The Thirteenth Flotilla

The troubles of interplanetary empires.

  And we’re back. Folks, it seems that during the course of the last commercial break, a startling new development has been seen to unfold in the conflict between the Fringe Alliance of Free Planets and the Interplanetary Council. As many of our viewers have surely heard, these two warring factions, located at the farthest reaches of the Earthen Empire, have been engaged in furious diplomatic battles for over a decade. Now, it seems, these tensions have escalated to an unpre…
  I sit and stare at the television. The Fringe Alliance of Free Planets? The Interplanetary Council? What are these people thinking? Their tiny governments are a mockery to the power of the Empire. In fact, the emperor should use this chance to crush both groups. I glance at the bright light of the sun outside of my window. It’s going to be a hot day. Out in the Fringe, these little wars are common. I guess this is what comes from holding over 200 planets. So many different cultures are bound to clash occasionally. But that is no excuse to disregarding the orders of the emperor. He has called for an Imperial committee investigation into the matter, informing those hotheaded insurrectionists that they would have to suspend any military movements until the investigation’s end.
  …as fighting Council forces move in to take yet another one of the Alliance’s planets. Oddly enough, the Imperial committee has been forbidden access to the planets of both factions. We have received information that the emperor has ordered the 13th Flotilla to the Fringe, in a hope to force cooperation through intimidation. A valid diplomatic tactic, this has been in…
  This is quite strange. This is the first time in history that neither foe has sided with the Empire. This can mean years of war, millions of casualties. I switch off the television and walk to the kitchen. A sandwich will do for now. I’m really not too hungry. Even I use Fringe products. I mean the bread is homegrown. So are the fruit. Well all of the food actually. The metal comes from the Council though. I think back to an article I read online a few months ago. Don’t we have a trade embargo on them? Strange, strange, strange.
  Chewing a mouthful of bread and butter, I wander back into the main room. For the first time since I bought it, I examine the planetary chart on the back wall. We’re pretty close to the fringe here actually. The frontier of expansion moved more in the other direction, since it was free of other races. I would have thought that we’d be able to control nearby planets in a more efficient manner. I find the remote stuck between two cushions on my couch.
  …ning! All citizens are advised to stay indoors and turn on their radiation shields! Once again, the 13th Flotilla sent to defend planets of the Empire located in close proximity to those of the Fringe terrorist groups has been decimated. Though authorities are not revealing what has happened, they have issued the following statement: Warning! All citi…
  I am halfway to the controls by my window when I notice the color of the sky outside. It has become a dark gray, blotting out the sun and stars. Artificial lighting is now illuminating the panicking mobs in the streets. I have no faith in the planetary shield, not to mention the weak little rad shield over my house, but I switch the control to the on position anyway.
  What is going on? How could even one battlegroup of the Empire’s finest be eliminated so quickly? There must be some sort of explanation to this. Hoping to enlighten myself I turn back to the news.
  …is apparent that only a few survivors made it back to friendly space. We have managed to track down Lieutenant Brown and receive an interview with him.

***

  “Most of the troops had been notified that our expedition was simply going to arrive in Fringe space and wait there for enemy negotiators to contact us. However, in reality, the orders had actually been to storm the capital of the Alliance and take it within the next day. Thus, we would have a hold over one of the factions, and would be able to easily force the Council into negotiations.
  Everyone loves easy missions and spirits were generally high. Most units were lax on formal rules, and the soldiers on board were not mandated to wear uniforms. You would have thought that we were flying out for a picnic.
  The flotilla proceed into the Fringe with no trouble, but then something odd happened. As soon as we passed out of the neutral zone, all of our ship-to-ship communication was shut off. We were forced to simply follow the actions of the flagship, as there was no time to link up to each ship individually to give orders.
  Everyone was on edge now. Nothing like this had ever happened. There was no apparent reason for the death of our comm units either.
  The officers were briefed on the true plan, so when the General’s ship- General Ulens was leading this one personally- began to maneuvers to capture a good landing window, we told our men to get ready for a battle.
  I can’t say I know what happened. I only caught a break because of our ship’s location. I was busy myself with prep. I dunno exactly what went wrong. But the flagship was there and then everyone was rushing about in a panic. I understand that we had suddenly lost visual and radar reception of it. No explanation. And then, that’s when it all really went south. They just appeared. Half of the flotilla gone before we knew what was going on. The boarding parties took care of the rest. We held as long as we could and then each survivor grabbed a pod, aimed at friendly space, and fired off.”
  “How many survivors?”
  “Has somebody else reported in?”
  “I don’t belie-”
  “You’re looking at him then. They did a thorough mop up I’m sure. They weren’t Fringe ships. Only one race has ships that can take ours in even combat. This was them. I don’t know if they were working with the Fringe and I don’t care. If they were, they won’t need them for much longer; if they weren’t, they’ve already wiped those planets clean.”
  “You don’t mean that the-”
  “Yes. I do. They have invaded. Apparently they have decided that our previous treaties have now become null and void. Ten years is too much time for them to live every day thinking of a defeat. I’m sure they’ll be more prepared this time. And undoubtedly they’ll burn planets instead of occupying them now. Our only chance is to pool all of our combined strength to fight them off.”
  “Yes indeed. We cannot stand divi-”

***

  I put down the remote. Incredible. Another war with our most fierce opponents. I have no doubt that we’ll win again. The poor little guys have no chance in planetary combat. Whatever that schmuck lieutenant says, they won’t burn planets. They want expansion not war.
  I must respect their timing though. Just in time to end our own petty disputes. I chuckle to myself and go to make another sandwich.

***

  Sometimes I wonder how the Emperor would survive without me. Then I pray that the day when he thinks he doesn’t need me never comes. I look up from the stacks of paper. Pages upon pages of dull bureaucracy. If only the men for whom I sign these worthless scraps knew how much they mean to the head of their Empire.
  He still hasn’t moved from the window. Eagerly awaiting the first delegation from the Fringe no doubt. Rushing to beg for help against the make-believe invaders.
  How many people know that they were wiped out in the first Intergalactic War?
  Ah! There! That sly grin. He must see the ships coming in for the landing. How can he not be satisfied? Another crisis averted. Maybe an even tighter grip on the Empire can be established through wartime martial law. What’s a flotilla or two in the face of the general good? What are the lives of one hundred thousand oblivious soldiers, forty cutting edge vessels, tens of trillions of dollars in equipment?
  Every ship has a remote self destruct control in it. How many know this?
He’s moving towards the door. Slowly. He’s got nothing to worry about. He can’t be late. He is the Emperor. Absolute power incarnate coming to meet the fool crying about democracy and free trade. Hah! They won’t make it off the planet. They’re too dangerous.
  I know too much about the inner workings of our government. I am too dangerous.
  I glance up into the barrel of a laser. A small, two charge one. Undetectable. Expensive. There’s an intricate design on it that I don’t have time to make out. A gentleman’s weapon, I think to myself, but it is no comfort. No comfort at all.