![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardTitle: Answer When They're Called to Serving
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "What right do we have to interfere in their war and send our sons and daughters to die light years away from their homes, not even in another part of this planet, but in another part of this galaxy?"
Disclaimer: Not mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: AU. If it seems familiar but definitely isn't CSI:NY, it also doesn't belong to me. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stellaluna_'s birthday. Have a good one!
Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.A., Earth
Four months ago:
“Good evening. For the past five years now, the United States has been involved in a war not our own, one we are not prepared to fight. We should not have to fight this war – we should not be fighting it! Americans are fighting and dying on the Outer Rim of space, for a people that are not our own – not even human! Tell me, my fellow Americans, why we should be doing this? For knowledge? Already we have gathered enough extraterrestrial technology to leap the field of science generations ahead. In self-defense? The Rokasa Empire poses no threat to Earth. We are speaking of an alien people whose culture and politics we cannot begin to comprehend. What right do we have, as Americans, to make judgments on these people? What right do we have to interfere in their war and send our sons and daughters to die light years away from their homes, not even in another part of this planet, but in another part of this galaxy? We have no right. The Rokasa War has no bearing on the United States of America and our troops should be recalled back to Earth immediately, before more die for nothing. Thank you. I give the floor to my opponent, the President of the United States…”
Kaess-Olin System, Rokasa Confederacy
Today:
“Yeehaw!” Danny shouted, the sound echoing through the narrow confines of his starfighter. He banked sharply to the left, sliding between two Imperial vulture ships, and fired from the belly of his starfighter, dropping straight down as the vulture exploded. When its companion followed suit a heartbeat later, Danny let out a howl of success, turning his fighter upright again so he could see Flack giving him a thumbs up from behind the transparisteel of his cockpit.
His headset crackled. “We’ve got vultures incoming, Messer,” Flack said gleefully, angling his starfighter away. Danny followed, slightly to the left, hands tightening on the controls as Flack let out a whoop of excitement and flew straight at the vulture trio, nearly nose to nose with the leader. Danny dropped down beneath him, twisting his fighter upside down and flying belly to belly with the others, who broke sideways, trying to flank him. Fire exploded briefly above him as Flack fired and twisted sideways and down, dodging the set of shots the vulture had managed to get off before Flack’s connected. Danny shot upward, dodging the vulture shots, and rolled his ship, coming straight down at the nearest vulture. He pulled up at the last moment, rolling again as he sent off a spray of shots that scorched the paint on the vulture that didn’t do any permanent damage.
Flack swore in his ear. “What?” Danny said, dodging the vulture’s shots in a series of wild aerobatics that had long ago lost their ability to make him sick to his stomach. “What? Are you hit?”
“My shields are down,” Flack said bitterly, and swore again. “Stop playing around, Messer, and get over here and cover my ass. This ends now, before one of us goes down.”
“Man,” Danny said, “you get all pissy whenever you get hit. Hold on.” He rolled once more and fired while still in the middle of it, cracking the transparisteel on the vulture’s cockpit. The Imperial inside – humanoid, from the looks of it – went white, attention all on keeping his ship together, and Danny took advantage of the situation to fire his forward guns full power, diving aside to drop down behind Flack, who was on the offensive now, harrying the remaining vulture fighter, firing off little blasts of lasers that did little more than scorch across the vulture’s hull, dodging the return blasts.
“Just take him out already,” Danny said, trying to get a fix on the vulture, which was quicker and more slippery than the others.
“My forward guns are out,” Flack snapped. “And without a rear shield, I’m really not up for exposing my belly for a low shot. You take the fucker out.”
“God, you’re annoying,” Danny said, and took the shot. He and Flack broke right and left, separated from the rest of the firefight now, watching it wind down as Confederate and Imperial starfighters danced and died in space.
His headset crackled. “Good work, boys, now come on home,” the New York’s communications officer said. “We’ve got some bad news from Earth.”
-
-
Adam was busy transmitting the databurst from Washington forward to all the other Spaceforce starcruisers in the Empire. “Affirmative from Pennsylvania,” he announced. “Affirmative from Nevada. Affirmative from Washington, but they’re pissed. Affirmative from Kansas.”
“What about Florida and California?” Mac demanded.
“No affirmative.”
“California’s still grounded on Bruxtupi,” Stella reminded Mac, eyes on the wall-wide Rokasan map of the galaxy. Blinking green dots, labeled with their names, showed the last known location of every Spaceforce ship in the known galaxy. “General, they’re not going to be able to get through that Imperial blockade in time to make the wormhole.”
“I know. NASA didn’t design blockade runners.” He pressed his lips tightly together. “The data should get through, though. What about the Florida?”
Adam shook his head. “No affirmative.” His hands hesitated over the keyboard. “Affirmative from California. Lieutenant Colonel Eppes will contact you later.”
“Where was Florida’s last known location?”
Stella squinted at the map. “The Dessulu System. General, there are three thousand troops on that ship, as well as hundred Spaceforce crewmen.”
“I know. Try and make contact.”
Adam pulled the mic on his headset against his mouth. “Florida, this is USSS New York. Please respond. Repeat, Florida, this is the United States Starship New York, please respond.” He paused. “No contact.”
“General Taylor?” Adam’s second said, leaning over from his own station. “We’re getting a distress beacon on the emergency channel.”
“Tune it in,” Mac ordered, and Adam’s fingers flew over the keyboard.
“It’s the Florida’s code. Attempting to establish contact on the emergency channel – USSS Florida, this is the USSS New York. Please respond. Repeat: Florida, this is the United States Starship New York, please respond immediately.” Another pause. “No contact. I’m not getting any other signal from the Florida.”
Mac turned to Stella. “Who’s closest?”
She glanced at the map again. “We are.”
He turned back to Adam. “Get Colonel Booth on the horn. We’re going after the Florida, and I want someone I trust to be in charge here.”
-
-
“This sucks,” Flack said bitterly, sprawled out in the cruiser’s commons area. He was cleaning his sidearm slowly and methodically, materials strewn out around him and covering almost as much couch space as he was. “This sucks a lot. Has the Pentagon even been looking at the reports Taylor’s been sending back? Bruxtupi’s under fucking siege; there’s no way in hell California’s going to make it back here in a week. NASA didn’t design fucking blockade runners.”
“There are three thousand American troops on Bruxtupi,” Danny said inanely, trying to stuff enough painkillers in his mouth to kill the headache the orders from Washington had brought on.
Flack glared at him over the barrel of his pistol. “Yeah, and they’re sitting around doing jack shit. Taylor shoulda sent them with the Florida over to Dessulu. Christ, the Confederates are gonna be pissed.”
“I’m pissed,” Danny said, giving up on the painkillers and putting his head between his knees instead, fingers laced over the back of his skull.
“You’re pissed, I’m the one that nearly totaled my fighter and nearly died.” His hands tightened on the pistol as the ship lurched suddenly.
Danny swore. “Why the hell are we going into lightspace? All we have to do is fly down and go through the atmosphere and we’re on Kaes-Olin. Why the hell are we – oh, God.” He put his head back down between his knees, this time for nausea instead of headache. Lightspace jumps, God damn it, this was all he needed on top of a headache and a pair of bad orders.
Not to mention Flack not being bothered by them. He tucked his sidearm back in its holster and stood up, announcing, “I’m going up to the bridge to see what the hell kind of fool plan Taylor’s got now. God help us all if involves personally breaking the Bruxtupi blockade to get the California back; we do not have that much firepower unless Hawkes can come up with something really cool.”
“Please stop talking now,” Danny said, holding his head. The headache had come back, and it had brought friends to double-date with the nausea. Give him an hour or so and he’d be good, but until then – hell of a thing for a pilot, although the starfighters weren’t equipped with lightspace drives. “Better yet, please leave now.”
“So demanding,” Flack said, rolling his eyes, and rested a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder before he left, leaving his gear strewn out where he’d been sitting. Danny kept his head on his knees, breathing through his mouth, trying to calm the jump-sickness.
-
-
“We’re close,” Mac said, frowning at the coordinates on the screen. “Take us out of lightspace now; we’ll go the rest in realspace.”
“Pulling out of lightspace –” Stella said, hands on the controls, and forced herself to keep her eyes open as her stomach turned over and they pulled out of lightspace and into realspace.
“Oh God,” Lindsay said, and Stella heard her run out of the bridge to the head, feet pattering on the chromium floor. Lightspace-realspace jumps took most Earth-humans like that; Spaceforce scientists had decided that the Rokasa humanoids were so used to it after millennia with the technology that any reactions were minimal, if they existed at all. The biologists, already in ecstasy over the millions of new species, had had a field day with that.
Stella blinked the blur of stars from her eyes. They’d come out near the edge of the Dessulu System, the Sa Sai asteroid belt hanging in the distance with the sleek form of the Florida before it. The starcruiser wasn’t moving.
Mac clasped his hands behind his back, face stern. “Establish contact,” he ordered, and Adam leaned over the communications screen, frowning over the switchboard.
“Florida, this is USSS New York. Please respond. Repeat, Florida, this is the United States Starship New York, please respond.” He flicked switches up and down the board. “I’m still not getting a signal aside from the distress beacon. Switching to a manual override of the Florida’s systems.” He pushed the switchboard aside and pulled the keyboard forward.
A flicker of movement at the corner of Stella’s vision. Flack had come up from below decks, already dressed in a spacer’s jumpsuit with his holster strapped to his thigh and his helmet tucked under his arm. Stella motioned him over when Mac didn’t acknowledge him.
“How long?” he asked, as casually informal around her as all of them were by now except Mac. Five years on the front lines of what liberals back on Earth were now scathingly calling the Galactic War on Terror had done wonders with the concept of military formality.
Stella nodded toward Adam. “We weren’t able to establish contact. Adam’s hacking the Florida’s system right now.”
Flack touched his forehead briefly in a half-salute. “Danny and I’ll head down to the fighter bay, then. Let us know when you want us to head out.”
“Will do,” Stella said, as Adam exclaimed, “Got it! We’re in.”
“Hold a minute, Lieutenant,” Mac ordered. “Let’s see what you and Lieutenant Messer and heading into.”
Flack stopped obediently, turning to the wallwide screen that usually showed a Rokasan galactic map and was now projecting the Florida’s security footage.
“No movement,” Stella said, narrow-eyed. “And that’s a body.”
Mac turned to Flack. “Prepare to head out, Lieutenant.”
-
-
“Imperial?” Stella said grimly, averting her eyes from the stacked pyramid of severed human heads. The Florida’s crew, as well as the Marines they’d been carrying. Several thousand heads in all; they’d found the bodies themselves piled in the mess hall. There were only two that for some reason hadn’t been put with the others. One was the one they’d seen on the Florida’s camera, stuffed into a ventilation shaft with his head blown apart; the other was the ship’s medical officer, neatly dismembered and reassembled on her own operating table. Stella had very nearly been sick when she’d seen that; she’d known Woods, originally been stationed with her on the Rhode Island before they’d both been reassigned to the Rokasa mission.
“No,” Mac said, just as grim. “This isn’t their style. The Imperials are more…civilized.”
Stella swore. “Who the hell else, then? The Imps are the only ones in this part of the galaxy that hate us this much.”
“The Imperials don’t hate us,” Mac corrected, not once taking his off the grisly spectacle in the commons. “They hate the Confederacy fro trying to tear the Union apart – yes, I’m aware of the irony, Major. They resent the U.S. for interfering in their business, but they don’t hate us. They’re not capable of something like this.”
“Maybe not the Imperial Army,” Stella said stubbornly, “but what about their subjects? Some of the Imperial worlds are worse than the Aztecs and the Nazis put together.”
Mac pressed his lips tightly together. “If we can, we should sent the bodies back to Earth, especially with a wormhole opening so soon. Get Adam up here to set the climate controls to something preservative. Put Flack and Messer onboard as pilots, along with a battalion of Marines – Flack commanding. We’ll rendezvous with them back on Kaess-Olin.”
“No retaliation?”
“No time,” Mac said evenly. “We’re back on Earth in five days.”
“Washington’ll be pissed –”
“Washington will pull us back tomorrow if they hear about this,” he said sharply. “We have less than five days to get the California off Bruxtupi. All of us leave or none of us leave.” He turned abruptly on his heel. “Get the people I asked for down here now.”
-
-
“I bet this ship’s haunted,” Adam said, keeping one hand on his gun as they paced down the hallway. He glanced uneasily at the sealed doors of the commons and the mess.
“Afraid of ghosts?” Danny said.
It was Flack who answered. “Over two and a half thousand people died on this ship; I’m not too happy here myself. Really hoping for a promotion out of this gig, though.”
“All this shit we’ve been through? I think we’re due a couple.”
“Yes, but what about me?” Adam said piteously. “I don’t care about getting promoted; I just don’t want to die.”
“We checked the ship over pretty thoroughly,” Flack said. “There’s nothing here.” He glanced briefly over his shoulder, a fine shiver running up his spine.
“Except for two thousand, seven hundred and thirty-one bodies. Dead bodies.” He looked down. “Where are the bloodstains? I thought there’d be bloodstains.”
Danny’s gaze flickered downward to the dull chromium floor. He looked back up to find Flack looking at him, one eyebrow raised. “Good point,” he said.
-
-
The Confederacy was understanding. Unhappy, but understanding, and the Kaessii let Mac use the Grand Arena to speak to the troops. Stella stood off to one side, Danny and Flack to the other. They’d become war heroes in the past five years, easily identifiable in their deep blue Spaceforce uniforms, legs spread slightly and hands clasped behind their backs. Even here, in the presence of fifteen thousand American troops they were armed, holsters strapped to each hip, low and hanging over their thighs.
“You’ve all heard the news by now,” Mac said, voice carrying easily. “Washington, and President Copland, have issued general recall for all American troops on the Outer Rim. NASA is opening a wormhole home the day after tomorrow and we all have orders to go home. Unfortunately, almost six thousand of us won’t be able to. The USSS California is still grounded on the planet Bruxtupi, which is under siege by Imperial troops. They haven’t been able to break the blockade from the inside, and neither have we from the outside. There are three thousand Americans that are going to be stranded on that planet.
“You’ll note that none of the officers, crew, or troops on board the USSS Florida are present. Two days ago we received a distress signal from the Florida. When my crew and I arrived in the Dessulu System, we boarded the Florida, and found that all on board had been killed, slaughtered like animals. Almost three thousand people: Spaceforce, Marines, and civilian scientists. We have orders not to investigate farther or retaliate.
“Never before has the United States of America deliberately forbidden an investigation into the deaths of thousands of its citizens. Never before has it deliberately forbidden a retaliatory act on the perpetrator.
“Leaving Rokasa now means abandoning the California and her people. It means letting the Florida go unavenged. It means walking away from everything we’ve spent the past five years fighting for, killing for, dying for, and I’m not willing to do that. Not while I still have soldiers here. If leaving Rokasa means abandoning the California, then I will not leave. If leaving Rokasa means letting the Florida be forgotten, then I will not leave. If leaving Rokasa means leaving the Confederacy to fight a war that they cannot win alone, then I will not leave.
“The day after tomorrow, the Florida will go through a wormhole back to Earth, where it will be poured over unceasingly and ultimately forgotten. The California will not return. The New York will not return. All of you have your orders. All of you are human. If you choose to follow your orders, then I will turn a blind eye. If you fear court-martial, then return to Earth by all means. If you remember what it means to be truly American, then remain here. Remain fighting.”
The cheers shook the Grand Arena.
They’d stay, then.
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "What right do we have to interfere in their war and send our sons and daughters to die light years away from their homes, not even in another part of this planet, but in another part of this galaxy?"
Disclaimer: Not mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: AU. If it seems familiar but definitely isn't CSI:NY, it also doesn't belong to me. For
stellaluna_'s birthday. Have a good one!Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.A., Earth
Four months ago:
“Good evening. For the past five years now, the United States has been involved in a war not our own, one we are not prepared to fight. We should not have to fight this war – we should not be fighting it! Americans are fighting and dying on the Outer Rim of space, for a people that are not our own – not even human! Tell me, my fellow Americans, why we should be doing this? For knowledge? Already we have gathered enough extraterrestrial technology to leap the field of science generations ahead. In self-defense? The Rokasa Empire poses no threat to Earth. We are speaking of an alien people whose culture and politics we cannot begin to comprehend. What right do we have, as Americans, to make judgments on these people? What right do we have to interfere in their war and send our sons and daughters to die light years away from their homes, not even in another part of this planet, but in another part of this galaxy? We have no right. The Rokasa War has no bearing on the United States of America and our troops should be recalled back to Earth immediately, before more die for nothing. Thank you. I give the floor to my opponent, the President of the United States…”
Kaess-Olin System, Rokasa Confederacy
Today:
“Yeehaw!” Danny shouted, the sound echoing through the narrow confines of his starfighter. He banked sharply to the left, sliding between two Imperial vulture ships, and fired from the belly of his starfighter, dropping straight down as the vulture exploded. When its companion followed suit a heartbeat later, Danny let out a howl of success, turning his fighter upright again so he could see Flack giving him a thumbs up from behind the transparisteel of his cockpit.
His headset crackled. “We’ve got vultures incoming, Messer,” Flack said gleefully, angling his starfighter away. Danny followed, slightly to the left, hands tightening on the controls as Flack let out a whoop of excitement and flew straight at the vulture trio, nearly nose to nose with the leader. Danny dropped down beneath him, twisting his fighter upside down and flying belly to belly with the others, who broke sideways, trying to flank him. Fire exploded briefly above him as Flack fired and twisted sideways and down, dodging the set of shots the vulture had managed to get off before Flack’s connected. Danny shot upward, dodging the vulture shots, and rolled his ship, coming straight down at the nearest vulture. He pulled up at the last moment, rolling again as he sent off a spray of shots that scorched the paint on the vulture that didn’t do any permanent damage.
Flack swore in his ear. “What?” Danny said, dodging the vulture’s shots in a series of wild aerobatics that had long ago lost their ability to make him sick to his stomach. “What? Are you hit?”
“My shields are down,” Flack said bitterly, and swore again. “Stop playing around, Messer, and get over here and cover my ass. This ends now, before one of us goes down.”
“Man,” Danny said, “you get all pissy whenever you get hit. Hold on.” He rolled once more and fired while still in the middle of it, cracking the transparisteel on the vulture’s cockpit. The Imperial inside – humanoid, from the looks of it – went white, attention all on keeping his ship together, and Danny took advantage of the situation to fire his forward guns full power, diving aside to drop down behind Flack, who was on the offensive now, harrying the remaining vulture fighter, firing off little blasts of lasers that did little more than scorch across the vulture’s hull, dodging the return blasts.
“Just take him out already,” Danny said, trying to get a fix on the vulture, which was quicker and more slippery than the others.
“My forward guns are out,” Flack snapped. “And without a rear shield, I’m really not up for exposing my belly for a low shot. You take the fucker out.”
“God, you’re annoying,” Danny said, and took the shot. He and Flack broke right and left, separated from the rest of the firefight now, watching it wind down as Confederate and Imperial starfighters danced and died in space.
His headset crackled. “Good work, boys, now come on home,” the New York’s communications officer said. “We’ve got some bad news from Earth.”
-
-
Adam was busy transmitting the databurst from Washington forward to all the other Spaceforce starcruisers in the Empire. “Affirmative from Pennsylvania,” he announced. “Affirmative from Nevada. Affirmative from Washington, but they’re pissed. Affirmative from Kansas.”
“What about Florida and California?” Mac demanded.
“No affirmative.”
“California’s still grounded on Bruxtupi,” Stella reminded Mac, eyes on the wall-wide Rokasan map of the galaxy. Blinking green dots, labeled with their names, showed the last known location of every Spaceforce ship in the known galaxy. “General, they’re not going to be able to get through that Imperial blockade in time to make the wormhole.”
“I know. NASA didn’t design blockade runners.” He pressed his lips tightly together. “The data should get through, though. What about the Florida?”
Adam shook his head. “No affirmative.” His hands hesitated over the keyboard. “Affirmative from California. Lieutenant Colonel Eppes will contact you later.”
“Where was Florida’s last known location?”
Stella squinted at the map. “The Dessulu System. General, there are three thousand troops on that ship, as well as hundred Spaceforce crewmen.”
“I know. Try and make contact.”
Adam pulled the mic on his headset against his mouth. “Florida, this is USSS New York. Please respond. Repeat, Florida, this is the United States Starship New York, please respond.” He paused. “No contact.”
“General Taylor?” Adam’s second said, leaning over from his own station. “We’re getting a distress beacon on the emergency channel.”
“Tune it in,” Mac ordered, and Adam’s fingers flew over the keyboard.
“It’s the Florida’s code. Attempting to establish contact on the emergency channel – USSS Florida, this is the USSS New York. Please respond. Repeat: Florida, this is the United States Starship New York, please respond immediately.” Another pause. “No contact. I’m not getting any other signal from the Florida.”
Mac turned to Stella. “Who’s closest?”
She glanced at the map again. “We are.”
He turned back to Adam. “Get Colonel Booth on the horn. We’re going after the Florida, and I want someone I trust to be in charge here.”
-
-
“This sucks,” Flack said bitterly, sprawled out in the cruiser’s commons area. He was cleaning his sidearm slowly and methodically, materials strewn out around him and covering almost as much couch space as he was. “This sucks a lot. Has the Pentagon even been looking at the reports Taylor’s been sending back? Bruxtupi’s under fucking siege; there’s no way in hell California’s going to make it back here in a week. NASA didn’t design fucking blockade runners.”
“There are three thousand American troops on Bruxtupi,” Danny said inanely, trying to stuff enough painkillers in his mouth to kill the headache the orders from Washington had brought on.
Flack glared at him over the barrel of his pistol. “Yeah, and they’re sitting around doing jack shit. Taylor shoulda sent them with the Florida over to Dessulu. Christ, the Confederates are gonna be pissed.”
“I’m pissed,” Danny said, giving up on the painkillers and putting his head between his knees instead, fingers laced over the back of his skull.
“You’re pissed, I’m the one that nearly totaled my fighter and nearly died.” His hands tightened on the pistol as the ship lurched suddenly.
Danny swore. “Why the hell are we going into lightspace? All we have to do is fly down and go through the atmosphere and we’re on Kaes-Olin. Why the hell are we – oh, God.” He put his head back down between his knees, this time for nausea instead of headache. Lightspace jumps, God damn it, this was all he needed on top of a headache and a pair of bad orders.
Not to mention Flack not being bothered by them. He tucked his sidearm back in its holster and stood up, announcing, “I’m going up to the bridge to see what the hell kind of fool plan Taylor’s got now. God help us all if involves personally breaking the Bruxtupi blockade to get the California back; we do not have that much firepower unless Hawkes can come up with something really cool.”
“Please stop talking now,” Danny said, holding his head. The headache had come back, and it had brought friends to double-date with the nausea. Give him an hour or so and he’d be good, but until then – hell of a thing for a pilot, although the starfighters weren’t equipped with lightspace drives. “Better yet, please leave now.”
“So demanding,” Flack said, rolling his eyes, and rested a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder before he left, leaving his gear strewn out where he’d been sitting. Danny kept his head on his knees, breathing through his mouth, trying to calm the jump-sickness.
-
-
“We’re close,” Mac said, frowning at the coordinates on the screen. “Take us out of lightspace now; we’ll go the rest in realspace.”
“Pulling out of lightspace –” Stella said, hands on the controls, and forced herself to keep her eyes open as her stomach turned over and they pulled out of lightspace and into realspace.
“Oh God,” Lindsay said, and Stella heard her run out of the bridge to the head, feet pattering on the chromium floor. Lightspace-realspace jumps took most Earth-humans like that; Spaceforce scientists had decided that the Rokasa humanoids were so used to it after millennia with the technology that any reactions were minimal, if they existed at all. The biologists, already in ecstasy over the millions of new species, had had a field day with that.
Stella blinked the blur of stars from her eyes. They’d come out near the edge of the Dessulu System, the Sa Sai asteroid belt hanging in the distance with the sleek form of the Florida before it. The starcruiser wasn’t moving.
Mac clasped his hands behind his back, face stern. “Establish contact,” he ordered, and Adam leaned over the communications screen, frowning over the switchboard.
“Florida, this is USSS New York. Please respond. Repeat, Florida, this is the United States Starship New York, please respond.” He flicked switches up and down the board. “I’m still not getting a signal aside from the distress beacon. Switching to a manual override of the Florida’s systems.” He pushed the switchboard aside and pulled the keyboard forward.
A flicker of movement at the corner of Stella’s vision. Flack had come up from below decks, already dressed in a spacer’s jumpsuit with his holster strapped to his thigh and his helmet tucked under his arm. Stella motioned him over when Mac didn’t acknowledge him.
“How long?” he asked, as casually informal around her as all of them were by now except Mac. Five years on the front lines of what liberals back on Earth were now scathingly calling the Galactic War on Terror had done wonders with the concept of military formality.
Stella nodded toward Adam. “We weren’t able to establish contact. Adam’s hacking the Florida’s system right now.”
Flack touched his forehead briefly in a half-salute. “Danny and I’ll head down to the fighter bay, then. Let us know when you want us to head out.”
“Will do,” Stella said, as Adam exclaimed, “Got it! We’re in.”
“Hold a minute, Lieutenant,” Mac ordered. “Let’s see what you and Lieutenant Messer and heading into.”
Flack stopped obediently, turning to the wallwide screen that usually showed a Rokasan galactic map and was now projecting the Florida’s security footage.
“No movement,” Stella said, narrow-eyed. “And that’s a body.”
Mac turned to Flack. “Prepare to head out, Lieutenant.”
-
-
“Imperial?” Stella said grimly, averting her eyes from the stacked pyramid of severed human heads. The Florida’s crew, as well as the Marines they’d been carrying. Several thousand heads in all; they’d found the bodies themselves piled in the mess hall. There were only two that for some reason hadn’t been put with the others. One was the one they’d seen on the Florida’s camera, stuffed into a ventilation shaft with his head blown apart; the other was the ship’s medical officer, neatly dismembered and reassembled on her own operating table. Stella had very nearly been sick when she’d seen that; she’d known Woods, originally been stationed with her on the Rhode Island before they’d both been reassigned to the Rokasa mission.
“No,” Mac said, just as grim. “This isn’t their style. The Imperials are more…civilized.”
Stella swore. “Who the hell else, then? The Imps are the only ones in this part of the galaxy that hate us this much.”
“The Imperials don’t hate us,” Mac corrected, not once taking his off the grisly spectacle in the commons. “They hate the Confederacy fro trying to tear the Union apart – yes, I’m aware of the irony, Major. They resent the U.S. for interfering in their business, but they don’t hate us. They’re not capable of something like this.”
“Maybe not the Imperial Army,” Stella said stubbornly, “but what about their subjects? Some of the Imperial worlds are worse than the Aztecs and the Nazis put together.”
Mac pressed his lips tightly together. “If we can, we should sent the bodies back to Earth, especially with a wormhole opening so soon. Get Adam up here to set the climate controls to something preservative. Put Flack and Messer onboard as pilots, along with a battalion of Marines – Flack commanding. We’ll rendezvous with them back on Kaess-Olin.”
“No retaliation?”
“No time,” Mac said evenly. “We’re back on Earth in five days.”
“Washington’ll be pissed –”
“Washington will pull us back tomorrow if they hear about this,” he said sharply. “We have less than five days to get the California off Bruxtupi. All of us leave or none of us leave.” He turned abruptly on his heel. “Get the people I asked for down here now.”
-
-
“I bet this ship’s haunted,” Adam said, keeping one hand on his gun as they paced down the hallway. He glanced uneasily at the sealed doors of the commons and the mess.
“Afraid of ghosts?” Danny said.
It was Flack who answered. “Over two and a half thousand people died on this ship; I’m not too happy here myself. Really hoping for a promotion out of this gig, though.”
“All this shit we’ve been through? I think we’re due a couple.”
“Yes, but what about me?” Adam said piteously. “I don’t care about getting promoted; I just don’t want to die.”
“We checked the ship over pretty thoroughly,” Flack said. “There’s nothing here.” He glanced briefly over his shoulder, a fine shiver running up his spine.
“Except for two thousand, seven hundred and thirty-one bodies. Dead bodies.” He looked down. “Where are the bloodstains? I thought there’d be bloodstains.”
Danny’s gaze flickered downward to the dull chromium floor. He looked back up to find Flack looking at him, one eyebrow raised. “Good point,” he said.
-
-
The Confederacy was understanding. Unhappy, but understanding, and the Kaessii let Mac use the Grand Arena to speak to the troops. Stella stood off to one side, Danny and Flack to the other. They’d become war heroes in the past five years, easily identifiable in their deep blue Spaceforce uniforms, legs spread slightly and hands clasped behind their backs. Even here, in the presence of fifteen thousand American troops they were armed, holsters strapped to each hip, low and hanging over their thighs.
“You’ve all heard the news by now,” Mac said, voice carrying easily. “Washington, and President Copland, have issued general recall for all American troops on the Outer Rim. NASA is opening a wormhole home the day after tomorrow and we all have orders to go home. Unfortunately, almost six thousand of us won’t be able to. The USSS California is still grounded on the planet Bruxtupi, which is under siege by Imperial troops. They haven’t been able to break the blockade from the inside, and neither have we from the outside. There are three thousand Americans that are going to be stranded on that planet.
“You’ll note that none of the officers, crew, or troops on board the USSS Florida are present. Two days ago we received a distress signal from the Florida. When my crew and I arrived in the Dessulu System, we boarded the Florida, and found that all on board had been killed, slaughtered like animals. Almost three thousand people: Spaceforce, Marines, and civilian scientists. We have orders not to investigate farther or retaliate.
“Never before has the United States of America deliberately forbidden an investigation into the deaths of thousands of its citizens. Never before has it deliberately forbidden a retaliatory act on the perpetrator.
“Leaving Rokasa now means abandoning the California and her people. It means letting the Florida go unavenged. It means walking away from everything we’ve spent the past five years fighting for, killing for, dying for, and I’m not willing to do that. Not while I still have soldiers here. If leaving Rokasa means abandoning the California, then I will not leave. If leaving Rokasa means letting the Florida be forgotten, then I will not leave. If leaving Rokasa means leaving the Confederacy to fight a war that they cannot win alone, then I will not leave.
“The day after tomorrow, the Florida will go through a wormhole back to Earth, where it will be poured over unceasingly and ultimately forgotten. The California will not return. The New York will not return. All of you have your orders. All of you are human. If you choose to follow your orders, then I will turn a blind eye. If you fear court-martial, then return to Earth by all means. If you remember what it means to be truly American, then remain here. Remain fighting.”
The cheers shook the Grand Arena.
They’d stay, then.