And The Fool Shall Be Servant

“This is Fleet Captain Ralston. All ships report in.”

I’m not a fan of technology. Let me rephrase that. I’m okay with technology in general, what with it currently being the only thing between me and the vacuum of space. However, I think that even a cursory glance through human history shows that, rather than solving our problems, it just lets us be humans faster and more efficiently than ever before. Sometimes that’s good, I suppose. Other times, not so much.

Take for instance, my current situation. I’m the commanding officer of Earth’s first fleet of spaceships equipped with faster-than-light technology. It’s officially called the Wallace Drive, I guess after the person who invented it or something. I don’t suppose it really matters. The troops are just calling it the faster-than-light drive. Or in one case I overheard in the corridors the “Oh Jesus! I didn’t sign up for this!” drive.

Saying that morale is at an all-time low is quite the understatement. Being guinea pigs will do that to you. Especially when being a guinea pig has the possibility of reducing you to a smear of paste on the nearest bulkhead if the slightest thing goes wrong. 

I had, of course, raised these concerns with the Admiralty. Admiral Butler had responded with a message that consisted simply of a copy of the contract for enlisted personnel and officers, with the sections about disobeying orders and going AWOL highlighted. I got the message. I wondered about adding a pay grade for crash test dummies.

In theory, this should be a good thing. The galaxy is essentially open to us now. We can travel to the stars in hours and days instead of years and centuries now. Humanity can expand out and colonize. We can finally ensure the survival of the species. I should feel pretty good about all these new possibilities. Manifest destiny! In space!

In practice, things are already swirling down the galactic toilet bowl. Apparently, our space station at Epsilon Eridani is having some issues. I don’t have all the details, but it sounds like someone there murdered the undercover agent that was supposed to be keeping tabs on the place for Mother Earth. Apparently it’d been a John Doe cold case for ten years or so, but his transmitter kept sending the usual “status normal” signal, so nobody had bothered to follow up. Then some disgraced detective and weird little IT girl started digging. The detective figured it out and sent a message on the transmitter, not realizing that it allowed for instant communication, skipping the ten light year transmit time. One little gem we hadn’t shared with the colonies yet.

I’d been to the space station before. Epsilon Eridani L3-1, or Hinterlands, as the locals called it. A bit bare bones, but overall a decent enough place to live. Germany had contributed heavily to its funding, back when national borders were still a thing. It gave it a heavy European feel and an ungodly amount of sausages. I hadn’t expected to go back, since it was a twenty year commute. Yet here we are.

Earth is irate. Again, I’m not sure about the details, which really seems like something that should be shared with the leader of the expedition force, but it sounds like the man who was president or chancellor or whatever they call it there is the guy who murdered our agent. So instead of the training maneuvers we were scheduled for, in the general direction of Proxima Centauri, we’re throwing it in reverse and heading to the Hinterlands to take control.

Isn’t that lovely. We have a fancy-schmancy new way to explore the galaxy and the first thing we’re going to do is go invade someplace that may or may not have had it coming. Again the details are really skimpy at this point. I can't really emphasize that enough. Officially, I’m being told this is a peace-keeping mission. That’s probably true. We’ll keep the peace all right and make sure no one else gets any of it.

“All ships report ready, Fleet Captain,” the voice of my executive officer, Commander Darreaux, interrupts my thoughts. He has voiced concerns about the new technology as well. Like me, he’s concerned about Earth using it to impose their will on the unwilling. His background is in political science if I recall correctly. He has privately raised concerns with me that Earth is violating the rights of the stations and colonies if we assume control. Most are technically considered autonomous under international (interstellar?) law. He’s concerned that our orders are illegal.

He may be right. I’m a sailor though, not a lawyer. I go where I’m told and do what I’m ordered. Unless it’s a clear-cut case of illegal/immoral, there’s not much I can do. The Admiral’s political adjunct, Lieutenant Commander Bryant is here to make sure of that.

Darreaux and Bryant have a strange relationship. They’ve known each other since their days at Dayton Island, but don’t seem to agree on anything. They’ll fight tooth and nail on just about any given subject and then just put it all aside and go have dinner. Right now though, I can feel the animosity bubbling over between them.

“Thank you Commander,” I reply. “Stand by for launch orders from Earth.”

“Aye sir,” Darreaux responds.

Lieutenant Commander Bryant straightens up a little bit in what I assume he thought was an action to make him look taller and more dignified. It honestly just looked like he had a dryer sheet stuck in his uniform. But, he’d won. He and Darreaux had had it out in my office, off the record, before all this. They’d laid out their arguments. Darreaux’s was that the Earth government had no right to interfere with the internal affairs of stations and colonies in other systems, while Bryant’s essentially was that “Nuh-uh! Do too have the right!” Admiral Butler had very firmly confirmed that he was siding with Bryant and his eloquent argument, so here we are. I could feel the fury coming off of Darreaux in waves, just as I could feel the smug satisfaction radiating off of Bryant. To be fair, they would each be doing the opposite if the situations were reversed. Neither were above it, due to their enormous egos. It was very unbecoming of an officer I felt, but it would probably be why they would be admirals one day and I won’t be. Crewmen respond to people like me. Captains respond to people like Darreaux and Bryant, mainly because they have to.

Ultimately though, none of that changes the current situation. If I’d refused, I’d have been court martialed and someone else would be sent in. At least this way, I could keep an eye on things and try to control the situation. I’m deeply afraid that our first use of our new technology is going to result in a lot of people getting hurt. It’s never the people that deserve to get hurt though.

Oh, and I’m still blaming all this on technology. We have the ability, but I’m not sure about the wisdom. The people of the stations and colonies, didn’t tend to have much in the way of defenses. They needed all their resources to keep their people fed, clothed and to keep the lights and heat on. Military spending was a luxury that was rarely considered when you were so far out of the way that Earth didn’t even want to consider spending money to invade you. And it’s not like you had to worry about aliens invading or anything. All quiet on the galactic front.

Now the balance of power had well and truly shifted. Earth didn’t like what you’re doing, you’ll have an Earth fleet on your back doorstep before you can even dust off your weapons, assuming you hadn’t already melted them down for spare parts. We hadn’t even tried diplomacy, to my knowledge. It was one awful galactic coincidence that Earth found out about the Hinterlands situation just as we were getting ready to test things out. I’m constantly astounded at how often coincidences like that seem to crop up. 

Even if everything goes right and we survive the trip, everything is going to go wrong for the people that live on the Hinterlands. Technology’ll do that to you.

“Fleet Captain,” the communications officer announces, “we have received the go-ahead from Earth.”

“Thank you Lieutenant,” I reply. “Take your seats gentlemen.”

Darreaux assumes his station and straps in. Bryant takes a chair used for visitors to the bridge. He doesn’t fix his safety straps properly. I don’t say anything. At the speeds we’ll be going, it’s not like it’ll make a difference. If something goes wrong we’ll be dead before we know.

“Give me fleet-wide,” I ordered the comm officer. She nods and I see a green blink on at my console.

“Attention all ships, this is Fleet Captain Ralston. We have clearance from Earth. All ships synchronize your flight controls with the Larson’s master computer. Set course for the Epsilon Eridani system and engage the Wallace Drive. Ralston out.”

I signal to the comm officer to cut the connection. She presses a few buttons and the green light goes out.

I take one last glance at Darreaux and Bryant. Both of them are looking a little green and I’m more than a little amused by that.

“Well gentlemen? Shall we?”

They both nod, but not very enthusiastically.

“Helm, engage!” I bark.

Time to go manifest some destiny all over some poor folks.