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This Little War of Ours

By Arden Baker

 

SECURE PRIORITY COMMUNIQUE

distribution SOLITAIRE, keyword MASQUERADE, source PENTACLE

FROM: TRIPLE INTENT

TO: ASPHODEL

BEGIN CONTENT

 

Even if you’re my enemy, I’m glad to hear from you.

Given that you’re the only person I know who’d do something so brazen, I don’t think there’s any question about identity here. Let’s maintain some modicum of military decorum and stick to our callsigns.

Most of my compatriots are still in denial about the whole “Extinction Level Event” thing. I don’t think the brain is meant to handle these sorts of problems, no matter how much wetware we install or how many simulations we run. At the end of the day, we’re cavemen who worked out how to make explosives, living and dying in the cosmic blink of an eye.

So when your CINC decided that mutually-assured destruction was the best possible outcome of our little war, I don’t think he really thought this stuff through. Not properly, anyway.

It’s been, what, two years since that monumentally stupid decision?

And here we are—you in your bunker (somewhere under Antarctica, I assume?) and me buried under hundreds of metres of rock in what was once Siberia.

Scans show a charming surface temperature of negative forty-three degrees Celsius, and a stunning mix of sulphur, oxygen and heavy metal particulates in place of our breathable atmosphere.

There’s no way out now, for any of us. Our geothermal energy backups are eventually going to run dry—the impact broke plate tectonics and the physicists haven’t got a clue how to even begin fixing that—and once they go, we all freeze. Human popsicles at the end of the world.

So how are things at your end?

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FLASH FLASH FLASH

COMMAND SEQUENCE NUMBER

T 0210 ZETA {ERROR: archival functions timed out…}

FM: ASPHODEL

TO: TRIPLE INTENT

BEGIN CONTENT

 

I’m glad I managed to get through to you. Piggybacking off the few satellites that haven’t been shot out of the sky and then riding down to the eastern bloc via background radiation wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done… but there’s fuck all else to do down here.

You’re right—it’s Antarctica. Been cold here for a long time, so the impact winter hasn’t really exacerbated things for us. Doesn’t change that we’re also doomed, obviously, but just wanted to point out that I have, in fact, gotten used to the cold. Finally.

Bet that one took you by surprise, hey? No more sunning ourselves in the Maldives after a solid op. I think my skin has finally started to forget what sunlight feels like.

As for the CINC, you’re not wrong. We actually assumed you had at least a couple of double or triple agents running him for a while, but it turns out he was just mentally unstable—well, more than anticipated. Who’d have thought that an absolute dictatorship would have a single point of failure?

I jest, but it does irk me that between us running ops internally and my counterparts over in your corner of this hellhole, we couldn’t figure out a way to stop him from knocking that fucking rock into us. We’re meant to be pretty good at this stuff.

Our guys estimate three more years before we shuffle off our mortal coils. I’d imagine it’s similar for you. I’ll try and write as often as I can—they’re rationing our uplink use as though that’s going to somehow stave off the inevitable, but I’ll figure out a way.

Keep your eye on the skies.

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KNOCK KNOCK

…. . .-.. .-.. —

FROM: TRIPLE INTENT

TO: ASPHODEL

BEGIN CONTENT

 

Well, you’re right, there really isn’t much to do here. Hope you’ve got a keen eye for thermal intake patterns on those over-the-horizon scanners you have aimed at us.

And I hope you remember Morse code.

Things are about as good as they can be down here, given the circumstances. The SecCom offed himself a few days ago and there’s talk about what to do with his body. Some voices are arguing full military honours—others are saying he needs to be put into the recyc with the rest of our biomatter.

Don’t know why it’s even an argument, at this point, but I think we all need the distraction.

I’m just mulling things over in my head, like in our academy days. Do you remember coffee? I remember studying signals analysis with you until you finally cracked that algorithm, and I think we only managed that with coffee. Imagine what we’d do with these new stims.

I digress. I have questions, and I am hoping to get some answers that make a lick of sense. When you guys hit Mars, the gloves came off. Given that was a joint operation, I thought it was off-limits, so:

• What was the purpose of the first strike on Mars?
• How many of our operatives did you actually manage to turn?
• Was DAMMERUNG your idea?

Yours in eternal distrust,

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SECCON-DEF

REFERENCE

T 0911 OMICRON [UNBOUND PARAMETER]

FM: ASPHODEL

TO: TRIPLE INTENT

BEGIN CONTENT

 

That’s no way to treat a friend.

Let’s start with the easy one. DAMMERUNG was me, yes. You know my penchant for absolute chaos—and sensitive dependence on initial conditions. We figured a strike to the comms relay would scramble your logistics enough to bring a swift end to the interstellar theatre.

We were wrong, obviously.

As for operatives—a magician never reveals his tricks. But at risk of scope insensitivity, I can categorically confirm that most of your assets ended up working for us or swinging from a rope by the end of the war.

We ran out of freeze-dried coffee (officially) a month into this assignment. I still have a stash that I’ve kept hidden and every now and then I smell it and I remember you.

I miss you.

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SECURE PRIORITY COMMUNIQUE

distribution ANTARES, keyword GETHSEMANE, source SWORDS

FROM: TRIPLE INTENT

TO: ASPHODEL

BEGIN CONTENT

 

Sorry for the delayed response—really exciting events happening here: a magma cascade that could present A Real Hope for Survival™.

That’s the line they’re running with, anyway. Might extend our lives a few weeks.

End of the war? Aren’t we still fighting? As much as one can in these circumstances, anyway.

It really does feel like we’ve lived through too much. I remember the smell of rain on the fields outside your mother’s house. I remember the taste of real octopus grilling on the charcoal at that little barbecue joint down from the office in Sydney.

But then I also remember the acrid smell of war in all its plastic bitterness.

Even that was preferable to this, though. This state of endless monotony, waiting to expire.

Mars was beautiful. I visited it once, the arcology on the slope of Olympus Mons. Built it into the rain shadow. Two massive spires scraping the few scant clouds that we managed to create up there. The red dirt was endless, but after a terraforming cycle, the sky turned the deepest shade of emerald blue. Reminds me of the view from that hotel in Singapore.

I think about those nights in Singapore often. The arguments we had. I replay them in my head and think about how I could have convinced you to stay.

I miss you, too. But I miss that world even more.

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BREAK

SECURE OVERRIDE UPSILON

BREAKWATERS OVER VENUS

FM: ASPHODEL

TO: TRIPLE INTENT

BEGIN CONTENT

 

Magma… truly exciting.

If it’s any consolation, no one could have stopped me from taking that flight. The regime offered me everything I wanted. And it delivered, right up until the Big Man decided that extinction was preferable to an execution by firing squad.

You could always have let us win, you know. Saved us the trouble of burning our planet to ash. The warfighters and tacticians were convinced of a victory right up until the end, and even as your soldiers paraded through the streets of the California Metrozone, there was talk of retaliatory strikes that would cripple your economy and give us the upper hand. Having had two years to ponder this, even the most cynical of our hawks believe that the receipts show a ninety-two per cent probability of us winning a war of attrition.

I guess that doesn’t matter in the slightest, but I just wanted to tell you that you were wrong.

Reminiscence aside—I’ve heard far too much doubletalk and bickering around here for my liking. Even if you do still have agents walking among us, I can tell you that something is changing. Something has gotten people around here to stop moping and writing terrible poetry, and I don’t think it’s you.

There’s word from the sigint guys that there’s something moving around up there.

Chew on that at your next budget meeting.

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SECURE PRIORITY COMMUNIQUE

distribution HIGHLANDER, keyword MACDUFF, source STAVES

FROM: TRIPLE INTENT

TO: ASPHODEL

BEGIN CONTENT

 

You can’t just say that something is moving and then not expect us to send our own drones to investigate. You knew that.

And before your autoturret turned our hardware into slag, we got the images.

It looks like a Mars colony rover.

I’m going to come straight out and say it, at risk of sounding incredibly naïve.

Did anyone on Mars survive?

Red team me on this. I don’t know how else to explain why an automated rover has suddenly appeared on the surface. Be as honest as you can be because I don’t really have anyone else feeding me information and, to be frank, I trust you more than most.

Even if you did side with a megalomaniac over me.

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SECCON-DEF

REFERENCE

T 1020 ALPHA [ERROR: exceeding size limitations…]

FM: ASPHODEL

TO: TRIPLE INTENT

BEGIN CONTENT

 

That isn’t fair. The choice wasn’t about you, it was about the future of our species. Sometimes we need to draw a line, and in that context the survival of humanity took precedence over my feelings for you.

I won’t pretend it was an easy decision.

As for Mars… I’m going to step this out:

If our strike on the colony failed to breach the arcology bunkers, and the colonists were somehow able to seal the bulkheads before a dust storm destroyed their greenhouses, AND their power supply wasn’t interrupted by magnetosphere discharge, AND they had enough reserves to last another cycle before the terraforming cascade took effect… then they could have survived.

Parameter-agnostic models suggest this is possible.

But on a personal level, this is squarely in ‘bullet hitting another bullet’ territory.

I don’t want to be that guy, but you know as well as I do just how destructive hope can be. We don’t need this.

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SECURE PRIORITY COMMUNIQUE

distribution VIRGO, keyword CONSTELLATION, source CHALICES

FROM: TRIPLE INTENT

TO: ASPHODEL

BEGIN CONTENT

 

Ever the pessimist.

I’m going to tell you that you are being that guy. We don’t need the fact of a rescue right now. But we do need the hope of a home to get back to, and, failing the presence of that hope, the dream of a brighter world for our children.

Whenever I read anything out of our official reports, I put my head in my hands and contemplate suicide. Do you understand what this would do for species-wide morale? Our operating parameters have moved ‘subterranean mole people’ from dystopian failure state to optimistic victory condition.

I’m going to have to run this up the chain, but I seriously reckon that we go public with this. We can’t afford to sit here twiddling our thumbs while there is even the possibility of a continued human presence in the universe, and the rescue mission that implies.

Hope you’re not too cold up there.

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BREAK

UNSECURED DISTRIBUTION PROTOCOL – AMADEUS

SENDIT SENDIT SENDIT

FM: ASPHODEL

TO: TRIPLE INTENT

BEGIN CONTENT

 

Sorry for the delay, things are getting really strained here.

If you want to open that Pandora’s Box, go right ahead. I’m not going to stop you, but I just don’t know what good it’ll do.

We are going to die here, freezing and in the dark. Does it matter at all if Mars survived?

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SECURE PRIORITY COMMUNIQUE

distribution HAWK, keyword PEREGRINE, source RINGS

FROM: TRIPLE INTENT

TO: ASPHODEL

BEGIN CONTENT

 

Teleonomic inference confirmed. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I am certain—within acceptable parameters—that the Mars arcology survived.

Granted, we need to run more tests and see if we can figure out a way to penetrate the ionosphere with our comm laser, but I have confidence that within a few more weeks, we will be able to send a data packet to the colony.

If anyone is actually alive up there, and they’re looking at us, then we should get something back.

Don’t mean to spoil your—admittedly morbid—plans, but I think that’s exciting.

The director actually unfroze the last piece of real, genuine steak earlier. We each ate our share—about half a mouthful—and despite the freezer burn, it was the best meal I’ve ever tasted.

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SECCON-DEF

REFERENCE

T 2301 GAMMA [UNBOUND PARAMETER]

FM: ASPHODEL

TO: TRIPLE INTENT

BEGIN CONTENT

 

Do you remember the times we talked about death? They encouraged us, back at the institute. It made sense, given it was an occupational hazard. I remember that you were always the one who was convinced you’d survive and retire at a ripe old age.

I was always somewhat more pragmatic. I figured if I wasn’t burned during a run or compromised from an internal affair, that I’d end up going out in a blaze of glory. One Last Mission.

I’m not exactly excited about freezing to death. It’s just something I was expecting and something I had made peace with. A punctuation mark at the end of our race. A fitting end for a bunch of apes playing with fire.

I’m glad you enjoyed the steak. I don’t think we have anything left aside from emergency rations. We’ve figured out a way of spicing them up by adding in powdered paracetamol and stims. The bitterness is almost palatable.

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SECURE PRIORITY COMMUNIQUE

distribution ROYAL, keyword SUZERAIN, source CUPS

FROM: TRIPLE INTENT

TO: ASPHODEL

BEGIN CONTENT

 

Only you would be disappointed at the prospect of survival. Fatalist to a fault.

It’s been a busy month down here. This is top secret—what isn’t? —but I feel like you deserve to know: we’ve made contact with Mars.

They have asked who ‘won’. Someone has a sense of humour up there.

From the signal package they sent, it’s clear that your strike didn’t do anywhere near as much damage as you’d projected. I’d reboot your simulation farm, or at least fire your numbers guy. They’ve been expanding the arcology and using the captured ice comets from the belt to provide them with water. The terraforming is proceeding as planned, with ice caps and climate patterns and, soon, breathable air.

Maybe all the Colony Initiative needed was the threat of extinction to get their botanists and climate engineers to finally pull their fingers out and make it happen.

We still have to survive until a rescue mission can be attempted. It’s another seven months before the orbit window opens again and they can send a few retrieval ships.

If you can manage to sneak a surrender out of your corner of this snowball, then we can probably bring you along for the ride, too.

Much love.

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SECCON-DEF

REFERENCE UNKNOWN

T UNKNOWN

FM: ASPHODEL

TO: TRIPLE INTENT

BEGIN CONTENT

 

Isn’t this too convenient? Rescue from on high? A failed missile strike?

Come on. You’ve been in this game as long as I have, and you know that nothing is ever as easy as this.

Run a multispectral analysis. Red team yourself, for once. Look for the holes. You’re not as lazy as you were in Melbourne, are you?

I know, and you know, that there is no way our missiles didn’t hit. So either 1) your superiors are lying, 2) you’re lying, or 3) there is something else up there that is sending you false hope.

I don’t know which one I’d prefer, to be quite honest.

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INTERFEROMETRIC FREQUENCY Z9928

RETRANSMIT PACKET BACKBREAKER FASTEST

COMMENCE TRANSMISSION MARK

 

admit deviation link favour fax accent fraud neck revival basis grudge expansion area intermediate vehicle

Hope you’re getting this. Please ignore the word salad above. I’ve hijacked the jammer packets and hidden this in a chunk that you’ll find enticing enough to dig through.

One of your other spooks tried to impersonate you. Confused Sydney for Melbourne—a rookie error. Vain attempt to sow mistrust, I assume. At the very least, we need to be a bit more careful now that we’re actually going to get out of this alive. Collusion is punishable by death in your failed state, last time I checked.

As for your comrade’s questions—of course we’ve checked. They’re up there, and they’re coming to get us.

The question that we grapple with now is: what next?

I want, dearly, for us to sit and watch the sunset together like we used to. I want a life where I don’t need codenames and doubletalk and wetwork. This whole debacle is a chance for us to start again, to really give it a go. We came through hellfire and ruin and the loss of everything and now we have a chance, here, to make something new.

What do you think?

flood undermine indirect cart random railroad reliable revolutionary virgin mild dismiss rule precedent cruel new

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SECCON-CINC

REFERENCE

T 1112 ALPHA [TRIPLICATE THREAD]

FM: ASPHODEL

TO: TRIPLE INTENT

BEGIN CONTENT

 

I knew I was inimitable. That bastard did a poor job at imitating my eloquence.

Still, had to spike his food for the trouble.

We won’t be having anyone else interfering now. I’ve been promoted, and I now get my own private, unmonitored terminal. Who said we don’t have career advancements in the new world?

“A chance for us to start again”—us as in, humans? Or us as in you and I?

I have little hope that humans, given the same set of initial conditions, would do anything other than squander their ability to lift an eye to heaven and dream of more. We’re much happier clubbing our neighbour over the head and taking what they have.

If you’re talking about you and me… that’s a different kettle of fish.

Do you really see a future for us? After all we’ve done?

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SECURE PRIORITY COMMUNIQUE

distribution VALENTINE, keyword TEMPERANCE, source THELOVERS

FROM: TRIPLE INTENT

TO: ASPHODEL

BEGIN CONTENT

 

There are precious few prospects left for people like you and me. Do you really think we could ever couple with a civilian? With a colonist?

A life like ours is usually solitary. You and I have a chance to share in that solitude.

The Mars rescue team is on approach and they’re going to grab us first, and then they’re sending an armed team to grab you lot. If you can manage to not resist for long enough for them to bundle you onto their transport, then we’re all going to get out of here okay.

And that means that you and I are going to meet again, face to face, on the sands of the Red Planet.

There’s something poetic about us meeting on a planet named for the god of war, but I’m not literary enough to bring that out here.

So, the most important question of all:

When we are on Mars, and we have normal jobs and we’re living as a united species, learning from our mistakes and building a new world for a brighter future…

…dinner?

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Host Commentary

By Mur Lafferty

What this story tells me is that when the big picture is incredibly dire, or even if the war is over and we lost, there are still things and people who can find joy. And, dare I say, hope?

Almost every time we hear a story of the world ending, we see survivors carrying on as best they could. Which means the world hasn’t really ended, if someone can keep going. Life as we know it may end. We may not be able to get the McRib anymore. But honestly, when shit goes down, first you hold on to your own life, and then you look to those around you, and then you keep expanding your ciricle. And if you can find someone to connect with, and help, that those acts of kindness can keep everything going even after some semblance of our world ends.