“Memnonia control. This is your final warning. Cease all resistance immediately.” Admiral Singh shook his head. It really did not have to be like this, but the council was right, soon the technology of the Pluto Research Council (PRC) would far outstrip the rest of the system, and they would unite in fear. It was easier to be just another faction in the civil war engulfing Sol. The near-tragedy of Charon must not happen again.
Currently in geosynchronous orbit over the Memnonia area of Mars, he looked across his displays and admired his fleet. They have come a long way since the original defense fleet, that rapidly re-purposed mob of miners and haulers. The new ships, though based on those same miners and haulers, were expertly designed, decisively more deadly, streamlined, and, perhaps more importantly, exponentially more automated, keeping the population at home safe. So here he was, his command group of two-hundred leading a major formation that would take any other contemporary military fifty thousand to run. This idea, that human life is the most precious thing, was the true testament to the governing philosophy of the PRC, and one he subscribed to completely.
The silence on the receiving frequencies was deafening, but it was also expected. His fleet was the most powerful Fleet in PRC history, but he had never shown any of their capabilities in the outer solar system. The closest to a challenge was the surprise unification of the Jovian colonies, but that had been taken care of with a stealth flank on a vulnerable life support station, drawing the Jovian lines uncomfortably long, and defeating it in detail.
With those colonies now invested, resistance in the outer orbits and in the asteroid belts were a relatively simple cleanup operation for his sister fleets. The PRC fleet was a force that could draw on scanner technology derived from supremely efficient algorithms, optimised to process exabytes worth of scanner data from millions of drones; mopping up scattered resistance forces was a like bringing a gigawatt laser to an illegal rat fight.
Elsewhere in the system, the war had become attritional. The older powers on the inner systems relying far more on manpower, leaving them with the entrenched stalemates seen on Earth, Mercury, and especially here on Mars, where most of the system’s heavy industry was based.
The airwaves remain silent, but the situation was hopeless for Memnonia, the last bastion of resistance on Mars. His strategy of baiting the combined defensive fleet with his under-escorted capital ships worked masterfully. Lured from their defensive formations around the Martian moons, the polyglot fleet could only watch as his “lost” escorts executed a lightning capture of Phobos and Deimos. This left the entire defense fleet in an untenable situation. Lacking all cover and under fire from their own fortifications, the levies, in hastily readied ships and commanded by officers they had been fighting until recently, simply broke. The scattered forces, with little cohesion, were easy prey for the advanced AI of the PRC pursuit regiments. Even before his fleet completed the siege and the lines of contravallation, the Martian fleet was completely destroyed, over 90% of the levies captured.
With the entire fleet crossed from the order of battle, and no chance for external reinforcements, most of the independent colonies on Mars declared themselves open cities. This allowed him to deploy a token automated force to each, with no actual (robotic) boots on the ground. Even now those drones were slowly integrating local communications systems with the main relay groups set up on the Jovian orbit, putting the colonies under direct control of the PRC.
And yet, Memnonia was stubbornly resisting, daring him to order a ground assault to capture the colony. It was, after all, the biggest manufacturing center on Mars; well defended, and supremely well stocked. It would remain an issue as long as it can produce. Without control over the entire colony, Memnonia could very quickly assemble enough firepower to warrant counter-insurgency resources he could never match. Yet the hubris of the leaders in Memnonia would be the undoing of the entire city.
So here he was, an advanced deep-space mining engineer by training, looking through the expansive viewport at the massive colony underneath him, judging the worth of their lives and weighing it against every other one he will have to take if all inner-system population centers remain this stubborn. If he does not set up the rules of engagement now, how many cities will resist to the bitter end? Could he not spare only their lives, but also their cities, their entire generation, and the next — could he save a future of suffering that rises into the hundreds of billions? Fourty-five million souls in exchange for one hundred billion.
Yes. It will be worth it.
A small, sad shake of his head. He looked down at the planet, the lights defiant and proud. It will be worth it. Let fear permeate the survivors, let the cold-hearted act spread despair and amplify it within their minds. Let each retelling turn him into a demon, a devil, a butcher. Let his name, and his soul die here with the city.
So that countless others might live.
With no hesitation, he looked to his second, a promising scientist from the Oort cloud mining group, “It is my burden to bear.” A shocked look, the lad knew what he was about to do, but the young officer was cut off with another sad shake of his head, “My button to press.”
So saying, his fingers brushed lightly against an unassuming, unlabled buttton. With a few Newton’s worth of force, he sealed the fate of himself,
and fourty-five Million lives beneath him.
