Vindication

by Ken Wolfson

"It’s going very well. The people’s senate has been set up, and the economy is running again. And it is running under friendship, instead of corruption. We’ve found good people to run the prefects, no more shopkeepers paying bribes to keep away the ‘drug seizures’ like old. And the courts are running for the people this time, with lowborn judges.”

  “And Emoche?”

  “I can’t tell you where he is, but he recommissioned Lord Venko’s old palace into a temple, and built a school inside that temple so all can be educated. Sometimes he’s there to observe. Or was, before he deployed to the Burn.”

  "You need money to build all that, did you get some good corporate sponsors? I heard there was one, Umbar Combine, they were taking an interest in the Burn and felt like financing a revolution to get the jewel worlds,” Adrian said. He needed to hear it from Molitor’s own lips.

  "Emoche knows that the end justifies the means. These corporate sponsors can have their mining rights at a huge price. We need the credits." Adrian had to bite down on spilling everything about the Burn. But then, there was a justification for that—the same one, too: save the Systems.

  "Credits to build a nation," he instead said.

  "That's why we're here, to secure the funding for our new order." That all but confirmed they were targeting the jewel worlds, and the treasury.

  "And will you raze Volantis after?" Adrian said. Might as well put his theory to the test, even though no trained officer would confirm such a plan.

  "Bullshit. Emoche's decree is to save humanity, not massacre it. There’s a billion people on Volantis and we’re going to save every one of them.”

  “You had no problem shooting tax collectors and their children. I’ve seen all the footage the refugees snuck out,” Adrian brought his rant screeching to a halt. “Imagine the crime of being the son of a minor bureaucrat, you’re dragged before a jury of frothing blues to answer for your crimes still wearing your schoolbag. Imagine your sentence being the firing squad.” For the longest time, Molitor was silent.

  “I put out feelers for Alyssa. I thought I could bring her to you."

  "You're too late. She's dead," Adrian said.

  Molitor gasped over the radio. Good. He couldn't get that image out of his head: hands tied, staring down the rifle, back to a cold wall.

  "How?"

  "Firing squad. Your revolutionary blues caught her wearing that jacket. I guess they were threatened by a scrawny teenage girl."

  "Adrian. Ah, shit. I'm sorry, Anvil." A pause. "She was all of your best traits refined. She didn't deserve that."

  "She didn't." Another pause. Neither had words they could say without stabbing the other through the heart. Zoey waved at him; fresh orders from command.

  “Goodbye,” Adrian said.

  "I wish you fortune in the war to come," Molitor said. The connection ended. Adrian read the missive. Then he read it aloud on the intercom.

  Reinforcements have egressed at the jump shelf. First Mollar fleet has arrived. ETA is 24:00 hours. All ships make final preparations; the enemy will undoubtedly launch another assault to break the defenses before the siege can be lifted. May whatever diety is out there watch over us.

  Burn Command

  Cheers rang throughout the ship, from the sweat-soaked deck crews to the engineering section. Finally, some good news.

  #

  Chapter Forty-Two: Descent

  Junes 11

  72nd Day of the War

  Adrian caught 3 hours of sack time with his boots on. He awoke covered in a damp sweat and deeper into a fog of exhaustion than he'd ever been before. Just stress catching up to him, not age, he promised himself. When he stood, even in .5 g, his knees complained that he should have retired 5 years ago instead of taking that supercarrier command.

  Vindication labored similarly; he felt the offbeat thrumming of her reactors underfoot.

  "Bridge to COS," a voice crackled in his ear piece.

  "Go ahead," Adrian said.

  "The Lord Governor's office is calling for you. Do you want to speak with them, or are you AWOL?" Adrian's spirits lifted at her joke.

  "I'll take it." He forewent coffee and swiped a frosty can of Thermonuclear, of House Nod, from the officers' rec fridge. Today his caffeine came with the bite of knockoff sargnac.

  "The brave people of Volantis who've stood strong for a thousand years are trembling," Johnathan mumbled. He stared at Adrian over puffy bags. "All the lowbrow journalist whores have been milking that Emoche is razing the planet take for all it's worth and it's driving the people into a panic."

  "My bad," Adrian admitted. "How's the evacuation plan?"

  "Adrian, don't be sorry...you were dealing with a personal emergency. Us bureaucrats give paid time off for that." He yawned, Adrian guessed he was untested by sleep deprivation prior to today. "The evac plans are good. And every port is stuffed full of empty liners in the event of the worst-case scenario. And I've got my mercenaries plus certain vetted House Nessella security guarding the treasury."

  "At least the worst-case scenario won't kill us all," Adrian said. It was okay; they'd win, he reassured himself. They'd win.

  "More coffee, girl." Johnathan let loose a yawn, like a gaping cavern. Elle stepped into view with a steaming pitcher and mug in her trembling hands. "You know, a lot of folk caught you on netcam putting your carrier—"

  "Supercarrier," Adrian said.

  "Putting your supercarrier between that anchorage and the bad guys. Check this out, I’m sending you a link on your horribly under-developed Zyt profile."

  Right on the front page was first person video of Vindication charging overhead like a guardian angel, taking torpedo fire that would have smashed the anchorage. There were tens of thousands of comments on the video. Some commentator with 30 million followers had made a reaction video of her gaping over the scene.

  Adrian’s jaw dropped. He heard Johnathan snorting with laughter, but ignored it. So this was what it looked like to be appreciated. He couldn’t smile, but his fists clenched in triumph.

  "Well, I'll keep doing my duty; you take the maximum advantage of it," he said. "And thank you for the Jotunn-IIIs and new uniforms. The crew loves them."

  "Good to know one person appreciates me." Johnathan drained the tankard in one gulp. "Can you survive another assault? My experts say they'll be back soon."

  "So do my experts. Vindication is ready. I'm not sure about the fleet, though. The tactical situation is in flux." One eye on Johnathan, one eye on the scrolling fleet traffic on his comp.

  "We could use some Kiiren triremes about now; their plasma cannons would tear through the Wendago,” Johnathan said. He smiled wishfully at the thought of sleek neon warships.

  "Oh, if only, if only," Adrian said. They chortled at the image of raging insects hacking through Wendago.

  A single klaxon blared. Condition two. Vindication's reactors cranked up until their thrumming was audible all around.

  “They’re returning?” Johnathan said.

  "Do or die," he said. He checked his watch: 0430. “Reinforcements are three and a half away. Good guys just might win.”

  "Good luck, Commander. Give us one more miracle, please," Johnathan said.

  "I will. May Mother Winter protect us."

  "Yes, may she show her fury." Someone yelled over Johnathan’s shoulder and he closed the feed.

  TACNET was filled with red. Emoche had united his armada regulars into a single great host, and circled about to attack the north pole. Their thrusters were pointed towards Volantis as they fell like a knife.

  "Check out that formation. Dreadnoughts in the front mixed with the BCs," Lieutenant Zare, a tactician's assistant, said. The Wendago were off, harassing 5th Mollar.

  "When Bavo fell, it left a hole in coverage. Now Emoche's exploiting it; that's a formation for maximum firepower," Adrian said. "He wants to break through before Mollar kicks his ass."

  "If he punches through there will be millions of troops landed on Volantis regardle
ss of when our reinforcements arrive," Zare said.

  "Mother Winter will weaken them," Amelie promised with an angry grin. Temperature on Volantis' north pole was -80 at the moment, cold enough to shut down mechanized equipment without insulation.

  "Will it be enough?" Zare said.

  At that moment, 5th Mollar appeared on the edge of TACNET. A red sun rose on the eastern fringes, expanding as they deployed for battle. Twenty dreads, ten carriers, and over a hundred support ships entered the fray.

  Adrian grabbed the intercom. "Behold, our reinforcements have arrived. The sun rises on humanity one more time."

  Applause rolled up from deep in Vindication. The air cycle purged that fearful stench. Every man and woman set their jaw and braced for combat. Adrian gave his crew an approving nod; this was good as they'd get.

  The Hullen ceased deceleration and let themselves free-fall into optimal range. Torpedoes flew free.

  "Fighters up, have alpha run cover," Adrian said. Serpentia was the next carrier in formation, 100 kilometers aft and launching her eight wings of attack craft.

  6th Fleet Command: All ships, cruising acceleration along orbital 21D, altitude 1500 klicks. Engage at will.

  A smile gripped Adrian’s lip. 6th's orbit would flank the Hullen fleet when it crested Volantis' horizon, exposing them to 2 vectors of fire-3 when 5th Mollar arrived.

  The sentry batteries on Aleph opened up first, pumping hundreds of tons of tungstanium per second into the enemy. The battlecruisers wilted and died, as battlecruisers did in heavy combat. The dreadnoughts held longer, but winked out one after another. And on the Hullen came, pouring fire on as they went. Adrian winced as fleet tactics spiraled into a killing contest of competitors sloshing through the mud and debris.

  "Orders, sir," Zoey said.

  6G-COM: All ships, flank acceleration.

  Over the following hours Adrian threw his fighters into the fray and extracted them, only to throw them back in again. Orbiting the main battle, he joined their bomber wings with the fleet-wide mass assaults that scattered the blues' flanking DNEs and drove into their carrier group. When 6th fleets' dreadnoughts assaulted into CQB, he detailed his Jotunns to fly support, using their guns to clear away destroyers and Wendago as much as their heavy ships. Despite the destruction ravaged upon their flanks, the blues pressed the assault.

  "There's Molyneux; what's she doing?" Amelie said. The supercarrier was pulling ahead of the embattled blue carriers and into the front lines.

  "She's exposed herself. Can we reach her with a strike?" Adrian said Fighter-bombers caught Serpentia with her wings on the attack and swarmed for the kill, Dragoons on their heels.

  "Half the blue fleet is between us. No can do," Cage said.

  “Then point her out to sixth command and let someone else take the shot,” Adrian said. “And divert bravo wing to cover Serpentia.

  Molneux leapt beyond the dreadnought screen and fired a full salvo of torpedoes at Aleph. Her fibos launched, and immediately pivoted on their heels and launched their own torps into the salvo. Fighter blitz. Adrian had been at that battle, wondering if Molitor had finally worn out his luck until he pulled that out

  "Radiological alarm, count 200 warheads in the 50-meg range," Cage said.

  "She's got a full magazine of nukes—warn 1st fleet!" Adrian said.

  Aleph disappeared as a second sun rose. The anchorage shook on its very foundations, its barriers flickering to permit entry to more projectiles. Several nearby dreadnoughts finally concentrated fire on the supercarrier, but she was already sliding behind her screen, moving with far greater agility than Vindication could muster

  The distress call came seconds after Molyneux's departure, on all emergency frequencies. "This is Aleph, we cannot hold them any longer. Our railguns are overheated, our barriers are dropping!" The anchorage's barriers were still flickering when they should have stabilized. A dreadnought broke to either side of the citadel, firing as they went. The citadel's great bulk flared as her barriers died, then went dark. Molyneux unleashed a fresh bombing run, while dragoons dove with suicidal abandon through the defenders to hit her orbital tether. Adrian couldn't help, for Aleph was on the far side of the fight. Yet he began cutting his way through the fleets. Two BCs shattered and a dreadnought drifted planetwards.

  Aleph's barriers fell, exposing her ravaged hull. Adrian held Vindication in place, for he knew there was nothing to be done to save her against such firepower. The Hullen threw themselves into the anchorage, firing at point blank range. Cara had been a civilian industrial anchorage, but Aleph was the fleet HQ. The destruction was far greater.

  "Attention Volantis, this is Aleph-actual. We did our duty. Good luck out there." Her sentry batteries fired a final time, slaying a wounded DNE. Small pieces broke off with puffs of atmosphere in explosive decompression. Bodies flew off into space. Dragoons hit her tether, and fires raced beneath her hull. Her running lights flared and died. The great railguns fell silent.

  Adrian winced as wreckage fell through the tugs and entered atmosphere far below.

  6g-COM: Hold fast. Help has arrived.

  1st Mollar led with a cloud of 50,000 fighters and more EWAR drones than the computer could count, blotting out TACNET on their approach. The dreadnoughts from Metropolis set up in optimal range and opened fire in a torrent of fresh railgun fire. Oathbreakers, mercenaries, and Wendago died before them.

  Cheers erupted in Adrian's ears. Someone broadcast the anthem in the clear.

  The blues maneuvered to meet this new threat as the numbers swung against them. A gap opened in their fleets; Adrian saw an opportunity.

  "Fighter command, there's an opening on vector seven-two-two-alpha. Kill Molyneux."

  "There’s our opening dead ahead. Accelerating to attack velocity. Come on, Knights!" Cross shouted in his ear. The fighters swung between destroyed dreadnoughts and red-lined their thrusters. Molyneux recalled her depleted interceptor screen for defense and turned back to her escorts.

  Her escorts were engaged with First Burn’s counterattack, they couldn’t shield her from all sides. Adrian leaned forward on his desk, licking his lips as the kill came.

  "Commander, what's this signature?" Cage threw a data file to Adrian. Adrian caught it.

  A very large contact was approaching Volantis, decelerating at 120gs. Jotunns could just graze that deceleration, and maybe their pilots would survive inside their crash suits. That was interceptor velocity. Yet, TACNET declared it had greater mass than Vindication.

  "It's a glitch. No capitol ship moves like that," Zoey said.

  No, it wasn't. Vindication's sensor suite was elderly true, but calibrated obsessively by her technicians, who Adrian had selected for their perfectionism. A glitch of that magnitude burning straight in from the Hullen's baggage convoy was impossible. Adrian knew for a stomach-dropping certainty this wouldn’t have arrived in the battlespace unless it was Emoche’s trump card.

  "Continue the attack run," he said. Molyneux locked them up and launched her own fibos. They would have their showdown. Yet this signature drew Adrian's attention.

  Where had he seen that before? Something in his 30 years of combat experience was drawing his memory. He studied the sensor readings. Radiological was a tenth of a dreadnought’s, infrared was normal, radar was scattered but in a normal range, powergrid—

  Powergrid emissions were running at an order of magnitude greater than even the most power-hungry dreadnought.

  The bottom dropped out of Adrian's stomach as the realization hit.

  "Call off the attack!" he barked.

  "Sir?" Cross said. The fighter strikes met in a flurry of autocannon fire.

  Adrian had seen this once before. Not in the battlespace, fortunately. Molitor and himself had traversed 30 days to Vulk on assignment to represent Tollyon at the grand fleet gala, tugging two fat molehills and an 8-year old Alyssa behind. On parade day she’d fussed over her feet hurting in those red boots until, exasperated, he’d scooped her up and c
arried her through the meet and greet, shaking hands with all the dignitaries as they went. The parade itself threaded through the capitol's packed orbit and past the gallery. Leading it was the Orion, WC-0000000.

  Deep in wild space, Jacob Hallard had found a weapon to challenge the empire. The hunk of pre-dark age wizardry looked like a two-kilometer rifle. She was built from an alloy that smiths the galaxy over couldn't replicate, black and unchanged by 2400 years. Rumor was, her command center was a 3-dimensional interactive reality sphere, where the COS viewed his fleet in real time projection. And her biggest advantage of all were the twenty-four main batteries lining her dorsal and ventral decks. They mounted X-Ray laser cannons. The energy output of each turret was roughly equivalent to one sentry battery, focused into a ray of concentrated radiation that ignored barrier fields. The tech of focusing that far with such efficiency still spat in the face of smiths, but it worked.

  And according to Adrian's wrist computer, the target sitting at 150,000 kilometers sported an identical sensor signature.

  "Comms, put me on the command channel now. The code is altara romata, galavant, charlie!"

  The voices of a dozen Lord and Lady Admirals called out as they hounded the enemy.

  "Lady Admiral Silver, do you read me?" he said.

  "Anvil, you're not authorized to be on this channel and you weren't given the code," Silver said.

  "Admiral, there is a priority black target approaching. I believe it is a pre-dark age relic ship, judging by its sensor profile. It matches the signature of the Orion," he said.

  "Stave off now. You will be disciplined later, Commander," Horace said.

  "That sensor signatures? Looks like a glitch, or an EWAR drone cluster fucking with our sensors, can you confirm this?" Silver said.

  "How are we getting the same glitch in our sensors?"

  "Calm yourself, Commander. Act professional as a man in your authority should, and get off this channel. That's a legal order," Lady Admiral Serbaya broke in. Damnit, the signature was decelerating into stable orbit at far greater rate than anything but a dragoon should be capable of.