Ben Bova - The Silent War

“Attention, Chrysalis,” the stranger said, in guttural English. “This is the attack vessel Samarkand. You are harboring the fugitive Lars Fuchs. You will turn him over to me in ten minutes or suffer the consequences of defiance.”

Annoyed at being interrupted in his writing, Yanni thought it was some jokester in the habitat pulling a prank.

“Who is this?” he demanded. “Get off this frequency. It’s reserved for incoming calls.”

The dark-bearded face grew visibly angry. “This is your own death speaking to you if you don’t turn Fuchs over to me.”

“Lars Fuchs?” Yanni replied, only half believing his ears. “God knows where he is.”

“I know where he is,” the intruder snapped. “And if you don’t surrender him to me I will destroy you.”

Irritated, Yanni shot back, “Fuchs hasn’t been here for years and he isn’t here now. Go away and stop bothering me.”

Harbin stared at the comm screen in Samarkand’s bridge. They’re stalling for time, he thought. They’re trying to think of a way to hide Fuchs from me.

He took a deep breath, then said with deadly calm, “Apparently you don’t believe me. Very well. Let me demonstrate my sincerity.”

Turning to the weapons tech, Harbin ordered, “Chop one of the habitat’s modules.”

The man swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Sir, there are civilians in those modules. Innocent men and women—”

“I gave you an order,” Harbin snapped.

“But—” “Get off the bridge! I’ll take care of this myself.”

The weapons tech glanced at the others on the bridge, looking for support.

“Chrysalis is unarmed, sir,” said the pilot softly, almost in a whisper.

Cold fury gripped Harbin. “Get out. All of you,” he said, his voice hard as ice. “I’ll tend to this myself.”

The entire bridge crew got up and swiftly went to the hatch, leaving Harbin alone in the command chair. He pecked furiously at the keyboards on his armrests, taking control of all the ship’s systems.

Fools and weaklings, he raged to himself. They call themselves mercenaries but they’re no good for anything except drawing their pay and pissing their pants in fear. Chrysalis is unarmed? I’ll believe that when pigs fly. They’re harboring Fuchs and they’re stalling for time, trying to hide him, trying to lure me into sending my crew over there so they can ambush and slaughter them. I’ve seen ambushes, I’ve seen slaughters. They’re not going to do that to me or my crew.

He called up the weapons display for the main screen, focused on the module of the Chrysalis closest to his ship and jabbed a thumb against the key that fired the lasers. Three jagged lines slashed across the thin skin of the module. Puffs of air glittered briefly like the puffs of a person’s breath on a winter’s day.

“Give me Fuchs,” he said to the comm screen.

Yanni heard screams.

“What’s going on?” he asked the empty communications center.

The face on the screen smiled coldly. “Give me Fuchs,” he said.

Before Yanni could reply, the comm center’s door burst open and a woman in bright coral coveralls rushed in. “Module eighteen’s been ripped apart! They’re all dead in there!”

Yanni gaped at her. She was from the life support crew, he could see by the color of her coveralls. And she was babbling so loud and fast that he could barely understand what she was saying.

“We’re under attack!” she screamed. “Call for help!”

“Call who?” Yanni asked.

The executive officer stepped through the hatch into the bridge.

“Sir,” she said crisply, her face a frozen expressionless mask, “I have a squad of twenty ready to board Chrysalis and search for Fuchs. They are armed with pistols and minigrenades, perfectly capable of dealing with whatever resistance the rock rats may try to offer.”

Harbin stared at her. Why are these fools trying to undermine me? I know what to do. You kill your enemies. Kill them all. Men, women, children, dogs, cattle, all and every one of them. Burn down their village. Burn their crops. Blast the trees of their orchards with grenades. Leave nothing alive.

“Sir, did you hear me?” the exec asked, stepping closer to him.

Harbin swiveled the chair slightly toward her. “My hearing is perfect,” he said calmly. “Tell your troops to stand down. I won’t need them.”

“They can search the habitat—”

“No,” Harbin said softly, almost gently. “That won’t be necessary. Why risk them when we can destroy the habitat from here?”

“But Fuchs—”

“Fuchs will die with the rest of the rock rats,” Harbin said. He wanted to laugh. It was all so simple. You killed your enemies and then they will never be able to hurt you again. Why can’t she see that? It’s so logical, so beautifully clear.

He dismissed the executive officer and began to calmly, methodically, thoroughly destroy Chrysalis and everyone in it.

The wall screen in Edith’s compartment lit up to show the ship’s captain. He looked shaken.

“You’d better come up to the bridge and see this,” he said, his voice trembling. “They’re destroying the habitat.”

Big George boiled out into the passageway and charged up toward the bridge, Edith running hard behind him.

The captain and the two crew members on the bridge looked ashen, dazed.

Through the observation port Edith could see Chrysalis; three of its modules were ripped apart, chunks of metal and structure floating aimlessly. As she watched, invisible laser beams began slicing through another module. Air burst into the vacuum of space in glittering wisps of ice and dissipated in an eyeblink. All in silence: total, deadly, complete silence. Shapes came tumbling through one of the gouges torn in the module’s skin. Bodies, Edith realized. Those are human bodies.

“The bloody fookin’ bastard,” George growled. He pounded both fists against the thick quartz of the observation port. “Bloody fookin’ BASTARD!” he bellowed.

“Can’t we do something?” Edith asked the captain.

He shook his head. “Not a thing.”

“But there must be something! Call for help!”

“Our antennas are out. Even if we had Fuchs aboard or knew where he is, we wouldn’t be able to tell him now.”

Edith felt the strength ebbing out of her. I’m watching a thousand people dying. Being killed. George looked on the verge of tears. The captain was a white-faced statue.

“There’s nothing we can do?” she asked.

“Nothing except wait,” said the captain. “We’re probably next.”

Once he realized what was happening, Yanni bolted from the useless comm center and down the habitat’s central passageway. Ilona! I’ve got to find Ilona! Their quarters were three modules down the passageway; at this time of night she should be in their bedroom, asleep.

He had to fight his way past a screaming mob at the module’s airlock, fighting to grab the pitifully few space suits stored there.

Why is this happening? Yanni asked himself as he ran toward the hatch that led to his wife. Why are they killing us?

Then the bulkhead ahead of him split apart and a blast of air like a whirlwind lifted him off his feet and out into the dark cold emptiness beyond. He had just time enough to understand that it didn’t matter why or who or anything else. He was dead and Ilona was too.

The exec simply stood by Harbin’s side as he carefully, precisely cut up the modules of the Chrysalis habitat. When the last unit was reduced to a broken shambles he looked up at her and saw fear in her eyes: fear and shock and disgust.