By Michael A. Blaylock
“Galastar General, we have limited time to—”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
“General, you’re the only one who—”
“I know!”
“General—”
“Five damn minutes if you please!” General Jones swung into his cabin and slammed the door button. The white carbon fiber hatch hissed closed, shutting out the gray-clad soldiers and their white noise. Jones rested his head against the door, letting the hum of the spaceship rattle against his forehead, and tried to simply breathe. Breathing was easy. No complicated decisions required.
But after a minute, Jones rushed to the wide window and looked out through the swallowing black, past the arrow-headed spaceships, and to the blue-brown planet below, a cloudy haze giving it an ethereal glow. Nine billion lives, every one suddenly squished into the palm of his shaking hand. He felt all nine billion pairs of eyes looking up at him, wondering what he’d do, what kind of leader he was.
“I’ll let you know when I do,” he wheezed. Damn chain of command. He was a gunner, a strategist, an advisor to better men, not a commander, not at this level. He could rally men to fight, but these nine billion didn’t need rallying. They needed salvation. Could he give it to them?
Three knocks resounded through the door. Jones pinched his eyes shut. “Yes, what? Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
Teddy.
Breath entered his lungs at last. Jones punched the door button. His brother stood on the other side, dashing in military grays, saluting his superior. Jones yanked him inside, then glared missiles at the colonels and brigadiers still waiting outside, arms crossed, exasperated at his indecision.
Join the club.
He jammed the door button to shut them out.
Jones looked at his brother a moment, then realized he had no idea why he’d come. “What’s up?” Civilian language. He didn’t want to be galastar general right now. Or ever, for that matter.
“I came to congratulate you on your promotion.”
Jones scowled and kicked the edge of his white, narrow bed. “That’s not a promotion. I’m only galastar general because the old one died.”
“You don’t think they knew that when they put you right below him?”
Jones hadn’t considered that, but he shook it off. He kept staring outside, at that blue planet and its white clouds. “That battle was brutal.”
Stupid thing to say. They worked on the same ship; of course Teddy knew they’d lost half their fleet during that assault. They’d won, but their enemies would be back. The next move could make or break them, and the newly-appointed general needed to play it.
Teddy joined him at the window. “Those men outside told me you have an important decision to make.”
Jones didn’t take his eyes off the planet. “So many people are looking up to me, counting on me to lead. They keep saying, ‘We have to act now.’ Act, singular, like it’s a one-time deal. It’s not. Every action has a reaction, every decision a fallout, and then there are more decisions down the line, each with their own reactions and fallouts. They’re asking me to make decisions that affect billions. What if I mess up?”
Teddy stayed silent for a moment, then asked, “Is there a time limit on this decision?”
“Yeah.”
“Then not acting is its own choice, isn’t it? I mean, I’m just an engineer; I can’t tell you what to do. But as a brother, I can say it’s better to make a choice than default to one.”
Jones chewed on this. Teddy was right; he needed to make a call. But which one?
“And also,” Teddy continued, “your people need you. I know you didn’t ask for the job, but you have it. They need their galastar general to make decisions that protect them from all enemies.”
Jones looked out on the nine billion people and their eighteen billion eyes. His people needed protection. He’d only been galastar general for half an hour, but he’d been a soldier for twenty years. “Protect” was a word he understood.
Jones thanked his brother and sent him off. As he opened the door, there stood the same underlings, commanders awaiting commands. Jones set his jaw. “Let’s do this.”
Half of the soldiers ran one way down the whitewashed corridor, and the other half followed Jones to the command bridge, its black floors as dark as the galaxy around them. He gave the orders, and the dozens of deck hands obeyed, pressing buttons and giving orders of their own.
They looked to Jones one last time. The galastar general squeezed the arms of his command seat. “Fire.”
A white ray of light shot from the ship, down into the blue planet, and blasted it into a trillion pieces.
Cheers and laughter erupted on the bridge. Jones thought he’d feel more than this. Some sorrow, some regret. He only felt relief. When the din of celebration died down, the galastar general said, “The rest of our enemies will feel the same pain. And then, our people will finally be safe.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I love brother stories! :D Well done!
That’s quite the twist at the end, but very well set up.
Wow! That was quite the twist. I like how the story never directly addresses what is happening – just barely enough backstory to let drop us in the immediate situation
All I could think of at the end was the Death Star. Compelling story.
Wow! I really liked the unique perspective we got by looking through the eyes of someone who had to make the decision to destroy/attack someone vs the usual perspective of the people being attacked!