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

by Doug Dandridge

  Cornelius looked over at the tank that contained all he had left of Katlyn, seeing the small form floating in the liquid, his small chest rising and falling. He looked up to see Preacher also looking at the baby. “He’ll be just fine,” said the older man. “I guarantee it. Now you I have my doubts about.”

  “High gee in ten seconds,” called out the voice over the intercom, then counted down the numbers. Right after one it felt like a big animal had landed on Walborski’s chest, and he grunted from the pain.

  “Just lay still and take shallow breaths,” said Preacher in a normal voice.

  “Why isn’t this affecting you?” grunted Cornelius.

  “Augmentation. I was restructured to deal with all kinds of gravity fields.”

  And then Cornelius was out, the sedatives they didn’t tell him about taking hold and putting him under.

  * * *

  “Sure you don’t want to use a tank, your Majesty?” asked the Admiral, sitting in her chair turned acceleration couch, her armored form making her look like a Goddess of War in command of the hosts of heaven. “I could have one cleared for you.”

  Sean shook his head with a smile, leaning back in his own couch, looking at the raised acceleration tanks that were all occupied, some by injured, some by children, all by people who needed their protection more than he. “What’s a little three gee acceleration among friends?” he replied. “I was a naval officer, and not so very long ago, Admiral.”

  The two destroyers that were to pick up the injured from the cavern were still in a placid orbit around the planet, and Sean wondered if he had done the right thing making those ships stay behind.

  “They’ll catch us in a couple of hours,” said the Admiral, following the eyes of the Monarch. “I still don’t think it was the smart thing to do. But it was the compassionate thing to do. And something you need to remember. You are going to become our supreme ruler, in military as well as civil affairs. And a ruler needs compassion, to go along with a strong will and the ability to make hard decisions.”

  Sean nodded, then looked up at the meter above the holo tank which showed how many gees the ship was pulling. They had been boosting at thirty gees for quite some time, while shuttles flew between the ships, transferring people. The shuttles were finally locked down, and the ship was now pulling some serious gees. A hundred so far, and moving up the scale quickly. Two hundred, two fifty, two seventy, then into the safety margin, two eighty, two ninety. Three hundred, the limit of the compensators on the hyper VII battle cruisers, though the light cruisers and destroyers could pull about ten more. And then over the limit, to three hundred and four gravities, negating the pull of the artificial gravity and pushing everyone back in their couches with the force of three Earth sized worlds.

  The crew was still working their instruments, the extra weight nothing in their acceleration couches, their armor adding to their strength. The ship would have gone even faster, if not for the civilians who were not tanked.

  “We’ve got to be really careful here, your Majesty,” said the Admiral. “If the compensators overheat and fail we’re jelly.”

  “Then I guess we have to make sure they don’t overheat,” said Sean, looking at the Helmsman and Navigators paying close attention to their instruments. The compensators turned the inertia that resisted the pull of pseudogravity into heat, which was offloaded by the advanced radiation systems of the vessel. Everything in the ship was effected, machinery, structure, and people. And if they failed, and the grabbers were still pulling at high acceleration, the structure would hold up, as would most of the machinery. But the people would not.

  “We’re going to keep in the planet’s shadow the whole way to the star,” said Montgomery, pointing at the tactical display. “As long as they come out of hyper when and where predicted we will have no problems staying out of sight. And we shut down the grabbers and coast to the star, then use it to cover us.”

  It had sounded like a good plan to Sean. Not really anything new. Admiral Sung Lee, a distant relative, had used it against the Fenri during a centuries ago war. Of course, he had used the cover of the sun to attack, slingshotting around it without using his grabbers, then using the glare of the star to close with the enemy before that enemy knew he was there.

  “They should be dropping out of hyper in six hours and twenty-five minutes,” said the Admiral. “With luck they won’t know what’s happening here when they come out. We smashed every Caca installation that might have a hyperwave detector, so they won’t know the ships are coming either, which means they won’t know they are here until the com signal from the naval force reaches them, say, three hours later. Then a three hour return for the message from the planet to reach them.”

  “And we’ll get away without them knowing we were here?”

  “Oh, no, your Majesty. They’ll know we were here. Hopefully, they won’t know where we went until we jump to VII.”

  “And this is going to work?”

  “I give it better than an even chance,” said the Admiral with a smile.

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Then, your Majesty, we start expending ships to slow them down, while we get what we can away. And that includes you, your Majesty.”

  And I will be responsible for that, thought Sean, looking away. Well, so be it. I have to take responsibility for my choices, which are liable to get people killed. No, will get people killed. I have to realize that. But hopefully my choices will not waste lives, and will save more than they lose.

  “They’re dropping down into VI, just at the predicted time,” called out the Sensor Chief.

  “Nice of them to be so predictable,” said Sean.

  “Don’t always depend on that either, your Majesty. I take it we can say that we are smarter than they are, on the average. That doesn’t mean they won’t have a genius or two, or that they won’t learn from their mistakes.”

  Sean looked over the ship manifest in his link for a moment, trying to see if there was something aboard they might be able to use. What the hell is this, he thought, looking at something of interest in the ship’s secure cargo compartment.

  “You have a complete wormhole onboard?” he asked the Admiral. She looked over at him with confusion on her face for a moment. “Both ends of a wormhole, in its carrying case,”: he said. “What the hell is that doing aboard?”

  “We were supposed to deploy it to the frontier,” said the Admiral, her eyes unfocusing for a moment. “Part of a test of the feasibility of wormhole communications. One end was to go in at Conundrum, but we never had a chance to deploy it. As soon as we entered the system we were given our marching orders.”

  “Deploy one end here,” said Sean, nodding toward the viewer. “In this system.”

  “For what purpose, your Majesty?” asked the Admiral.

  “We can use it to monitor them within this system,” said Sean, a smile on his face. “And I have some other ideas that might work in the future.”

  The Admiral gave her orders while Sean thought about that future, and how the wormhole could be used for infiltration purposes.

  An hour later the two destroyers that had been left in orbit pulled around the planet and broke free of its pull, with their grabber power an easy task. They had taken aboard the cryo cylinders containing the wounded from the Marine sanctuary, as well as the Marine and Naval engineers who had freed them from their tomb. With everyone tanked they came on behind the fleeing scout force with thirty more gravities, on a profile that would get them into the force within a couple of hours.

  Sean lay back on his couch, feeling a fatigue that was overwhelming. He really didn’t know why he felt so tired, though anyone in an upper leadership position could have told him that it was the dog tiredness brought on by a reaction to too much responsibility. Sean only intended to close his eyes for a moment, but the fatigue pulled him under, and he was asleep in an instant.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Each generation imagines itself to be more i
ntelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it. George Orwell.

  SESTIUS SYSTEM, APRIL 3RD THROUGH 4TH, 1000.

  “They’re dropping into III, ma’am,” called out a voice at the edge of Sean’s consciousness. He opened his eyes, surprised by the reading of his internal clock that over four hours had passed. He looked at the plot and saw that they were very close to the sun, the hot F5 star that was the life giver to this system. The planet was two hundred seventy million kilometers from its primary, and it was now over two hundred and fifty million kilometers astern. They were very close to the F class star, and the grabbers were powered down to fifty gravities to reduce the heat buildup which, added to that of the star, was already starting to add an overload to the ship. Not much, yet, but as they approached within a few million kilometers of the white star the environmental systems of the ship would start to strain.

  “Good to see you’re back with us, your Majesty,” said the Admiral.

  Looking at her face Sean could see the strain the Admiral was under. On her decisions they would all live or die. But despite the stress she seemed to be thriving on the excitement, and Sean was sure a promotion was in her future as well, if they made it out of this.

  “We’ll only get a hundred kilometers per second boost slingshoting around the star. But every little bit helps.”

  “And everyone is still with us?” Sean asked, looking at the tactical plot that showed the six battle cruisers and their numerous escorts.

  “So far no one is reporting any problems,” said the Admiral.

  “Pallas is starting to report overheating,” called out one of the com techs.

  “How bad?”

  “Not too bad, yet, ma’am,” said the tech. “They’re trying to resolve the problem.”

  Sean looked at the plot, noting the one icon that was blinking, the light cruiser in question.

  “Galahad’s Sensor Officer reports hull temperature’s one thousand degrees centigrade,” yelled out another of the com techs.

  “Range to star, seventeen million kilometers.”

  “Captain Stafford reports we are starting maneuvers for slingshot,” reported one of the techs. “Other ships in force are acknowledging that they are going into same profile.”

  “Hull temperature is at twelve hundred degrees, ma’am.”

  “You know, there’s a reason ships try to stay out of the proximity of a star,” said the Admiral, looking over at Sean.

  “Because of the heat the sun is putting into us?” replied Sean.

  “That’s part of it. The other part is that we can’t radiate our own heat from almost half of the hull. So it’s a double trap.”

  “Range to star, fifteen million kilometers.”

  “And if your systems have any damage, it compounds the problem.”

  “Ma’am, hull temperature is thirteen hundred degrees. And Pallas is reporting that they are overheating at a dangerous rate.”

  “Shit,” screamed the Admiral. “Why does everything have to happen on my watch.”

  Montgomery stared at her plot, her brow furrowed in thought, and Sean didn’t envy her this situation. She was trying to figure a way out of a problem that might not have a way out, and the clock was ticking.

  “Range to star, twelve million kilometers.”

  “Get in touch with the nearest ship to Pallas,” ordered the Admiral. “Have them shade the Pallas. Then have the others rotate into that spot, one at a time. We’ll take the position for closest approach.”

  “Communications are severely degraded, ma’am. We’re getting a lot of interference from the star.” The com tech continued to work, talking into her headset. “Stalino is moving into position.”

  They all watched the plot as the other light cruiser moved into position and came between the damaged cruiser and the star. It was a tricky maneuver at their range and velocity, but

  Stalino performed it without a hitch. It took its turn, several minutes, then pulled away as another light cruiser moved into position.

  “Range to the star, ten million kilometers. Hull temperature fourteen hundred degrees. Captain Stafford reports that cooling systems are severely strained. He reports that he is moving Galahad closer to the Pallas.’

  “My compliments to the Captain. He is to do everything possible to save that ship, short of getting this one destroyed.”

  “The Captain acknowledges, ma’am.”

  Sean wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but even this deep in the ship, with his armored battle suit on, it seemed hotter. That can’t be, he thought, calling up his suit temperature, then the room ambient, and finding them only a tenth of a degree off normal. Still, that was through hundreds of meters of hull, and all the cooling systems between him and the exterior.

  He stared at the main viewer, which showed the massive disk of the star. It was not the largest star in the Galaxy, or even in human space. There were As and Os that took that honor. But it was still an impressive thermonuclear heat engine, and nothing to play with. Prominences and flares rose from the disk, some with more energy than the entire force could generate with all the warheads and antimatter they had originally carried.

  “We’re moving into position, ma’am,” called out one of the techs. “We’ll be the shading ship on closest approach according to the ship’s navigator.

  “Very good. Tell them to not fry the eggs we’re carrying,” said Montgomery, looking at Sean.

  Meaning me, he thought. No matter what, she’s going to get me back to base. My being here is unfair to the others in the force. He looked at the plot that showed the force still heading straight into the furnace, with a line from each ship indicating when they would slingshot around the star. They would start curving in another two million kilometers, and their closest approach would be within a million kilometers of that plasma hell.

  “Range to star six million kilometers,” called out a tech. “Starting thrust to slingshot, now.”

  “Captain Stafford reports we are moving into position to relieve the shadowing vessel.”

  “Now we really heat up,” said the Admiral to Sean.

  “Range to star, four million kilometers.”

  “Pallas is in optimal profile, ma’am. We are just inside of her and in position.”

  And this is when we can’t radiate away from us in the direction of the cruiser, thought Sean. To do that would have been to dump the same heat into the other ship that they were shading her from. So Galahad would absorb the heat of the star and hold it. On the plot the entire force was curving around the sun, and closest approach was…

  “Range to star, two million kilometers. Hull temperature two thousand degrees.”

  On that hull the integrated nanoparticles would be vaporizing, leaving that portion of the ship without optimal sensors, or the ability to change the reflective properties of the skin. None of the other hull elements would melt. Not below eight thousand degrees, and much higher for other components. The ships were built as tough as human technology could make them, and that was very tough indeed.

  The plot was showing them curving around the star, and now.

  “Range to star three million kilometers. Hull temperature twenty-three hundred degrees.”

  “Captain Stafford reports we are pulling away from Pallas, ma’am. Ceres is pulling into position, and we are now radiating on all surfaces not facing the star.”

  “Range, four million kilometers.”

  Now the ships were starting to straighten out, the grabbers pulling them into a profile that would lead away from the star, while using the huge ball of plasma to block them from any enemy force heading for orbit around the Sestius world. At least on the approach they hoped the enemy would take.

  “Range, six million kilometers.”

  “And that’s that,” said the Admiral, a smile on her face. “Send my compliments to all the captains on a job well done,” she told the Com Officer. “And then all ships are to go to tight beam bu
rst transmissions only. And only when necessary.”

  “Enemy ships have dropped to Hyper I,” called out the Sensor Officer.

  “Won’t be long now until they know something bad happened to their side,” said Sean. “And I bet they’re going to be pissed.”

  * * *

  “There is something wrong, my Lord,” called out the Sensor Officer, a moment before the Tactical Officer looked over with a surprised expression on his face as well.

  “What do you have,” said Admiral Hresstilokahaz, turning away from the viewer and walking over to the sensory station. His stomach was just beginning to settle from the translation nausea that afflicted his species more than most.

  “We are receiving none of the expected emissions from the force that was in the system.”

  “Was in the system?” growled the Admiral, leaning a lower hand on the back of the officer’s chair.

  “They’re not here, my Lord,” said the officer, working his panel to try to get the information he needed. “We have a visual of the planet, and they are not there. Nothing on visual throughout the system.”

  The Admiral looked over at the Tactical Officer. “The same, my Lord,” said that officer, looking at his panel. “I am picking up a radiation source about two billion kilometers past the limit, moving outward of the system.”

  “Lock onto it and tell me what you find. Communications. Anything to report?”

  “We are not receiving the expected homing beacon from the planet, my Lord. Wait. I am picking something up, very weak, on a frequency used by ground forces of our Empire.”

  The speakers on the bridge crackled for a moment, then started projecting a faint voice. The Com Officer played with his board, claws going in and out of control holes, until the voice cleared up.

  “Been attacked by human forces. They destroyed the naval force in the system, then destroyed most of the ground forces on the planet. Repeat. The system has been attacked by human forces.” The voice died and the Com Officer looked up. “It just repeats from there, my Lord. We may get more once they learn we are in the system.”