Beyond the Sky: Chapter 22
Orbital Oversight
Benson said, “Pardon?”
“Thirty-three thousand, four hundred and fifty-seven,” Takji repeated. “That’s how many warheads we have. The Amalgamation is higher, supposedly.” That technically was treason, but it held little weight now, when the nation proscribing it might soon be reduced to scattered bands of carrion-eaters.
“We estimated fifteen thousand, per side.” He scratched behind his neck. “Who invented them first?”
“Us. Forty years ago.” Or twenty by human reckoning, their years seemed longer.
“So you struck first against the Amalgamation, at the Long War’s end?”
Yet more proof she indeed talked with an alien—who else failed to know something so basic? “We did it to save lives—how many millions more would’ve been lost had it continued even a month?”
“Then the Amalgamation retaliated.”
Takji raised her ears. “We agreed to a treaty when our stocks ran out.”
“I was wondering how that happened. The Amalgamation has probably feared more strikes from you ever since.”
“We try not to provoke them, but it is difficult.”
“Did you attempt disarmament talks?”
“My father never trusts their promises.”
“I won’t ask you to reveal your nation’s secrets,” Benson said, “but if you want peace, you can still help.”
The doors to Challenger’s bridge slid open with a mechanical clunk, closing behind Captain Benson as he strode in. At front, the viewscreen had a camera up, Lemuria’s hazy blue limb visible through the observation shield’s translucent black. He went to his chair and punched a button on the armrest. “Carter, report.”
“I re-ran my analysis with Takji’s data, Captain,” his voice replied. Displays above the helm consoles changed to show tables and maps of the planet. “Based on the missiles each nation possesses, the likely number of warheads per missile, the range of our point-defense lasers and beam cannons, and the geographic distribution of siloes, if a full launch occurs we will be unable to neutralize all warheads before they reach their targets.”
Benson rubbed his temple and swore. Not like he hadn’t been expecting that. “Even if we could, there’d still be bombers and cruise missiles and ground-effect vehicles. Run more surveys, but keep your drones out of the way. We know they’ve detected our sorties, and we’re starting to see reactions.”
“Acknowledged. The only drone I have near a population center is number four, in case our friend on the ground runs into trouble.”
“Good.” He went over to the starboard consoles. “Any progress?”
“I hope you didn’t promise anything, sir,” the four-foot uplifted possum at the sensor station replied, opening image windows on her screens. “It’s hard to tell where anyone goes after Mespreth, the slave warehouses are enclosed and train schedules irregular. Finding three space hamsters in a billion won’t be easy.”
“Keep at it, Heather,” Benson said.
“Captain,” a voice came from behind. “May I have a word?” Ingrid Orson, Foreign Directorate oversight officer and the only person who hadn’t needed Carter’s reports to pick up a sour attitude.
“Of course.” He forced a cheerful response. “My office.”
“I don’t like where this is going, Captain,” Ingrid said as the door slid shut. “We are a survey mission, making any form of public contact is out of the question, much less some high-minded rescue mission! You shouldn’t have even brought those aliens up here!”
Benson went around behind his desk and took a seat, lighting a cigar. “We’ve learned most of what we can from eavesdropping and scouting, moving to the Grab was the logical next step. Ideally, I want to interview someone from each of the Lemurian species before beginning the next phase.” He glanced down at a screen showing several of Lemuria’s inhabitants: The Fesk, who resembled large-headed kangaroos with tails tipped by iridescent fur, the short-legged Cepic with necks subsumed under their cheek pouches, the winged Yune and pseudo-ursine Trinn, then a big empty question mark above the word SHADOWSTALKER. Only inaccurate and outlandish cultural depictions of them, so far.
“That puts us at too great a risk of detection. We need to hang back, wait for more data from the remote surveys.”
“Selva approved it.”
“She’s only concerned with existential catastrophes, what might make them blow each other up. Even then, don’t underestimate the fragility of a civilization like this: even if they avoid nuclear apocalypse, do you really want to be responsible for another First Contact War? We need to work slowly, delay contact for as long as needed. Years, if we have to.”
“And how did that work out for you? Care to ask any of the Tlepchi on board? We can spend all day reminding each other of our records, but we don’t have time.” Benson tapped his desk. “I can bring up any number of live feeds of conflict and brutality, right now. Tell me why we shouldn’t be moving as fast as we can.”
Ingrid frowned. “So, what then? Hover down over their largest city, announce they’re no longer alone in the universe?”
“I don’t know.” Benson looked out the projection-window to his left, at the planet below. “But we must do something.”
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