You don't approve? Well too bad. We're in this for the species, boys and girls. It's simple numbers, they have more. And every day, I have to make decisions that send hundreds of people like you to their deaths.

Colonel Carl Jenkins

The Numbers Game

Colonel Carl Jenkins didn't like looking at casualty reports. It put a face on his pawn pieces.

Granted, the casualty report in the reception area of Fort Ares didn't have pictures attached to them, but still, it had names. Pawns didn't have names, and if they did, you were playing the game wrong. Still, the names were there. A constant reminder that on the other side of the galaxy, men and women were fighting and dying against a species that didn't have names even for its queens. When the chess analogy was used, he'd heard some people say that it didn't work, because the Arachnids had their kings, their queens, and a hell of a lot of pawns. Every human however might as well be a queen, in that they were self-aware. Whenever he'd heard the defence, Carl had just rolled his eyes – no, the analogy held. Being a self-aware pawn didn't stop you from being a pawn. High as he was in the Federation, he was still a bishop at best, and that didn't mean that he could choose to leave the board at a moment's notice.

So the screen in the reception area showed the endless cycle of names. He kept reading the latest copy of The Daily Eagle – one of several state-run publications that had everything from the reports on the war, to the economy, to some celebrity's second baby that said celebrity promised would be raised as a good citizen of the Federation. Frowning as he skipped from page 6 to 27 (page 6 had asked whether he wanted to know more about the fighting on Beta II Sierra), he reflected that the paper was good at one thing – selling a version of the war that wasn't real.

"Colonel Jenkins?"

But then, what was real anyway? He was a psychic. Looking at the woman in front of him, he knew that the thoughts he was reading in her head weren't real, in as much that they didn't physically exist. But that didn't change the fact that the thoughts were still there.

"Is General Redwing ready?"

"Yes sir, if you'll follow me."

He nodded and he followed her out of the reception, past the grey-wearing pawns of Fort Ares that would be no different from pawns found on any other chessboard. He spared a glance at the casualty list nonetheless – pawns were dying left, right, and centre.

It didn't take long for them to reach Redwing's office. The attendant knocked on the doors – wooden, as Carl noticed. They were the only things made of wood in the building.

"Come in," said the voice.

Carl nodded at the assistant and did just that. Before him was a room bereft of anything that might suggest a personal connection with anyone, and everything that signalled love and devotion to the Federation – medals. Trophies. A pair of antique pistols mounted in a cross section on the wall above the Federation flag. Three walls of Redwing's office were taken up with such memorabilia, while the fourth was made from plasteel, allowing a clear view over the sands of Mars. Red, red, and more red – just like the blood-splattered grass of Beta II Sierra, only a different shade.

"Colonel Jenkins," Redwing said. She loosened the top of a crystal bottle and began pouring a clear liquid into a pair of cups. "Drink?"

"Um…"

"It's just water Jenkins."

"Oh." He took a seat opposite her and took a sip. "Thank you."

Redwing smirked. "You didn't know it was water? Thought a psychic would know that."

"It isn't that simple," Carl murmured.

"Fair enough." Redwing leant back in her chair and took a sip herself. "Trust me Jenkins, I'd love to have a bottle of something fancy here, but water is basically liquid gold on Mars." She took another sip. "Speaking of Mars, how are you finding it?"

"Red. Dry. Dusty."

"I meant the gravity."

"Oh, that." Carl shrugged. "I'm managing. I figure in less than forty-eight hours I'll be back on a ship with the gravity set to one g anyway."

"But not on Earth," Redwing said.

"I've got places to be. Earth isn't one of them."

Redwing said nothing. She just took another sip. Carl didn't even try reading her mind, because if there was even the hint that he was trying to mind-read a superior officer, he would, at best, be looking at dishonourable discharge and with it, loss of any chance of citizenship. At worst…well, suffice to say, like the Arachnids, humans could find all manner of dealing death in unpleasant ways.

"So," Redwing said. "I got your message – Planet P was a success. Everyone's happy. You aren't. And because you're so unhappy you want to come straight to the people who make decisions as to how the war will go."

"That's one way of putting it," Carl murmured.

"And I'm dealing with it in one way," Redwing said.

"What's the other?"

"One's sending you straight to the sky marshal since you apparently know so much. Other is to tell you to remember your place and focus on the Bugs."

"I know my place. That's why I'm here."

"And why are you here?" Redwing asked.

Carl did a quick calculation in his head – three minutes, fifty-three seconds. Impressive. Most generals waited at least six minutes until they actually got down to business.

"I need money," he said.

"What?"

Carl cursed under his breath. "What I mean is…I, I mean, we, need funding."

"Hmm." Redwing finished off her glass and began pouring another. "Well, that's a bit more palatable. Though when you say we, is this Psychic Ops? Or you and some significant other?"

"Yes. I mean…" He sighed. "We, as in, branches of intelligence and RnD."

"I wasn't aware that you were experiencing shortages in funding." She took a sip, put the glass aside, and leant forward. "In fact, if you weren't receiving funding, would you have had the resources to capture the brain bug?"

"We didn't capture the brain bug, the Mobile Infantry did. In fact, I met the private who did it," Carl said.

"And?"

"And if the universe decides we get to live, then history will record our names sooner than his. And especially before the thousands who died in the operation."

"Are you going soft on me colonel?"

"No ma'am. Just running the numbers."

Redwing scoffed. "You think the people in intelligence haven't already run them? The Arachnids have more. We kill more of them than they kill us. It balances out."

"Actually, it doesn't," Carl said.

Redwing remained silent.

"Your entire strategy is based on the assumption that people keep enlisting at the same rate," Carl said. "Let me tell you, that isn't going to happen."

"Why?"

"Because I don't need to be a psychic to know that in almost every major war in human history, the rate of enlistment declines over time. Before the birth of the Federation, why do you think conscription was a thing?"

"If you're suggesting the Federation introduces conscription colonel, you're going to find yourself on a planet far more backwater than Mars."

"Only a planet? Thought I'd be booted down to moon-level duty for that." He sipped his water and poured himself some more. "No. I'm not suggesting conscription. The Federation's operated the way it has for centuries. The Federal Council isn't going to change that even in the face of our own extinction. Because as we all know, humans are terrible at changing their behaviour even when faced with calamity."

Redwing didn't say anything.

"You're a general, aren't you? Weren't you obliged to study history?"

"Everyone is obliged to study history Jenkins."

"Yes, I know." He leant back in his chair, thinking that lessons in history were often less about history, and more "the present is awesome, the past was terrible, here's why." He could accept that no view on history could ever be neutral. He could accept that in the 21st century, that Western democracies had collapsed for a reason, and that the world the Federation created was at least a stable one. But then, that was before first contact with the Arachnids was made. Before the entire galactic paradigm shifted from humanity being the top god to a cat hissing at an approaching wolf.

"Fine," Carl said. "I'm not suggesting conscription. But I am suggesting, or rather, requesting, that you pull some strings and allocate more of the budget to the branches I've nominated." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a data chip. "Details are on there."

"Didn't know you were an economist Jenkins." Redwing nevertheless took the chip in her hands.

"I'm not, but I'm a strategist and a psychic. I can tell you, a decade from now, the Federation's going to be facing a shortfall in enlistment. Possibly even civil agitators in the colonies, even Earth itself. So, only way to avoid that is to win. And only way to win is to fight smarter. Accelerate developments. Change tactics."

"We're already doing that Jenkins."

"I…" He sighed. "General, do you know why Earth's been able to control its colonies up to this point?"

"I wasn't aware that there was ever a point where that was an issue."

"It's because Earth has billions of potential soldiers, and millions of actual soldiers. Any world decides to rebel, we can overwhelm them through sheer weight of numbers." He paused, leaning back in the chair. "How's that working against the Arachnids?"

"So far? Well enough."

Carl sighed. "Look at the casualty list in this very base general. Do that, and tell me we're doing well enough."

Redwing didn't say anything. Carl didn't need to read her mind to know that she had looked at it, and at least part of her was bothered by it. Silence lingered between the two of them, which allowed the colonel to consider his next words. He considered expounding on the values of exoskeletons, or even better, power armour, but decided against it. He didn't need to explain the worth of such nascent technology to Redwing, he just needed to get her to put more emphasis on it.

"Insects," he said eventually. "Right now they're our enemies, but we don't really consider that they're also our allies."

He decided to go for the metaphor.

"What the hell you on about Jenkins?"

A metaphor that needed explaining. "Fun fact general – did you know that without even trying, our ancestors managed to wipe out one third of all insect species over the twenty-first century?"

"No. Should I care?"

"Well, obviously that was centuries ago, but if you'd been alive at the time, you might have cared," Carl said. "History emphasises the birth of the Federation as the result of the collapse of archaic government, but we don't really consider the circumstances that led up to that. No insects, no crops, no food. No food, more wars, more death, more instability." He took a sip of water. "Earth's better now though – more stable, better managed, but a lot of it is looking like…well, that." He nodded past Redwing towards the sands of Mars.

"Is this going anywhere?"

"Insects bounced back though. They breed so fast, they can refill their ecological niche pretty quickly."

Redwing snorted. "You think the Arachnids have a niche that needs filling?"

"No. But I do think that history has shown us that we humans are pretty good at killing things when it's the result of more than swatting and shooting. I mean, we nearly wiped out malaria in the twentieth century through killing mosquitos. That was through a single chemical, not swatting them."

"Malaria's still on Earth Jenkins."

"It is, but it's a non-issue. Which is our end-game with the Arachnids, no matter what the sky marshal says."

Redwing raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting-"

"That we can't kill all of them? No, I'm not suggesting that, I'm stating that. We don't need to kill all of them, we just need to kill enough that they're no longer a threat. Same as most wars really – few powers have ever fought to the absolute end before they surrendered. And no bug species was ever wiped out by us just stomping on them."

Redwing said nothing. She just lay back in her chair, running her finger around the edge of the glass.

"Course we know most of our chemical weapons are useless against the Arachnids," Carl said. "But I'd like to think my point stands – fight smarter, not harder. Otherwise we may be looking at our extinction again, and this time, we may not survive it." He got to his feet. "If I may…?"

"Go," Redwing nodded. "We'll be in touch."

He gave a salute. "Thank you ma'am."

Walking out of Redwing's office, he reflected that "we'll be in touch" translated to "we'll never talk again" about half of the time. Still, he could live in hope. Humanity was simultaneously the most intelligent species in the galaxy, and also the dumbest. All of human history could be boiled down to intelligence and stupidity being at war with each other, with intelligence coming in to save the day at the last moment. It was a system that had worked so far, but intelligence only had to fail once before stupidity led to destruction.

Looking at the sands of Mars, at the casualty list that kept working its way upward, he reflected that once again, destruction was at mankind's doorstep.

A/N

So, fun little fact, the number of insects on Earth is declining by about 2.5% per year, leaving some to suggest that by 2100, there'll be no insects left on Earth. I doubt it'll come to that, but whatever the case, if insect populations collapse, we are absolutely fucked.

It was actually this tidbit that got me to write this, the idea that "bug species" are often antagonists in sci-fi (a trope that the original Starship Troopers at least popularized), but in reality, insects are absolutely vital to life on Earth. While writing this, I realized that Starship Troopers isn't really a setting condusive to expressing this idea since in-universe, the collapse of civilization before the Federation is attributed to "the failure of democracy," but, well, drabbled it up anyway.