Farthest Shore: A Mecha Scifi Epic (The Messenger Book 13)

by J. N. Chaney

  For the moment, they were blind.

  Dash gave the go signal, and the task force shot forward, racing toward the Deepers as fast as they could.

  The run in to attack the Deepers had seemed to last forever. With each passing second, Dash expected the horrific beam weapons to open fire and shred the Realm task force. But the Deepers remained silent, the Pulsar’s EW attack, amplified through the Archetype’s upgraded systems, painting nothing but empty space on their scanners. Dash had to keep reminding himself that the chances of them being seen visually were vanishingly small. As large and imposing as the Archetype and the other mechs were, in a celestial sense, they were smaller than motes of dust.

  “We are in maximum effective weapons range,” Sentinel announced.

  Dash immediately rattled commands into the comm. The two escort carriers launched their fighters, then decelerated, drawing back to stay clear of the action. The mechs and the fighters charged on, the latter slipping smoothly into their formations on the fly.

  Still no response from the Deepers.

  “Dash, Kristin says we’ve probably got about thirty seconds of effective jamming, and then we’ll just be too close to conceal all of our emissions,” Conover said, his voice tense.

  It was tension Dash understood. He had to grit his teeth against it, too. “Okay, everyone, you know your jobs. The absolute priority is taking out those three beam weapons on the big ship. Everything else can wait.”

  Another round of terse acknowledgements. They’d rehearsed this attack a half-a-dozen times in simulation. Every pilot of mech and fighter knew their precise job on the first pass. After that, the fight would inevitably collapse into a free-for-all.

  “We are being illuminated by surveillance scanners. The jamming is no longer effective,” Sentinel said.

  For an instant, Dash wondered what was happening on the Deeper ships. From their perspective, four mechs and nearly fifty fighters had just suddenly appeared out of nowhere, at what would be point-blank range in just a few seconds.

  “Okay, everyone, show’s starting,” Dash said, lining up the twin dark-lances and firing at the most forward of the Deeper beam-weapon mounts. The shielding protecting it flared, staving off the paired beams of quantum destruction. Dash grimaced. If the Deepers had also improved their shielding, so they couldn’t even damage these weapons—

  Then this would be a very short battle.

  As soon as he’d thought the gut-wrenching thought, though, the Deeper shield flickered and died. The beam weapon, traversing to lock onto the attacking ships, exploded in a shower of debris.

  The Archetype raced past the ruined weapon, skimming over the big ship’s hull close enough that Dash was able to take a swipe with the power-sword. He cut down an antenna, or some protrusion from the organo-metallic hull, anyway. Once clear of the massive Deeper ship, he slammed the Archetype through at least a sixty-g turn, racing back in for another pass. He saw that another of the beam weapons had been destroyed. The third one, though, had survived their initial pass and now opened fire. The shot missed the Pulsar by what looked like meters.

  Dash cursed. The N’Teel had been assigned the task of destroying the third beam weapon, a task they’d failed to complete. Now, it threatened the entire force.

  He veered toward the weapon, jinking as hard as he could to avoid a hit. The weapon spun, locking onto the Archetype. The threat indicator lit with the deluge of energy from the targeting scanners, and Dash braced himself. Just as he had at Backwater, he faced a split-second showdown with this damned Deeper weapon. What were the chances he could win this particular lottery twice?

  Something whipped into view ahead. It was an N’Teel Moonbane fighter. Dash saw the craft open fire, then follow its own rail gun projectiles straight into the beam-weapon, slamming into it and destroying it.

  The unexpected sacrifice left him stunned, flying straight on for a few seconds. He immediately found himself at the apex of Deeper fire. It was all conventional weapons, x-ray lasers, particle beams, and missiles, though. The Archetype’s shield flooded with energy, then Dash shook himself out of his moment of appalled distraction and pitched straight up, rolled, then slammed hard over and broke the Deepers’ targeting locks.

  The next few minutes felt like hours. Even without their fearsome beam weapon, the Deepers proved a potent and determined enemy. All of the mechs took damage, especially the Polaris. Jexin was acting as effective wing commander for the N’Teel, so their aggressive, almost reckless nature pulled her into ever more brazen attacks. She’d actually suffered from the same problem, her raw hatred of the Golden, and now the Deepers, goading her into taking horrific risks and fighting with wild, almost uncaring abandon. To her credit, though, she did her best to keep reining the N’Teel in, but it made her more of a target for Deeper fire as a result.

  Eventually, though, the mechs and fighters proved too much for the Deeper force. By the time the Luther Albrecht had caught up and added the weight of her fire to the battle, it was winding down. The big Deeper ship had been pounded into submission, and three of the light cruisers outright destroyed. The fourth had made a run for it and would have escaped if not for the Archetype’s fearsome acceleration. Dash overtook it, disabled it with dark-lance shots, then blasted it apart with rapid-fire from the nova-cannon.

  He wheeled back toward the Realm forces, now rallying back toward the escort carriers. The tactical display showed that they’d lost eleven fighters. Six of them were N’Teel, half of their complement.

  He resolved to have a heart-to-heart with Steenowat. He was glad to have the N’Teel as allies, but they were going to have to learn to curb their aggressive instincts. Fifty percent losses simply weren’t sustainable.

  “Dash, there’s a lot of salvage here. Are you sure we just want to bug out?” Amy asked.

  “Do I want to? No. That big Deeper ship alone is enough scrap to build three heavy cruisers. But remember the whole, it’s a trap thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, here’s the trap.” Dash had Sentinel repeat the Archetype’s operational display to the other mechs. Sure enough, a strong Deeper force was inbound. They had time to recover their fighters, and that was about it.

  Still, N’Teel losses notwithstanding, it had been a success. They’d spanked the Deepers, given them some new electronic warfare capabilities to worry about, and made it clear that the Cygnus Realm would not be toyed with. More to the point, the rumors about the new Deeper super-weapon would be that it wasn’t that super at all.

  In fact, Dash would start a few of those himself.

  13

  Dash had to wend his way among a throng of aliens, all of them Oksa. These were the refugees from a ravaged homeworld, a planet devastated by the Deepers. Less than a hundred thousand of the unfortunate aliens remained, all of them now aboard the Eastern anchor, or almost two dozen ships ranging from a single battlecruiser to a motley collection of tramp freighters.

  He tripped over an Oksa’s foot and apologized but cursed inwardly. The Anchor was big, but even it strained to hold this many people. Ragsdale, the current commander of Eastern, must be blowing a circuit over the security nightmare.

  “Dash!”

  He turned to the voice. As though thinking about him had summoned him, Ragsdale strode—or, more correctly, picked his way—toward him.

  “Well, isn’t this fun,” Dash said, as Ragsdale stopped a few paces away. The air hung thick between, with a slightly acidic tinge that must be the natural odor of the Oksa.

  “Fun isn’t the first word that comes to mind, although another word beginning with f and u is,” Ragsdale replied, then gestured for Dash to follow him.

  He led Dash along a packed corridor into an elevator. Dash let out a breath of relief as the doors sealed and quiet descended.

  “When you said you had a situation here, you really meant it,” Dash said.

  Ragsdale gave him a wry look. “Why yes, I did. In case it escaped your attention, we’re a little
overcrowded here. Western isn’t in much better shape.”

  Dash nodded. Per the Conover Plan, their more centralized approach to defense, Eastern and Western had been paired up, the two Anchors able to cover one another while coordinating and combining their enormous firepower. The Northern and Southern Anchors were likewise paired and, moreover, co-located with the Forge.

  It meant, though, that the Oksa refugees had arrived en masse at Eastern and Western, the closest Realm outposts to their ruined homeworld. Only about fifty thousand remained on the planet, all that it was now able to support.

  The elevator stopped, and Ragsdale led Dash into a small conference room reminiscent of the War Room, the repurposed crew lounge on the Forge that had once been the focus of their planning meetings. Avek, the only Oksa Dash knew by name, was there, along with a second Oksa. Avek introduced him as Orelet, her father.

  Dash greeted them, then offered an acknowledgement of their plight. “I only wish we could be meeting under more pleasant circumstances.”

  “As do we,” Avek said.

  “Indeed. The crisis that has engulfed our people is simply more than we’re able to deal with,” Orelet put in.

  “It’s kind of pushing us, too. We just aren’t equipped to handle this many people,” Ragsdale said.

  Dash shot him a narrow-eyed look at his undiplomatic comment, but the fact was, Ragsdale was right. As imposing as the two Anchors were, Eastern and Western simply couldn’t handle almost one hundred thousand refugees. Worse, their rag-tag fleet of ships filled the space around the Anchors, potentially compromising their ability to defend themselves without inflicting serious collateral damage. If the Deepers attacked now, the Realm might be forced to choose between saving the Anchors while thousands of refugees died around them or losing everything. Dash could see the agony at even possibly facing that decision in Ragsdale’s eyes.

  Dash turned back to Avek and Orelet. “I can’t deny that Ragsdale is right. We want to do everything we can to help your people, but we can’t just assume that the Deepers are going to cooperate and leave us alone while we do.”

  “What you’re saying is that we should just move on,” Avek said. Despite being an alien, Dash could hear the bitterness in her tone. He held up a hand.

  “I didn’t say that. But no, you really can’t stay here. We need to find a solution for your people, and we need to do it fast. Custodian?”

  Although the Forge was almost three light-years away, the AIs that ran the Anchors maintained seamless comms with Custodian. All five of the AIs were essentially the same program, but each had different experiences that made Dash feel closer to Custodian than any of the others.

  “Yes, Messenger?”

  “Is there a habitable planet suitable for the Oksa within reach of their fleet?”

  “There are three. One is Backwater, one is the N’Teel homeworld, and the third is an uninhabited planet on the outer edge of its system’s Goldilocks zone. Unfortunately, its mean surface temperature rarely exceeds minus forty degrees Celsius.”

  Dash looked at the two Oksa. “You guys okay with cold weather?”

  “Not that cold,” Orelet replied.

  Dash tapped his chin. Backwater was largely barren and also a strategic asset. It would put the Oksa in the unenviable position of trying to establish themselves on a desolate, unfamiliar world that also happened to be the front-line of battle. As for the N’Teel, their planet was more than suitable, but they’d already proven themselves more than a little aggressive and xenophobic. Dash figured he could probably lean on them enough to convince them to let the Oksa settle there, but it wouldn’t be a happy relationship. He couldn’t help feeling he’d just be setting up future conflict and bloodshed.

  “Custodian, there’s got to be more candidate planets than just those three,” Dash finally said.

  “You asked for those within reach of the Oksa fleet. In the absence of a specific definition for reach, I assumed you meant within their current fleet’s capability to carry essentially their entire refugee population in one lift. There are certainly many other planets available, but all will require either multiple trips or assistance from another fleet.”

  Dash had a holo-image of the regional star chart brought up, with available, habitable planets highlighted. After excluding those whose conditions were just too extreme for easy settlement, they were left with seven. Moving the Oksa en masse to even the closest of them was going to be a difficult, cumbersome process, fraught with risk. The vast majority of their ships were never designed to haul large numbers of warm bodies, all breathing and eating and excreting, for extended journeys. They already lost several hundred refugees to catastrophic accidents just on their way here.

  Dash felt Ragsdale and the two Oksa staring at him. He finally made up his mind.

  “In the short term, the only viable place for you to settle is on Backwater. We’d put you on the far side of the planet from the Gate, and it would only be temporary, anyway.”

  “Temporary? What would the long-term solution be?” Orelet asked.

  “For that, I need to talk to an old friend,” Dash replied.

  Al’Bijea was just as dapper and fussy as Dash remembered him. The leader of the Aquarian Collective, a comet and asteroid mining conglomerate on the far side of the Black Gate, Al’Bijea had been a friend and trusted confidant since early in the Life War. In fact, Al’Bijea and his people had been one of the just-formed Cygnus Realm’s first allies against the Golden. He hadn’t hesitated to make the long trip here at Dash’s request and now disembarked from his sleek ship, a combination of frigate and yacht, with a broad grin on his face.

  “Dash! I understand that you’ve been having adventures without me!”

  Dash greeted Al’Bijea warmly. The Aquarian looked around the Forge’s docking bay, hands on his hips, and shook his head. “I’d forgotten just how impressive this Forge of yours is. What I wouldn’t give to be able to build something similar.”

  Dash led Al’Bijea toward the exit. His ubiquitous personal assistant, Aliya, followed like a shadow. As Al’Bijea talked, he would occasionally nod to her, indicating a particular point of importance or needed action, and she would dutifully make note of it.

  “Yeah, well, it turns out the Unseen had even bigger ideas than the Forge. Wait’ll I show you the Kingsport.”

  Al’Bijea lifted his eyebrows. “Bigger than the Forge?”

  “Much bigger. And by that, I mean much, much bigger.”

  “You must show me.”

  “I will, over a glass of plumato wine and some dinner. Right now, though, I have a problem that I think you can help me out with.”

  He led Al’Bijea to the Command Center. Leira, Ragsdale, and Harolyn were already there, and all greeted Al’Bijea fondly. Dash had Custodian put up the star chart, briefed Al’Bijea on the overall strategic and operational situation, then outlined the problem with the Oksa. Al’Bijea listened intently, occasionally nodding toward Aliya.

  When he was done speaking, Dash just waited. Al’Bijea studied the chart, his dark eyes darting about. Dash could feel the man thinking, sizing up, calculating. Finally, he sighed.

  “It would be possible to construct a habitat for so many people, certainly, particularly with access to the technology of the Unseen. It certainly isn’t an unsurmountable engineering challenge. What the problem is, is the substrate.”

  “The, er, substrate?”

  “Yes. The structure. The hull, as it were. The vast majority of time, effort, and materials involved in the construction of the Forge, and later your Anchors, was invested in the hull and internal structures—the substrate. Installing all of the necessary systems for power, life support, and so on is a relatively easy task.”

  “How long would it take to build something to house the Oksa?” Leira asked.

  “We are assuming at least one hundred thousand, and as many as one hundred and fifty thousand humanoids? I would estimate that would require something the size of Passage.”

/>   Dash hadn’t thought about Passage in a long time. An enormous space station, commercial hub, and space-borne city back in their home space, it was where Dash had first met Amy. He’d actually been there many times prior, sometimes openly doing business, sometimes incognito and avoiding people he owed money.

  That seemed like an entirely different life, now. One lived by someone else.

  He shook himself out of his moment of reverie. “Didn’t it take years to build Passage?” he asked.

  “It did, but I was not the builder,” Al’Bijea said with a sniff. “If we are adequately resourced, I’d offer a rough estimate of one year to construct the substrate and several months to make it operational and habitable. Of course, those several months will overlap with the completion of the structure, so—” He pursed his lips. “So fourteen months, and perhaps as many as sixteen? I would have to do more detailed calculations to give you a more certain timeline.”

  Dash felt the room deflate a bit. Ragsdale particularly radiated a frustrated worry. But Dash had a kernel of an idea, one that had come to him while he’d been pondering the strategic situation facing them. It had just seemed like a curiosity at the time, but now, it offered what might be an opportunity to solve the problem they and the Oksa faced.

  “Zoom out so we can see all of the Arkubators inside the galaxy and show their motion compared to the Forge,” Dash said.

  He noted Al’Bijea giving him a quizzical look at the inside the galaxy part, but the man obviously bit off his questions. Dash kept his eyes on the display, now holding a series of blue icons representing the current location of known Arkubators.

  “Okay, Custodian, now speed up the Arkubators by a factor of one hundred. Assume they all stay on their present courses and keep their current velocities,” Dash went on.