Flight Sergeant Zahra Hidalgo gazed out onto the operations deck of the New Atlantia Federation building. The huge windows in the background flooded the enormous hub of activity with natural light, tinting everything with shades of red. Even though the color was perfectly normal to a native like Zahra, it still accentuated the tension on the faces of her colleagues. New Atlantia might soon be at war.
Kepler-186 burned much cooler than Sol, giving the light its red color. The brightest day on New Atlantia was only ever as bright as an hour before sunset on T3. Or so she was told. She’d never actually visited T3, being a third generation New Atlantian. T3, the cradle of human life, the birthplace of civilization, was everything a colony like New Atlantia hoped someday to become. Or at least that’s how a lot of people seemed to think. To Zahra, it all just seemed so far removed from the reality she dealt with daily.
She’d also never been on a planet that wasn’t tidally locked with its star. New Atlantia wasn’t unique in its lack of day and night. The same side always facing the sun made up for the lack of luminosity needed to grow crops. This was how they were able to survive here. It also meant that sleeping was routine, and shift work straightforward, since everyone only existed in the daylight. The white lamps they used indoors more than compensated for the lack of stimulation that the natural light on T3 would have given their retinas for hormonal balance, and sleep-wake cycles.
A tassel of hair fell in front of Zahra’s face. She pulled it back behind her ear and refocused her attention on the report she was about to give. Her stomach tightened. On any other day, the Federation building on New Atlantia would have buzzed with quiet and purposeful activity, just like any other Federation building in the galaxy.
Not today.
Today, they faced the unimaginable prospect of attack, and despite their warrior society and extensive training, there wasn’t a soul on the deck that wasn’t terrified. The tribal skirmishes they were familiar with had not prepared them for the prospect of attack from space.
Hidalgo had other reasons for being afraid, too. Reasons she didn’t dare admit to Captain Eryn O’Shea.
She checked the holo report on her personal device. The Drewdonian ship was on its way. After months of transmissions and arguments, months of discord, long hours and sleepless nights assisting the captain, trying to broker an agreement with the High Consulate at Drewdonia that would avoid a war, the inevitable couldn’t be delayed any longer.
Now the Drewdonians were heading for New Atlantia… and it wasn’t going to be good.
“Sir, the reports are confirmed,” Zahra announced, striding into the captain’s private office, just off the main operations room. ‘Sir’ was a standard method of address, regardless of gender.
Captain O’Shea was working at her desk. The office, which was relatively peaceful, was sealed off from the rest of the observation deck.. Hidalgo knew that as soon as she stepped back outside that door she would be surrounded by the tension, the subliminal hum of nerves teetering on the edge of panic. She could smell the fear amongst her comrades, and nothing she could do or say at this stage would help them come to terms with the reality they faced.
“How long?” O’Shea asked.
“Days,” Hidalgo answered, “Our intel on their ships is sketchy. By rights, they shouldn’t have weaponized ships, but…” Her voice trailed off, uncertain how much to say at this stage.
O’Shea looked up at her, expecting a full report.
Hidalgo continued, “Well, it seems that they petitioned to have blasters fitted on their ships not long after the colony was populated. Something about having the rights to defend against meteorites and space garbage. Guess that wasn’t all they wanted to defend themselves against.” She shifted her weight awkwardly. “No one expected them to mount an assault so soon in their development. These are essentially just farmers,” she qualified.
It was true. Drewdonia was still only a first-generation colony, and with virtually all available resources devoted to farming or terraforming their society could only be relatively primitive by Federation standards. By contrast, New Atlantia had had 300 years to develop, and should never have had anything to fear from an upstart colony like Drewdonia.
“Essentially just farmers?” O’Shea retorted, resting her elbows on the desk, and dropping her head into her hands, “You mean farmers with guns, and the means to cause a significant amount of damage to our civilization.”
“Yes, sir.” Hidalgo’s voice had softened, recognizing that O’Shea had been worn down just as much as she had at this point.
Hidalgo concluded that it was best to just deal in the facts right now. Her captain was one of the best: a blue flamer, as they were known at the Academy. And yet, something about this seemed to affect her. She couldn’t figure out if it was a result of the conflict itself or whether it was because this was for real now, and not a simulation. Either way, Hidalgo got the feeling she was missing something.
She hesitated, wondering if she should mention something, then quickly decided against it. Later, she decided.
As she turned to leave, O’Shea called after her.
“Zahra…”
Hidalgo stopped sharply and turned to look at her captain again.
“You’ve been on this all along. Do you think war could have been avoided?” O’Shea looked drained. Zahra guessed she was asking as a friend and not just as her commanding officer. It had been some time since they’d spoken that way with each other. Zahra missed that closeness, but she would have to use it to her advantage if she didn’t want the captain to find out the truth.
She moved toward the big oaklon desk, resting the tips of her fingers on it as if trying to pacify her friend through the wood.
“I think it was a possibility all along,” she began slowly, “But we couldn’t give them what they were asking for, and we didn’t think they had the resources to escalate the conflict. We made a judgment call. We involved the Federation. We did everything by the book… and that’s all we can do.”