but you are not my type.”
Desjani snorted a brief laugh and shook her head at Tulev. “That’s the guy I used to know.”
“He is still inside there. But . . . so is something else. It is war.” Tulev shrugged. “In the histories, they give dates. A war begins on this day, at this hour, and then it ends at some precise date and time. All very neat and clean. But you and I, all of us who have fought, we know that wars don’t end at some moment dictated by a peace treaty. There’s nothing neat about the endings, if they truly end at all. I remember too many things, Admiral. I remember too many people. Many of them I don’t want to forget. But I cannot forget any of them. I have no home left to me. And so the war goes on, inside.”
Geary nodded. Tulev did not often talk about the destruction of his home world during the war. It was something everyone knew about him, so it did not need to be discussed. “The price of war goes on, too. Histories tend to calculate that in terms of money and casualties during the war, not in terms of what it does to those who fight and experience the wars. We’ve been . . . talking to . . . some official representatives whowere involved with supporting the dark ship program on Ambaru Station. They haven’t told us much, but one thing we did get out of them was one of the concepts behind the dark ships, that by turning fighting over to artificial intelligences we would eliminate the impact of the killing on humans. They said it would make war less horrible.”
Tulev fixed his eyes on Geary. “They said that? Tell me, Admiral, what would you call a person, a man or a woman, who killed without concern, without thought or regret, simply because they had orders to do so? What would you call someone who felt nothing at all when they killed, never questioned an order to kill, and never hesitated, but simply killed, then moved on to the next target?”
“I’d call a person like that a monster,” Geary said.
“A monster. Yes. Because those who we send to kill must know what they are doing, must realize what life means, must feel the pain. If killing becomes too easy, those who issue the orders become too fond of it. We know this from history. There have been too many times and places where it became easier to kill than to think, easier to kill than to debate, easier to kill than accept differences.” Tulev frowned, revealing great anger for the first time since Geary had met him. “And they would make war ‘better’ by turning it over to monsters who don’t care? Who feel nothing when they kill?”
“An ancient military leader supposedly once said that it is well that war is so terrible, because otherwise people would grow too fond of it,” Geary said.
“He or she knew much more than the fools who sought to give war to the uncaring minds of machines,” Tulev said, still frowning. “To the dark ships, what they did was not terrible. It was simply a task, an order to be fulfilled. We will stop them, Admiral? We will not accept official assurances that next time there will be no malfunctions?”
“I will not,” Geary said. “I will use every bit of my authority and influence to stop them. I don’t care how many peaceful tasks are supervised by artificial intelligences. They’re good at a lot of things, as longas someone is watching for times when something goes wrong by accident or malware. But not war. Not if we’re going to stay human.”
—
“WELCOME back.” Admiral Timbale led Geary out of the shuttle dock and toward one of the main commercial areas of Ambaru Station. “Things are still a bit unsettled here. Everyone will be immensely comforted by the sight of Black Jack.”
“It’s that bad?” Geary asked.
“Enough word of what happened, and what nearly happened to this station at the hands of those dark ships, that both the civilian and military populations of the station are jumpy.” Timbale smiled and waved at a passing group in civilian
Desjani snorted a brief laugh and shook her head at Tulev. “That’s the guy I used to know.”
“He is still inside there. But . . . so is something else. It is war.” Tulev shrugged. “In the histories, they give dates. A war begins on this day, at this hour, and then it ends at some precise date and time. All very neat and clean. But you and I, all of us who have fought, we know that wars don’t end at some moment dictated by a peace treaty. There’s nothing neat about the endings, if they truly end at all. I remember too many things, Admiral. I remember too many people. Many of them I don’t want to forget. But I cannot forget any of them. I have no home left to me. And so the war goes on, inside.”
Geary nodded. Tulev did not often talk about the destruction of his home world during the war. It was something everyone knew about him, so it did not need to be discussed. “The price of war goes on, too. Histories tend to calculate that in terms of money and casualties during the war, not in terms of what it does to those who fight and experience the wars. We’ve been . . . talking to . . . some official representatives whowere involved with supporting the dark ship program on Ambaru Station. They haven’t told us much, but one thing we did get out of them was one of the concepts behind the dark ships, that by turning fighting over to artificial intelligences we would eliminate the impact of the killing on humans. They said it would make war less horrible.”
Tulev fixed his eyes on Geary. “They said that? Tell me, Admiral, what would you call a person, a man or a woman, who killed without concern, without thought or regret, simply because they had orders to do so? What would you call someone who felt nothing at all when they killed, never questioned an order to kill, and never hesitated, but simply killed, then moved on to the next target?”
“I’d call a person like that a monster,” Geary said.
“A monster. Yes. Because those who we send to kill must know what they are doing, must realize what life means, must feel the pain. If killing becomes too easy, those who issue the orders become too fond of it. We know this from history. There have been too many times and places where it became easier to kill than to think, easier to kill than to debate, easier to kill than accept differences.” Tulev frowned, revealing great anger for the first time since Geary had met him. “And they would make war ‘better’ by turning it over to monsters who don’t care? Who feel nothing when they kill?”
“An ancient military leader supposedly once said that it is well that war is so terrible, because otherwise people would grow too fond of it,” Geary said.
“He or she knew much more than the fools who sought to give war to the uncaring minds of machines,” Tulev said, still frowning. “To the dark ships, what they did was not terrible. It was simply a task, an order to be fulfilled. We will stop them, Admiral? We will not accept official assurances that next time there will be no malfunctions?”
“I will not,” Geary said. “I will use every bit of my authority and influence to stop them. I don’t care how many peaceful tasks are supervised by artificial intelligences. They’re good at a lot of things, as longas someone is watching for times when something goes wrong by accident or malware. But not war. Not if we’re going to stay human.”
—
“WELCOME back.” Admiral Timbale led Geary out of the shuttle dock and toward one of the main commercial areas of Ambaru Station. “Things are still a bit unsettled here. Everyone will be immensely comforted by the sight of Black Jack.”
“It’s that bad?” Geary asked.
“Enough word of what happened, and what nearly happened to this station at the hands of those dark ships, that both the civilian and military populations of the station are jumpy.” Timbale smiled and waved at a passing group in civilian
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