by M. D. Cooper
Ona nodded. “Really, though, it’s not as though the Niets will have sent their best and brightest to Burroughs.”
“Ouch!” Heather exclaimed. “That smarts.”
“Gate Control acknowledges,” Ona said a moment later, her voice assuming a formal tone. “They’re firing it up.”
On the forward display, the largest of the jump gates sparked to life, its antimatter-powered emitters releasing exotic energy that the mirrors focused into a whirling ball of not-space.
Heather always found the visual mesmerizing—and also tried to remind herself that she wasn’t looking at a black hole that could swallow the ship in an instant. Trying not to think of that reminded her of the small black hole within the Lance.
From what she knew, it was possible to take a DMG ship through a jump gate, even though logic said that slinging one black hole past another was not a wise decision.
“Take us in,” she directed Garth, forcing herself not to think of it any further.
“Aye, ma’am.”
The ship eased forward toward the gate, the chief finessing the vector to ensure they were directly aligned with a position one light second behind Chad’s orbit. The forward display showed a countdown, and when it hit zero, the ship’s mirror touched the ball of energy, removing the Marauders’ Lance from normal spacetime and hurtling them light years distant.
Less than a second later, normal space snapped back into place around them, the forward display showing the planet Chad, and a smattering of ships moving around the world.
“OK, let’s—” Heather’s words were cut off by half the consoles on the bridge flashing critical warnings. An alarm began to blare, and she rose from her seat. “Potter, what’s going on?”
“Unmoored?” the colonel exclaimed. “How is that even possible?”
“You hear that, Garth?”
“Fuck, yeah,” the chief nodded from his station. “Steady as she goes. Not going to waver a hair.”
Heather held her breath as the alarms on the bridge continued to blare. Ona and Garth shared a concerned look as the Lance continued to drift toward the planet.
Bondo replied.
A series of acknowledgments came from the ten destroyer commanders as Heather strode to the holotank, scowling at the display as it began to populate with the position of the ships and stations in Chad’s nearspace.
“OK…that’s a bit more than we expected.”
“Wow, is there some sort of party here that we didn’t know about?” Ona asked. “I count over a hundred Niets…a lot of cruisers!”
Heather widened her stance and glared at the holotank’s display as though it had personally insulted her. “Not like it’s going to matter. Those Niets so much as fire a bullet at Chad, we hole them. Potter, let’s do a broadcast.”
Heather squared her shoulders and faced the forward optical pickup.
“Nietzschean scum. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that so many of you have decided to hasten your own funerals. I’d worried that we’d get here and the party would be over, but it looks like you’ve not even started, and that is very, very good. Let me be clear. Every ship that fires on Chad, or any other target in the system, will be on the receiving end of a shot from our primary weapon. Trust me, one shot is all it’ll take. You have ten minutes to get on an unpopulated outsystem vector.” She took a step back and lowered her brow.
The AI cut the transmission, and Heather turned to Garth and Ona.
“Well? Too strong?”
Garth twisted his lips. “Well there’s the whole part where this thing’s firing rate is pretty damn slow. A lot of them could get away before we could shoot them down.”
Heather shrugged. “That’s what Ferris’s destroyers are for.”
“Oh, we’re being hailed,” Ona said. “Should I put it on? Seems to be an Admiral Marsai.”
“Do it, Chief. Let’s see what the Niets have to say for themselves.”
A woman appeared on the forward holodisplay a second later. She was tall and well-muscled, her jawline flexing as she stared at Heather as though her gaze alone could kill a mech.
“Umm…hello?” Heather said after the admiral stood silent for several seconds.
“Oh!” Admiral Marsai adopted an expression of mock surprise. “You’re actually in charge there? I didn’t know that the Genevians trusted mechs with ships.”
“Well,” Heather tilted her head and let a smirk settle on her lips. “Since most of our vessels are ones we stole from you, no one much cares if we dent them a bit.”
“I recognized the craft,” the admiral replied. “They were building that ridiculous monstrosity in Genevia last time I was there. I’m surprised it can even fly.”
“Me too,” Heather laughed. “But here we are, and it’s time for you to surrender.” While speaking to the admiral, Heather sent Ona a question.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Marsai replied. “You’re outnumbered eleven-to-one. Not even your special shields will hold up to that.”
“Oh she’s going to be in for a surprise,” Garth whispered to Ona.
Heather didn’t address the chief, keeping her eyes on the Nietzschean admiral. “Should be interesting to find out. You’re down to seven minutes, by the way.”
“Do you really think we’ll just leave? Nietzscheans don’t flee before Genevians. Especially mechs.”
“Is it bad form if we shoot at her before the time elapses?” Heather asked Ona.
“Ummm…probably, ma’am. But...well, they are just Niets. I don’t know that anyone will really blame you.”
“Stars, I suppose you think you’re funny,” Marsai ground out the words between clenched teeth. “You have five minutes to surrender, or we open fire.”
“Surrender?” Heather laughed. “Tell me about a time when mechs have surrendered.”
For a moment, the admiral’s haughty expression faltered, showing a worry layered behind it. But then her sneer came back, and she took a step toward the optical pickups. “Four minutes, thirty seconds.”
The display blanked out, and Heather turned to Ona. “Bring up our stasis shields, I—”
Heather pursed her lips.
Heather sighed as she watched the Nietszchean ships begin to move away from Chad and array themselves before the small group of Marauder vessels.
“Oh shit.” Heather muttered. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pissed off the Niets.”
“Plotting course adjustments to keep the enemy in front of us, ma’am,” Chief Garth announced.
“I have target lock on Admiral Marsai’s ship,” Chief Ona said.
A cruel grin split Heather’s lips. “Fire.”
The Lance’s main weapon powered up, fueled by a pebble of uranium dropping into the black hole in the DMG chamber. Exotic energy flared to life as the matter was ripped apart, and the black hole spun up, releasing twin jets of energy that were harnessed by the chamber and fired through the ship, at Admiral Marsai’s cruiser.
It was as though the ship didn’t even have shields. The blast hit the vessel on the port side of the bow, tearing a hole diagonally through the entire craft and exiting at the starboard engine.
Secondary explosions rippled through the hull, and a minute later, there was nothing left but a spreading cloud of debris and plasma.
“That’ll—” Heather’s triumphant utterance cut off as the enemy ships began to spread out, jinking as they approached the Marauder fleet.
“You don’t say,” Heather muttered. “Ona, time to fire the main gun?”
“Thirty-two seconds, ma’am,” the woman replied. “The secondary DMG firing chambers are primed, though.”
“Target the destroyers at the leading edge of their formation,” Heather ordered, then addressed the ten destroyers. “I want a screen of grapeshot on our flanks. Keep those Niets from coming around.”
Heather gritted her teeth and nodded, reviewing the details on Berra. Before the war, it had been a station that processed and disseminated the agricultural yield from the planet below; reports had indicated that it was now the primary defense platform for Chad, and scan supported that.
The station was heavily shielded, and had fourteen rails that could lob one-ton slugs at several hundred kilometers per second.
“Shit,” the colonel muttered, knowing that in ten minutes, she’d be flanked by a station of all things.
Moreover, she couldn’t fire on it, as Berra was packed full of civilians. Any shot that could penetrate its shields would rack up a death toll in the tens of thousands.
Heather rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help a smile.
Ferris signed off before Heather could remind him to use rank. She considered sending the man a reprimand, but decided not to, knowing it wouldn’t do any good.
The holotanks showed the two ships peeling off and boosting toward the station, which was half a light second closer to the planet.
A dozen Nietzschean ships shifted vector to intercept the Marauder destroyers, but the ships’ stasis shields weathered the barrage inflicted on their port sides, while the vessels fired missiles from their starboard tubes that arced around to slam into the enemy ships.
Both groups were moving slowly across a fifty-thousand-kilometer stretch of space, and it was like watching an ancient naval fleet firing cannons broadside at the enemy.
“Ona,” Heather nodded to the chief. “Lighten their load a bit.”
The Marauders’ Lance’s DMG weapons were still recharging, but the ship still possessed hundreds of beam weapons and two dozen railguns. Ona selected the optimal firing pattern, with a few suggestions from Potter, and twenty seconds later, ten rail-fired slugs streaked through the black, a shot aimed at each of the Nietzschean ships harrying the Undaunted and Fearsome.
The enemy ships were moving slowly, and only three managed to evade the slugs. The other seven saw partial shield failures, which were immediately exploited by the Lance’s beam weapons.
Thirty seconds later, four of the ships lost engines and ceased firing, while three were holed, but began to move away on their own power. The final three, two heavy cruisers and a corvette, continued firing on the pair of Marauder destroyers.
Then the Fearsome broke formation and boosted toward one of the heavy cruisers, opening fire with its forward beams and rails.
The Nietzschean ships pummeled the Fearsome, and Heather began to grow concerned as her readings estimated that the ship’s CriEn module would be at max draw.
She was about to order Ona to direct more fire to aid the Fearsome, when one of the heavy cruisers lost shields and went up in a nuclear fireball.
The corvette broke off, and the remaining heavy cruiser began to boost away in its wake, moving back toward the main fleet formation.
“Thanks stars for small miracles,” Heather said as the Fearsome moved back into its escort position on the Undaunted’s flank, and both ships continued to accelerate toward Berra Station.
She turned back to the primary holotank, which showed the remaining eight destroyers now arrayed in convex formation in front of the Lance, engaging with the leading Nietzschean ships, a formation of thirty-two destroyers and light cruisers.
“They’re too close to target with the DMG,” Ona said. “Their entire fleet is staying away from the business end of our ship now.”
“Expected,” Heather replied with a nod, scowling at a trio of heavy cruisers on the edge of the enemy fleet that had extended their AP nozzles and were boosting toward the Lance.
Potter said.
“Or worse,” Heather muttered.
The enemy had to have realized that the super-dreadnought was protecting its flanks, and was moving to exploit the fact that the Lance could not turn to face this new threat.
“Shit,” Heather muttered aloud, knowing that, without the forward stasis shield, the enemy would tear the Lance to shreds in minutes.
Heather killed the connection to engineering and turned to Captain Karen, who had been standing at the back of the bridge, hunched over a holotable with First Sergeant Aaron at her side.
“You two ready?” she asked.
The pair looked up, and Karen nodded. “You want Crunch at engineering, right?”
“He’s closest, and we can trust his squad to keep the wrench jockeys safe.”
“Agreed,” Tex said with a nod. “We’re going to have Lieutenants Fuller and Wilson cover these bays.” He highlighted a series of large bays that the Marauders had picked out as the ship’s most vulnerable breach points.
“And Lieutenant Chris will take the rest of First forward to protect the bridge,” Karin added. “The Niets are gonna have to send
a shit-ton more squishies than they can fit on three cruisers if they think they can dislodge a company of mechs.”
“We’ll take out as many as we can,” Heather replied. “What about the starcrusher?”
“Yig’s team has it on the hull already,” Karen replied with a grin. “That thing is ridiculous, they’re firing at starships and scoring hits.”
“Tell them to hold their fire for the Nietzschean assault craft,” Heather instructed. “From what we know about those heavy cruisers, they can sling a few battalions’ worth of troops at us.”
“Bring it on,” Tex growled.
“I appreciate your eagerness to get in the fight, Sergeant,” Heather grunted. “But the paint’s still wet on our hull. Let’s not mess up my new girl too much.”
Karen laughed and shook her head. “Messin’ up’s what mechs do, Colonel.”
WORM GARDENING
STELLAR DATE: 06.08.8950 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Royal Palace, Mount Genevia, Belgium
REGION: Genevia System, New Genevian Alliance
Rika ambled down one of the lower passages in the estate that she was forcing herself to think of as the Royal Palace. For all her outward acceptance of her fate as magnus and—if her Marauders had anything to do with it—queen, her personal feelings on the matter seemed to waver on an hourly basis.
Mostly, the whole thing felt like hubris.
What I want more than anything else right now is for our fleet to be forming up in front of the gates and jumping to Pruzia to cut the heart out of Nietzschea.
The governance of the Genevian people was nearly anathema to her, but at the same time, she knew what would happen if she wasn’t at the helm: snakes like Oda and Arla would slither out of their holes and try to sink their teeth into whatever would get them back in power.
They’re as much our enemy as the Niets…maybe more.
Rika nodded.