Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3) by Daniel Gibbs (red novels .txt) 📗

and willing to help them was so far beyond the realm of possibility that he couldn’t wrap his head around it. “How do we even know you’re what you say you are?”

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. If you’re a Christian, why don’t you tell me what book of the Bible that’s from.”

“Uh…” Nishimura stared blankly. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. When was the last time I even opened my Bible app?

“The Beatitudes. Matthew, I believe,” MacIntosh finally interjected.

“Yes. That’s so strange to me. You’re allowed to worship freely, yes?”

They both nodded.

“Yet one of you, who displays a cross on his uniform, doesn’t know one of the most important teachings of Jesus.” Flores shook her head. “We have to memorize the Bible and internalize it. To be caught with a religious text of any type results in an immediate transfer to the reeducation camps.”

“Reeducation camps?” Nishimura asked.

“Those who lack social duty or display antisocial behavior or individualism are sent for correction. If one fails at mending their ways, other measures are taken.”

“Individualism?” MacIntosh asked.

“One of the gravest sins a citizen of the League of Sol can commit. Putting individual wants or desires above that of society. It is an unacceptable evil.” She chuckled. “I’ll be executed without a second thought if anyone ever finds out what I’ve done.”

“Why help us, then?” Nishimura blurted out. He had zero inkling as to why the woman would lift a finger to help them. It doesn’t make sense. Gotta be a trap.

“Because if you’re fighting the League, perhaps you will win. And since you’re also humans, maybe our lot in life will improve. It can’t get worse. Everything we do, say, and think is monitored at all hours of the day and night.”

Nishimura stared in horror. “How?”

“Do you not have surveillance systems, artificial intelligence, and social scoring on your planets?”

“AI is heavily restricted in the Terran Coalition,” MacIntosh answered. “We saw its dangers centuries ago. Only the most shackled of AIs are allowed, and even that’s a years-long process for approval. As for surveillance, in public spaces, yes—on our core worlds.” He paused as if searching for words. “Everything goes through our constitution, though. We believe inherently in bending toward freedom. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with social scoring.”

“Be glad. Every single person in the League of Sol is scored on every action they take. Do something against the rules, and the surveillance AIs capture it. All citizens are required to make five reports a month against friends, families, and strangers. If not, it goes on our record.”

“I… I can’t imagine living like that,” Nishimura said after a few seconds of silence.

“Then perhaps you can imagine why I would help you.”

Though Nishimura searched for any hint of a lie or manipulation, he found none. Either she’s an intelligence agent, or this is the truth. He pondered what kind of life it was to have every action and thought monitored. Even in the face of complete oppression, the woman and presumably many others like her had held on to beliefs that would get them killed. Nishimura’s face heated. And I was willing to kill a disarmed man not more than thirty minutes ago. What does that say about my beliefs? He stood mute, staring at her.

“Sir, the docking computer has taken control,” MacIntosh said as he stood from the console. “With any luck, we’ll be docked and receiving fuel in ten minutes.”

“Good,” Nishimura replied, finally breaking free of his thoughts. “An hour to fill the tanks?”

Flores nodded. “Yes. May I ask what you’re planning to do with it?”

“Power our ship so we can go home.” Even if I believe her, no operational details.

“Will you tell others in the Terran Coalition what I’ve told you?” she asked. “Perhaps if they know, they won’t hate us all. Many of us would welcome liberation from the League, if it ever came.”

“I’ll do my best.” The words rushed out of Nishimura’s mouth before he had a chance to think. Who am I kidding? No one cares what a single Marine has to say. But if we survive this, I’ll have a duty to try.

16

Lined with massive screens, holoprojectors, and dozens of watchstanders, the League Navy headquarters' operations floor in Geneva, Switzerland, was the heart of military operations ongoing in both the Orion and the Sagittarius arms of the galaxy. Unlike the usual carefully scripted dog-and-pony shows for senior flag officers, they had a bona fide emergency today. Reports of unidentified craft attacking the Sol system had begun flooding into fleet command an hour earlier.

Admiral Sebastien Lambert strode in through the central double doors.

An eagle-eyed senior enlisted sailor barked, “Admiral on deck.”

“As you were,” Lambert replied in French. League forces were required to speak two out of the three main League languages—Chinese, French, or Russian. As a born-and-bred Frenchman, he usually spoke in his mother tongue. “Situation report, Captain Nkosi?”

The operations chief, who appeared to have African ancestry, stood. “Sightings of hostile fighters at Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars, sir. Terran Coalition weapons signatures.” His French was perfect.

“By Lenin, they’re going to try to take Earth,” another officer blurted out, her words barely understandable with her accent.

Lambert noted that she wore the morale commissars’ insignia—she was one of the dreaded political officers. Probably German. That would explain the awful French. “Probably not.”

“But attacks on three planets—”

“Captain Nkosi, have any capital-class vessels been observed?”

“No, sir. Only small craft. They match up to intelligence reports on a stealth recon fighter the Terrans are known to possess.”

“The SFS-4 Ghost?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They have less than two hundred of them. Now I am convinced this is a raid.” Lambert smiled thinly.

“A raid? Why would the Terran Coalition do that?” the political officer asked.

All eyes shifted toward the two of them as Lambert stared her down.

“For a morale officer,