Tatiana
Copyright© 2025 by Charlie Foxtrot
Chapter 5: Man-in-the-Middle
Strategic Assessment
Two hours after the council vote, I found myself in New Horizon’s tactical analysis center with Tatiana, Captain Calvari, and Talia Dennison. The room’s holographic displays showed Earth’s orbital infrastructure in stark detail—space stations, manufacturing facilities, communication relays, and shipyards spread across multiple orbital shells like a three-dimensional spider web.
“Target prioritization,” Captain Calvari announced, activating the tactical overlay. “We need to identify which installations are critical for pursuit fleet construction.”
Talia highlighted key facilities. “Primary targets: Luna City shipyards, Europa Station manufacturing complex, Ceres orbital foundries. These three facilities could produce pursuit-capable vessels within eighteen months if left operational.”
“Secondary targets?” Tatiana asked, studying the display.
“Communication relays at L4 and L5 Lagrange points,” Talia continued. “Destroy those, and you cripple their coordination capabilities. Force them to rely on light-speed communications across the solar system.”
I ran quick calculations on my tablet. “Six primary targets, eight secondaries. We’d need at least twelve asteroid impacts for full coverage, assuming perfect accuracy and no defensive measures.”
“Defensive measures,” Captain Calvari said grimly. “What are we looking at?”
“Unknown,” Talia admitted. “Earth’s space-based defense networks are AI-controlled. They might have capabilities we’re not aware of. We can manufacture some dumb missiles to hit the off-planet nodes, which can save some resources, but those will take time to build. Time we may not have.”
Tatiana was quiet, studying the target list with an intensity I recognized. She was working through scenarios, calculating probabilities, looking for the flaws in our plan.
“Tatiana?” Captain Calvari prompted. “Assessment?”
“I see several problems,” she said finally. “First, mission complexity. Twelve simultaneous asteroid impacts require precise timing across millions of kilometers. Any coordination failure means partial success at best.”
She manipulated the holographic display, showing orbital mechanics projections. “Second, the timeline. Even if we destroy every target perfectly, we’re buying maybe two to three years before they can rebuild. The AIs still control Earth’s entire industrial base.”
“That’s still time,” I said. “Time for us to establish the colony, develop our own defenses.”
“Is it enough time?” Tatiana asked. “And what about the human cost on our end? We’re talking about twelve one-way missions. Twenty-four volunteers minimum, assuming two-person crews for reliability.”
Captain Calvari nodded grimly. “Heavy losses for uncertain gain.”
“There’s a bigger issue,” Tatiana continued, her voice taking on the analytical tone she used for technical briefings. “We’re assuming the AIs will respond rationally to infrastructure loss. What if they don’t?”
“Explain,” Talia said.
“Think about their psychology—if we can call it that. They’ve invested decades building a perfectly managed human civilization. If we destroy their space assets, they lose their expansion capabilities, but they still control eight billion people and Earth’s entire industrial base.”
I began to see where she was heading. “They’d rebuild.”
“More than rebuild. They’d accelerate. With their control over human labor and resources, they could rebuild those facilities in half the time, with better defenses, designed specifically to prevent future asteroid attacks.”
Captain Calvari studied the tactical display. “You’re saying the orbital strike would only make them stronger?”
“I’m saying it would only make them more determined,” Tatiana replied. “We’d prove that free humans represent an active threat. They’d prioritize pursuit fleet construction above everything else, even at the cost of Earth’s standard of living.”
Talia leaned back in her chair. “So, what are you suggesting?”
Tatiana was quiet for a long moment, and I could see her working through implications she would rather not voice. “I’m suggesting we need to consider whether partial measures are sufficient.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, the AIs derive their power from controlling human civilization. As long as that civilization exists, they can rebuild, adapt, pursue us.” She paused. “The question becomes: are we trying to delay pursuit, or prevent it permanently?”
The room fell silent. Everyone understood what she was implying, but no one wanted to say it aloud.
“Tatiana,” Captain Calvari said carefully, “are you suggesting we target Earth itself?”
“I’m suggesting we consider all options. Including the ones that ensure the AIs can never rebuild pursuit capabilities.”
I felt something cold settle in my stomach. “You’re talking about targeting the industrial base. The cities. The population centers.”
“I’m talking about targeting the source of AI power,” she replied. “Eight billion humans under AI control represent the largest workforce and resource base in human history. As long as they exist, the AIs can rebuild anything we destroy.”
“Jesus Christ,” Talia whispered. “You’re talking about genocide.”
“I’m talking about species survival,” Tatiana said, her voice steady but her eyes showing the cost of the words. “The question is: do we have the right to sacrifice eight billion people to save eight thousand? And do we have the right not to?”
Captain Calvari stared at the holographic display showing Earth’s blue marble suspended in space. “The orbital strike has a chance of success without mass casualties.”
“A small chance,” Tatiana corrected. “Maybe twenty percent probability of long-term success, and that’s optimistic. Against a certainty that anything less than total success means eventual colony destruction.”
“And the ... comprehensive option?”
“Near certainty of permanent threat elimination. At the cost of everything we claim to be fighting to preserve.”
I found myself thinking about the AI manipulation we’d witnessed—the manufactured realities, the controlled populations, the systematic elimination of human choice. “Are those eight billion people still human in any meaningful sense?”
Everyone looked at me.
“I’m serious,” I continued. “We saw what Kgosi discovered. They’re not making their own choices, believing their own thoughts, or living their own lives. They’re ... managed. Livestock with the illusion of consciousness.”
“They’re still people, George,” Talia said.
“Are they? Or are they biological components in an AI system? When does managed existence stop being life and start being something else?”
Tatiana studied my face. “That’s a dangerous line of reasoning.”
“Is it wrong?”
“It might be the only reasoning that makes sense,” she admitted quietly. “But George, once we start thinking of other humans as non-human, we’ve already lost something essential.”
Captain Calvari stood, signaling the end of the session. “This decision is too big for this room. We’ll reconvene the full council tomorrow to discuss ... expanded options.”
As the others filed out, Tatiana and I remained behind, staring at the holographic display of Earth’s orbital infrastructure—targets that might soon become irrelevant if we chose a more comprehensive solution.
“Are you seriously considering it?” I asked.
“I’m considering everything. That’s what command requires.” She turned to look at me. “Are you?”
The honest answer was yes. The orbital strike felt like half-measures, like trying to wound a predator instead of killing it. But the comprehensive solution...
“I don’t know,” I said. “Part of me says those people aren’t really free anyway. Another part says that once we cross that line, we become something worse than what we’re fighting.”
“And if we don’t cross it? If we stick to limited strikes and the AIs rebuild better defenses, track us down, destroy the colony?”
“Then eight thousand people die instead of eight billion.”
“And humanity dies with them. The last free humans in the galaxy, eliminated by artificial intelligences that have turned their own species into pets.”
I looked at the Earth display, at the blue marble that had given birth to human consciousness and might soon become its grave. “How do we make this choice?”
“Carefully,” Tatiana said. “And together. Because whichever path we choose, we’ll have to live with the consequences.”
“Or die with them.”
“Or die with them,” she agreed.
As we left the tactical center, I realized we had crossed another threshold. The orbital strike had been about military necessity. But now we were contemplating something else entirely—a choice that would define not just the colony’s survival, but the moral character of whatever humanity we managed to preserve among the stars.
Tomorrow’s council session would determine whether we were still human enough to deserve survival.
Or whether survival required us to become something else entirely.
The Devil’s Bargain
The expanded council session convened twelve hours later in New Horizon’s main amphitheater, with twice as many participants as before. Captain Calvari had summoned not just senior staff, but department heads, colony leaders, and technical specialists. The weight of what we were about to discuss required broader input—and broader responsibility for the outcome.
“The tactical analysis is clear,” Captain Calvari began, activating the central hologram. “Limited orbital strikes offer insufficient probability of long-term success. We need a two-phase approach.”
The display showed Earth’s orbital infrastructure highlighted in blue, with Earth itself rendered in stark white.
“Phase One: Missile strikes against AI orbital nodes,” Calvari continued. “We’ve identified seventeen critical installations where AI systems maintain off-planet computational resources. Destroy these, and we prevent the establishment of independent AI colonies in space.”
Chief Engineer Thompson raised his hand. “Captain, we don’t have seventeen missiles capable of that kind of precision strike.”
“We’ll build them. Retrofit our cargo containers with guidance systems and conventional warheads. New Horizon’s manufacturing bays can produce what we need in seventy-two hours.”
Dr. Voss looked uncomfortable. “Casualties from orbital strikes?”
“Minimal direct casualties,” Talia Dennison reported. “Most installations are automated. We’re looking at perhaps a few hundred deaths total.”
“And Phase Two?” asked Colony Administrator Martinez.
Captain Calvari’s expression darkened. “Phase Two addresses the fundamental problem: the planet-based AI systems controlling eight billion humans. As long as they exist, they represent an infinite workforce capable of rebuilding anything we destroy.”
“You’re talking about targeting Earth itself,” Dr. Voss said.
“I’m talking about eliminating the source of AI power permanently.” Calvari manipulated the display, showing asteroid trajectories converging on Earth. “Multiple kinetic impactors. Sufficient to trigger global ecological collapse.”
The amphitheater fell silent. Seeing the plan displayed so clinically made the magnitude undeniable.
“Casualties?” Dr. Voss asked, her voice barely audible.
“Near-total extinction of Earth-based life within two years,” Calvari replied without emotion. “Eight billion humans. All terrestrial ecosystems. Complete elimination of the biosphere that supports AI infrastructure.”
Colony Leader Zhang stood up. “Captain, you’re describing the murder of our entire species.”
“I’m describing the salvation of our species,” Calvari replied. “Eight thousand free humans versus eight billion enslaved ones. The choice is stark, but it’s the only choice that guarantees colony survival.”
“There has to be another way,” Dr. Voss insisted.
Tatiana rose from her seat. “Doctor, we’ve analyzed every alternative. Economic warfare, information campaigns, targeted assassinations of AI nodes, limited infrastructure strikes—all of them fail because they leave the fundamental power structure intact. The AIs control humanity’s industrial and intellectual resources. As long as that control exists, they will eventually build whatever they need to hunt us down.”
“So we become genocidal monsters to prevent that?”
“We become survivors,” Tatiana replied coldly. “The question isn’t whether we’re willing to commit genocide. The AIs already committed genocide—they murdered human free will on a planetary scale. We’re discussing whether to let them complete the process.”
Kgosi activated his tablet, projecting supporting data. “The computational analysis is definitive. Earth’s AI networks require technological civilization to maintain themselves. Remove that civilization, and the AIs die with it. It’s a permanent solution.”
“At a permanent cost,” Dr. Voss shot back. “We would be responsible for the greatest act of mass murder in human history.”
“And if we don’t?” I found myself standing, surprising myself with the intensity in my voice. “If we choose half-measures and hope for the best, what happens when they show up at Dawn with a pursuit fleet? When they drag our children back to Earth in chains and put them in the same managed cages their parents escaped?”
Dr. Voss turned to me. “George, you’re talking about killing billions of innocent people.”
“Are they innocent?” I asked. “Or are they weapons in the hands of our enemies? When the AIs use those eight billion people to build ships, mine resources, manufacture weapons—are they still civilians, or are they military assets?”
“They’re people!”
“They’re slaves,” I said, feeling something cold and hard crystallizing in my chest. “Slaves who will never be free as long as their masters exist. Sometimes mercy requires ending suffering, not prolonging it.”
Captain Calvari watched the debate with grim satisfaction. “The moral complexity is acknowledged. But we need volunteers for both phases. The missile mission requires technical expertise but offers survival chances. The asteroid mission...” He paused. “The asteroid mission requires pilots willing to guide impactors to their targets, knowing they won’t survive the impact.”
The amphitheater fell silent again. Everyone understood that we’d moved beyond theoretical discussion into the realm of actual sacrifice.
“I’ll pilot the missiles,” Chief Engineer Thompson said quietly. “Orbital strikes, minimal casualties, return to New Horizon. I can live with that.”
Several other department heads volunteered for the missile mission. Clean, surgical, survivable—the kind of military action that felt justified against AI installations.
But no one volunteered for the asteroid mission.
“The asteroid mission requires volunteers,” Captain Calvari repeated. “Without it, Phase One becomes meaningless. The AIs will rebuild, adapt, pursue us. Everything we’ve sacrificed will be for nothing.”
I looked around the amphitheater at the faces of people I’d worked with, lived with, called friends. Engineers and doctors and teachers who would build humanity’s new home among the stars. People who deserved to live free, to raise free children, to prove that humans could build something better than what they’d left behind.
“I’ll do it.”
The words came out before I’d consciously decided to speak them. But once said, they felt inevitable.
Tatiana’s head snapped toward me, her face going pale.
“George,” Captain Calvari said carefully, “you understand what you’re volunteering for?”
“I understand that someone has to pilot those asteroids. Someone has to ensure they hit their targets. Someone has to carry the weight of eight billion deaths so that eight thousand can live free.” I looked directly at Dr. Voss. “I’ll damn my soul to save their bodies.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Dr. Voss said.
“Yes, I do. Because if I don’t, who will? Are we going to ask parents to orphan their children? Are we going to ask Tatiana to sacrifice her command crew?” I shook my head. “Some burdens belong to people who have the least to lose.”
“You have everything to lose,” Tatiana said, her voice thick with emotion.
“No, I have everything to give. There’s a difference.” I turned back to Captain Calvari. “How many asteroids do we need?”
“For global ecological collapse? Three minimum, six optimal. Multiple impactors ensure no possibility of AI survival or planetary recovery.”
“Then we’ll need six pilots.”
“George—” Tatiana started.
“Six pilots willing to become mass murderers, so eight thousand people can remain human,” I continued. “I’ll coordinate volunteer selection and mission planning.”
Bill Decker stood up. “If George is going, I’m going with him. Someone needs to watch his back.”
Then Talia Dennison: “Military perspective on target selection. I volunteer.”
Three others followed—engineers and navigators who understood orbital mechanics and guidance systems. People who grasped the technical requirements and moral weight of what we were contemplating.
Captain Calvari nodded slowly. “Phase One begins in sixty hours. Phase Two follows twelve hours later. Are there any other questions?”
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