Scott had expected to be celebrating, to be cheering in the aftermath of the attack. Instead he felt strangely empty, as though unable to believe that they had actually won. Their battle wasn’t over yet, though. They’d managed to put considerable distance between themselves and the fleet, but that wouldn’t keep them alive for long. Chen threw all the force they could muster into the engines, running the strained systems far beyond the usual norms in a desperate bid to reach the wormhole.
“Total destruction,” Rochford said, shaking his head. “I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.” Turning to Scott, he asked, “I pray I never see anything like this again.”
“Sir, the wormhole,” Sullivan reported, looking down at her readouts with disbelief. “It’s moving, sir! The gravitational balance of the system must have been thrown out by the blast. Or the effect was so powerful, it broke the dimensional linkages. It’s moving away, sir, faster than we can fly!”
“Ensign,” Scott said, “is there…”
“We’re about three minutes from a total system failure as it is, Captain. I’ve got nothing else left to give.” He shook his head, and said, “I could try and turn us to put the most mass between ourselves and the blast wave, but…”
“Ensign, that force is powerful enough that it’s probably going to render the star unstable,” Rochford replied. “I don’t think we’ve got a chance of surviving it. My measurements top this out at way over the petaton. The largest explosion ever created by humanity by at least an order of magnitude.” He paused, then added, “Wait a second. We can’t use our own ride home, but we might be able to use someone else’s. Helm, alter course, nineteen degrees port, five up.”
“The shadow wormhole?” Scott asked.
“It’s in range. Just. Maybe. Assuming the distortions don’t grow worse. We might be over the threshold right around the time the blast wave reaches us.”
“Altering course,” Chen said, shaking his head. “I’ll try and find a little more power, sir, but I don’t know where I can take it from.”
“Life support, anything. We’ve got to get into the wormhole. Anything else is a bonus.”
“Re-routing all power to the engines,” he replied. The engines roared louder, loud enough to make any conversation impossible, and Scott could feel the ship straining under the force of acceleration, struggling under stresses it was never designed to withstand. He’d already asked so much of his ship over the last few days, pushed it far beyond its limits. It seemed somehow unfair to ask for any more.
“Sir, the planet!” Rochford yelled, and Scott turned just in time to watch the planet explode, the force of the antimatter shockwave too much to bear, the stresses too great. Billions of fragments of molten rock flew through space, adding to the devastation caused by the blast, one more world forever denied to humanity. A faint pounding began to echo from the hull, growing louder by the moment, and he only belatedly realized what it was. The first fragments from the explosion, tiny pieces of debris hitting the hull armor.
The shockwave was still spreading, but the debris would likely catch Leonidas first, would be the final cause of its destruction. At least he knew that they had done their job. The threat to humanity was over, Earth was safe. They had that much, if nothing else. He settled down in his command chair, hating that he couldn’t do anything else to influence the outcome of their final, desperate flight. It was down to Sullivan and Chen, two of the most junior officers on the ship, one at the sensors and other at the helm, hoping against hope that they would be able to thread the needle, find their way into the wormhole, and whatever safety it might afford.
“One minute,” Chen said. “Anyone want a countdown?”
“I think we can be spared that, Ensign,” Scott said. The ship surged forward, as though desperate to survive, adding its own mechanical will to that of the crew. It had been involved in many perilous situations over its long career with the fleet, old enough to have fought in the wars that led to the final supremacy of the Commonwealth across human space. Now it was fighting one final battle. And it had won. Both the ship and its crew deserved a chance to savor the spoils of victory.
The shadow wormhole was racing towards them now, the balance of gravitational forces in this system well and truly thrown out of alignment by the destruction of the planet. Chen urged the ship onwards, ever onwards, using every trick he knew to gain any advantage he could find. It was hard to think that only a few weeks ago, his greatest aspiration had been assignment to the deck crew of a ship such as this. Now he was all that stood between them and death.
Scott could not have asked for safer hands.
At the last second, the wormhole slid away, the shock wave closing on them, but Chen used the last push from the ruined fleet to guide them to their target, slipping through the wormhole terminus just in time. Chen looked up from his controls, his head darting to the side, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had just accomplished.
That did it. That broke the momentary spell that had been cast over them, and the bridge erupted in a wave of cheering that went on and on, every crewmen yelling for his life. Sullivan patted Chen on the back with such vigor that he was almost knocked from his seat, and Rochford rose from his console, arm extended, shaking Scott’s hand in triumph.
“I think that’s got to be the fastest transit I’ve ever seen,” Rochford said. “We’re going to be emerging at the other end of the wormhole in less than four minutes.” He looked down at Scott, and said, “You don’t seem to be quite sharing the mood.”
“Half the fleet, more, gone. We were lucky, Clyde. Luckier than we had any right to be, and this victory still cost us far too damned much.” With a deep sigh, he said, “I guess that’s just beginning to sink in. Not to mention that we don’t have the first idea where we’re going, only that if it doesn’t have a spacedock, we’re in serious trouble.”
“It’ll work out,” Rochford replied. “Somehow, I think the universe owes us one.”
“I don’t think it works that way,” he said.
“Wait and see.” He paused, then said, “Want to speak to the crew?”
“I wouldn’t be telling them anything they didn’t already know. As soon as we emerge, see if you can raise Earth, assuming we have enough power left to do it.” Reaching for a control, he said, “Bridge to Engineering.”
“What now, skipper?” Santoro asked.
“Actually, I was calling to thank you, but…”
“No, no, we’ll take the praise, boss.” She paused, then said, “I presume we’re going to be having a rest now?”
“That depends on what we find at the other end. Just out of curiosity…”
“I’ve got one roll of duct tape left, Captain, and once that’s gone, we’ve had it.”
With a smile, Scott replied, “Message understood, Lieutenant. Bridge out.”
The alert indicators were still active, though he doubted that anyone on the ship was paying them any heed. The cheering had rapidly spread down the corridors, and the rear access slid open, a dozen technicians racing onto the bridge, smiles on their lips and cheer in their hearts. A violation of every regulation, but circumstances had suspended all of them today.
“Two minutes to emergence,” Rochford said, looking at the dazed Chen. “Want me to handle it, son.”
“Huh…,” the helmsman replied. “I…”
“Here,” the veteran officer said, sliding into his station. “You try and relax a little. You’ve earned it. That was magnificent flying. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Looking at the bars on his shoulders, he said, “You were a mustang, weren’t you?”
“A Specialist.”
“I have a feeling you won’t be an Ensign for very long. If you aren’t careful, they’ll suck you into some sort of teaching role. Don’t let them, for God’s sake. I’ve never seen anyone more at home on the bridge of a ship than you.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Chen replied, gratefully moving to Wilson’s vacated position. Scott
settled back into his chair, waiting to see where they would end up, a thin smile crossing his face. No matter what awaited them, they’d handle it. And with style, as well. Rochford smoothly eased them through transition, and the stars appeared on the screen, far sooner than they could have expected.
“Picking up the shuttle, sir,” Sullivan said. “Intact. They’re on approach for docking.”
“My God,” Rochford replied, a wide grin on his face. “I should have guessed as much. We all should have guessed as much.” He swung the ship around, and the familiar green and blue ball that they had risked all to protect appeared on the screen. Millions of years ago, the Folk had reached Earth, had perhaps walked on its fertile soil. Perhaps humanity had encountered a sentient alien race, after all, but so long lost in prehistory for the memories to be forgotten, except perhaps in ancient legends of lost lands and sacred creatures from the ancient past.
“We’re being hailed, sir,” Chen said. “By almost everyone, I think.”
“We probably should…,” Rochford replied.
“Can you patch me into the whole network?” Scott asked.
“I think so, sir, but the President won’t be happy.”
Scott shrugged, smiled, and said, “My heart bleeds.”
“You’re on, sir,” Rochford replied.
“This is Leonidas to all Terrestrial stations, for immediate release. The alien ship has been destroyed at Kapteyn’s Star. The present danger is ended. I repeat, the present danger is ended. All Naval facilities can consider this the ‘all clear’. You’re all going to live, people. That is all.”
“That’s done it, boss!” Rochford said, as the board lit up. “Christ, I’ve never seen so much message traffic at once. It’s damn close to bringing down the local communications network.” He paused, then asked, “Who do you want first? President Mendez, Admiral Cassidy, or one of the news leads?”
“None of them,” Scott said, rising to his feet with a contented sigh. “They know what they need to know. The rest will come later. Right now, I’m in the mood for a drink, and there’s a bottle of something special waiting in my cabin for just this sort of moment.” He turned to the communications station, and said, “Ensign Chen, what the hell. You have the deck.”
“Sir?”
“You earned it. Come on, Clyde, the first one’s on me. Oh, and Chen?”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you think anyone’s paying attention, you can go ahead and secure from Alert Condition One, now. Resume peacetime routine. The war’s over.”
“For the moment,” Bouchard muttered, almost too soft to hear.
“Little advice, Ambassador. Live for the day. Tomorrow will kill you, more than likely, but if I can enjoy today, I’ll be happy with that.”
Epilogue
Looking down with a grimace at the Admiral’s stars pinned to his shoulder, Scott walked up to the podium to thunderous applause, taking his place at the head of the auditorium, the flag of the Terrestrial Commonwealth flying behind him. The front row had been dominated by the politicians, the senior staff, a few starship commanders managing to force themselves among their august ranks.
The second row was far more important to him. Captain Rochford, Commander Santoro, Commander Novak, Ivanov, Cunningham, Chen, Sullivan, their chests festooned with the decorations and awards a grateful humanity had lavished upon them. It had been six months since their triumphant return to Earth, six months that had flown past so fast that none of them had been given time to think. Lieutenant Wilson could not be there, was still under intense psychiatric examination. The doctors believed that he’d be there for the rest of his life, another casualty of the war.
He raised a hand, and the applause trickled to a halt. He noted the camera drones up above, fluttering around like birds. Before the Ninety-Hour War, his appearances had attracted an audience of thousands. He’d been reliably informed that more than a billion people were watching him now, and he felt more nervous than at any time he had faced the unknown aliens on the bridge of his ship.
“Six months ago,” he began, “humanity was asleep. Safe in the knowledge that we were the masters of creation, that the universe was ours to explore, to colonize, to conquer, and that it would happily wait for us. We’d tamed our world, unified our species, recovered from the struggle and turmoil of the Age of Nationalism, once and for all. We had time. Time to rest, time to recover.”
“And then, one morning, we learned that everything we had believed was false. That the reason no other alien race had ever found us, had ever contacted us, was that they had been indiscriminately slaughtered by a malevolent force that we still do not fully understand.” The President glared at him, and Scott swiped his thumb across the tablet resting before it, a gesture that would make it quite clear to anyone paying attention that he was using his own script, not the one the speechwriters had provided him with.
“We learned that we were not the center of the universe, and that we were certainly not the most powerful beings in it. That there were forces out there ready to wipe us out should we reach too far, aim too high. Is, then, the answer to withdraw back home, back to Sol, perhaps even back to Earth, to dismantle the wormhole network if that is even possible?” Shaking his head, he said, “No. I say no. That would be a betrayal, not only of those who gave their lives to push us so far out into the universe, but of future generations who have earned the chance to see the wonders of space for themselves, wonders that we can only dream of today. We have, for better or worse, become a star-faring species, and so we must remain.”
Taking a deep breath, he looked down at the Admirals sitting in the front row, and continued, “We were asleep. We let our guard drop, believing that there was nothing out there that could hurt us. We were wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong, and humanity almost paid the ultimate price for our arrogance. We made that mistake once. We must never make that mistake again. We dare not, knowing what might happen if we do.”
“We were lucky. Luckier than we should have been. The enemy fell into a trap, one set using the remains of our mighty war fleet. Kapteyn’s Star didn’t quite go nova, but nobody will be able to visit it for decades. A system lost, possibly forever.” Looking down at his tablet, he added, “Forty-nine thousand, six hundred and three. That was the price of victory, here on Earth and out in space, and I tell you all now, I am astounded that victory was as cheap as it was. The next time, we might not be so lucky.” A murmur echoed around the crowd, and he added, “Yes, the next time. The storm passed, for now. It’ll be back. As the aliens stated to me, during the final stages of the Battle of Kapteyn’s Star, ‘The infestation will be purged. It will happen today, or it will happen tomorrow, but it will happen. Accept your fate and it will be easier.’ I do not intend to go down so easy, and I certainly do not intend to accept my fate. Do you?”
A cheer rose from the crowd, hundreds of thousands of people screaming ‘No’ in unison, the echo reverberating from the walls of the stadium.
“I thought not.” Gesturing up at the sky, he added, “We are here to dedicate the laying down of four new battleships, mighty warships that will start to replace those we lost. Once they are completed, three years hence, they will form a fighting force to be reckoned with, but that’s just the start. Rebuilding the fleet is not enough. That fleet fought with valor, and a dedication that all humanity should be proud of, but they failed. They were defeated.”
“We must build our fleet stronger than before. Mightier. Able to defend us against the threat we recently faced, and more besides. The Folk, the alien race we never met, but to whom we owe so much, left us an inheritance. A wormhole network that we are just beginning to probe, to explore. Untold wonders await us, but untold dangers as well.”
“The future awaits us. If we do not face it head-on, if we do not prepare ourselves for whatever we might find, then we will share the fate of the Folk, dead a million years. And perhaps, in the untold eons to come, some alien wanderer will find our shattered worlds, the reli
cs of our dead civilization, and wonder what was, and what might have been.”
“Far better, I think, for us to be able to meet him for ourselves. Thank you all.”
He walked off the podium to thunderous applause, the President still glaring at him as he made his way down. The political staff had made it quite clear that he was meant to support the party line, but he had no intention of promoting any policies other than his own. Besides, there was an election coming up, once again, and both parties had made it clear that any political office was his for the asking. It would do him no harm at all to make it clear to them that he was far from the malleable officer they imagined.
“Admiral?” a familiar voice said. “Admiral?”
He looked up to see Belinsky rushing towards him, tablet in hand, with Rochford by his side, and replied, “Professor? I thought you were on the Moon, working…”
“I was,” he replied. “This is more important. Can we talk privately?”
“Of course,” Scott said. “Clyde, is there…”
“Janitor’s closet,” Rochford said, waving a keycard in front of them. “Probably best that you don’t ask how I got this. My pension fund is enjoying my new rank too much.” As the media scrum raced towards them, the trio ducked into a tiny room, filled with cleaning equipment and chemicals, the door sealing shut behind them.
“The floor is yours, Professor, such as it is.”
“You were wrong.”
“About what?”
“Your speech. You talked about how the Folk were long-dead, that we could never meet them.” Holding up his tablet, he continued, “I just finished decoding the penultimate code. Nobody else knows about this, not yet. I couldn’t trust it to the communicators. Too many incompetent buffoons listening in.”
“Peace, Professor. Are you telling me that the Folk survived?”
“They had a backup plan.” A smile crossed his face, and he added, “One that should have occurred to me, and that we could have done well to adopt ourselves. All the time, I wondered what they did with those three years of fighting. Remember that they were not natural warriors, and that their first instinct was likely not to seek battle. They had something else in mind.”
Battlespace (The Stars Aflame Book 1) Page 19