Janet Lindsay was lying face-down on her bed when the buzzer rang. “Come in,” she said, her voice partially muffled by the pillow.

The door opened and Chris Finan walked through. “Janet,” he began, “I’ve been meaning to have a private chat with you ever since we got back from Enigma. Is this a good time?”

She slowly sat up on her bed. Chris could see that she had been crying. “As good a time as any, I suppose,” she said.

He sat down at the far end of the bed, and looked at her kindly. “I know that Doug’s death has hurt you more than the other marines,” he said. “Were you very close to him?”

She shook her head. “Not really. We used to talk a bit, sometimes. I think he had a bit of a crush on me.”

“I don’t think he was the only one,” Chris said. “Half the Marine company on this ship probably still does. However, as your commanding officer, I’m going to have to order you to forget that I said that.” He smiled at her, and she managed a weak smile in return.

“He was a nice guy,” she said. “The other guys—Johnson, Tuss… I didn’t know them that well. Maybe it’s wrong of me to be more upset by Doug’s death than the others, I mean, we’re all trained to accept that our job carries certain risks, and Doug knew that as well as anyone else.” She stared at the wall, her eyes blank.

“I guess you’ve heard that Intelligence has figured out a plan based on the genetic samples we recovered from the Deathspawn,” Chris said.

“Yeah. I heard something about that. I suppose I should be happy that Doug and the others didn’t die for nothing.” She sighed heavily. “Still, it doesn’t seem fair. Why should we be here to enjoy the benefits of their sacrifice?”

“It’s a very common feeling,” Chris said gently. “They even have a name for it—Survivor’s Guilt. Once this is all over, I encourage you to go visit one of the ship’s counselors and talk about this some more. They can help you a lot better than I can.”

Janet sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think you’ve helped me a lot already. I never did thank you for stopping me from destroying the samples back on Enigma. You should have busted me down to Private for that, I think.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said. “You’ve always been a good soldier, and I wouldn’t be a good leader if I came down on you heavily for a momentary lapse of judgment, given the situation.” He offered his hand and she accepted it, shaking it lightly.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said, sitting up straight for the first time. “You’ve always been a good CO, and a good friend. I’ll take your advice about…”

She was interrupted by a sudden, ear-splitting klaxon.

“The Deathspawn!” she shouted, her face turning white. “They’re here!”

The pilot’s lounge was empty, save for the lone figure seated in the corner behind the small electronic piano. His eyes were closed, and his fingers flowed over the keys like dripping honey on a hot day. From the speakers at the base of the piano a sorrowful piece in E Minor filled the room.

“That’s a beautiful song,” Jack said, standing in the doorway.

David looked up. “I didn’t know you were there,” he said apologetically.

“Well don’t stop on my account.” He walked across the room and stood next to the young pilot. “What song is that, anyway? I can’t place it, and I usually have a good ear for classical music.”

David shook his head. “It’s not a real song, I mean, it’s not by anyone in particular. I made it up, mostly, based on some of my favorite pieces.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Really? Then I’m even more impressed. Play a bit more, if you don’t mind.”

David blushed, but he put his head down and continued playing. “I wrote it a few years ago,” he said, “after my great-grandfather had died. It’s kind of a sad song, I guess, but it’s also about the future. I can’t really explain how the two go together, but…” His voice trailed off, and both of them listened to the song for a while.

“So you’ve heard about the Admiral’s plan,” Jack said once David had finished.

The young pilot nodded. “It sounds complicated. I hope we can do everything we need to do, and that the Deathspawn respond properly.”

Jack murmured in agreement. “That’ll be the hard part. In wartime, things rarely go according to plan. Hell, things haven’t been going according to plan since we started on this little voyage.”

“I know what you mean,” David said. “But somehow we’ve survived this far. Maybe we’ll get through the next bit as well.” He took a sip from a glass of water that was resting on the edge of the piano. “Hey, at least morale is up a little bit,” he said.

“That little speech that Sub-Lieutenant DeFeur made in the mess hall did wonders,” Jack said, agreeing. “Who’d have thought he would be the one to do it?” He shook his head in amazement. “I still can’t believe it. He always seemed like such a negative person, but I guess you can’t judge anyone too quickly.”

“I guess not,” David said. “So do you have any plans for the rest of the evening?”

Jack shrugged noncommittally. “Not really. Probably just hang around a bit, maybe watch some old videos or something. How about you?”

“Nothing special. I thought I’d write a letter to my parents, you know, just in case…” His voice trailed off.

Jack put his hand on the younger pilot’s shoulder. “I bet they’re very proud of you,” he said.

“Thanks. My dad was always bragging to his friends about me, it got really embarrassing. Mom was always so nervous… I kept having to reassure her that I was going to be all right, and that I wasn’t going to die every time I went into space. Sometimes I really miss them, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, his eyes staring out the window, watching the slowly-rotating stars. “I know.”

Admiral Hideo Sakaki, Commander of the Third Fleet, sat alone in his office watching a small video display.

On the screen, black and white figures were walking around very seriously, inspecting a large array of military machines. One group of men walked up to a medium sized tank and carefully tipped it up on its side and over the other way. It bounced lightly.

Sakaki had read about the Second World War, but mostly from the perspective of his ancestors, who had fought on the losing side in the Pacific theatre. He had not examined the European side of the war in any great detail, and he was fascinated by what he saw.

The deception prior to the invasion at Normandy was one of the largest coordinated misinformation campaigns ever carried out by humanity. Spies were sent into enemy territory armed with incorrect data which they would eventually reveal under duress and torture. Radio messages detailing the entire fictional plan were sent over codes the Allies knew the enemy had already broken. And finally, an enormous “invasion force” consisting of life-sized wooden and inflatable planes and tanks was arranged at the opposite end of the channel where the fake assault was to take place.

Sakaki rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his thumb and forefinger as he watched the old broadcasts. The British, Americans and Canadians had managed to pull off the deception perfectly, to the extent that when the real invasion finally took place at Normandy, the Germans held the main part of their forces back, thinking that it was merely a feint.

So it had worked, but it had taken many months of careful planning and the enemy had access only to low-resolution pictures taken by high-flying aircraft, so the inflatable tanks and wooden airplanes could fool them easily. Sakaki held no such illusions about the chances of his forces. They had mere days to plan before the final battle, and the Deathspawn’s advanced electronic sensors were not going to be fooled by hollow decoys.

The Admiral put his head in his hands. He hated being in this situation, with not enough time to properly prepare, not enough time to consider all the possibilities of action. The whole thing had started out this way, with the Pegasus rushed off to the Zruthy homeworld before it was ready, and they had been fighting to catch up with events ever since. It wasn’t the way he liked to do things at all, yet here they were at the end and they still had no choice. The Deathspawn would not wait for them to prepare at their leisure.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. Somehow they would manage to do it, he thought to himself. They simply had to.

At least the Zruthy had agreed to help out with the plan. They were willing to send enough ships to help destroy both the strike fleets headed towards Earth and their own homeworld, while also agreeing to the strict protocols Andy had designed to make it look as if they had never left the system. It was a clever trick, Sakaki had to admit, to engage in a warp jump while simultaneously leaving your electronic signature behind. To anyone sitting in hyperspace monitoring the distinctive gravimetric disturbances associated with a jump, it would appear as if the ship had attempted to leave the system but aborted at the last moment. The Admiral did not fully understand the mathematics involved, but it has something to do with creating an inverted waveform that would cancel out the natural gravity wave produced by the jump itself.

Of course there was the very real possibility that the Deathspawn would see through this ruse and alter their plans accordingly. The enemy had enough ships to reinforce their Earth and Zruthy-bound strike forces to the point where they could simply overwhelm the allied defenders. But even if the deception worked perfectly, it was nothing compared to what they would have to pull off afterwards.

Sakaki rubbed his eyes and tried to look at the plans on his portable display tablet again. He had not managed to grab more than a few hours of sleep in the last four days, and it was taking a huge toll on his system. As the letters and diagrams blurred in front of his face, he attempted to tap on his watch to release another dosage of stims, but his fingers missed. The tablet slid slowly out of his hands, but he was fast asleep even before it hit the floor.

“Let me see if I am to be understanding you correctly,” the small furry creature repeated. “You want me to talk to the leaders of the rebel Zruthy forces, to convince them not to give up and be destroyed at the hands of the Deathspawn?”

Rostov nodded. Beside him, the tall Zruthy admiral stood resolute, unmoving.

Tolnaire let out a low, ragged whistle. “You are to be saying that you want me to help out the very people who enslaved and tortured my race for thousands of years?”

“If you do not do this,” Sakaki warned, “we will all be destroyed anyway. Yourself included.”

The Chor-Atha paced around his bed for a few moments. “Even if I were to want to do this,” he said, “what makes you think that anyone would listen to me?”

Admiral Sentori rumbled. “You are to be Chor-Atha,” it said simply. “The rebels are to be worshipping your kind. A word from you is to mean much.”

“And why can you not find others of my kind to do this job? There are millions of us on the homeworld. Surely one of them would be a better choice!”

The Zruthy shook its massive bulk from side to side. “No,” it said. “The other Chor-Atha do not understand. They are to be scared, to not listen to any Zruthy any more, whether they are to be loyalist or rebels. You are to be different. You are to have traveled much and seen this war from both sides. They would listen to you.”

“I very much doubt that,” Tolnaire said. “I am not a leader. There must be better options than myself.”

“No!” Sentori thundered. “There is only to be this option! You are to come with me back to the Zruthy homeworld and convince the rest of your kind to stand up and fight with us, or there is to be no deal!”

Tolnaire let out a deep, intermittent sigh. “I didn’t ask for this, you know,” he said bitterly. “I didn’t ask to be stolen from my mother at birth, to be implanted with a pain-giving slave device, or for the rest of my race to live in perpetual torment! Now you are to demand this of me… it is not fair! To make me make this choice!”

Everyone was silent. The distant throb of the artificial gravity’s rotation motors was the only thing that could be heard for a long time.

“Damn all of you,” the Chor-Atha said quietly. “I will almost certainly be going to hell for this, but I will help you.”

“Thank you,” Admiral Sakaki said, and he bowed slightly. “You may just have saved all of us.”

The Zruthy Admiral was moving slowly and stiffly as it walked towards Rostov and Sakaki, as if it was carrying a great weight on its shoulders. It looked up at them briefly, then stopped.

“I am to be informing you that the Zruthy are to be leaving this sector of space,” it said in a dull voice. “We have analyzed the situation, and determined that we will require all our ships in order to defeat the Deathspawn strike force heading towards our homeworld.”

Rostov gulped audibly. “Listen,” he said, “you may be able to defeat the initial strike force, but they will send another, and another, until they break through. You know as well as I do that they have too many ships!”

Sentori brought all three of its hands together in a massive metal fist. “I am to know this,” it said in a dull voice. “But there is nothing else to be done.”

“That is not true!” the Captain exclaimed. “Look, we have come up with a plan that could wipe out the Deathspawn once and for all! It’s complicated, but…”

The Zruthy admiral waved one of his arms in a dismissive manner. “This plan, I am to suppose that your toy intelligence devised it for you? We Zruthy will never listen to its deathly non-voice, I can assure you!”

“But I still don’t understand how you can…” Sakaki began, but Rostov cut him off with a heavy hand on his arm.

“We understand how you feel about the AI,” the Captain said quickly. “Quite frankly, I agree with you. I don’t trust it and never will. But, perhaps by sheer luck, it has come up with a good idea. However, we may never know if the idea will work if you don’t help us. If you send all your ships back to the homeworld now, the Deathspawn will see through our planned deception, and both our races will be destroyed. Please, just listen to the plan, before you say you won’t help us.”

The Zruthy stood perfectly still for a few moments. “There is… another problem,” it said laconically. “Even if I were to want to help you, even if I was to be convinced of the usefulness of this plan… we would still have to remove all of our ships.”

“Why?” Admiral Sakaki asked.

“I am not to be allowed to say,” Sentori replied distantly. “It is… a personal matter for the Zruthy. Not to be discussed with outsiders. I am to be saying goodbye now, and good luck.” The gleaming metal machine turned and started to roll out of the room.

“Wait!” Rostov and Sakaki yelled simultaneously, rushing towards the giant robot.

“Is it the rebel Zruthy?” the Captain asked. “Is it the Chor-Atha?”

Sentori stopped, motionless. “It is not to be any point in not telling you,” it said sadly. “The remaining rebels, they are to have convinced themselves that the Deathspawn attacks are nothing more than… how would you humans describe it… something like divine retribution for our enslavement of the Chor-Atha. They are to believe that only through destruction will they be saved. This is why we must return to the homeworld now. If we were to not have this problem, we would have enough reserve ships in our Home Defense fleet to handle the Deathspawn strike force. But with our colony worlds destroyed, and with more and more of our troops believing in this… this curse…” Sentori’s voice trailed off.

“What would it take to convince your defecting troops to come back on our side?” Sakaki asked.

“More than the word of your AI,” the Zruthy replied bitterly.

“In that case, I think we have someone on board who might be of some help to you,” Rostov said.

“It’s regrettable that he would have acted that way, but understandable,” Andy said in a concerned voice.

Sakaki and Rostov paced around the room anxiously. Duncan was seated on a small stool in the corner, saying nothing.

“Nevertheless, I believe I have some news that will cheer you up,” the AI continued, changing the subject.

Rostov’s mouth dropped. “You found something? You have an idea about how to defeat the Deathspawn?”

“That is correct, Captain. Based on my analysis of the genetic information obtained by your Marines, I have formulated a plan. However, it will be very difficult to pull off, and may not work at all.”

“Tell us. What is it?” Sakaki asked breathlessly.

“The pattern encoded into their genetic code was very complex, and difficult to extract. It is my opinion that it was designed this way deliberately, in order that this secret would be kept from any race attempting to do the very thing we are doing.

“Regardless, it is definitely there, and I have checked and re-checked it quite thoroughly. The Deathspawn have a limited lifespan, gentlemen. They are designed to penetrate an area of the galaxy, engage all sentient life they find there, and when their job is complete, extinguish themselves completely. This requires a deliberate act on their part once they have achieved total victory.”

Sakaki let out a long, deep breath.

“So what you’re saying is all we have to do to get rid of the Deathspawn is to let them kill us all?” Rostov said despondently. “How does this help us?”

“We do not need to do that,” Andy replied patiently. “All we have to do is somehow convince the Deathspawn that they have achieved this victory. They will handle the rest themselves. Look at the division of forces we have here.” Andy dimmed the lights and a holographic projection of their sector of the galaxy filled the room. “They are sending large contingents of their forces to Earth and Zruthy simultaneously. Because they have smashed our defenses over the last few weeks, they do not expect these forces to be heavily opposed. At the same time, they know that we have concentrated the remainder of our fleets here at Barnard’s Star. They are committing the majority of their forces to a single strike intended to wipe us out once and for all.

“What I am suggesting is this: We need to maintain the fiction that most of our ships are remaining here, while secretly sending the bulk of our fleet to Zruthy and Earth respectively. If we can send large enough forces, we should be able to defeat both Deathspawn strike fleets completely. We will then need to transmit captured Deathspawn message pods back to their main fleet with the news that both Earth and Zruthy have been obliterated. Then we must engage the main Deathspawn force here, and somehow convince them that we have all been destroyed. With the news that both Zruthy and Earth are gone, combined with the apparent destruction of our fleet, the Deathspawn will have no more foes to combat in this sector, and will activate their self-destruct mechanisms according to their own genetic instructions.”

Rostov let out a low whistle and shook his head. “That’s an awful long list of things that have to go exactly right in order for this strategy to work,” he said.

“How can we be sure that the two Deathspawn strike fleets will not send messages back to their main force as soon as they discover that they are outnumbered?” Sakaki asked. “And how can we fake our own fleet’s destruction convincingly in front of them? I am sorry to say this, but it seems impossible.”

Duncan looked up at the two flag officers. “Not impossible, sirs,” he said meekly. “Just very, very improbable.”

“My associate is correct,” Andy said. “However, improbable as it may be, it is our best chance of success at this point. We must find a way to execute this strategy, or we shall inevitably fail in our struggle against the Deathspawn, and all sentient life in this part of the galaxy will become extinct.”

Rostov put his head in his hands. “All right,” he said, rubbing his face and revealing bloodshot eyes, “at least it’s a chance, even if it is a small one. Do you have any ideas on how we might attempt to do this?”

“Yes,” Andy said, “but we must act quickly. We are running very short on time.” He paused for a moment, reflecting. “But first things first. You should really see what you can do to resolve the issues with the Zruthy. We are going to need their full cooperation on this.”

Admiral Sakaki hung his head. “That is entirely my fault,” he apologized. “I did not appreciate the extent of their distaste for artificial intelligences. It should have been obvious given their history and their sensitivity to our knowledge of it.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Admiral,” Rostov said, placing a large hand on his shoulder. “We can go talk to them together. In the mean time, Andy, you can fill Duncan in on your plans for carrying out this elaborate deception.”

“Me, sir?” the scientist asked, surprised.

“Yes, you,” the Captain replied. As he led Sakaki out of the room with him, he turned his head around. “I’ll expect a full report as soon as we get back.”

Admiral Sakaki reached for his cup of coffee and took a long sip. He carefully placed the cup back on the table, noticing that his hands were shaking as he did so.

“Admiral Sentori, I assume you have read the latest intelligence reports,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” the Zruthy flag officer said simply.

“Then you know about the strike fleets that we have detected heading straight for Earth and the Zruthy homeworld.”

Sentori tapped his metal finger on the table randomly. “Yes,” he said again.

Sakaki stared straight at him. “We have to ensure we are all executing the same strategy,” he said. “Lack of coordination has hurt us before. We have only one chance for success this time.”

The Zruthy Admiral stared off into space for a moment. “I am to be wondering the status of a particular rumor,” he said at last.
“Is it to be true that you have been taking tactical and strategic advice from an artificial intelligence unit?”

Sakaki bristled. “That is not relevant to this situation,” he said. “If I may continue…”

“If we are to be allies, you are to tell me the truth!” Sentori bellowed. “Are you to be consulting this AI or not?”

“Yes,” Sakaki replied crisply. “We are using any and all resources available to us. Now, as I was saying…”

“It is not to be acceptable! We Zruthy are not to be dictated to by any machines!”

“But I don’t understand!” Sakaki’s voice registered genuine surprise. “Why would you distrust this? After all, are you not products of artificial intelligence technology yourselves?”

Admiral Sentori stood up quickly, displaying the full two meters of its shimmering metal bulk. “This discussion is to be over!” he barked, and turned around and stormed out of the room.

"A good scientist is a person with original ideas. A good engineer is a person who makes a design that works with as few original ideas as possible. There are no prima donnas in engineering."

-- Freeman Dyson

The dark ships ploughed through the empty expanse between the clouds of gas and dust on the galactic rim and the bright stars of the western spiral arm. The armada was a formidable one—not only were there thousands of the medium-sized black crabs and uncounted numbers of fighters, but dozens of larger craft as well. The biggest ships were the size of small asteroids, and carried themselves like frozen tubes of lava flying through the endless night.

On board one of these giant craft, the Ship Controller looked out a porthole and stared at the fleet with heavy eyes.

It is quite impressive, it thought, just as I’m sure it was the last time, and all the times before.

It thought about its duty, and the mission it was entrusted with. It thought about the battle it would soon fight. It even thought, briefly, about the lives of the aliens that would be lost.

Sometimes, deep down inside, it wondered if there wasn’t a way for it to deviate from the path that it had inherited. Was there any possibility of a life that was any different from the one it had lived?

Even idle abstract thinking of this nature was difficult. Often its body would stiffen, and thousands of tiny shoots of pain would run through it. It was so much easier simply not to think about these things. Yet this simple act of defiance was pleasing, somehow.

They can make it hard for me to think, the tall, twisted creature said to itself, but they can’t make it impossible. Not if they want me to do the job I was born to do.

It sighed. In the end it didn’t matter, though. It would do its duty and that would be the end of it. Ultimately, it had no choice.

But in the back of its mind, it wondered if that was actually true. If it really wanted to, couldn’t it break free of its programming?

It remembered that there had been others that had tried such a thing. They had died, of course, either at their own hands or by those of others. It was not an easy thing to do, to defy one’s own reason for being, and the punishment for even minor transgressions was severe. Still, wasn’t there another possibility?

One could escape. It would be difficult to get past the elaborate security net, but assuming it could be done, where would one go?

The Ship Controller thought about the many species that they had killed. What did they do with their freedom, before it was taken away from them? What were their goals in life, if they did not have them embedded into them at birth? It thought about this for a while, then remembered. They would likely seek out other members of their own species, to mate with them and produce offspring.

Like all other members of the Deathspawn, it was sterile and had no desire nor capacity for reproduction. Even if it did break free from the rest of them, it could have no such goal. What would it do?

Maybe that is why we do what we do, it thought. Not because our bodies are genetically encoded to obey orders without question. Not because we have no other choice. Maybe it is because if we did not have this, we would have no other purpose.

It turned to look through the window again, and watched the fleet continue its inevitable journey.

The giant, bio-mechanical Controller shuddered as its pistons pumped hundreds of liters of fresh fluid into its body. Renewed with energy, it let out a horrible scream that would let the Head Boss know it wanted a meeting immediately.

The Head Boss slowly rolled into the vast central chamber. “Yes?” it said in a weary voice.

“You’re here. Good. I wanted to go over our plans for the final elimination of the species in this sector.”

“Yes, sir,” the Head Boss said.

“Look at the map,” the Controller rumbled. A holographic image of the Galaxy appeared above its massive bulk, filling the upper half of the chamber.

“Here, you see the remaining species, the Zruthy and the Humans.” Two bright dots glowed very closely together. “As I zoom in, you’ll see in greater detail the strength of their two spheres of influence. Now, this third light indicates their combined fleet, which has concentrated together again.”

The Head Boss murmured its agreement.

“Now look at the positioning of our forces.” A red glow surrounded the three lights. “We have sufficient strength to take care of all three simultaneously. We will send a task force off to the Zruthy homeworld to eliminate what is left of their empire; at the same time, another will destroy the Human habitations. That leaves the bulk of our forces free to attack their combined fleet here, and finish all of the species off at the same time.”

“What about the remaining Ke’ea ships? Will we have to continue to hunt them down one by one?”

The Controller gurgled with delight. “That is the best part. Our scouts have reported that even the surviving Ke’ea ships are joining the rest of their allies in their combined fleet. So all of our tasks will be finished at once.”

“Then our time here is nearing an end,” the Head Boss said matter-of-factly.

“Correct,” the Controller replied. “Make your preparations now, for it shall soon be all over.”

“Your word shall be done, Master.”

The Controller went into a fit of convulsions. “Don’t call me that!” it screeched. “Go, and get on with your work. Go on, get out
of my sight.”

“Yes, sir,” the Head Boss said, turning around and rolling out, a very tiny smile emerging on its hideously deformed face.