Formics. The word still felt bitter and foreign in his mouth, like a large chalky tablet that he couldn’t force himself to swallow. Dr. Benyawe, the leader of the science team, had suggested the name because of the creatures’ antlike appearance, and as far as Lem was concerned it was as good a name as any. But he still hated it. The word gave the creatures legitimacy, an identity. It was a reminder that they were real, that this whole thing was not merely a dream.
“Nearly two years ago,” Lem continued, “we left loved ones on Luna and set out for the Kuiper Belt. Our mission was simple: test the gravity laser. Point it at a few rocks and blow them to dust, prove to headquarters that the glaser can and will revolutionize the mineral-extraction process. Thanks to your diligence and unwavering commitment, we completed that task. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t without mistakes and setbacks. But each of you persisted and did your duty. Each of you proved yourself. It has been my highest honor as your captain to serve beside you and watch you perform your tasks with such persistent exactness.”
Lem knew he was laying it on thick, but he also knew that no one would doubt his sincerity. Mother had always said that were he not the heir to the largest asteroid-mining fortune in the solar system, he could have had a career on the stage. Lem had found that amusing; Mother was always thinking so small. The stage was for the pretentious and unattractive, all those who didn’t have a face for the vids.
“But eight months ago our mission changed.” Lem tapped his wrist pad, and the system chart behind him winked to life. A holo of the Formic ship appeared large and imposing. “This became our mission. This abomination. No one gave us the order to stop it. We gave that order to ourselves.”
Technically, that was a half truth since it was the captain of the free-miner ship El Cavador who had asked Lem to help them stop the Formics. But what did that matter? Lem had accepted the invitation. No one had forced his hand.
He tapped his wrist pad again. The Formic ship vanished, and the faces of twenty-five men appeared. “Some of you may think that attacking the Formics was a mistake. We lost twenty-five of our crew, after all. Twenty-five good men. Twenty-five future husbands and fathers.”
A woman near the front wiped at her eyes. A good sign, Lem thought. His real purpose here was not the memorial service, after all. It was to retake command of the ship, true command, not to serve as captain in name only, but to have his orders followed, to hold absolute authority. To achieve that, he needed to stir up their emotions a bit.
“But I say attacking the Formics was not a mistake,” Lem continued. “Sending a message to them that we would rather die than see our world taken from us was not a mistake. Proving to Earth that we would do anything to protect her was not a mistake. Taking steps to save our families back on Luna and Earth was not a mistake.”
He could see he had them now. A few of them were nodding along.
“But then something changed,” said Lem. “We stopped focusing on Earth. After following the Formic ship closely, we pulled back. We retreated way out here to the ecliptic, a great distance from the Formics and thus a great distance from those we could have warned and saved.” He paused a moment and lowered his voice, as if it pained him to say the words.
“We knew more about the Formic ship than anyone. Its weapons capabilities, its speed, its likely destination. We had even calculated when and where it might emit its next burst of radiation. If we had stayed close to it, maybe we could’ve warned all those ships in its path.”
He tapped his wrist pad. The faces in the holo vanished, and a cloud of debris appeared in the holofield.
“Like these ships. The ships at Kleopatra, home to a Juke outpost and processing facility. Nearly eight thousand of our own people lived on that rock, plus however many people were in the ships around it. Most of them free-miner families. Women, children, infants, the elderly. We could have warned them. But we didn’t.”
More taps. More holos. More wreckage. One by one, Lem displayed scenes of destruction. One by one he recounted the lives lost. Most of the crew had already seen these images; the ship had collected them over the past few months as they tracked the Formic ship by following its path of destruction toward Earth.
Lem described what it must have been like to be on those ships, explaining how a blast of gamma plasma at close range would vaporize blood and bone. And how, at longer ranges, flesh burned and cells broke down as a result of radiation poisoning.
“And while we were hiding in the shadows,” he continued, “these people were fighting for Earth. While we retreated and protected ourselves, they faced the enemy, fighting for us, dying for us.”
A few of the crew shifted uncomfortably. He was hitting a nerve.
A part of Lem felt a touch guilty for manipulating them this way. It was tacky and opportunistic to use a memorial service for personal gain, but then again this was war, not only between humans and Formics but also between Lem and Father, the great and glorious Ukko Jukes.