“You’re fired, Commodore. This Disciplinary Committee finds you guilty of gross insubordination. You are hereby stripped of your rank and of any bonuses due you, except for the mandatory payment of your last salary. Your name shall be forwarded to the Corporate Federation for blacklisting and other appropriate action. Dismissed.”
Elric stood expressionless before the three seated men. Not that he could physically do anything. The sentencing dais held immobile any individual to be sentenced. He couldn’t even speak.
But he expected the ruling and deemed its cause worth it. At least for his soul. The admiral on board the battlecruiser he commanded immediately took over after he refused to give the order to fire. There was always a higher-ranking officer on any vessel engaged in what the company deemed as sensitive missions.
Elric suspected what the mission was all about when the admiral boarded. A misgiving reinforced when he received the order to proceed to Proxima Twelve, a planet owned by the company but currently suffering from widespread political and armed rebellion. Upon reaching orbit, his ship, the battlecruiser Venture, was directed to proceed to Langden, the largest city on the planet and the focus of terrestrial discontent.
Actual fighting was going on in the megalopolis, but intelligence reports had already given up on the colony. The few anti-ship missiles launched against the Venture upon its arrival in orbit also revealed the loss of a major portion of the city’s space defenses. The defenses of the planet might work against the occasional pirate or small raider but not against a ship of the line.
But the hypersonic missiles were never a threat, the company always made sure that planetary defenses in systems they controlled had much older generation weapons, and the Venture’s point defenses made a mockery of the futile effort, even as they fired at maximum range. Nor did the company install heavy beam firing weapons – the cost was not worth it, and there was no way the Europa business concern would countenance the possibility of a credible planetary defense on any of its colonies.
Venture Class Battlecruiser (Europa Galactic Consortium)
Image under license from Shutterstock.com
When the Venture reached the specified planetary coordinates, the admiral entered the ship’s bridge with an armed escort and stood by his side. The man gave him a small communications strip. It was transparent, paper-thin, and keyed to his DNA. As soon as he activated the film, Elric saw what was going to happen.
“A Genesis order? Isn’t this extreme?” he asked the admiral with a voice marked with concern.
“Not our call, Elric. I suggest you initiate the necessary procedures immediately,” brusquely replied the officer. He knew the admiral. A friend of his late father and a mentor of sorts.
Reluctantly, Elric called out the coordinates listed on the display. As he did so, the admiral verified them in a similar device. The procedure was bureaucratic and old-fashioned. But the use and firing of a Genesis-level weapon were always done in such a manner. While Elric was training at the junior officer institute, the question about the time-consuming process had always been raised by flag officers-to-be. And the answer was ever the same – to add gravitas to such a devastating solution and to emphasize the use of the PTS weapon only in extraordinary situations.
“Coordinates locked, Commander,” advised his targeting officer. Elric could barely hear the man, his mind was swirling with contrasting emotions and thoughts. He had served more than twenty years in the company’s fleet, and never had the dark opportunity, even as a crew member, to witness a Genesis operation. Now he was expected to fire one.
“Prepare to launch the PTS,” his voice ordered dully. He was going by rote now. The PTS, or Planetary Targeting System, was a weapon which could be carried only by battlecruisers and higher-level ships. The amount of energy and system software processing it demanded while being prepared for firing could not be handled by smaller vessels. It was at its core, an antimatter bomb whose detonation strength and radius were barely controlled by current technology. Add to it secondary defensive armaments and autonomous drones, and its size significantly increased to that of a small patrol vessel.
“PTS ready to launch, Commander,” came the update after several seconds.
The next order would have been to fire the apocalyptic weapon, but somehow, Elric found it impossible to give the command. His eyes closed as his mind recoiled from ordering the death of the more than three hundred million people of Langden. Most would be civilians and loyal company employees. Men, women, and children. True, the rebels might be gaining the advantage but wiping out the entire megalopolis? His hands turned into fists as Elric desperately tried to get hold of himself.
“Commodore Main? Is anything wrong?” asked the admiral. The tone was now formal. It was evident that the man was not a stranger to the reaction being displayed by Elric.
Elric couldn’t reply. His mind couldn’t think about what he was supposed to do. He knew the term for what he was expected to order. Genocide. Even if the word was a disused and unfamiliar one in the world of corporate megaliths he had found himself. It did crop up in trials involving individuals and entities who were not members of the Interstellar Corporate Federation, but only the big boys have the right to do it. And the galactic giants of enterprise had sole access to the terrifying power of the PTS.
He heard the admiral sigh. Elric’s eyes were still closed, he could feel his legs shaking and his heart pumping.
“It’s alright, Elric. I understand. But this will have extremely negative effects on you and your future. Last chance,” said the admiral.
Somehow, Elric found the strength to open his eyes and look at the man.
“I am sorry, Ben. I can’t do it,” he said resignedly in a low voice.
“I am sorry too, Elric. You have been a valued officer of the company. Your battle record speaks for itself. But I have to do my job,” the admiral told him in a low voice. Elric merely nodded.
The admiral quickly strode forward and addressed the ship’s crew.
“Pursuant to the Charter of the Europa Galactic Consortium, and its rules and procedures governing the conduct of its employees, I, Rear Admiral Bernard Walsh, hereby take over full and absolute command of the battlecruiser Venture. Ship’s command interface will now activate procedure delta-five-zulu-alpha-three,” announced the officer as he pressed his right thumb to his device.
Then he added. “Commodore Elric Main is at this moment suspended from his command and ordered to be placed in the brig.”
A stunned silence swept the bridge.
“Targeting Officer Falk, confirm target coordinates and weapon readiness.”
“All ready, Admiral.”
The blue and green planet loomed large on the view screen of the ship’s bridge. Elric could see explosions of anti-ship missiles as they were methodically destroyed upon leaving the planetary atmosphere. Both officers knew there was simply no chance for any planetary defense system to inflict damage on the ship. Every corporation owning swathes of planetary regions practiced the same procedure, making the colonies dependent on the fleets for security and ensuring that the ultimate arbiter of life and death would be the owners of such planetary systems.
Around him, the tension on the bridge was palpable, all waiting for the admiral to perform the final sequence resulting in the death of hundreds of millions of people. All it needed was one word, the command vortices of the ship now being slaved to Admiral Walsh and his voice.
“Fire.”
Image by stefan keller/pixabay
