Like a rising proportion of them, he’d been a junior officer, the assistant tactical officer aboard the single battleship Bulgaria had funded. He was only thirty-four years old and made Pat Kurzman, who was barely a decade his senior, feel ancient.
“Buenos Aires Actual, be advised, all other delta zones are reporting clear,” Chan told the Bulgarian starship captain over the radio. Lightspeed delay was a problem in these kinds of operations.
Pat had ten destroyers out sweeping for the stealth ship that had snuck into Alpha Centauri, and it was taking between five and ten minutes, depending on the ship, for communications to pass around.
With the rest of the delta zones clear, CIC was calling delta-six an eighty-percent probable for the stealth ship. Buenos Aires could easily be about to step into a world of hurt—and the battle group was sixteen minutes away at best speed.
The other destroyers were closer and they’d get an emergency ping faster, but…if one half-million-ton destroyer was in trouble, Pat suspected a second half-million-ton destroyer wasn’t going to make that much of a difference.
But he couldn’t risk uncovering Hope, either. The super-battleships and cruisers were going to stay right where they were.
The Capital-class destroyer’s sensor data continued to ripple in for post-processing by Emperor of China’s far more powerful computers. The hope was that Emperor could identify the stealth ship and warn Buenos Aires of its presence before the unknown vessel dropped their field and opened fire.
“This process is taking too damned long,” Chan complained. “Someone could have brought an entire fleet through that damned portal, and we could have missed them.”
“No,” Pat said calmly. “CIC already confirmed it was only one ship. They localized a vector and speed. They could have changed either of those, but I don’t think they realized they were detected.”
That particular illusion would have been shattered when ten Imperial Navy and Terran Militia destroyers swept out, looking for the alien ship.
“What the hell is that?” The transmission from Buenos Aires was entirely off-protocol, a panicked shout as Commander Andreev spotted something that absolutely should not have been there.
The ship they were pursuing hadn’t dropped its stealth field or fired a single weapon. It had, at some point, dropped parasite craft that now brought their drives online.
Eight ships, roughly the size of a Terran assault shuttle, went from cold in space to point seven cee in just over three and a half seconds. They started at ten light-seconds from Buenos Aires and cut that to one in barely twenty seconds.
Pat’s orders had been clear: Commander Andreev was not to open fire unless there was a clear danger to his ship. He wasn’t going to argue that eight starfighters charging at your ship didn’t qualify.
Andreev’s crew reacted quickly. Missiles were in space within five seconds; proton beams lashed out at the starfighters when they hit a million kilometers.
Buenos Aires killed two fighters before they reached the single-light-second mark—and then the fighters unleashed their own weapons. Rapid-fire pulses of plasma, coherent bursts of super-heated matter the A!Tol Imperium could never duplicate, hammered home across the destroyer’s shields.
The shield collapsed in moments. The Capital-class destroyer’s compressed-matter armor held under the pounding for several seconds longer—long enough for her proton beams to shred another two fighters.
Then the sensor feed cut off as Buenos Aires came apart. The blast of her fusion cores overloading was bright enough for Emperor of China to pick it out of the background radiation from eight light-minutes away.
Pat swallowed a curse word. Then several more as he stood, staring silently at the screen.
“Have CIC…” He coughed to clear his throat. Something was stuck there. “Have CIC run an analysis,” he ordered. “We should have enough sensor data to confirm if those were Wendira.”
“Yes, sir,” Chan replied. “It has to be, doesn’t it? I’m not aware of anyone else who uses starfighters.”
“Given the events of the last few weeks, I am not relying on that assumption,” Pat Kurzman said softly.
#
It took fifteen minutes to confirm what they’d all but known from the beginning. CIC had to borrow updated warbook files from Division Lord Torandus to be absolutely certain, but with those, Commander Chan and his people had it dialed in.
“Wendira Flying Sword of Fire–class starfighters,” he concluded. “Either they were lacking in munitions or they badly underestimated Buenos Aires—they should carry a pair of point eight five cee missiles, but they closed to use their plasma guns instead.”
“The Capital-class destroyers are heavily upgraded from the old Imperial standard for the targeting software and slew capacity of their proton beams,” Pat pointed out. “I doubt they expected to run into heavy beam weapons designed to act as backup missile defense systems.
“With the Sword and Buckler turrets, it was being questioned whether we wanted to keep that functionality on the new designs. I think that argument just got buried forever.”
“Agreed.”
“Did we catch where the fighters disappeared?” the Admiral asked, studying the tactical display and noting that the icons for the remaining four fighters had vanished.
“We have the location, yes,” Chan confirmed, dropping an icon onto the display. “They dropped back under somebody’s stealth field, but unless their commander is an idiot, they’re long gone and we have no way to track them.”
“Damn. Thoughts, Commander?” Pat asked.
“That they could retrieve the fighters means we’re not looking at a scout ship with a few starfighters strapped to the hull,” his chief of staff noted. “Probably a specially designed stealth carrier, quite possibly a specialist covert-ops ship.”
“Like the one that landed the ground force,” Pat concluded grimly.
“Exactly,” Chan said. “Probably the exact same type of ship, in fact, only that one did a better job of sneaking in.”
“So, at this point, the Wendira know exactly what we have in place,” the Admiral said slowly. “They’re going to be wrong in less than twenty hours, but…”
“They may well arrive before then,” Chan agreed. “Along with the Laians and Gods alone know who else.”
“And we have no idea how much weight of metal they’re bringing to the party.” Pat shook his head. “We have prisoners, right? Get me Rolfson.”
#
Ducal Guards and Imperial Marines alike fell in behind Captain Harold Rolfson as he stalked through the camp set up around the crashed starship. Ramona Wolastoq was busily poking through the corners of the ship, testing to see if there were any other systems intact that might be useful.
He wasn’t sure she’d find anything, but he was glad it kept her occupied. His own inability to return to his ship was grating on him, and only Ramona’s presence was keeping him sane. His “light duty” for convalescence had become direct military command of the encampment now.
And included in that encampment was the set of cargo containers that had been retrofitted with additional security and turned into a prison camp for the frustratingly uncommunicative Wendira prisoners.
They’d had difficulty even establishing which was the senior bug. There were no Royal or Drone-caste in their collection of prisoners, only Warriors. They’d given up the equivalent of name-rank-serial-number, but even Imperial records on Wendira ground-force ranks and organization were limited.
“This one,” the Yin Imperial Marine leading the way told him, tapping on one of the cargo containers. “I had my Marines pull out the one you want to talk to.”
“Who have we got?” Harold asked.
“Third of Eyes Tarish,” the Speaker replied. “Roughly…Company Commander or one of your Majors. They weren’t in command of the operation, but they’re the senior survivor.”
“All right. Let’s see what this Tarish has to say,” Harold said grimly.
#
Third of Eyes Tarish was unlike any creature that Earth had ever seen. A Warrior of the Indira, Tarish stood just over one hundred and sixty centimeters tall, every bit of them a dull layer of black or dark gray carapace that would blend into almost any terrain on almost any planet.
Their wings were folded in against their back, but Tarish had extended their secondary eyestalks, the second pair of eyes watching as Harold entered the interrogation chamber—even while the larger primary eyes stayed staring directly ahead. Sharp mandibles flanked a small mouth and breathing orifice, creating a face that was both quite insect-like—and utterly alien.
“You are Third of Eyes Tarish?” Harold asked calmly. His translator turned his words into the clicking, buzzing noise of the Wendira’s primary language.
Tarish didn’t respond and Harold stepped closer, into the line of sight of all four of the alien’s eyes.
“You’ve already given us your name and rank,” he said reasonably. “You may as well confirm for me. You are Third of Eyes Tarish, the senior survivor of this strike force?”
The Wendira was silent for several seconds, then blinked all four eyes, one at a time, in a slow, disturbing sequence.
“I am.”
“Why did you attack us?”
Tarish stared at him wordlessly.
Harold pulled up a chair and sat down, bringing himself down to the level of Tarish’s primary eyes.
“I am Captain Harold Rolfson,” he introduced himself. “I command one of the starships in orbit as well as this camp. I was injured when your force attacked us. I think you at least owe me an explanation of just what I got shot over.”
The same long sequence of blinking.
“The ship of the Gods of Light. You are unworthy and it shall be taken from you.”
“Ah.”
That was about what Harold had figured.
“I don’t suppose you considered asking us?”
The secondary eyestalks retracted sharply, right down to the carapace, and Harold wished the Imperium had better information on Wendira body language.
“No one would surrender or sell a ship of the Gods. You are unworthy. We have been seeking and we shall claim.”
“All right. So. Your force was attached to Hive Commandant Ashtahkah and Wing’s Nightmare?”
The eyestalks remained retracted but the visible portion shivered some more. Harold was reasonably certain he was hitting a nerve, but Tarish was silent this time.
“I’m guessing Ashtahkah is coming,” Harold said. “There’s at least one ship already in this system: your people killed more of my friends. There’s going to be a reckoning for that.”
“Release me,” Tarish suddenly snapped. “Release my men and surrender the ship. You cannot stand against the Swarm.”
“One star hive?” Harold replied. “You underestimate us if you think we can’t stop Ashtahkah. The price may be high, but we will pay it before we surrender.”
“You are unworthy,” the Wendira repeated. “You are not ready. You are weak and you will burn before the Swarm of War.”
“Will we?” the Captain asked softly. That suggested…something. He didn’t like the implications.
“We will see,” Harold continued. “Thank you, Third of Eyes Tarish. You will be exchanged back to the Grand Swarm once this is over, I think.”
He smiled, somewhat viciously. “I doubt you’ll be alone.”
#
Chapter 30
“Hyper portal.”
The announcement was calmer this time, which was strange to Pat. The timing was right and the location was right for it to the Laian war-dreadnought. They were still an hour short of the earliest window for Tanaka’s arrival and fifteen hours from the Terran fleet’s.
The last update was that Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh’s squadrons were on the move as well. Ten capital-ship squadrons of the Imperial Navy—a hundred and sixty battleships and super-battleships, and the best part of a thousand escorts—were converging from eight different fleet anchorages.
The plan had been to have them converge at Kimar, but with the progression of the situation, they’d apparently been ordered to converge at a rendezvous point barely a light-month out of Alpha Centauri.
That order, though, said everything to Patrick Kurzman. If the Imperial Navy expected Tanaka’s task force and the Duchy of Terra Militia to hold Alpha Centauri, they’d have been ordered to converge on the system.
Tan!Shallegh wasn’t bringing a fleet to relieve Alpha Centauri. He was fully expecting to have to retake Alpha Centauri.
“Well, the timing is right for the beetles,” Pat said aloud. “I don’t suppose we can count on our Wendira ghost to fuck them up, can we?”
“So far as we can tell, they’re still out there, but I doubt they had much more than the eight starfighters they threw at Buenos Aires,” Commander Chan concluded. “I doubt they’re feeling brave enough to throw four starfighters against… Well, CIC has their analysis.”
The main tactical hologram zoomed in on the incoming force, and Pat nodded his understanding as the images and numbers of the Laian task force emerged.
Harvester of Glory held the center point, just as she had at Sol. There were only sixteen modern assault cruisers flanking her now, though, and the three ancient ones they’d commandeered from the Militia were completely missing.
“It’s definitely Harvester of Glory?” Pat asked.
“Yes, sir. All metrics confirm.” Chan shrugged. “The other ships were all with her at Sol too, so far as we can tell.”
“It appears Pincer of the Republic Kandak sent some of his ships home with our old Laian cruisers,” the stocky Vice Admiral concluded. “Get me Torandus on the line.”
The Ivida’s motionless face appeared on his screen almost instantly.
“Vice Admiral,” Torandus greeted him. “In the face of the enemy, I see no reason to insist on protocol. I recognize your command authority in the Alpha Centauri System. What are your orders?”
Pat had been planning on giving suggestions, so the Division Lord’s decision to make the chain of command absolutely clear was a relief!
“Your Stalwarts are fully upgraded with the new defenses, correct?” he asked.
“That is why my squadron was sent instead of one of the others,” Torandus confirmed. “All of my ships have passed through your Raging Waters of Friendship Yards and received the full Sword and Buckler package.”
“I need you to rendezvous with our Thunderstorms and take up screening positions around Emperor of China and President Washington,” Pat ordered. “We’re going to be facing missiles significantly faster and longer-ranged than our own, so we’ll want the maximum depth of defense possible.”
“Understood. I will coordinate with your escort commanders; we will do all within our power to protect the capital ships.” Torandus paused. “Will we attempt to communicate?”
“I’ll try,” Pat said. “But given that the Two Hundred and Eighty-eighth Pincer of the Republic isn’t even supposed to be here…”
“It is always worth the attempt. Secondary forms of communication are always available.”
“Secondary forms?” the Terran Vice Admiral asked.
“Missiles,” Torandus clarified. “When talking fails, violence remains a form of communication, does it not?”
#
Pat took a moment to compose himself. The Laian battle group was still ten light-minutes away, putting them at least ten minutes from weapons range. That gave him time to breathe, to make sure he didn’t appear panicked when he talked to a sentient whose flagship outmassed the entire defensive force.
“Put me on,” he finally ordered Chan. A small light on his chair controls told him he was live, and he smiled thinly at the camera.
“Two Hundred and Eighty-eighth Pincer of the Republic Kandak,” he greeted the alien. “I am Vice Admiral Patrick Wellesley Kurzman, commanding officer of the Duchy of Terra Militia First Task Force.
“Y
our presence in this system is an unexpected surprise. Our understanding is that you were returning to the Republic with the vessels you commandeered.
“While your presence here is not necessarily unwelcome, I must ask you to clarify your intentions before you approach Hope any closer. There is at least one unknown, apparently hostile force present in the system that has already attacked our ships, and we are currently on high alert.
“If you approach within one light-minute, I will have no choice but to regard it as a hostile act and engage your vessels. I don’t believe either of us desires that, so please clarify your intentions to avoid potential complications.”
Ten minutes to reach the Laian ship. Except, of course, that the war-dreadnought was trundling toward Hope at half the speed of light itself. Even though the interface drive didn’t play remotely fair with Einstein in terms of time dilation—the ship was, from that perspective, immobile—communication timelines got…complicated.
“Mark the one-light-minute perimeter,” Pat ordered Chan. “Pass the orders to the task force: if the Laians cross that line, we hit Harvester with everything we’ve got.”
“Will that be enough?” the chief of staff asked.
“Two super-battleships. Twenty-one heavy cruisers. A dozen destroyers.” Earth’s second-most-senior naval officer shook his head. “I’d like to think so, Commander. I really would.”
“But?”
“Harvester of Glory alone outmasses our capital ships two to one,” Pat said. “Hell, that war-dreadnought outmasses our entire fleet. And his tech is, at best guess, four hundred years more advanced than ours.
“That’s ignoring the fact that we have a damned Wendira covert carrier wandering around the system, a star hive somewhere in the region, a Mesharom Frontier Fleet detachment around, and someone with super-advanced, apparently Kanzi warships.”
“I won’t feel particularly certain of our odds until Tan!Shallegh arrives,” he admitted. “And even then…with four Core Power–level players in the game, I’m not sure even ten squadrons will be enough to feel safe.”
Terra and Imperium (Duchy of Terra Book 3) Page 24