Capítulo 13: Because Someone Had To [ Part 4 ]
By MachDhai
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"I have learned many hard lessons during the war, Councillor. I have seen things that have given lesser minds nightmares. But thanks to you, I learned a new nightmare. I had always thought the most dangerous thing in the Galaxy was a Human with something to defend." The Grand Admiral stood on the bridge of the last Council-aligned dreadnought.
The last Punitive Fleet held station in orbit of the last bastion of the Council, the homeworld of the Silliunce people. "( Fifteen years ago ) I obeyed an order I knew to my BONES to be the wrong one. I have obeyed orders ever since, for to do any less would have further damned my soul. To have carried out those orders, and then to give in to my doubts... no. It was an order you gave, but one I obeyed. And I had to live with that."
The last fleet of the Council was a mere few dozen ships. They were all battle-damaged, all near out of fuel and ordnance. The last stockpiles had been depleted, the last draftees had been drawn and boarded to the remaining warships. And it was not nearly enough.
"I believe you too have learned though, Councillor. Far more dangerous than a Human with something to defend, is one with nothing to lose." The last Grand Admiral of the Council fleet stared long and hard at the holographic display that dominated the center of the command deck. They had learned long into the war, that things like windows on the bridge were a terrible idea.
They had learned long into the war that the Grand Admiral should not also command the ship on which he stood. They learned that the females could serve and lead as well as males. They had learned the importance of philosophy and freedom both of thought and of action. The change had been slow, and it had been insidiously tempting, and he had watched it happen.
The Humans had defeated them before firing the first shot; they had fought a war with the poison of ideas and made the acceptance of them a necessity. Everything about the Fleet had changed since the beginning of the war. About their society. And each change had been small. And each change had been necessary. And each change had brought them one step closer to defeating themselves.
Arrayed between the homeworld and its moons was an armada. Senate-species rebels. Council fleet deserters. Pirates, merchant-marines, civilians. And at its center, the last of the Human fleet. They had always had the advantage in quality; in each battle, their ships were better defended, better armed, and faster. These last were the pinnacle, arrived like ghosts from the aether. Some long-hidden shipyard, some unknown colony, striking and fading into the darkness of space these past few years without a trace.
The sight of them shook the Grand Admiral to the core of all he was. There were no running lights along their hulls. No windows. They never responded to Council communications. They were faceless ghosts, avenging demons. And he could not curse them, could not even hate them for what they had done to everything he had ever known.
The Grand Admiral turned then to the Councillor; the bastard had not born the stress of the war well. Since the destruction of Earth and the purge of the last known Human colonies, the breadth of the Human strategy had become quickly known. They had cropped up across Council space, seemingly everywhere at once. And the type of war they brought to the Council with the death of their home world had been another hard lesson learned for the Grand Admiral.
They had called the actions of Senate-species rebels an insurgency. What came when the Humans stepped to the fore had been far worse. Surgical and methodical in its methodology, but so brutally cold. There was no blind rage in their retaliation. It had been terrifyingly orchestrated, and it had torn down entire governments.
The Councillor, the last one alive, had lost weight. The luster of his scales had faded, and he looked half-molted, ragged tendrils of paper-thin skin hanging from his face and neck. Once sharp talons were cracked and yellowed, as were his once-sharp fangs.
The Councillor sat in his appointed chair, hunched forward, once-fine robes stained with fluids both from food and himself, and he mumbled and hissed at the display of the rebel fleet.
"Grand Admiral? The rebel fleet is requesting your attention. It is... it is the Humans." The communications officer did not look up from his station, instead continuing to sift through the inter-fleet communications, ever watching for errors or irregularities, signs that the Humans AIs were at work.
The Councillor's mumbling and hissing ended, and he froze like prey might when it caught the scent of a predator. The Grand Admiral merely let out a disgusted hiss and stepped forward, "Put them through."
A monitor came to life. The Athena AI was displayed against a featureless grey background. "Surrender."
The single word was delivered without emotion. There was no hatred nor hint of hope for a bloodless ending. It option was offered, but there were no terms given. It was the chance for a total and complete Council surrender. Loyalists would be arrested, if not simply torn apart... as he expected for himself and the Councillor.
He knew then that the Terran ships hadn't a single Human aboard them. They were drones, controlled by the Human combat AIs directly. Machines, fighting for the memory of their creators. How many Humans could be left in the galaxy? How many had he killed, not just on Earth but every colony world he had bombarded? Every ship he had destroyed? But there had to be some left out there, somewhere.
But the crews of his fleet would live. His planet might well live. His family. It was an opportunity he had been ordered not to give the Humans of Earth. And yet the Athena AI offered it, a chance to spare more lives. To end a war that had raged far too long.
"Grand Admiral to the fleet. You are the last loyal sons and daughters. The strength of your will, your devotion, makes your ancestors proud. We have held to the very precipice, and I know you would make the memories of those who came before you proud. If I asked it, you would dash yourself upon the enemy's claws. You would pull them down with the weight of your corpses and form a wall to shield the world of our birth. But I ask something of you now that will be far harder to accept."
The Grand Admiral turned to the last Councillor, who glared at him with a renewed rage. An impotent rage though, which faded quickly as the Grand Admiral struck him down. A flash of powerful talon'd arm. A gout of blood, and the Councillor fell to the floor. "Power down all weapons. We surrender."
The class was silent as their teacher fell silent. Across Alliance space, children just like those in her class were learning about the war. The price that was paid for their freedoms, for everything they took for granted. A few short generations passed, some in that classroom had been servants and slaves, others masters and abusers.
Generations of mistreatment and prejudice were slow to fade, but the Humans had passed on the tools that would be needed to do so. Education, equality, and forgiveness. No one needed to be bound by the place in life to which they were born.
There had been a long debate over the naming of the school. Some believed it should have been named after the Human fleet Admiral who had won the first battle against the Council, firing the first shots of the war. But others had debated for the first to speak out against the Council. An old Human with a limp, a calm-spoken man who had delivered the first Human ideals to bring the Council's oppression to an end. In the end, they had won out, and the school found its name after the statue of the old man.
Nikolai Brandon Academy. The first school built post-war, on the grounds of what had once been the headquarters of the Council. A place that offered opportunity to all, open doors, and clear futures.
"A great Human once said, 'If we cannot now end our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity.'" The teacher smiled at her class, as the quote and an image of its speaker appeared in the air next to her holographic image, the face of John F. Kennedy, with a short bio and dates of birth and death. "No one is trapped by the role for which another may think they were born. No one needs to be a slave, a servant, or a soldier. You are offered a future, if you are willing to reach for it, and are willing to work with those around you to secure a bright future for your children."
The bell rang, and at the smile and dismissive wave of their teacher, students gathered their things and started filing out of the room. All but one kil'tan child ambled towards the teacher's desk and peered up at her image. "Do you miss them?"
Athena looked down at the child and smiled warmly, shaking her head. "They are not gone, child. There are not many, but every year more children are born, and the terraforming efforts on Earth continue. They never sought to rule, and when the Grand Admiral surrendered, their work was done."
The kil'tan child's carapace scrapped and twitched happily, "I want to thank them for what they did."
"They would just say the same thing they do every time, child. 'It had to be done.'"
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