I did what I could, Lisbeth said, sounding apologetic.
I know, Heather sent back.
When you get a chance, come get me. A warp map appeared in Heather’s head like an awakened memory.
I will.
Heather was alone again. She struggled to her feet. The Horde’s ability to disrupt warp shields had been neutralized. Third Fleet would soon learn of it and come to Felix System to finish the job. There was a lot to do before the battle was over, however. Not least of it would be to find out whether the American forces could – or would – forge a truce with the invaders or end up becoming the galaxy’s greatest butchers.
* * *
“I do not understand,” Fann’s second in command growled. The tone in his voice made the words a challenge.
Warlord Fann growled back before repeating himself. “You will order all our warriors on the dirt-ball below to stop fighting. They will broadcast the message I have provided. Today the Crimson Sun Clan will offer its surrender.”
Saying the words again was more than twice as painful than the first time. His stubborn follower’s refusal to acknowledge them made it worse.
“I do not under…”
Fann pounced, his war-dagger in hand. The first thrust caught the sub-chief in the throat, severing the central blood vessel that linked brain to heart. A few quick chops removed the rebellious chieftain’s head. Fann threw the grisly trophy onto the tactical war-map, spattering it with blood.
“Do you understand now, turd that talks?” he shouted at the lifeless body.
“You!” he continued, pointing at the next highest-ranked subchief. “Do you understand my orders? Will you convey them?”
“I understand, Warlord.”
“Open a channel to all the Homes of all the clans.”
The thirty-three that were left. The others were gone. Self-destructed or, like the Endless Void’s Home, swallowed whole when their Hearts had broken loose and consigned their people to Chaos forever. Of the remainder, many were doomed nonetheless, having sacrificed all their Oracles in a vain attempt at safeguarding the forbidden weapons the Witch-King had given them. Fann had the foresight to order his Oracles to flee the vicinity of the Crimson Sun’s weapon, allowing the enemy to destroy it. He had known the fight was hopeless and something in him had refused to destroy everything he had sworn to defend.
“I am Warlord Fann of the Crimson Sun Clan!” he shouted into the ears of the surviving chiefs. “The Witch-King is dead! The Endless Void Clan is no more. The Host can neither go forward nor back. The great Hegira is over!”
A chorus of protests roared back.
“Silence! We followed the Witch-King to our doom! If we do not make a bargain with the dirt-huggers, the we will all die in this system. Without the crystals, their Chaos ships can destroy us at their leisure. Our only hope is to convince them we are too valuable to kill. Trading with an enemy is permitted. We will not offer an unconditional surrender but negotiate for terms we can live with.”
Those words were not quite a lie, but did not convey the whole truth. Trading was permitted, yes, but only when plundering proved impossible. Surrendering under any terms meant placing the Host at the mercy of outsiders. Of the very dirt-huggers his people had been busily slaughtering moments before. It went against everything he had been taught – except one thing. His duty to his Clan and to the Star Host. If he had a chance, however small, to help them survive, he had to take it. He had sacrificed too much of his honor and dignity already.
“The greatest portion of the Host is here,” he went on. “If we die today, the Host will not endure. We must…”
A herald, bracing himself, dared to interrupt Fann. “Warlord, the Homes of the White Dwarf Clan are – they have…” the herald stammered, unable to continue.
“Show me on the War Map.”
The screen focused on one of the great Homes. The planetoid bucked and heaved; craters opened all along its surface and radiation in dozens of wavelengths tried to futilely escape the expanding Heart in its core. A few seconds later, the Home collapsed unto itself in one final flash of light that was itself sucked into Chaos. Another War Map showed the White Dwarf ships following suit, immolating themselves rather than surrender. The Fallen Stars Clan followed suit; they let their Heart evaporate rather than grow out of control, but the explosions that killed all within their Homes cleansed them of life just as thoroughly.
“We will follow you, Warlord Fann,” the chief of the Nine Comets Clan said. Others followed suit. A few turned on their brethren and battles broke out within the Host, but most of those who refused to join the Crimson Sun Clan killed themselves quietly. A full half of the survivors chose death; the rest followed him. Fann was now the Lord of Warlords. The previous holder of that title had been devoured by Chaos along with his people, which made the honor dubious indeed, but he had to make the most of it.
“You have learned the dirt-siders’ language. Will you help me prepare a message?” he asked the Chief Herald, who nodded. “Very well. Hail the planet and offer a cease-fire with negotiations to follow.”
Starbase Malta, 200 AFC
Heather Fromm-McClintock looked at the Horde asteroid hovering a few kilometers outside her window and thought about the future.
There had been plenty of second-guessing already, with much more to follow. Letting the survivors of the Horde surrender had generated a lot of hard feelings: the nomads had killed tens of thousands of American citizens, after all, and the fact that the aliens had lost billions of their own – most of them via suicide – did not begin to settle the score. Still, their offer to share technology and information, added to the cost of destroying the rest of their fleet, made for a compelling argument for a measure of merciful self-interest. Much as Heather and the other analysts had feared, there was something worse than the Horde out there, and it was only a matter of time before it showed up on America’s doorstep.
The price of victory had been high. Her son had survived, but he was haunted by the loss of most of the Marines in his unit. Heather knew exactly how that felt; survivor’s guilt had a way to gnaw at you in the wee hours of the night. She would do her best to help her son live through that.
With a sigh, Heather went back to work. Life went on, until it didn’t, and she had a lot to do before she could finagle a way to go rescue Lisbeth Zhang. A moment later, she looked up from her desk in mild irritation as an urgent news bulleting announced itself via her cyber-implants. She opened it, her eyes widening in shock as she read the news.
A tear ran down her face, unnoticed.
New Washington, Earth, Star System Sol, 200 AFC
“Sic semper tyrannis,” the human operative muttered.
Ula-tom, former intelligence officer turned terrorist, had undergone many sacrifices since joining Noro Tann’s Sleeping Imperium. Among them was the painful facial reconstruction that allowed him to pass for a human, at least while wearing loose-fitting clothing. But the worst part of it all had been dealing with the human puppets whose help had been necessary to complete his mission. Nobody liked betrayers, but these traitors were particularly loathsome, given their smug self-righteousness.
“I do not understand that dialect,” he told the human.
“It means ‘Thus always to tyrants,’” the terrorist replied. “So-called-President Hewer is the worst tyrant America’s ever had. Two hundred years. That’s how long he’s run the country, as if it was some sort of banana republic. This stops now.”
Ula-tom had lived under the same rulers all of his three hundred years of age, and he had liked it just fine, at least until everything fell apart at the end. And he had no idea what an earth fruit had to do with systems of government. But he’d given up trying to delve into the thoughts of his agent; the human had been born before First Contact and his ways of thinking were alien even compared to other Americans.
“Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Ula-tom said. “The aircar is still aloft. Hewer still lives.”
> “I hear ya. I got him onscreen, though. Your anti-stealth systems are pure amazeballs, by the way.”
Ula-tom shrugged. “Just fire when ready.”
“Entering range – now!”
Half a kilometer away, a smuggled plasma artillery piece came alive. It had been put together with exquisite care by Ula-tom himself before he and his allies smuggled it to a hidden spot on the outskirts of the enemy’s capital. The moment it went active it was detected by the many security systems protecting the President of the United Stars of America, but there was no time to prevent the weapon from firing a single battleship-grade beam at a shuttle making its final descent. Outside of warp, nothing moved faster than the speed of light, and the plasma projection was as close to c as it needed to be.
“Target destroyed!” the human traitor shouted gleefully. “Fucking target destroyed! We got him! We…”
Ula-tom shot the human in the back of the head, earning himself some blessed peace and quiet. It had to be done – he needed to cover his tracks – but he had to admit he’d enjoyed ending this human’s life almost as much as killing the leader of the thrice-damned Americans.
He had studied human history, if not in enough detail to understand what the now-dead useful idiot had been blabbering about. One particular event had attracted his interest. A great human ruler had died at the height of his power. On his deathbed, his generals had asked him: to whom should his empire go to?
His reply had been to the strongest. Civil war and the disintegration of his empire had followed.
“May you enjoy the collapse of your civilization, humans,” the former Imperium agent whispered as he made his escape.
Kunah System, Crab Oligarchy, 201 AFC
Provincial Governor Ooh-Chat hated being awakened during his designated rest period, and all his underlings knew it. Which meant this was a most urgent matter. Urgent meant ‘bad,’ especially after that terrible unpleasantness during the Horde invasion.
As he exited his quarters, Ooh-Chat pondered his ill-fortune. He had fled his provincial seat, which had been plundered by the damned nomads and left largely in ruins. Even after years of reconstruction, much of the planet remained in shambles; funds were in eternally short supply and he was unwilling to spend his own treasure on what was his domain but not necessarily his responsibility. Even worse, the damned Americans had not only defeated the Horde, they had tamed the barbarians somehow. What could be so important to rouse him from his well-deserved rest? Nothing good, that was what.
“Your Illustrious Excellency,” the Planetary Protector Captain greeted him in a most grim tone. “We have detected three warp emergences near the edge of the system. Very large vessels. Nearly as large as one of the Horde’s powered asteroids.”
“Have those pirates returned to plague us, then?” Ooh-Chat said, feeling icy terror flowing through his circulatory system.
“I… I don’t think so, Excellency. This is something different. Although they appear to have arrived from the same point of origin.”
“Let’s see it then.”
If he had known the dreadful sight would be the last thing to pass his visual receptors, Ooh-Chat might have been less eager to watch it.
“What is that?”
A moment later, death consumed him, along with the entirety of the capital.
The Nemeses had arrived.
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GLOSSARY
(Note: Some of the military/Marine jargon below comes from current and past terms used by the US decades since First Contact).
03: Warp Marine Slang for someone with an infantry MOS, as opposed to a POG (see below).
1369: A fake MOS that indicates an individual is unlucky and inclined to give oral pleasure to males of the species.
AFC: After First Contact. The new US calendar has Year Zero beginning on the day the Risshah bombed the Earth, killing some four billion people.
ALS-43: Automatic Launch System. Portable heavy weapon that fires a variety of 15mm ammunition, including grenades, armor-piercing and incendiary rounds. Also known as the All-Good or Alsie.
Area Force Field: A heavy force field can generate a sphere hundreds or even thousands of yards in diameter. Vehicle-mounted versions are used to protect advancing troops.
Blaster: Slang magnetically-propelled slug-throwers that usually fire plasma-explosive bullets. Also see Infantry Weapon Mk 3.
Biosphere Classes: The four known forms of life in the galaxy, which appear to descend from four primordial biology groupings that somehow spread throughout known space. Class One, Two and Three Biospheres are carbon-based but each has a distinct biochemical makeup that make them incompatible with each other. Class Four entities are silicon-based and can only survive under environments other classes find uninhabitable. Humans are a Class Two species (checkas).
Bloomie: Thermal-pulse weapon of mass destruction, which generates a distinctive force field-contained ‘blooming onion’ shape that persists for several hours. Designed to minimize damage to the ecosystem, it generates heat without producing radiation or other effects, and the force fields radiate most of the heat beyond the planet’s atmosphere after reducing everything within the area of effect to molten slag.
Bubblehead: slang for Navy spacers, from the shape of the ‘astronaut’ helmets issued during the early years after First Contact.
CVW: Carrier Space Wing. Operational naval space fighter organization comprising all warp fighter squadrons in a carrier vessel.
Dabrah: Pal, friend. Short for ‘dudebro.’
Domass: Stupid, idiot. Contraction of the words ‘dumb’ and ‘ass.’
ET: Extraterrestrial, common vernacular for aliens. Also rendered as Echo Tango, or simply Tango.
Eet, Eets: Slang version of ET; both terms are used interchangeably.
Fabber (Fabrication Machine): A ‘matter-printing’ device capable to manipulating matter at the molecular (or for the most advance systems, subatomic) level. Fabbers are the primary means of production among Starfarer civilizations. To produce anything beyond macro-scale items, a living, thinking being must direct the production process, apparently due to the Observer Effect. As a result, only the production of very simple devices can be automated. Industry is one of the largest sources of employment in the civilized galaxy.
Fabber Operator (FO): Someone trained to control fabricators to produce sophisticated technological devices.
Flick: Term for a multimedia entertainment production, available in multiple versions, from 2-D Passive (identical to a Pre-Contact movie or TV show) to Full VR Interactive (which allows users to assume the role of characters and play in the production’s scenario). Intermediate stages include VR Passive, Alternate Endings and Control Storyline Outcome, as well as ‘Adults Only’ interactive versions.
FNG: Fucking New Guy. Term of endearment for new soldiers and spacers.
Foxtrot-November: Unofficial acronym for ‘Fucking Noob.’ See also FNG.
Full Goldie/Goldilocks Planet: A world with conditions nearly identical to Earth’s (95% or higher on all major categories, including oxygen/nitrogen mix, gravity, and average temperatures).
Gack, Gacks: Slang; derogatory term for the Greater Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere and its citizens.
Galactic Imperium: The largest known Starfarer polity, and the only one comprising several member species of roughly equal power. See also Gal-Imp, Gimp.
Gal-Imp, Gimp: Slang terms for the Galactic Imperium and its citizens. Gimp is a full-on slur and its use discouraged in polite company.
Greater Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere (GACS): A federation comprising China, India, Russia and an assortment of Asian countries and former Soviet Republics. Other than the United Stars, it’s the only human polity with a presence beyond the Solar System. Commonl
y referred to as the Pan-Asians or the Gacks.
HAW: Heavy Anti-Armor Weapon. Large missile usually mounted on combat vehicles or deployed by company-level anti-armor teams.
Haz-Con: Short for Hazardous Conditions. Any environment that isn’t suited to normal human life, requiring special equipment or medical treatments to endure without health risks.
Hellcat: Common designation of Mobile Infantry Units (MIU), four-legged battlesuits equipped with heavy armor and force field, and several modular weapon pods.
Hrauwah: Starfaring species and early US ally. Pseudo-canines with arboreal adaptations, the Hrauwah are social obligate carnivores vaguely resembling a cross between a dog and raccoon. Also see Puppies.
Imp(s): Short for ‘implant,’ a catchall term for the numerous bionic systems most humans use for communications, first-aid, protection and entertainment. Imp services include: full biomedical monitors, virtual reality displays, mapping and location apps, targeting and sensory arrays, among many others.
Infantry Weapon, Mark Five (IW-5): The standard issue personal arm of the Marine Corps, a dual-barreled grenade launcher and assault rifle, firing 10mm graviton beams and 15mm airmobile ordnance grenades.
Iwo, Iwo-gun: Slang term for all Infantry Weapons.
Kirosha: A continent-spanning kingdom on the planet Jasper-Five; the same term is also used to refer to the inhabitants of the kingdom and its capital city.
Known Galaxy, The: Also referred to as Known Space; the region of the Milky Way Galaxy explored and colonized by all known Starfarer civilizations. It roughly corresponds to the Orion-Cygnus Arm of the galaxy, about 10,000 light years long and 3,500 light years wide. Almost every known warp valley leads to locations within that volume of space. Despite its name, the Known Galaxy, which comprises billions of stars, hasn’t been fully explored, let alone developed.
Lampreys: Slang term for the Lhan Arkh species.
LAV: Land Assault Vehicle, an armored personnel carrier/infantry fighting vehicle, sixty tons in weight, capable of carrying an infantry squad, armed with a 25mm laser or a 30mm grav cannon, as well as four HAW missile launchers. Its gravity drive allows it to fly and maneuver at speeds of up to 300 mph, but its main purpose is to fight at ground level. Crewed by a driver, gunner and loader.
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