Part 1, Story 3: Shut Up and Dance
Amsterdam - European Union Trade Zone - Earth
May 1, 2237, 16:43 Local Time
CEO's Private Residence
"A vote of no confidence, this is mutiny!" CEO Teller's face grew red, hiding the deep purples of exhaustion that sat within his sunken face, "Our very way of existence is under threat, and those who are opposed to my policy wish to dismantle this new age of security, and are just lining up to cast their ballot!" His aides struggled to keep up, scurrying around him like ants. There was a palpable tension now, a deep and crippling rage oozing from the CEO. "If those bastards in the Expansionist Coalition think that they can disrupt the status quo of our party, then they have clearly lost all vision of this system of government! The people will choose the right path, but I'll be damned before I am humiliated on the council floor like this!" The tone in the residence was grim, disturbed only by the lapping of waves and rumble of thunder. Amsterdam remained hunkered down, preparing once again for a squall that threatened to topple the mighty seawalls - they always threatened to. Humanity's homeworld, once a stable cradle, was still recovering from the upheaval of the mid 21st Century. She was scarred, a changed planet marked by the creep of the oceans, pockmarked with the defensive mechanisms constructed during the Climate Collapse. But she was still there, a blue marble hanging in a sunbeam, the glimmering yet turbulent homeworld of humanity - the starting line of the cosmic age. Teller sat quietly in his 1960s armchair, his head tipped downwards towards his lap. The mid century modern piece was a relic of an even older time - just before humankind left their cradle and grasped at the stars, like an infant grabbing at a toy out of reach. His discomfort flickered across his face, something writhing and stirring within his brain. It was… off. Something about the home was too silent, not like the constant droning of the Moon. There was no ever present hum here, no constant whir of motors and fan blades driving the flow of oxygen. Just the lapping of the waves and rumble of thunder, and the solidity of 1g.
"Mr. CEO, we think it best to issue a statement, get ahead of the press before the news spreads far." The CEO grimaced, like a needle had been plunged in his side.
"Right - and say what exactly? We failed Ceres, that much is clear. We've also not had a direct engagement with the ICM in two weeks. No decisive victory I can point to, no strategic advantage. We're right back where we started… an unpopular stalemate." General Jung straightened his epaulets, motioning to the army of aides to dim the lights.
"Mr. CEO, a word if you will?" The CEO nodded dejectedly, as a display of the PSSA Navy filled the room. Great red and blue swathes ebbed and flowed through gravity wells, displaying rumored and actual positions within the Solar System - a complete picture of power projection. "Sir, we believe we are close to a decisive strike on the ship that launched the cyber attack on Ceres. If we act fast, we may be able to launch with the three Lancer Class Cutter-Destroyers we have in the area - PSSA Plymouth Rock, PSSA Queen Elizabeth and PSSA Sun Tzu. I do believe a strike of this scale, disabling their ELINT ship at the source, would be a strategic win for the Heartland Collective. We must display that we are in control, and a maneuver like this is our best bet."
"Tell me more, Jung." The General tapped at his displays.
"We believe we have ID'd a ship on the border between ICM and PSSA space - it's emitting a wide range of frequencies, characteristic of an ELINT vessel. It's been reported as the Kvasir, she left Titan about 8 months ago, which puts us in the time frame of the attack on Ceres."
"Are they armed?"
"Intelligence reports supply pods with them but no escorts, they left with a group of two Behemoths but they've long since fallen back."
"They're alone…"
"Yes, a prime target for our campaign. We are faster, have more firepower ready and can be operational for action within 4 days. Local intercept in 50, engagement not long after. My advisors, and Logistics Computer, believe we are capable of winning. "
"General, you mean to say that there is a shot at redemption?" The General shifted uncomfortably.
"There is a chance, Mr. CEO, I cannot promise that our reports are accurate. I am willing to stake my career on this, if it means the same." The CEO rose from his desk, and Jung tried his best to not look him in the eyes. The decay of the Heartland Collective had taken its toll on the man; seven cabinet positions remained locked within the process of re-appointment. Teller's wife, a prominent figure on his campaign trail across the Solar System, kept the doors locked across the house. No one had seen her in months.
"Make it happen, I give you full weapons free authorization. Please, Harold, let us win this - for the Party's sake." General Jung nodded, and with a curt bow, left the room. Showtime.
Deep Space - PSSA Intelligence Trawler Osiris
July 16, 2237, 18:41 Luna Standard Time
TRANSMISSION STABLE
DOWNLINK IDENT: 778-29-90
VESSEL ID: 388-32-29 SUN TZU:
MESSAGE: Q. ELIZABETH DESTROYED, PLYM ROCK DAMAGED. ALL HANDS LOST. MINEFIELD. RTB-ADVISE.
RESPONSE REQUEST: UNKNOWN
SHIP STATUS: UNKNOWN
REPLY: [Y/N]?
Shackleton One - Governance Plaza Botanical Gardens
August 10, 2237, 10:00 Luna Standard Time
"Ladies and gentlemen… Thank you. That is all that I can bring myself to say. The people of the Pan Solar System Alliance, proud and noble… Civilized people have yearned for a government that can bring itself back from the brink. That government is now here. No longer will we back away from challenges defined by logistics or lack of political will. This is a government of action, decisive and deliverable action. As you all know, we have been struck, a blow at our side that threatens to destabilize us from the years of peace that we have so comfortably lived within - a plush and indulgent luxury that those in power took for granted. Now, that time is over. It is time to act. Within my first few days in office, I will ensure that our homeworld is defended, that we are secure in all ports, and I will assemble the largest outbound fleet in Alliance history, ensuring that the Jovian system is secure from any and all interlopers who dare step foot within the confines of our sovereign homeworld. We, as a people, will no longer look weak in the eyes of the enemy…I want to thank you all, every citizen in every world in this beautiful and proud Alliance, who is watching this with hopefully some comfort, that we will win this fight against our democracy."
CEO Valeriy Kursk spoke with sparks on his tongue, a flickering passion that licked its way into the minds of his constituents. His once coal black hair was sprinkled with wisps of gray, smokelike patterns carving their way into him. He was pure flame, the most dangerous thing in space. Teller watched as the crowd lunged after his gesticulations, perfectly in control. Like Teller had been, before the rumors of ICM activity became reality. Kursk had won in a landslide, with the vote of no confidence dissolving the hold over the Heartland Collective's already shaky standing - an election described as "over before it could even begin." And here the leviathan rose, a new figure with a bold new mission, a course that those within his nascent cabinet would lead to a standoff. His voice continued to flicker, burning bright and warm in the gentle blues of the biosphere dome. With both of his hands raised like a priest, the crowd would take to their feet - their standing ovation fanning the flames within him.
"I don't like this," quipped Jung, the dismissed general ever so loyal at Teller's side, "it feels like a declaration of war." The former CEO dabbed at his forehead lightly, finding himself sweating under the stage lights.
"It is, Jung. But we must smile and accept what's good for us now." The general sighed, a feeling of dejection slipping across his face. The former CEO placed a hand on his shoulder, a comforting and uniquely human action. "The mines were hidden in debris, it wasn't your fault that they got too close."
"A better general is better prepared, Mr. CEO." Teller chuckled, and couldn't help but agree silently. Of course, these words would never leave his lips.
"I am confident that we did all we could, Harold. You and your men work hard every day to keep these people safe at night."
"We should have done more."
"What else could we have done? What ships or troops or anything could we have sent to end this war before it begins? We have lost. And now there's a man at the front with an army behind him, and a forgettable administration in his wake." The two men were silent, swallowed by the roar of applause. Kursk stood before them, magnificent and terrifying in his own image. Teller stood with his hand outstretched, a carefully coordinated photo op to signify a peaceful transition of power. Kursk would shake his hand before pulling him into an embrace, only amplifying the electric crowd. The new CEO's words, delivered in shrill whisper, would chill him to his core.
"Your work will be finished, Teller. Do not think that I am as incapable as you were. There is too much at stake…" Teller found himself gasping for breath, as if the pressure in the half mile dome had suddenly vanished. Like a serpent, Kursk slipped into the crowd, swallowed by a maw of applause and decadence. Jung would guide him down the stairs, away from the lights and sounds - truly a fragile man alone in a cold world.
Deep Space - PSSA Control
August 21, 2237, 04:00 Luna Standard Time
Arlington Class Command Ship Alan Turing
The spiral out of the Earth-Moon system had been a wakeup call to most onboard the six ships of Phoenix Company, the newly formed naval division headed for Jovian space. The thrust of their great engines caused each ship to shudder and groan as they slipped free of their homeworld's gravity, the wispy blues and greens of Earth growing smaller every hour. Their mission was clear, a show of power the likes of which had never been seen beyond the Asteroid Belt. The Turing was not built for combat, not explicitly - she still maintained her denial cannons, torpedo tubes and turrets, a standard point defense affair. Her purpose, however, was far more crucial. She was to act as the central nervous system of the group, her officers assisted by a complex neural network - the Isaac-10 Artificial Intelligence platform. Deep within the bowels of the ship, the computer ticked and whirred as it plotted every move, digital eyes and ears listening for any activity - friend or foe. The five other ships, 3 newly refitted Lancer Class Destroyers and two brand new Sabre Prime Battleships, hung somewhere off of the aft scanning deck, their torch drives burning bright against the inky void of space. The power within their fusion reactors was enough to meet Earth's needs in the mid 20th Century, a testament to the raw power contained within their maws. The flight deck of the Turing was quiet, her officers quietly checking and rechecking systems. There was not much to do but wait, and watch as the flight computer ever so precisely adjusted the magnetic coiling of the engines to deliver them to a precise target. A disembodied voice spoke from nowhere in particular, disrupting the monotony.
"Commander - we are on course for a Jupiter intercept in 68 days, 12 hours and 51 minutes. Accuracy is within 0.0003% of expected trajectory margin for all ships in the battlegroup. My counterparts onboard the other vessels are correcting for any final perturbations encountered during thrust. Coast phase will be initiated on your command." Commander Armisen looked up from her chair, rubbing tired eyes. It was supposed to be a Lunar patrol, a series of mundane swing-bys of the Moon that would do nothing more but promote her… and now. Whatever this was.
"Thank you, Isaac. Let the other ships know that we are GO for coast."
"As you wish, Commander. I shall relay a message to the fleet." Isaac's digital neurons would fire as the engines prepared to shut themselves down, a careful choreography of radiation and electrodynamics. Isaac would keep watch, all seeing attentive eyes checking, rechecking and triple checking the thousands of subsystems. The commander softly tapped her ear, opening a tight beam channel to the rest of the battle group.
"This is Anicca Armisen of the Turing, we are GO for coast - shut down and configure for unpowered flight, we've got a ways to go now." A cacophony of agreements filled her ears, and the ships would fall silent - unsecured items floating their way to the front of bulkheads, a new and disorientating reality. The commander remained in her seat, staring ahead to the void in front of her. Warfighting, while explicitly within her job description, had never been something she truly prepared for. She'd been deployed to Mars to survey only a handful of the military installations and in space facilities, spending two years on the Iron Plains before shipping back to a promotion. It was routine - something that this mission wasn't, a fact that sat heavily on Armisen's mind. Defending distant ports was the job of the Coast Guard, not a battalion that did not exist just weeks prior. There was no expectation of conflict, but an unspoken urging to "do what was necessary" - a phrase that bore its own consequences. That nagging thought, the one that existed in every spacefarer's mind however, was overpowering.
"Isaac. I want to run a hypothetical by you." The computer clicked.
"As you wish Commander."
"Suppose we encounter them… In Jovian space. What are our odds of survival… and our odds of victory?" The computer was silent, fixated on a task.
"Clarify."
"Say we encounter a group of Behemoths, or one of those Frigate Birds… are we gonna come out on top? We surely have the firepower." Isaac's unblinking eyes studied her face, every fold and crease of skin feeding data into his neural mainframe. She was scared. And a scared leader made for a weak leader.
"I'm sorry Commander Armisen. I am afraid I do not have the knowledge base to calculate an answer. Variables present do not represent an accurate battle scenario. Can I help you with anything else?" The commander was silent, gripping the armrest in a panic she did not know had overtaken her.
"No, Isaac… Actually. Wipe the logs of our conversation. Override code 6-6-9-Tango-Yankee."
"As you wish, Commander."
