Genocide

She was their last hope, their only chance for survival. She was only a child, barely seven, but she had the mind of an Elder—her knowledge and strategy were unparalleled in any of the known universe. Even her sometimes reckless behavior, her habit to take chances when there were none, were assets they knew they needed to utilize if they were to when.

          The child had no idea, of course. She thought it was all a simple video game. Playing it was fun. Destroying enemy ships was fun. Winning a battle was even more fun. Winning the entire war would be the most fun thing ever. Losing anything was thankfully a horror she rarely ever had to face. As such, this battle left her with nearly all of her ships.

          However, the enemy had more. This was the final battle, and they had finally made it to the enemy’s home planet. The enemy had been smart, it had left most of its army where it was needed the most. There were billions of ships, massed together around the entire planet.

          At least, that was how it seemed. In reality, there was only about one hundred thousand, which was all that was needed for the tiny planet of the foot-high Squeegians.

          On the other hand, there was only fifty thousand on their side. This left them outnumbered two to one. Still, they had no choice. It had been nearly a month since the last battle, and everyone was sure the enemy had been waiting for them so as to confront them on their own territory.

          There was only one problem at that moment, as the fleet pulled simultaneously out of hyperspace. The thing was, nobody really knew what the plan was. The strategy had been kept secret to everyone—their savior wouldn’t open her mouth at all.

          Some wondered if this was the battle they were going to lose. Others had complete faith in her, were secure in the knowledge that the war would be won and their lives would be saved. Still others were sure she was complete winging it, and were anxiously waiting for the either dooming or saving orders that would come to them.

          For some indeterminate amount of time—it may have been a minute or an hour—the entire fleet sat still, waiting either for orders or an attack. And then the Squeegians made their move. Hundreds of their ships were zooming toward them. There was no order. No one moved. Finally, when the ships were barely a mile away, the orders were given—attack the enemy, but stay in formation.

          The orders were followed exactly, only the ships that were destroyed moved from their places. When the lights of explosions died down, nearly all were surprised at the results. Barely a hundred of their ships were destroyed, but the enemy had lost nearly half their army. Apparently, the Squeegians had become fearful of their proximity to their planet. A cheer came from the fleet. All knew that the war had not been won, but their chances of success were now so obvious that they couldn’t keep it back.

          However, it was nearly a week before the next time there was an attack. Half of the remaining Squeegian army flew forward, determined to win. But they had barely moved when all but one ship received the order to retreat.

          That one ship went forward through the enemy lines, heading straight for the planet. Then, with all of the fleet gone, the planet exploded with a force that destroyed the surrounding army.

          Light years away, in a small room occupied with only four people, a bright light on an outdated computer monitor announced the destruction of a planet and all its inhabitants. A soft sight of relief whispered through three of the people. The final person, a child who had just unwittingly saved the world, smiled almost innocently, proud of finally winning her game.