Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm

by Doug Dandridge

  The first the officer knew something was wrong was when a pain shot up his left leg. He looked down and tried to move so he could see what had happened, but the leg would not comply. He twisted and turned and finally got some movement. To his horrified gaze there was something coming out of the ground and puncturing the thin material at his knee joint. And it felt like his leg was on fire.

  The officer pulled out his molecular knife and positioned the blade so he could cut through the whatever, he wasn’t sure if it was animal or vegetable. The blade cut through easily enough, but whatever had gotten into his leg was still at work, and the pain grew and spread. The officer turned to get at his med kit and panicked as his left arm wouldn’t come off the ground. It was then that he noticed the screams and cries coming over his com. He screamed himself when he felt something moving through his abdomen, followed by an excruciating pain. And now he knew the reason so many skeletons were gathered in this part of the forest.

  * * *

  “I lost a whole bunch of cattle to one of these things before we figured out what it was,” said the Commando Leader, gesturing toward the Cacada who were trapped like flies in amber. There were still screams and moans coming from the living aliens, and bright colored tendrils erupted from spots on their bodies, eating holes in the armor and moving to other spots. “Damndest thing we ever saw. Big damned flesh eating fungus living in the ground. Has acid strong enough to eat through most metals.”

  The closest Ca’cadasan looked at them with imploring eyes, and the Colonel could think of nothing he could do to help the creature. Except kill it. He started to reach for his side arm when a hand grabbed his forearm and he found himself looking into the cold eyes of the young woman.

  “No mercy,” she said in a sharp voice. “The fuckers came here to kill us all and take our planet from us. So they can suffer Hell on Earth before they get to whatever Hell they claim.”

  The girl turned a walked away, her head turned to the side to glare at one of the Ca’cadasans who now had growth covering his face.

  “She’s a cold hearted bitch, isn’t she,” said Baggett, realizing at the last moment he didn’t know her relation to the leader.

  “She sure is,” said the leader in a proud voice. “She’s my daughter. Me and her momma raised her right. At least for these times.”

  Chapter Eight

  In a manner, plying space is much the same as traveling the oceans in the time of sail. Merchants ships plod along for weeks to months between ports. When they boost, no one is really sure if they will get there. And if they don’t, no one is really sure what happened to them. Meanwhile, warships try to guard the space lanes to the best of their abilities, within the limits of their sensory envelopes, in much the same way as lookouts on the tops of masts scanned the oceans, unable to see what was beyond the horizon. And in the same way the captains of ships, both merchant and military, must make their own, seat of the pants decisions, without resort to higher authority. We tend to think that space travel is safe, because the vast majority of vessels that leave inhabited systems return to others. It is anything but, and the maps of space could be labeled with multiple graphics of here there be monsters. A History of Space Travel, Imperial Year 433.

  SPACE BETWEEN MASSADARA AND CONUNDRUM, MARCH 21ST, 1000.

  “We’ve got a problem, sir,” said the Sensory Tech over the com.

  Maurice von Ritterdorf swore under his breath as he looked back at his most important passenger, one whose importance dwarfed that of the entire sector fleet as far as the Empire was concerned. The new, uncrowned Emperor looked back at him, and the Commander could tell that the man, who had been a prince and Lieutenant SG just days before, was keeping himself under control and not trying to run the ship. Smart move, thought the Captain of the DD-VII Dot MacArthur. Rittersdorf was sure that his capabilities were much better honed than those of the Emperor.

  “What do you have, Chung?” he asked the tech, a Chief Petty Officer who was the best the ship had. She was back in her own compartment near the Combat Information Center, where she could be isolated, which gave her a better take of the resonances she listened to that gave her an idea of what was populating the hyperspace around them.

  “It sounds like two of those big cruisers the enemy uses,” said the CPO in a voice that sounded calm on the surface, but anything but to the man who commanded her. “They just entered our range. I’m still trying to firm up the signal, but I think they’re on our ass.”

  “So the sacrifice of the Joan de Arc didn’t put them off the chase,” said Sean Lee Ogden Romanov, new Emperor of the New Terran Empire. He nervously stroked the fur of the silky cat that sat in his lap. The cat of Captain Mei Lei of the Joan de Arc.

  “They gave us time, your Majesty,” said the Captain, noting that the young man still grimaced a bit when he heard that title given to him. Good, thought von Rittersdorf, himself the younger son of a Count. Maybe he’ll doubt himself enough to listen to those older and wiser than he is. “ I plan to use that time to our best advantage. They can’t go much faster than we can, if they can go faster at all. We can do point nine c in VII.”

  “And if they can do better than point nine?” asked the young man, his troubled eyes staring into the Captain’s. “If they have better particle shields. How long until they catch us?”

  The Captain had to think about that for a moment. A look into the young man’s eyes told him that the prince turned Emperor was not thinking only of himself. “We should be good for a couple of days, if not more. And we might be able to come up with something in that time span.”

  Von Rittersdorf swiveled his seat away from the Emperor and looked over at his navigation officer. “Lieutenant. I want you to look at every system within two days of us. Give me some options to work with.”

  “I don’t want to see us leading anything into a helpless inhabited system.”

  “And I would not do that, your Majesty,” said the Captain, swiveling his chair to look back at the young man. “My main hope is that we can lead them a chase until something else comes to our aid. Sector Headquarters knows that you were at Massadara. I’m sure they will be exhausting every resource to try and find you, until you are proven lost.”

  “And why would they go to such effort?” asked the Emperor, the shadows in his eyes again showing his doubt.

  “Because you, my fine Imperial Scion, are the best option they have for leading the Empire in this war,” said the Captain, pointing a finger at the young man. “And don’t tell me you don’t agree. I grew up in a noble house, and know something of the politics that pass for patriotic reasoning among some of those self-serving fools. They will try to put an idiot cousin on the throne, someone they can control. And that is not what the Empire needs at this time.”

  “And I’m a better choice?” asked Sean, shaking his head. “I’m the third son. I was never expected to gain the throne, with two brothers and a sister ahead of me in the succession. Even when the sister gave up all claim to the crown.”

  “I never expected to come to my father’s title either,” said von Rittersdorf, shrugging his shoulders. “But there is no telling what the future may bring.” The Captain held up a hand as Sean made to speak. “I know. I know. There is no comparison between the Count of some out of the way developing world and the Emperor of humankind. But think of it. You were kept in a protected position because the Emperor, your father, wanted insurance against the unforeseeable future. He had the faith that you could rise to the position, while at the same time hoping that it would never fall on your shoulders.”

  “So the last hope of the Empire is on a destroyer running from a superior force,” said Sean with a slight smile. “Looks like my father didn’t spend enough time planning for this eventuality.”

  “I don’t think anyone saw this eventuality coming,” said the Captain, shaking his head. “I know there were some, your father included, who thought the old enemy might find us someday. But they didn’t know this would be the day.”<
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  Sean sat there for a moment, looking at the floor, then back up at the Captain. “I really don’t think I’m the man for this job. But I’m also sure I’m better than some of those idiot cousins you mentioned. Who really are idiots.”

  “Leave it to me,” said von Rittersdorf with a smile. “I will get you out of this and home again. Or none of us will make it home. On that you have my word.”

  “Why doesn’t that make me feel any better,” said the Emperor, a smile on his face.

  “Because, unlike those cousins, you are not an idiot, your Majesty.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said the young man, laughing, his fingers stroking the fur of the Himalayan cat, Satin. He got a firm hold on the animal and stood up. “I think I’ll get Satin something to eat. And maybe a little something myself, if that is alright.”

  “We are here to serve, your Majesty,” said the Captain, standing from his chair and bowing.

  * * *

  “We have them, my Lord,” said the Sensory Officer from his station, hunched over his board.

  Group leader Thiaxoquillana jumped to his feet and walked, almost ran, to the sensory station, as that tactical plot updated on the main viewer.

  “Show me,” growled the Group Leader, elation fighting with frustration. I lead but a division, with two of my ships destroyed. I need a success here, or my head is at risk. The Group Leader leaned over the Sensory Officer, one hand grabbing and tugging one of that worthy’s horns in a sign of approval.

  “They are straight ahead, my Lord,” said the officer, showing carnivore’s teeth with his smile. “You were correct to send us on this vector.”

  Of course I was correct, thought the leader, a grin on his face as he looked at the signal of a much smaller vessel in hyper VII. They flee us, so what else could they do but straight line it away from our battle with the larger ship.

  “It appears to be one of their scout vessels,” said the Sensory Officer, pointing a clawed finger at the small object on the edge of the field. “In the two to three hundred thousand ton class.”

  And we come after them with eight million tons of warships, thought the Leader. “So when we catch them we will crush them.”

  “I would have to agree, my Lord,” said the officer, a grin on his face. “They are approximately two point five billion kilometers ahead. At their current speed we should catch them in a little under two day cycles.”

  “Could they speed up now that they know we are here?” asked the Leader, trying to do the math in his head, and failing.

  “Their hyper radiation shielding does not seem to be as advanced as ours,” said the Sensory Office, dipping his left horn in a signal of negation. “I believe point nine light is their limit, unless they wish to die of radiation poisoning.”

  “Very well,” said the Leader, again grasping the subordinate’s horn. “Follow them,” said the Leader, turning to point at the helm.

  “My Lord,” said the Helm Officer, standing up from his seat and assuming a posture of challenge. “I must protest this action.”

  “On what grounds,” said the Leader, turning and walking toward the helm station.

  “We put our ships at risk to chase a small scout deep into enemy space,” said the Helm Officer, his stance still challenging, but stiffened with respect.

  He knows better than to overstep the bounds, thought the Leader, baring his teeth in a growl. More the pity. His death would get the attention of the rest of the crew.

  “There is every indication that the, small scout, as you call it, has something of great importance to the enemy,” said the Sensory Officer, looking back to glare at the Helm Officer. “We would be remiss in our duty to let them deliver their cargo to safety.”

  “And what is this important cargo,” said the Helm Officer, spitting out each word as an insult to the Sensory Officer. “Some wealthy parasite consumed with his own self-importance. And we run the risk of being taken by the enemy, delving so deep into his space.”

  “Are you so cowardly that you would pass up a chance for glory?” said the Tactical Officer, standing and shaking his head from side to side, a ritual display of derision. “You must have been raised by your mother, to lack honor so.”

  The Group Leader glared at the Tactical Officer for a moment, driving him back to his seat. The insult the male had delivered was the greatest among his people, coming as they did from a non-sentient female who could only raise them to advanced childhood. He turned back toward the Helm Officer while that worthy was opening his mouth to reply. And soon would follow unsanctioned bloodshed, on the bridge of his ship.

  “I order both of you to stand down,” roared the Group Leader, pointing a clawed hand at each of the officers, then turning his glare toward the Sensory Officer. “You also. We are out here on the business of the Emperor, not to settle personal disputes. If any officer raises a hand toward another I will have your intestines draped across the landing bay. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” echoed the officers, all bowing heads and bringing a left hand to their breast in a subservient salute, different than the salute of honor performed with the right hand. He could smell the fear in the room, and his nostrils dilated with the scent treasured by a dominant male such as he.

  “We will catch that ship,” he said, still using his best command voice. “And we will find out what is on it. Or we will destroy it, so it cannot deliver its cargo to where our enemy wishes it to be. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” echoed all of the males, and the Group Leader turned and walked back to his command chair, while the officers sat at their stations. I may have trouble with those three in the future, thought the Group Leader, looking at the stiffened backs of the officers. When the campaign was over any of the officers could challenge him to combat. But the Group Leader hadn’t risen to his present status without being accomplished in personal combat. On that day he was sure he would taste the blood of his enemies. Until then the humans would do just fine.

  * * *

  MARCH 22ND, 1000.

  Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery glared at the tactical holo as if she could make it give her more information from willpower alone. By the Goddess, where would you go if you wanted to get the prince to safety. Montgomery had left the Conundrum System with the only Hyper VII rescue force that Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda could come up with at a moment’s notice. She had left the system with two squadrons of battle cruisers, two squadrons of light cruisers and two and a half squadrons of destroyers. A formidable scouting force, but not really the kind of battle force she wanted to go head to head with the invaders. Who, if she understood correctly, were the most formidable enemy humankind had ever faced, two thousand years ago, or in the present.

  They had been heading for the Massadara system, where the prince was reported to be, stationed on the battleship HIMS Duke Roger Sergiov. Then had come the passing courier that had been fleeing from battle in that system with important intelligence for Sector Headquarters. They had not been willing to slow down, and the Admiral could not blame them, as the word they had for Admiral Mgonda was of vital importance. Massadara had been taken by a superior enemy force. All of the system forces had been destroyed, including the Sergiov. But a newly arrived Hyper VII battle cruiser and her destroyer consort had made contact with the Sergiov and then fled the system, after the captain of the battleship had sent out a priority one request for assistance.

  And that could have only meant one thing, thought the Admiral, pulling up the log of hyper readings. Sergiov offloaded the prince, and then the Hyper VII ships took him away from the system. Now where in the Hell did they go?

  The Admiral had split her forces, sending four battle cruisers, twelve light cruisers and twenty destroyers off to deploy in a picket between Massadara and Conundrum. She led her force of four battle cruisers, twelve light cruisers and fourteen destroyers on an extended sweep of space, sensors scanning the heavens for signs of hyperdrive passage. They had picke
d up many over the last day, none of a Hyper VII battle cruiser, and many of ships that didn’t match any profile in her data banks. And three very strong signals of catastrophic translation from Hyper VII to normal space, which could be picked up over a dozen light years. That was not a good sign in a search for two Hyper VII warships, not at all.

  “Admiral,” called the Flag Com Officer, looking up from her board. “We’re getting a signal from Jacob Chung, transmitted up the line.”

  One of the destroyers, thought the Admiral, coming up to the com station. On the far flank.

  “We’re only getting grav wave relay,” said the Lt. Commander, giving an apologetic look to her superior. “No vid, not even voice.”

  “Comes with the territory, Commander Lee,” said the Admiral to the distant relative of the prince. “So what do we have?”

  “Chung reports picking up a pair of unknown resonances passing to starboard,” said the Com Officer, looking intently at her board. “Two vessels in what she estimates to be the four million ton range, though that could be off.”

  “We don’t have any warships in that mass range,” said the Admiral, looking over the Commander’s shoulder to see the scrolling grav wave message.

  “Message coming in from Clermont,” said the young woman, pushing a tab and scrolling another message across the board. “They report picking up the signals of a Hyper VII destroyer.”

  And Clermont is a little forward of Chung, and about three and a half light hours to starboard. “That’s them” said the Admiral, pumping a fist in the air. “That’s what we’re looking for.”