POV: Carla Bauernschmidt, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Rear Admiral)

  Carla was tempted. The temptation was deeply embedded in the tradition and institution of the Republic Navy.

  Decades of its historical operations had been based around simple, easily articulated political objectives. They were mostly focused on a singular premise that was famously put by retired Admiral Carter over forty years ago:

  The people of the Red Zone are not our enemy. The Saturnian Resistance is a terrorist organization that does not represent the good people of the Red Zone. It is led by rotten leaders who trade away the precious lives of their misguided people for their lust of power and money. Our objective is to bring them to justice.

  Or something like that.

  Since Admiral Carter’s declaration, the Republic Navy had more or less adopted her views as dogma. Everything from its equipment to its doctrine had been designed around that simple objective: to bring the hiding, individual enemies of the Republic to justice, whatever that shifting goal meant at that time, while minimizing disruption to the daily lives of the innocent people who lived near them.

  Superficially, at least, if not substantially. The Navy wasn’t in charge of Republic public policy; it merely enforced it.

  Total war against the Znosians was a sea-change in everything the Republic Navy was used to.

  There were still combatants and noncombatants. There were still acceptable strikes and unacceptable ones, even if the enemy made no attempts at distinction on their part. But the value of those strikes had wildly changed. Despite the Znosians’ vulnerability to decapitation strikes, this was not a war that could end with the destruction of a single planet or the assassination of a cadre of leaders. It would take the Dominion time to plug the holes, yes, but a vast empire that had lasted this long and through so many wars — it was not a problem solved by simply killing a few important people.

  But the temptation was still there.

  Carla had obtained the exact planetary coordinates of the highest ranking members of the Dominion Navy, Dominion State Security, and every branch and department thereof, before her invasion task force even landed on Znos-4-C. She watched as the shuttle carrying Eleven Whiskers Sprabr evacuated him and his senior staff from the doomed planet. She was shown footage of their Director Svatken’s ground vehicle as she was ferried from her main office to a hardened underground bunker that would have lasted all of five milliseconds against an orbital strike.

  However, oddly enough, when she was briefed on the mission, one of her orders was that she was not to specifically target some of these high ranking enemy officials. She was given broad discretion to execute her mission several hundred light years behind enemy lines, but the purposeful nature of the orders made them seem above her paygrade, even as a rear admiral.

  That was why, despite the temptation, Carla didn’t order the strikes. In the chaos of combat operations as the fleet completed the Znos-4-C campaign, she almost forgot about them.

  Until they directly called her on the open radio.

  “Captain? They’re still waiting on the line.”

  “Put her up on screen.”

  Carla was not completely unfamiliar with Znosian body language, but the image of the Znosian State Security director required no such expertise. It was undoubtedly one of exhaustion and fatigue. Her whiskers drooped, her ears were flopping, and wrinkles surrounded her double-lidded eyes.

  “What do you want, Director Svatken?” Carla demanded.

  Svatken’s demeanor was different from her usual triumphant self. While the simmering rage remained beneath the surface, there was also a slow despondence to her voice, “Connect me to your fleet admiral.”

  “What for? Are you ready to surrender unconditionally?”

  “We are… giving additional consideration— We are ready for an armistice. Surely you can see this, predator, all this waste and destruction… An entire planet… This is not becoming of us civilized beings.”

  Carla shook her head. “I don’t believe a ceasefire— I’m not on the negotiating team, and even I know what you’re undoubtedly planning to do after.”

  “We are willing to make… concessions. Some concessions we were not willing to before. Surely your leaders will at least be interested to hear our— our new understanding of realities.”

  “Suit yourself.” Carla shrugged as she began opening a proxy connection to McMurdo on her console.

  “Those concessions better be good,” Speinfoent muttered darkly.

  Carla rolled her eyes. “Yeah, maybe they’ll offer us thrice the number of sacrificial offerings this time.”

  POV: Amelia Waters, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Fleet Admiral)

  When Amelia looked at the miserable creature on her screen, she knew she was supposed to feel pity. There was not supposed to be triumph here. The large numbers of needless deaths from this horrible war so far would have been sobering for any reasonable person. Sympathy would have been natural. Or at least magnanimity in victory, in the grand tradition of the Republic.

  Supposed to, anyway.

  She didn’t bother to hide her smug expression, gesturing dismissively at the sorry-looking State Security director. “How about those terms now, you bastards?”

  “Please, predator. This is not the time for gloating. The death of so many intelligent beings is a tragedy—”

  “No, not really.”

  Svatken blinked, as if in surprise. “What? Is that not your species’ ideology? Or was that more hypocrisy from you predators?”

  “The deaths of our people— those are a tragedy, yes. But there is one thing our people know in war: that to defeat your enemy, you must understand them. And I think I understand you now. The deaths of your endless spawns… I think I’m coming around to your point of view. Maybe their lives were all just forfeited to your fairy tales when they were born. That doesn’t sound that tragic to me.”

  “That is— that is not what that prayer is supposed to mean,” Svatken said, looking slightly horrified.

  Amelia shrugged. “That’s fine. Give it another year or two at war with us. Maybe we will lower our standards to your level by then, and I’ll finally fully understand it. And then, we’ll treat you like you would us. Some of your people might not enjoy that, but hey, I’m sure that’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Even with another year or two, you will not be able to force us to submit fully as you—”

  “You are willing to bet the home world of your entire species on that prediction? What about another five worlds? Another ten? Another hundred? I bet we can get through half your habitable worlds before your Navy finishes rebuilding another so-called Grand Fleet. And you haven’t even seen what we’ve got waiting to put into use. Are you willing to bet every other planet of your species on your self-confidence?”

  Svatken looked down at the ground for a moment, then replied, “No. I am here to make peace, even if it is temporary.”

  “Good girl. Now tell me what you’re going to give up before I do to every planet in your home system the same thing I just did to your Naval high command.”

  The State Security director swallowed hard. It was easy to crow about how ultimately resilient to violence her civilization was. After all, the Dominion was rolling on a centuries-long winning streak against all of its neighbors. That was before the enemy kicked in the front gate and burned down the garden. The Znosian people would survive this war, but she might not, and who knew what would happen if people started questioning the value of State Security in protecting them against threats to the state? Svatken took a deep breath before she answered, “All our territory— all the territory we’ve… acquired in the last fifteen years, in the direction of the Lesser and Slow Predators. We will withdraw from them, without any acts of sabotage to whatever we did not bring to those planets.”

  “Say their names properly, Bun.”

  “The territory of the— the Granti and the Malgeir.”

  “Good girl,” Amelia repeated. “Total withdrawal from the Granti Alliance and Malgeir Federation, without any sabotage at all. That will buy you six months of armistice.”

  “Six months!” Svatken protested. “That’s not nearly enough—”

  “Six months. What else are you giving up?”

  “What else could you possibly want from us?” Svatken asked, blinking.

  “Your war production.”

  “We will… cease production of new warships and orbit-capable munitions for the duration of the ceasefire, across the Dominion.”

  Amelia nodded. “Of course, we’ll trust you to fulfill that condition all on your own.”

  “Thank you, predator. That surely would be worth—”

  “Fat fucking chance,” Amelia said coldly. “I’ll transmit to you a list of conditions that will ensure your compliance with those terms, including close monitoring of your supply lines and regular inspections. And… zero capacity expansion on your existing facilities.”

  “That is— we will comply honestly.”

  “Good girl. That buys you another three months. What else?”

  “Three! What— what else do you want from us?” Svatken asked.

  “Reparations.”

  “We will offer six times the number of people—”

  “Cut the shit. We’re not interested in executing random Buns or slaves; if we were, our ships over your planets can do that at will. Resources and fuel to help rebuild the Malgeir and Granti systems you destroyed, and you will pay for shipping and handling.”

  The exhausted-looking director asked, “How much?”

  “Why don’t you tell me how much you want to send, and I’ll tell you how much time that buys you?” Amelia asked.

  Svatken nodded after a long hesitation, then sent the list electronically.

  Amelia’s computer summarized the tally for her. “Sure. That’s good for another month.”

  “Just a month?! That’s a lot of valuable resources! Just the hardened composites and alloys— your pets— your allies don’t even have the proper industrial processes to make them in bulk! This will create a huge drain on our border planetary economies for the next five years!”

  “Should have thought of that before you went killing your neighbors for sport. One month.”

  Svatken was silent for about half a minute, then said, “I— I have a… revised list.”

  Amelia snorted as she watched the new numbers scroll in, substantially higher than before. She waited until the accounting completed. “That’s what I thought, Bun. That will buy you two months.”

  “What else do you want, predator?”

  “Responsibility assignment. And yes, I’m aware I’m not using that phrase as you would. I don’t care,” Amelia said. “Hand over the war criminals in your Navy. All of them.”

  “I assume you have a list.”

  “I do.” Amelia sent it over.

  “Does this list include me?” Svatken asked as she began to skim it.

  “It should have… but we knew that would be a non-starter— that you’d be unwilling to agree, so we excluded you.” That was a half-truth. Svatken was not on the list because she was almost exactly where the Republic wanted her to be.

  “This would buy us…”

  “Another month.”

  “Another month is— acceptable,” Svatken said, seemingly forcing the words out of her snout. Then she looked up at the screen, taking a deep breath. “We will also offer you assurances that we will not invade your territory or your pets— your allies’ territories ever again.”

  “Oh, security assurances. Nice!” Amelia beamed in mild surprise as she wagged a finger at the Znosian. “You learned from our history. Very cool. Yes, we’ll put that in the ceasefire treaty.”

  “That is worth… one month?” Svatken asked hopefully.

  Amelia snorted hard. “No, that is worth as much as we value your assurances. Zero months. Next item, Bun.”

  “That is— Fine…” the director ground out in response. “We have a large number of prisoners, of your people, the Lesser— Malgeir, and Granti. You can have them back. That should buy us… another two months?”

  “No. That’ll buy you your prisoners back.”

  Svatken seemed to think for a while, then nodded. “That makes sense. How many?”

  “An equal exchange, of course,” Amelia said, this time smiling with all the magnanimity she could muster. “We wouldn’t want to give anyone the impression that your lives are worth any less than ours, would we?”

  “They are— hm… that appears wholly inconsistent with your earlier statements,” Svatken said, scratching her whiskers.

  Amelia tilted her head. “Well, you were right. We are hypocrites… But… we are winning hypocrites. Anyway, equal ratio prisoner exchange. We’ll give you a list to pick from… once we figure out which of your people actually want to return to that hell state of yours.”

  “All that for… only one year of— of peace. Is there… anything else?”

  “Nothing major that I can think of right now, but our people will get in touch with your people with the particulars.”

  “What if we reject this?”

  “Then you will make some of our people very happy, and not for the reason you want.”

  “And what happens after the ceasefire if we agree to it?” Svatken asked with a quiet voice.

  “What do you think?”

  “You come for us again, until we submit fully?”

  “Hey, you’re catching on, Bun. I guess the rumors are true… your species learns pretty quickly, huh?”

  “This seems like a bad deal for us.”

  “Sure. For now. And like I said, some of our people will be absolutely delighted at the thought of your refusal.”

  Svatken shook her head sadly after a long minute of thought. “No, we will have peace, even if temporary. There is a trade here we can accept. We will… try to work out the details as soon as possible. This war has all gone horribly…”

  “I suggest you make it quick. Because even this will still need Senate confirmation on our side, and some of our leaders would just love it if you gave us an excuse to keep going. Like you once said, you have plenty of planets and star systems for us to pick from…”

  Samantha barely waited until the call terminated to speak. “Are you sure? The terms seem reasonable, but with that many systems, our monitoring can only do so much… And even if they make nothing for a year, they won’t be sitting pretty all that time. They’ll be conducting experiments, designing new weapons, making plans for new construction facilities… we can’t stop it all.”

  Amelia nodded slowly. “Probably not.”

  “So why—”

  “We can’t fight forever. That is the nature of our Republic. We don’t have what they have, or more precisely, they don’t have what we do. Our people have lives and purposes other than fighting and dying in a total war that has lasted longer than our civilization. We have rights. We have dissent. And that makes our lives worth living, but it also means we can’t fight on forever like they do. In truth, they aren’t the only ones who need a break.”

  Samantha thought about it for a moment and shrugged reluctantly. “Well, at least this gives us time to cycle troops, train new ones, get our people used to our new ships for the next round…”

  “Yup. And once we get those Granti worlds back, we can get them fully integrated in our coalition. Between our three civilizations, I’m sure we’ll come up with a plan that’s more than fighting the Buns forever until we get around to incinerating all of their planets.”

  “Our combat operations outside Znos, should we scale them back—”

  “Absolutely not. Until their leaders and ours sign on the dotted line — probably in the next few days, we are still at war. Actually, now that we know there’s going to be a temporary pause on the horizon, have the Atlas mission intelligences do a review and get a list of targets we really want to hit, and make sure we… service as many of them as we can before that ceasefire goes into effect.”

  “What if the Senate rejects that deal? Or if the negotiations fall apart in the last minute?”

  Amelia smirked. “Well, damn, then I guess we’ll have made the galaxy a better place for no good reason.”