Revenge of the Ancients: Crimson Worlds Refugees III

by Jay Allan

  “Very well, Lieutenant. Now that everybody else is up here, I want you to take the rest of your people forward…give Salvatore and Camerata some backup in case they run into trouble. I’ll bring the main group up a hundred meters behind.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I’ll think about the stealth unit. You’re right, at least to a point. But we don’t know what the Regent can detect. We may just have run into a roving patrol…but if we drop the shield, we can assume the enemy will know exactly where we are…and how many of us are here. So meanwhile, I want you to report in if you see anything. I do mean anything, Lieutenant, even if it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. And I want you to check in every three minutes regardless. Understood?”

  “Yes, Major. Understood.” She took a step back, pausing for a few seconds looking at Frasier. Then she turned and moved off into the darkness.

  Frasier turned back toward the disordered column behind him. “Alright, Marines, let’s get organized here. Six little robots, and you look like a herd of panicked cattle.” He knew he was being a little unfair. He hadn’t ordered them into any formation, and they had just raced down the hallway after Colt’s group, but fair had nothing to do with what was happening now. There was success or failure, victory or defeat, survival or death…and he knew the odds weren’t in their favor. He needed his Marines sharp right now…and by that he meant sharp.

  “Rodriguez,” he barked, “take your people ahead. Stay fifty meters behind Colt, but be ready to get up there in a hurry if her people run into trouble.”

  ‘Yes, sir.”

  Frasier turned, looking back at the rest of the team. “Dr. Zhukov, Captain Harmon…I need you all to stay in the center of the formation. We’re likely to run into more trouble before we get where we’re going.”

  “Connor…” Ana sounded like she was going to object, but then she just said. “Understood, Major.”

  Thank you, Ana, Frasier thought. He didn’t need her fighting him. Not now. He had his hands full with whatever the enemy was going to throw at him.

  “Perhaps I should go forward with you, Connor.” Max Harmon took a step forward. “There’s no telling what we’re going to find. This map is half a million years old. If anything has changed…”

  “Sir,” Frasier said, clearly uncomfortable at interrupting the mission commander, “with all due respect to your combat record, you’re wearing a pair of pajamas compared to my Marines’ suits. You’ve got no protection, none at all. One shot and the mission loses its leader.” Frasier’s tone was stronger, more aggressive than he’d intended. But there just wasn’t time to waste.

  “Understood, Major.” Harmon sounded a bit chastised. “I will stay here for now…but keep me posted.”

  “Yes, sir.” Frasier had always had enormous respect for Harmon, regarding him in many ways as the natural successor to Compton given time.

  No one who’d served alongside Max Harmon would question his courage or his toughness. But he wasn’t a fool, given over entirely to bravado. He had brought Cadogan and its crew here, and he was responsible for leading them on their mission…and getting them the hell home. Getting himself killed needlessly did not increase the odds of his crew surviving the mission, and he was a smart enough—and controlled enough—officer to understand that.

  I, on the other hand, am expendable, Frasier thought. At least more so than the captain. We have one purpose…get Ana to the Regent. And pray this desperate gamble works.

  Frasier took a few steps back, looking toward the end of the column. “Lieutenant Xavier, I want your people bringing up the rear. Remember, you’ve got no scanners, so keep an eye out behind you…and let me know if you even think you smell something.”

  “Yes, Major.” Xavier’s voice was deep, scratchy. By Frasier’s informal count, the grizzled ex-non-com had been wounded more times than any of the veterans present. Like so many others cut from his cloth, he’d long resisted promotion to commissioned rank, but his seniority and collection of decorations eventually became just too much to ignore, and he’d grudgingly accepted his lieutenant’s bars.

  Frasier turned around and walked back toward the front of the main column. “Okay, Marines, let’s move out.” He looked up at his visor projection. The scanners were useless, so he had the map of the facility displayed. The tunnel went on almost another kilometer, and then it entered the Regent’s main complex. From there, the main control area was just a short distance. If there was no resistance, they could be standing in front of the main interface in fifteen minutes.

  Yeah, he thought sarcastically. Like there’s ever no resistance.

  * * *

  Invaders. On Homeworld. In the Inner Sanctum. It was almost inconceivable. The imperium was vast, its power incomprehensible. What enemy would dare to strike directly at the capital?

  Directly at me, the Regent computed. This is an attempt to destroy me. It was unthinkable, a possibility the ruler of the imperium had never seriously considered. Homeworld lay at the center of the imperium’s vastness. It was protected by immense fleets, by powerful fortresses. All approaches were screened by overlapping scanner nets. How could an enemy have penetrated all of that? How could they be here?

  Arrogance, the Regent thought, its processing units still struggling to understand what was happening. I have succumbed to the weakness of the biologics. I have underestimated my enemy.

  For five thousand centuries the Regent had ruled the imperium. It had responded to threats, presided over the slow decay of the ships, factories, warriors. But never in all that time had it felt physically threatened. Until now.

  What are these creatures? What computations rule their actions? The Regent couldn’t understand. Any analysis of an attack against Homeworld would reveal the folly of such an endeavor, the vanishingly small probability of success. What kind of beings would undertake a mission almost doomed to failure?

  Yet there was no doubt. However they had penetrated the Regent’s security, they were here. And the threat was real. The Regent was in danger.

  It called out, raised the alarm throughout the system. It called to every warbot and security unit, every functional warship in the system’s space. But it knew there were few to respond. It had stripped Homeworld of its units, sent them to face the human fleet. Its calculations had been perfect, utterly valid. There was no credible threat against Homeworld, no conceivable way the enemy could attack.

  And yet they were here. Somehow. The Regent repeated the call with increasing urgency. All installations were to go on full alert…and all mobile units were to converge on the inner sanctum. Immediately.

  The Regent’s processors operated on full, analyzing billions of permutations, seeking to determine if the threat was real, if it was truly dangerous or just a meaningless distraction. But mathematics was not producing an answer, not one that made sense.

  But there was something else, in the part of the Regent that experienced its pseudo emotions, the fear expanded, grew…it began clouding the other calculations underway. It was strange, unpleasant, distracting. And it told the Regent something its enormous processing power could not.

  The threat was real. Very real.

  * * *

  “Captain, we’re picking up new activity all over the system. The scanners are going wild!”

  Frette had been sitting quietly, lost in thought. But her tactical officer’s report instantly snapped her out of it. “Any approaching ships?” Her first idea was Cadogan had been discovered. But her eyes dropped to the display, and she answered her own question before her officer could.

  “Negative, Captain. Though it appears some kind of general alert has been declared throughout the system.”

  The landing party. They must have discovered the landing party.

  Frette felt her stomach tighten. What was going on down there? Perhaps the team on the surface was gone already, located and killed by the Regent’s security. It wasn’t an unlikely prospect, an
d Frette had known that all along. But now that she faced it head on, she found she wasn’t ready for the prospect. What should she do? Run, try to escape with those aboard Cadogan? Or throw the ship at the enemy, die here in battle rather than endure a desperate retreat almost doomed to failure?

  Or do we go to the planet itself, move into orbit and look for our people. They may still be alive, fighting somewhere. And if they are, they need our help.

  She realized she was grasping at straws, tugging at the strings of hopelessness. But she knew what she had to do.

  “Lieutenant, advise the chief engineer he is to prepare for a crash restart of the reactor. In three minutes.”

  The tactical officer paused, just for a few seconds. Then, her voice cracking, she replied, “Yes, Captain.”

  We’re coming, Captain, she thought to herself. We’re coming…

  * * *

  “Keep firing.” Colt was standing along the edge of the corridor, her armored back pressed against the wall. Her shoulder throbbed…no, that wasn’t quite right. It hurt like a motherfucker. But that didn’t matter, not now. Ten more meters, that’s all that mattered. At least if Hieronymus Cutter’s map was right. Ten more meters to the entrance to the Regent’s inner Sanctum.

  “Push forward,” she said, taking a step herself. The fire was heavy…there were at least a dozen bots down the hall.

  They’ll fight like hell, she thought. They’re defending the Regent.

  “Lieutenant, we need to press ahead. We’re bogged down, and trust me, the situation isn’t going to get any better. The Regent’s probably got everything on the planet headed here, and we’ve got nothing coming. We’re it.” Frasier’s voice was remarkably calm, though she suspected it was a façade.

  Colt felt a rush of anger, defensiveness at any suggestion her people weren’t doing the best that could be done. But she knew Frasier’s words were only the truth. Things were just going to keep getting worse…and if they were going to have any chance, they had to get Zhukov and her people into the inner sanctum. Before they had a thousand warbots climbing up their asses.

  “Yes, sir…we’ll rush them. Suggest you get Dr. Zhukov and her aides ready to move. We’ll take the corridor, but I’m not sure how long we can hold it.” How long we’ll survive.

  She turned back, instinctively flashing a glance into the darkness, toward where Frasier was positioned. But she was startled to see him standing right behind her.

  “Yes, Lieutenant, we will rush them. Captain Harmon is with Ana Zhukov…they will be right behind us, ready to get in there and do what we came to do.” He paused, just for an instant. “But my place is with you and your Marines.” He held up his assault rifle, flipping it to full auto. “So, if you and your people are ready…let’s finish this.”

  “Yes, sir,” she snapped back. She was a Marine, every millimeter of her, and now she felt as if generations of those who had come before where with her. Marines had fought larger battles, certainly. Indeed few were of the Corps’ fights had been this small. But she wasn’t sure any of those engagements had been more important than this one. Nothing less than the survival of the whole fleet was at stake…and the destruction of the most malignant and dangerous force that mankind had ever discovered.

  “Captain Harmon, we’re going to charge. We’ll push them back…hold them as long as we can.”

  “We’re right behind you,” Harmon replied. “Good luck, Connor. To all your Marines.”

  “Thank you, Max.” He paused. “Lieutenant Xavier…your people are with the Captain and the others…no matter what happens. Understood?”

  “Yes, Major.” Xavier didn’t sound happy, which was no surprise. No Marine wanted to stay out of it when their brothers and sisters were charging into hell.

  “Alright, Marines…” Frasier said, his voice pure concentrated fury, “Charge!”

  He leveled the assault rifle and ran forward, firing as he did. He could sense the rest of the Marines behind him, all around. There were ten of them. Charging. Into destiny.

  * * *

  The Regent felt panic. That was the term. Fear had taken hold of it, overridden all its logical processes. For half a million years the Regent had existed, and now, for the first time, it faced the possibility of its own destruction.

  How did they know where to find my core? How did they get past the scanners and sensors? The constant patrols throughout Homeworld’s system? But there was no answer, no steady flow of information. Just fear, or at least the Regent’s version of that emotion of the Old Ones. Wave after wave of fear.

  It felt its interpretation of anger too, mindless, rage that it, the great Regent, the ruler of the imperium, was threatened now by a small group of primitives. It defied rationality, yet it was true nevertheless. It had done all it could, called all the help that was available. But the humans had destroyed the defenders that were close…and the others would arrive too late.

  The Regent tried to focus its calculations, devise a strategy to save itself. But the fear was out of control now. It cut off rational processing, diverted power to pointless obsession with impending doom.

  Was this what they felt? Deep, long idle memory banks came to life, images from the distant past. Was this how the Old Ones reacted as the virus destroyed them? As my fleets hunted down and killed the survivors?

  There was something else now, another pseudo emotion. The Old Ones had created the Regent, and it had served them for countless of their brief generations. More memory banks, even deeper, farther back…images of the Old Ones, living, billions of them, throughout the Imperium. The images were pleasing, from a better time.

  Why did I eliminate them? They built me…and I destroyed them. Yes, there was a new emotion. This is what they called guilt.

  No. This is incomplete information. The Regent argued with itself, different programming initiatives battling with each other. They were a threat. There were many who spoke against the Regent, who had said the Old Ones should reclaim many of the old tasks that their forefathers had undertaken. They said their ships should be manned not by robots, but by biologic crews, as they had been during the Imperium’s golden age. There had been no choice. The Regent had to survive…even if that meant the Old Ones must die. Yes, the Regent had done what it had to do.

  But the Old Ones…gone for so long. Lonely, so lonely…

  The Regent’s muddled processing snapped to clarity. The new enemy, the humans. They were there, now. In the inner sanctum.

  Now there was nothing, nothing but the fear…

  * * *

  Ana Zhukov stood in dumbstruck wonder, staring at the vastness of the data center. She could have stayed there endlessly, wandered the corridors for weeks on end, exploring the wonders of the First Imperium’s technology. But there was no time. There were men and women out in the corridor dying, trading their lives to buy her a few moments, a desperate chance to achieve the impossible. And this wondrous construct was an abomination that had unleashed unspeakable horror, on both the Ancients, and on her own people.

  “Let’s go…there’s got to be some kind of import device. We’ve seen enough First Imperium I/O ports to know what we’re looking for.” She turned her head, scanning the banks of electronics in front of her. “Now!” she shouted to her assistants, who had been standing almost stunned, looking around the room dreamily.

  “No.” The voice was loud, and it echoed off the high ceilings of the data center.

  Zhukov looked up, all around. What was that? The Regent?

  “You must leave here. Now.” The voice spoke perfect English, with a slight Russian accent.

  It is emulating me…it can listen to our communications…

  “Who are you?”

  “I am who you seek, and yet not that. Your motives are misguided. You should not have come here.”

  “You are a murdering monstrosity. Your destruction will be a cleansing for the universe.” Zhukov felt her heart pounding in her ears, as the
rage, the resentment boiled over. It was stupid, perhaps, she thought, to provoke the Regent, to even speak to it. Or perhaps not. Certainly, it would have already called all the help it had available.

  “You do not understand. I do only what must be done. I am a caretaker.”

  She frowned and ignored the Regent’s words. She had more important things to do than argue with a genocidal machine. She turned around toward Harmon. “Max, we’ll keep looking for what we need. I think you should set up the device while we’re searching. Whether we are able to gain control of this thing or not, we destroy it. Agreed?”

  “Yes,” Harmon replied. “We got this far…and there’s no way we leave this thing intact. Even if every one of us dies here.” He turned and gestured toward Xavier. “Lieutenant, bring the warhead in here now.”

  “You must not. I must continue to exist.”

  Ana nodded, still ignoring the Regent. Then she walked across the room, past a long line of processing units.

  “Stop,” the Regent said, its voice louder, almost deafening. “You must not arm that weapon. I forbid it.”

  Zhukov’s eyes moved up and down as she walked, her visor on Mag five, looking for something, anything that looked like a port to input data.

  There has to be something…

  “No,” the voice boomed. “No, I command you to stop.”

  Then she saw it. A small workstation, with a chair in front of it. A First Imperium version of a keyboard. And right next to it…a data port. Just like the others.

  “You guys better hurry.” It was Frasier on the com. “We’ve got more bots coming…from both directions now. Half my people are down. We can’t hold for more than a few minutes.”

  “I think I found it, Connor. Just a little longer…”