Messenger

by James Walker

  “Check with Port Osgow again,” Halschen ordered. “With their connection to the sensor satellites, there's no way the Onyx Down could escape their notice, even if she is cloaked.”

  “Understood,” the comm officer replied. After a moment, he reported, “Still nothing on their sensors. The area is clear.”

  “T-minus 360 seconds to drop window,” an operator announced.

  “Not long now.” Halschen settled in his command chair. That idiot, Falsrain—what had he been thinking? Within moments, a small army would drop on the capital to blast his delusions of rule to pieces. Besieged by an elite landing force backed up by air support and orbital bombardment, Falsrain would stand no chance even if he had somehow won the support of the city's garrison.

  A flash interrupted Halschen's thoughts. In the rear viewscreen, a rapid barrage of anti-warship railgun slugs slammed into the battlecruiser Memory, engulfing it in mountain-sized explosions. As the crim­son particles dispersed, revealing the vessel's burning hull pockmarked with craters, a fusillade of azure beams lanced into the ship's remains. The shattered vessel careened off the screen toward the moon below.

  “The Memory has been hit,” the sensor operator exclaimed. “She's been blasted off-course and is being sucked in by Chalice's gravity well. Engine readings have gone silent.”

  For an instant, Halschen felt no reaction—only numbness. Then his long years of professional experience took over and he began shouting orders, fury rising within him. Had they been fired on by the Onyx Down? How the hell had the mobile sensor network missed it?

  “E.C.M. to maximum. Set navigation systems to low-visibility mode and alter course,” he shouted. “Tell the Circumstance to launch the landing force immediately.”

  “But we're still short of the drop window, sir.”

  “Do it anyway. The landing crafts' navigation systems will be able to compensate. We can't afford to let the Circumstance go down before she's launched her forces.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  “As soon as you've relayed the order to the Circumstance, contact Port Osgow and tell them to check their readings again,” Halschen ordered. “Weapons, ready a return volley and run a trace on the fire that sank the Memory.”

  The bridge crew scrambled to carry out Halschen's orders. After a moment, the sensor operator reported, “Trace complete. Enemy vessel's current location and trajectory has been estimated.”

  “Pepper the area with fire,” Halschen said. “Let them eat a volley of MIRVs. Give them a wide spread. I'm more concerned about finding the bogey than taking them out with one barrage.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  A volley of MIRVs launched from the Nemesis' missile tubes. As they drew near the target point, they dispersed to cover a wide area and broke apart into hundreds of smaller missiles, blotting out an enormous sector of space with brilliant fireballs.

  “Anything?” Halschen demanded.

  “No hits, sir.”

  “Message from Port Osgow,” the comm operator reported. “Faint shadow on the mobile sensor network. They're forwarding the coordinates to us now.”

  “Aim the railguns,” Halschen commanded. “As soon as you've got the coordinates, hit that point with the heaviest slugs we've got.”

  “Coordinates received,” the comm operator said.

  “Firing,” the weapons operator exclaimed.

  A fusillade of enormous projectiles accelerated to tremendous speeds erupted from the Nemesis' cannons and lanced into the blackness of space. Several seconds passed, with no sign of any impacts.

  “What the hell?” Halschen hissed.

  “The slugs were on-target,” the weapons operator reported. “But the bogey wasn't there.”

  A new star briefly flashed on the viewscreen as the unseen enemy returned fire. Another volley of railgun slugs and particle beams slammed into the Circumstance. One of the shots struck a magazine, causing a blinding flash to engulf the viewscreen and blasting the vessel into hundreds of pieces.

  “Circumstance has been sunk,” the sensor operator exclaimed. “She was able to launch about one-third of the landing force before she was destroyed.”

  Halschen stared in horror at the red-hot debris of the assault carrier. This was a nightmare. Why could none of their shots find the tar­get, whereas it could hit them with perfect accuracy? With the aid of Port Osgow's mobile sensor network, it should have been the opposite.

  Wait.

  Fresh rage boiled in Halschen's stomach as he realized the implication. Was this some kind of conspiracy? No use wondering about it now. The secret of Falsrain's influence would be a moot point if they were killed here.

  “Evasive action,” he said breathlessly. “Keep the navigation system in low-visibility mode while altering our course at random. Simultaneously target the nearest sensor satellites and blast them to hell.”

  “Sir?” came the confused reply.

  “Port Osgow has been compromised,” Halschen explained. “The enemy can see our every move. Take out those satellites, now!”

  “A—aye, sir!”

  There were two sensor satellites within immediate firing range. The Nemesis targeted both of them and launched a missile at each one. After many moments as the missiles covered the great distance to their targets, two glowing pinpricks illuminated the viewscreen.

  “Sensor satellites destroyed,” the comm operator reported. “We should be out of the network's detection range now.”

  “Good,” Halschen said. “Have you got a fix on the enemy yet?”

  “The computer has given us an estimate,” the sensor operator said. “Due to the lag time, it's pretty inexact, but the sensors are picking up a silhouette that we can use to refine the estimate.”

  “Hit them with everything we've got,” Halschen said. “Another wide spread of MIRVs, along with cannon fire and particle beams spread evenly across the three likeliest locations.”

  The Nemesis rumbled as it poured fire from all of its main batteries into the enemy's estimated location. This time, a larger, brighter explosion erupted within the sea of the MIRVs' smaller explosions, spewing debris in all directions.

  “Did we get it?” the weapons operator exclaimed.

  “Analyze the remains,” Halschen ordered.

  A pause as the sensor operator carried out Halschen's command. “Not quite as much mass here as I'd expect for an assault carrier,” he reported. “But given the amount of firepower we poured into that area, it might have been vaporized. The debris is consistent with the Onyx Down's geometric signature.”

  “Hmm.” Halschen tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Status on the Memory?”

  “Burning up in the atmosphere,” the comm operator replied. “She's doomed, sir. No sign of life boats.”

  “Damn,” Halschen spat. “Keep E.C.M. and cloaking at maximum and keep a sharp eye on that sensor readout. Maintain the navigation system in low-visibility mode and put us into a holding pattern over the landing force so we can give them fire support if needed. I want constant updates on their status.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Halschen rubbed at his temple. The worst seemed to be over, but losing two vessels to a single enemy ship... That was not good. Still, he had been given no reason to suspect that Chalice's mobile active sensor network had been compromised by Falsrain. That surely counted as an extenuating circumstance. As long as he was efficient about elimi­nating Falsrain and reestablishing control of Chalice, the operation was still salvageable.

  “The landing force has touched down,” the sensor operator reported. “Cloud cover is making it difficult to maintain optical tracking over the area, but I can tell roughly what's happening. They've landed north of the capital and they seem to be sweeping the area for hos­tiles.”

  “Keep me appraised,” Halschen said. “And keep one eye on the space around us, too.”

  After several minutes, the operator said, “There's a response from the capital. They seem to be sending out a heavy detachme
nt in the direction of the landing party.”

  “Strength?”

  “I can't quite tell, but it's a decent size force, sir.”

  Halschen cursed inwardly as he weighed his options. Falsrain's influence seemed to run far deeper than he had suspected. The safest bet would be to assume that he had control of the city garrison. With two­-thirds of the landing party wiped out in orbit, Halschen's confidence in their ability to take on the entire garrison had taken a sharp dive. Pro­viding them with supporting fire would give away the Nemesis' posi­tion, but if he didn't help them, they might be wiped out. It would take days to get reinforcements. Who could say how much Falsrain would fortify his position in that time? They needed to eliminate him now.

  “Take them out,” he ordered.

  “Method, sir?”

  “Standard railgun bombardment. Use light slugs. We don't want collateral damage to the city.”

  “Aye-aye.”

  The Nemesis fired a volley of railgun slugs at the surface. Halschen kept a close eye on the viewscreen displaying the area around Hongpan as a line of fireballs engulfed the column of troops and armor mak­ing their way out of the city.

  “Enemy detachment 85% destroyed, sir.”

  “Good,” Halschen said. “Keep a close eye on what's happening above and below us.”

  “Energy spike,” the sensor operator exclaimed suddenly. “It's coming from directly above us!”

  Halschen's stomach lurched. “Hard to starboard,” he shouted. “Engines to maximum.”

  Even as the Nemesis' engines roared to life, a light flashed from the space above, accompanied an instant later by a tremendous impact. The display in the viewscreen spiraled out of control as the Nemesis went into a spin. Warning lights flashed all over the bridge's instrument panels.

  “Heavy damage,” came the report. “Cloaking system down. Starboard weapon modules are off-line. Engine three is down. Power output dropping. Multiple ruptures in the hull. The affected sections are being sealed off.”

  Once again, Halschen felt numbness take hold of him. How was this possible? The Onyx Down should have been the only vessel in the Chalice sphere capable of damaging a capital ship. Had she somehow survived the earlier volley? But with that much damage, how could she have maintained her cloaking ability enough to remain hidden from the sensors?

  That didn't matter now. Halschen needed to get them out of this situation. But what could he do? The Nemesis might be salvageable, but the finishing blow would come before they could even correct their course. They were all dead. Everything was over—everything. He was petrified by the unreality of it.

  “Incoming transmission,” the comm operator reported. “Origin unknown. I think the bogey is hailing us, sir.”

  The surprise stirred Halschen out of his paralysis. “Put it onscreen,” he ordered.

  Commodore Falsrain's face filled the screen, his mouth turned up in a gloating smile. Unholy elation filled his cold eyes. Halschen glared at the monstrous visage in hatred.

  “Looks like my pawn sacrifice paid off,” Falsrain said. “Bishop takes rook. Checkmate.”

  “Falsrain,” Halschen spat. “You can't be contacting us from the surface. The silence particles would prevent that. Did you abandon your new throne to come up into space?”

  “Ah, Admiral Halschen,” Falsrain said. “Has the impact addled your brains? I'm relaying this transmission through the orbital elevator, obviously. That's also how I've been commanding the Onyx Down from down here on the surface. You did figure out that I've taken control of the elevator, I hope?”

  “How did you maintain your cloaking field after sustaining so much damage?” Halschen demanded.

  “Oh, that was just a decoy,” Falsrain replied. “I had the Onyx Down jettison part of her hull along with a half-empty fuel cell to make for a convincing explosion. The main vessel was quite unharmed. Of course, getting your position after you took out the tracking satellites wasn't easy. Thank you for obliging me by bombarding the token force I deployed from the capital to draw your fire.”

  “What do you think you can possibly gain by this?” Halschen asked. “If you defeat me here, Spacy will assemble another fleet to come after you. Even you can't stand against their resources with the meager forces at your disposal.”

  “My dear admiral,” Falsrain chuckled, “you really think you can bluff me, of all people? We both know how overextended the fleet has become since Maximillian's untimely disappearance. Nearly every vessel in the Sarisan system is tied down suppressing unrest in one corner of this sector or another. By the time they're able to assemble a second force, I'll have already gone on the offensive.”

  “With what?” Halschen said incredulously. “You can hardly expect to attack Spacy-controlled territory with one damaged ship, especially where there's no sensor network to usurp into tracking your enemies for you.”

  Falsrain leaned forward, and his smile twisted into something almost demonic. “Would you believe me if I said I had been granted great powers by a higher life form? No, I suppose you would think me a madman. Well, I can assure you, I have a few tricks up my sleeve to deal with your vaunted fleet. As for you, Admiral, consider it an honor to be offered as a sacrifice to the glory of Scathe. And now, farewell.”

  Halschen strained against the restraints holding him to his seat as he reached out to throttle Falsrain. “Wait,” he bellowed, “you basta—”

  A fourth and final light shone from above. Another tremendous impact shook the ship, then all dissolved into annihilating whiteness as Halschen's scream of fury faded into the void.

  *

  Ridley put down the phone and turned to Liumei, who was standing next to her opulent desk. He paid no attention to Falsrain seated in the governor's chair. Beyond the picture windows, verdant mountains could be seen through the frame of the containment dome. Columns of smoke snaked into the sky from the far side of the mountains.

  “We just received word from the front,” Ridley said. “The Onyx Down's bombardment has succeeded in forcing the invaders to surrender. They've got some elite units with them, including some augments and a pair of Ghosts.”

  Falsrain extended one hand and gently traced the contour of Liumei's hip. She gave no reaction to the contact, but merely replied in a halting monotone, “Good. Restrain them and bring them before me.”

  “And I,” Falsrain smiled, “will bestow my blessing upon them as well.”

  Ridley bowed to Liumei and said, “As you wish, my lady.”

  55

  The Aqualung cell's exosuit armory included only a single two-seater suit: the B105 Grenadier, a bulky suit with limited flight capabilities, bristling with missile pods, a shoulder-mounted long-range sniper cannon, and a medium-caliber rotary gun for close-in defense. Vic sat within the pilot's seat, the controls in single-operator mode and the system configured for computer simulation. Astral sat behind him in the gunner's seat, along with her MINDs.

  “Are you sure this will work with the simulator?” Vic asked. “If there are no human minds to read...”

  “It will work,” Astral assured him. “It isn't just human minds that the Voice lets me hear. I can predict all kinds of physical movements a short while in advance. The flow of energy through a computer system is particularly well-suited to analysis.”

  “Well, I guess fighting the computer will be good practice for facing off against human opponents,” Vic said. “All right, let's start the simulation.”

  He activated the training program. The view of the exosuit hangar blinked off, replaced by an urban battlefield. The virtual battlefield was populated with several A.I.-controlled enemies, all of which were set to seek out and destroy Vic's exosuit. Vic let out a long breath and tried to calm his mind in preparation for receiving Astral's thoughts.

  “All right,” he said. “See if you can figure out what the enemy programs are going to do, and then forward that information to me.”

  “OK.”

  Vic waited for the invasive sensat
ion of Astral's will brushing against his own. After several moments, she said, “One of them seems to be heading in this direction from the north, one street over.”

  “Don't tell me verbally,” Vic said. “That will be too slow once battle is joined. I need instantaneous information.”

  “I understand,” Astral replied. “Are you ready? Here it comes.”

  The now-familiar meeting of wills flowed through Vic's mind. Through hours of intensive practice, he had become reliable at receiving Astral's thoughts without a rejection reaction. Parsing the information she tried to send him, however, was a different story. Taking on training programs would be a good first step in refining that skill.

  Vic's mental construction of his surroundings crumbled in the face of Astral's flow of information. Normally, based on the information provided by his senses combined with assumptions regarding how the world changed over time, he kept a single expectation of the world's current state in his mind, like reading a tape one frame at a time. Tapping into Astral's predictions was like taking many of those frames and cramming them into his head at once. Worse, the pending changes to the world's condition could diverge based on his own actions, multiply­ing the number of possibilities he had to keep straight.

  It took all of Vic's concentration just to sift through the branching possibilities. He just started to move the exosuit when he was rocked by virtual fire from the enemy. The display in the viewscreen turned upside-down as the suit flipped over, then the screen went dark and displayed the words “You are dead.”

  The mocking countenance of Cena, who was observing the simulation from outside, appeared in the corner of the screen. “What the hell was that, Vic?” she laughed. “Even a rookie could give a better performance than that.”

  “This is hard, all right?” Vic snapped. “Try cramming a dozen worlds inside your head and see how you deal with it.”

  “All right, keep trying, hotshot,” Cena said. “But you've got to do better than that, or I'm gonna mop the floor with you when you're ready to take on a live opponent.”