by Nick Webb
Urda scratched the back of his head and considered the tactical readouts. “Hard to say, ma’am. The Swarm ship is taking damage, for sure, and the attrition rate of the robots is high. But the Swarm ship is also maintaining its power levels just fine, and there seems to be no end to the robot fleet. In fact,” he traced his finger down a line of data, “there are more of them now than when we arrived.”
She stroked her chin. “Strange. Why aren’t the robots attacking the freighter too?”
Urda shrugged. “Maybe because they’re far less of a threat?”
“Maybe.” She considered. “Or maybe the Valarisi have some degree of influence with them through meta-space.”
“Ma’am?”
“There is an individual over there on the freighter with a Valarisi companion. Many companions, in fact.”
YOU ARE CORRECT, SHELBY PROCTOR. WE HAVE INFLUENCE, BUT WE CAN NOT CONTROL THEM. THEY HAVE A SMALL DEGREE OF SENTIENCE. THEIR MINDS ARE SMALL, BUT THEIR PROGRAMMING IS SOPHISTICATED. THEIR BATTLE ALGORITHM WILL GRADUALLY LEARN ENOUGH FROM FIGHTING THE SWARM SHIP THAT THEY CAN EVENTUALLY PREVAIL. BUT THE QUESTION IS IF THEY CAN SURVIVE LONG ENOUGH. WE DO NOT KNOW.
But why is the Swarm even here?
WE DO NOT KNOW.
Strange. Could her companion lie? Was it capable of lying?
YOU WOULD KNOW IF WE WERE LYING, SHELBY. WE ARE INEXTRICABLY LINKED, YOU AND I. WE ARE ONE, AND ALWAYS WILL BE. ALWAYS.
“Ma’am, the Swarm ship is moving towards the freighter,” said Urda.
SHELBY! PLEASE!
“Lock railgun targets, ready all torpedoes. I want to stay as far away as possible but cause the most damage we can.”
“Aye, ma’am. All weapons locked. Torpedoes ready.”
“Fire.”
The Independence’s hull erupted with railgun fire and dozens of torpedoes streaked away. She could feel the pulses in the deck from the firing of the guns, each slug blasting away from the ship at over twenty-thousand meters per second.
“Direct hits on the Swarm ship. Moderate damage.” Urda looked up at her. “It’s ignoring us, and continuing advancing on the freighter.”
SHELBY!
“Are we in range for the gigawatt lasers?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ensign?” she looked at Destachio, who visibly gulped. “Move us in.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Sol Sector
Earth
ISS Volz
Bridge
“We’ve arrived in the Sol system, Captain Granger,” said Commander Shin-Wentworth. “Currently at Lagrange Point One, between the sun and Earth. The glare from the solar radiation should take us off their sensors for the time being until we can assess the situation.”
Granger stood up from the XO’s chair. “And what is that assessment, Commander?”
“The Findiri fleet seems to be gathering at Yarbrough station. Most are there right now—aw, there’s another one that just q-jumped in.”
“What about the IDF fleet?” said Granger.
“A dozen starships or so in orbit. The regular orbital defense task force plus a handful of others. Seems like all civilian traffic has stopped, probably a result of the Findiri use of the momentum transfer shield on that freighter over Baltimore. But also seeing a collection of smaller ships gathering near the moon.”
“Identity?”
Shin-Wentworth glanced at the tactical station, pointing to the sensor officer there. He studied the sensor readings. “Unknown, sir,” he said. “Right now it’s around forty ships. We’re too far away for any visual IDs, but from the drive signatures they appear to be mid-sized freighters, frigates, maybe a gunship or two. I’m seeing a few drive plumes that match old IDF light cruisers.”
Granger nodded. “That’s most likely the Vestige fleet.” He mulled the risks. They could stay where they were, gather more intel, but also risk losing valuable time—time that Talus would have to effect whatever he was planning with Jasper. He could open a comm line to former Admiral Diaz, who was presumably with the Vestige fleet, but risk the Findiri and IDF listening in. Or he could q-jump straight over, cut to the chase, and risk the entire Findiri fleet ambushing them.
But at this late hour in the game, there was really only one choice. “Take us in, Commander Shin-Wentworth. Q-jump us directly into the middle of that little fleet.”
“Aye, sir,” said the commander, who gave a quick nod to the helmsman.
A minute later, the star field on the screen gave way to a good view of the lunar surface on one half, and an assortment of ships on the other. Even as he watched, Granger saw several more ships flash into existence from their q-jumps.
“Open a channel to the biggest one. Lowest power possible, tightest beam possible. Let’s keep this on the down-low as long as we can.”
“Aye, sir,” said the officer at comms. After a few moments, she said, “I have someone claiming to be Admiral Joachin Diaz, onboard a ship called the Majestic. It’s a light cruiser that . . . wow.” She looked up at Granger. “It’s one of the original Legacy Fleet ships.”
Granger’s eyebrows rose a full inch. “Legacy Fleet?” Sifting through his old memories, he remembered that there were the six massive, tungsten-hulled heavy cruisers: the Constitution, the Warrior, the Victory, among others, but there had also been an assortment of smaller ships that had long been mothballed. Perhaps twelve light cruisers? All vestiges of Swarm War One, over a hundred years ago.
“Yes, sir. Looks like it’s been retrofitted quite a bit with modern weaponry and systems, but the old two-meter-thick tungsten hull is still there.”
“Interesting. Put Diaz through.” He sat back down in the XO’s chair. “Diaz? You there?”
“I’m here, old man. Glad Jasper finally talked some sense into you. The fleet’s almost all here. It’s yours, Tim, if you want it.”
“Joachin, it’s Jasper. Talus has him.”
Silence.
“Joachin?”
“Goddammit. Tim, I’m sorry. I know . . . what he means to you,” he said, careful not to reveal the family relationship to everyone listening. “We’ll get him back. Get over here. This is your ship, Tim. I’ll head on over to the Legacy. I’ll command that one and serve as your task force commander for the fleet, given that I know its strengths, weaknesses, procedures, and all that. Standard IDF protocols, given that nearly everyone here is a veteran, but you may be a little rusty with those.”
He grunted a laugh. “That’s the understatement of the century, Joachin. But an admiral reporting to a captain? We’ll never hear the end of it from all the old grouchy rulebook-thumping men at the Veterans Hall.”
“Well given that we’re former, I think they’ll just have to deal with it.”
“Heh, speak for yourself. I’m still commissioned. I’ll be over shortly. Granger out.” He stood back up and started to leave. “Commander Shin-Wentworth, the ship is yours. Report in to Admiral Diaz and ask for guidance on the Volz’s role in the fleet.”
“Aye, sir,” he said, robotically.
“Buck up, kid. We’re kicking ass today. Or we’ll die trying. Good luck, Commander.”
“You too, Captain.”
He was about to leave the bridge but nearly ran into Commander Zivic. “Ethan, just the man I want to see. Can you fly me—oh,” he trailed off, smelling the alcohol. He glanced down at the man’s waist and saw the sidearm holstered. “Good idea. We may find ourselves in hand-to-hand with the Findiri. But you may want to sober up before trying to aim.”
Zivic grinned sheepishly. “Sss’allright, sir. I just took a shot of anti-inebriation meds and I’ll perk right back up in a few minutes.”
“Good. I need a pilot to take me over to the Majestic. You good?”
Zivic’s eyes darted over at Shin-Wentworth quickly, then back to him. “Uh, yes sir, let’s go.”
By the time they arrived in the shuttle bay, Zivic did, in fact, seem far more sober. Thank God for anti-inebriation meds, he thought.
“Thank you for flying Zivic Interstellar Cruise Lines,” he began as they sat in their seats and the hatch closed. “We know that you have many choices in your travel and we appreciate your business. Please fasten all harnesses and keep all arms inside the shuttle at all times. Should you need a barf bag, one will be pro—”
“Just fly the plane Ethan,” Granger said, rolling his eyes.
“You got it, boss.”
The trip over to the Majestic was thankfully short, as in the back of his mind he could feel the timer clicking down the seconds. Each minute was another prisoner killed. Each second was another that Jasper’s life was at risk.
“Thank you, Commander. And stay tuned, I may need a few miracles before the day is out. Keep the engine idling.” He jumped down from the hatch and saluted to the two veterans who waited for him. “Take me to the bridge,” he said.
Every eye was on him as he made the short trek to the bridge of the Majestic. Every gunnery sergeant, every marine, every mechanic, and every janitor snapped to attention, their eyes wide with what he supposed was worship and wonder. Their hero, finally returned home to lead the fight.
It was sickening. And it was humbling.
If they only knew that his current mission was to go die at the hands of the Findiri.
“Captain on the bridge!” said Admiral Diaz, standing up from the captain’s chair to receive him. Every bridge officer stood and saluted, but then immediately started clapping and cheering.
“As you were. We’ve got work to do,” he said, waving them off. He paused for a moment though. “Thank you. It’s an honor to serve with you again.” As his eyes went around the bridge, he swore he could recognize two or three of the older men and women manning the stations. Could it be that some of them served under him in Swarm War Two? Quite possibly. “Let’s go save Earth again, shall we?”
More cheering, and he sat down in the offered captain’s chair. “I’ll be over on the Legacy,” said Diaz. “Commander Swift here is your XO. Retired XO of the ISS Dunkirk. Good luck, Captain Granger.”
Granger nodded, “Godspeed, Joachin.”
The bridge looked remarkably like the bridges of the Constitution and Warrior, just smaller. Layout basically the same. Stations and consoles obviously modded with new tech and IT hardware. But otherwise just a standard old Legacy Fleet ship. The best there ever was.
“Commander Swift. Status report of the ship.”
Swift stood at attention. An older gentleman of perhaps sixty, he looked fit and professional. “Ten operational railguns, a bank of one hundred and nine standard Mark 4 torpedoes, PDC cannons updated to modern IDF standards. All crews stand ready for battle, sir.”
“Good.” He looked up at the viewscreen, which was focused on Earth, over two hundred thousand kilometers away. “And what about them? What are they up to?”
“Sensors show that all Findiri ships have q-jumped in to Earth orbit. Every last one of them is basically parked outside Yarbrough station.”
He stroked his chin. “Now what in the blazes are they up to.”
“Sir! The ISS Volz has q-jumped away!” said the officer at tactical.
“What? Where?”
The officer studied his console. “Looks like down into low Earth orbit, opposite side of the planet from Yarbrough station.” He looked more closely at the data. “Weird. Looks like they’re actually parked just a hundred kilometers or so above a location outside Nashville, Tennessee.”
“Nashville? What the hell is outside of Nashville?”
Swift sat down at the XO’s station and brought up some menus, scrolling through some options. Seeing the one he wanted, he waved it up to the viewscreen. “The only real thing of interest there is it’s the central hub for the Western Hemisphere Power Grid. And at ten kilometers altitude, they’re actually in a zone of huge constructive interference for the inductive power waves. Like, so massive that all air traffic avoids it like the plague.”
“What the hell is he up to?” he wondered aloud. This was not the time to be chasing down rogue officers. “Let me know if their status changes. For now, find me the Findiri flagship. See if you can determine if Talus is there, or down at the UE executive tower in Manhattan, or wherever he is.”
“Aye, sir,” said Swift, motioning to the appropriate staff to get on the orders.
“Actually, sir, we have an incoming transmission from Talus.” The comms officer looked up at them. “It’s broad. The whole world will see it.”
“Visual?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Onscreen,” he said, pointing up to the front of the bridge.
Talus appeared, standing in front of what looked like some sort of chamber, almost like an old cryo-chamber used to freeze bodies, or like the chamber he himself came out of on the Skiohra ship. It was connected to a vast network of tubes and electronics and mechanisms that he could only guess at the purpose of. And lining the walls were Findiri soldiers, somehow hooked up to stations by tubes that seemed to enter straight into veins on either arm.
He looked closer at the chamber. Through the window he could see a face. They were awake, and occasionally pounded on the thick glass.
It was Jasper.
“This message is for the traitor Captain Timothy Granger,” said Talus, the mask of his old friend Haws didn’t even phase him anymore. “I gave you ample opportunity, Tim. So many chances. Thousands have died because of your intransigence. But now? It doesn’t even matter. I found a solution to both of our problems.” He motioned back to the chamber.
“No,” breathed Granger.
“You see, all we needed from you was your DNA. All of it. Without it, the Findiri genetic code would have continued to deteriorate from the constant eons of bombardment from cosmic radiation. We needed to restore ourselves and—”
He couldn’t wait for the rest. “Helmsman, q-jump us in immediately. Right next to the Findiri flagship.”
Swift started to protest, but a single fiery look from Granger shut him down. “And message the rest of the fleet to follow.”
The swirl in his stomach coincided with a change on the right half of the screen, and the distant view of Earth was replaced with the Findiri flagship.
“—even now, nearly every Findiri soldier is hooked up to the corporeal chamber networks, and will receive updated DNA codes. Software patches, if you will, to repair the damage.” Talus smiled broadly. “And what’s more, by using your complete and original DNA, the full code that you denied us those eons ago, the Findiri will finally realize their full potential. They will be more fierce, more powerful, more intelligent than you ever designed them to be, Tim. What’s more, they’ll inherit all the little changes and bonuses you gave yourself. Immortality, Tim? Really? You thought to hog that one all to yourself?”
“Open a channel,” said Granger.
“Open, sir.”
He stood up. “Talus. I agree. Your goals are worthy. If there were mistakes in the design of the Findiri, I take full ownership of them, and offer to fix what I messed up. I’m here. Take me. Let the kid go.”
Talus laughed. “I don’t need you anymore, Tim. Don’t you realize that? With your son here, I have all the DNA I need. We analyzed him, and found that he actually has your full genome, not just fifty percent. He’s basically one hundred percent you, with the addition of a few inconsequential changes here and there due to his mother.”
No. It had to be him. He was the key. If he could just get over there, make Talus use him instead, they could destroy the Findiri in one fell swoop. “Talus, listen to me. It has to be me. It has to. You don’t know what you’re playing with here. What if there’s a mistake in his genome? Do you really want that passed to your soldiers? Uploaded to the Corporeal Chambers and corrupting all the base files? Why risk that?”
“Because, Tim. Because it hurts you.” Talus smiled. A being of pure cruelty. Did he really create that monster? And there are nine more Quiassi like him?
Talus motioned to a Findiri
technician standing nearby.
“No!” yelled Tim.
The technician pressed a few buttons on the panel of the chamber.
It started to fill with a green gas.
“No!”
Jasper started pounding harder on the glass. Furiously pounding. Soon, there were prints of blood on the window.
His flesh was dissolving.
Granger fell down in his chair. Powerless. Impotent. There was nothing he could do. Nothing at all.
He could save Earth. He could save it again, and again, and then travel back in time thirteen billion years to lay the groundwork to save it yet again.
He could save everyone and everything.
But he couldn’t save his own son.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Sol Sector
Earth
ISS Volz
Bridge
“Sir, we’re now completely tapped into the Western Hemisphere Power Grid. Inductive impedance matching is complete, and we have access to up to five exawatts,” said the engineering officer.
“Good,” said Shin-Wentworth. Five million terawatts. That ought to be enough. He looked back to the science station. Where the hell is Wiggum? He thought. Oh well, no time. His contribution was over though. He walked back to the station and brought up the singularity controls.
“Tactical, position the entire q-field and meta-space array and aim it at these coordinates,” he passed along a set of numbers to the officers there.
“Aye, sir.” They set to work. “Done, sir.”
And now he’d reach out across time. Back a billion years. Two billion. Thirteen point eight billion, and then beyond, to the moments before creation itself, to the quantum soup that was the eternal fires of Inflation itself, from which sprang the Big Bang . . .
And from there, forward, a billion, two, three, thirteen point eight billion years, to four days ago, but in another universe, causally unconnected from this one.
And he’d grab them, and bring them here. Safe. Secure. Happy.