, given their neural links, but using their eyes for this particular bit of information flow was a data management tool. Besides, there was something about the human brain that wanted to use its eyes.
“All right, Ladies and Gentlemen.” Her voice was cold, her blue eyes harder than sapphires. “Operation Downfall is a go.”
Those icy eyes turned to Vice Admiral Shinobu Kagehisa, Battle Squadron Fifteen’s CO, Vice Admiral Patricio Lopez, who commanded the Fifth Cruiser Squadron, and Vice Admiral Marie-Madeleine Suchet, CruRon Three’s CO, and she bared her teeth.
“Uncloak the rest of your ships now,” she said. “It’s time to let the Froggies see what we’ve really brought to the party.”
COMMAND CENTER,
SYSTEM COMMAND ONE,
TAIRYS PLANETARY ORBIT,
TAIRYON SYSTEM,
419.9 LY FROM EARTH,
DECEMBER 26, YEAR 42 TE.
“Horkan! The humans—!”
Orbital Command Commander Horkan, Third Hatched of His Brood, Son of Masdan, of the Line of Jorik, wheeled towards System Surveillance Commander Urdia. Urdia, Fourth Hatched of Her Brood, Daughter of Masdan, of the Line of Jorik, actually. That made her his younger brood mate and closest sibling, which might have explained her omission of his rank and title … except for the fact that it was the first time in her entire life that she had omitted it on duty.
His eyes swiveled to her face, then went wide as he saw her terrified, stark beige expression. He stared at her, but she only pointed at the tactical plot, and Horkan felt both stomachs drop straight to the deck as his eyes followed that shaky digit.
He and Urdia had conscientiously warned both Segmar and the Council of Ministers that there might still be additional human starships in the system. Yet even as they’d dutifully issued their warnings, neither of them had truly believed it. True, the aliens had intercepted every recon drone short of their known vessels, which had kept any active Liatu sensor out of range. But that couldn’t shield them from the additional sensor arrays Urdia had gotten into place around Sembach and Corsalt. Those sharp-eyed platforms had confirmed—finally, once they knew to look in the first place—the presence of all six known human ships, not just the four the aliens had persisted in showing them, and nailed down their positions with absolute accuracy. Urdia’s crews had detected the emission signatures—the very strong emission signatures, actually—those ships had somehow radiated directly away from Tairys and the weapons platforms and ships in orbit about it. But they’d detected only those six emission signatures, and if there’d been another one out there, they would have seen it.
The six stupendous starships the aliens had brought along had been more than bad enough for Horkan, of course. He knew the capabilities of his twelve defensive stations, but he also realized those six ships alone massed at least eighty-four percent as much as his entire command. Yet he’d also known that, as Segmar had told Shekhar, unlike his orbital weapons platforms, they had to provide for the enormous mass and volume requirements of their phase-drives, normal-space drives, and particle shield generators. That had to consume at least twenty or twenty-five percent of their volume, which pushed the tonnage imbalance even further in the defenders’ favor, and as Segmar had also told the First Minister, there were limits to the degree to which superior weapons could make up for tonnage inferiority. Horkan had been grimly certain that the obscenely inventive humans had far too many nasty tactical surprises in store for them, but given those numbers, he’d also understood the Navy Commander’s fierce assertion that the combination of Horkan’s OWPs and his own ten dreadnoughts could at least defend the planet against any human attack.
