by Jay Allan
“That’s why I’m taking Compton.” The republic’s newest battleship was the largest vessel mankind had ever constructed, almost eight kilometers in length and bristling with every advanced weapon Dr. Cutter and the Mules had managed to design from First Imperium tech.
“I’d feel better if we’d had time for a longer shakedown cruise. She’s the best we’ve got, but with all those AI and robot controlled systems…” West had let her voice trail off. She was a dinosaur, she knew that, but the truth was she only trusted computerization and automation so far. If she—or her second in command—was going into battle, she wanted solid, trained crews in key positions, loyal personnel ready to fight, to give their all. But the republic was short on population, and reducing crew sizes had been essential to maintaining a significant fleet. West had gone along with it all, somewhat reluctantly, but Compton had reached a point that strained her acceptance.
An Alliance Yorktown-class battleship like Midway had carried a complement of more than twelve hundred spacers. Compton’s crew numbered one hundred sixty-two…and fifty-eight of them were pilots and technicians for the fighter squadrons. And Compton outmassed one of the old Yorktowns by a factor of six.
There had been a push to eliminate fighters altogether when the final designs had been approved, but West had insisted, even invoking the memory of Greta Hurley—and enlisting the full-throated support of Mariko Fujin, who was not only the president’s wife but also the greatest living veteran of the old fighter corps. In the end, the design team had reluctantly added a dozen birds to the ship’s specs.
“She’s fine, Erika. And her crew is the best we’ve got, handpicked from across the fleet.”
“The crew is great…what there is of it.” West turned and looked at Frette. She knew her second had more faith in AIs than she did. Practically everyone did.
“Okay, stop. I’m taking close to a quarter of the fleet with me. I’ll be just fine. I’ll bring Hurley back…” She paused, her voice sinking, becoming darker. “Or I’ll find out what happened to her.”
West nodded. “You do that.”
Frette moved closer to West, but then she turned and looked around, noting the traffic in the corridor. She stepped back and saluted. “Thank you, Admiral West.”
West paused for a moment and then returned the salute. “The task force is yours, Admiral Frette.” The two paused, both looking uncomfortable. Then West nodded and walked down the corridor.
* * *
“Mr. President…thank you for seeing me.” Terrance Compton II stood nervously at the entrance to Harmon’s office.
“Come in, Terrance. Close the door.” Harmon had been staring down at a large tablet on his desk, but now he looked up at his visitor. “Sit down. And, for God’s sake, save the ‘Mr. President’ nonsense. You know my name.”
“Thank you, Max.” Terrance moved across the room, slowly. He was anxious and it showed.
“What can I do for you, Terrance?”
Compton paused. He suspected Harmon thought he was in some sort of trouble, that he’d come again to ask the president’s help in pulling him out of some mess. The idea that one of the people closest to him in the world would have little reason to suspect any other cause behind his visit cut at him. He’d been a colossal fuck up, and now he saw it all…and it turned his stomach. He knew he’d let Harmon down, just as he had his mother—and the memory of his father. But now he realized he’d let himself down most of all. It was a painful realization, but a vital one.
“There is no easy way to say this. I have been thinking about things, about my life.”
Harmon’s face shifted, a hint of surprise slipping onto his features. Clearly he had not expected what he was hearing.
“I want to do something meaningful, Max. I know I’m a poor version of his son, but perhaps it’s not too late for me to avoid being a total loss.”
“Don’t say things like that, Terrance. You had some problems…we all do. It doesn’t define you.”
“I have allowed it to define me. And while I appreciate your efforts to gloss over the dissolute nature of my life to date, I ask you not to. Don’t let me off the hook. Change has to begin with accepting responsibility.”
Harmon’s face morphed into an expression of full-blown surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Terrance put his hand up.
“Please, before you say anything, let me finish. I know you have little reason to trust me, to believe in me…but I’m asking you to give me another chance. Not in terms of appointments or opportunities…but another chance with you. I know I have your love…you have always given me that. You’ve been a second father to me. But now I want your respect. And your trust. I know I need to earn them back, and I am willing to do whatever it takes. If you’ll give me the chance.”
Harmon stood up and walked around the desk, sitting again in the chair next to Terrance. “Your father was special to me, Terrance, in a way I doubt I could adequately describe. He was like a father. And despite what you might think of yourself, I see much of him in you.” Harmon paused. “I won’t tell you I was happy about how you’ve chosen to live your life…but then I never really blamed you either. We had been on Earth Two less than a year when you were born. We were still under martial law, still struggling to build shelters, rudimentary industry. We had just come through a struggle that had cost us two-thirds of our numbers. The people were exhausted, scared. They needed any inspiration they could get, a symbol of the future. Your father had been the undisputed hero of the fleet, the one man everyone looked to as a savior. His death was a disaster for morale…and they looked to fill that massive void. Then you were born.”
Terrance sat, listening. He’d long resented the pressure that had been placed on him, lashed out at the constant exposure, thousands of people prying into his life, pushing him. He’d known everything Harmon was telling him, and now, listening to it all again, the old frustrations stirred.
“I know it was hard on you, Terrance. Perhaps no child, no young man who ever lived could have handled it any better than you did. I should have shielded you better, protected you. But the fleet, and then the republic, needed you. I am at fault, as much as you, and perhaps more. So if you are serious, let the past be the past…and let us move forward from here.”
Terrance looked over at Harmon and smiled. “I would like that, Max. Very much. And you have my word…I am serious. I want to do whatever I can to help. I want my life to count for something.” He paused. “I want to make you proud…and my father too.”
* * *
The planet was windswept, its surface battered by constant, vicious storms, its crust torn by endless volcanic activity. Pools of searing hot magma erupted constantly from underground reservoirs, lava flows pouring down the hillsides, great geysers of sulfur-infused clouds erupting into the sky. The world was inhospitable to say the least, and certainly no place humans—or any creatures of similar biochemistry and make up—could survive, at least without massive technology deployed just to sustain life. But no people lived there now, only machines. And those machines had a purpose.
Planet Z. That was the closest human translation to what the place was called. It was more of a designation than a name, a reference point to mark it in catalogs of stars and worlds. It was the kind of place that was easily forgotten, one more uninhabitable world, devoid of mineral resources valuable enough to warrant its difficult development. But it was ideal for one purpose, and it had been discovered and adapted for that use millennia before.
The Regent had discovered Planet Z. Its probes had entered the system. They had scanned many worlds in dozens of systems, but they stopped when they entered orbit around this world. It was exactly what the Regent was seeking, a planet rich with natural energy sources. For the Regent was looking for a place to produce antimatter, the most powerful substance known to science. The Imperium’s ships used antimatter in their starship drives, and their most powerful weapons were armed with antimatter warheads.
The Regen
t sent more ships, freighters, support craft. They landed, and massive construction robots poured forth from their cargo bays. They tore into Planet Z, digging deeply into its crust. They built power facilities everywhere, drawing on the energy of the world’s tectonic shifts, on its volcanic activity, on the strength of its wild and unpredictable storms. Every stable meter of the surface was covered with panels that absorbed the energy from the planet’s sun. Every watt of power that could be collected was poured into the vast, underground accelerators, great chambers hundreds of kilometers in length. These constructions consumed massive amounts of energy, almost incalculable. And every bit of it was channeled to a single purpose. The production and storage of antimatter.
Antimatter wasn’t difficult to produce…even the humans had known the process for several centuries. The difficulty was producing the enormous amounts of energy required. It was well beyond human technology…but not that of the First Imperium.
There had once been such planetary antimatter factories located throughout the imperium. But Planet Z was the mightiest of them all, a planet almost unique in its energy production potential. Its massive generators ran night and day for thousands of years, and the giant magnetic bottles holding the antimatter were filled to capacity. Even as more were built, they too were filled, until Z became the greatest store of the precious substance in the galaxy.
Then word had come. The Regent had been destroyed…and its replacement had activated. The lesser AI controlling Planet Z prepared…it waited for orders from its new master. In short order ships began coming, new warships, produced by the Regent’s successor. They came to Z, and they filled their fuel stores with the precious antimatter. They replaced primitive fusion weapons with antimatter warheads…and then they left, back to join the newly assembling imperial fleet.
Then word came again. It hadn’t been long in the reckoning of the AI that had stewarded Z for thousands of centuries, merely thirty years measured in the revolution of Homeworld around its sun. The enemy had been contacted, those who had destroyed the Regent. It was time. Time for the war of vengeance.
More ships arrived, great battleships, entering orbit, taking up defensive positions alongside the arrays of armed satellites that had long protected Planet Z. No risks could be taken. The humans seemed weak, illogical biologics who should have fallen easily to imperial arms. Yet they had survived…and prevailed. They had destroyed the Regent. They could not be underestimated again. And Z was the most important location in all of space now, save only for Planet X, the home of the Regent’s successor.
The AI controlling Z activated the defense protocols. Power flowed into the armed satellites. The newly arrived ships were integrated into the planet’s defense net. The scanners at the warp gates, and at points throughout the station, went to wartime footings, searching endlessly, looking for any signs of the enemy.
The Regent’s successor had been clear. Its predecessor had succumbed to overconfidence. That mistake would not be repeated. However weak the humans appeared in analytical review, they would be considered extremely dangerous at all times.
The AI controlling the system understood perfectly, and it responded in kind. War had come.
Chapter Eight
Coded Message from H2 to Hieronymus Cutter
Hieronymus, I have attempted to obtain information from the other Mules, but I have been unsuccessful. I believe there is something taking place, some activity or plan unknown to me, but I have little to offer but my conjecture.
I do have one lead. I believe that Achilles, at least, and possibly other Mules, have recently been visiting the underground tunnels of the First Imperium base. I have no particular reason to suspect there is meaning behind it, but I can’t think of any normal reason for them to be there.
I am going to investigate, and I will report to you as soon as I return. I ask that you not interfere or do anything that might draw attention to my efforts.
Abandoned First Imperium Base
Beneath Cutter Research Compound
Earth Two Date 11.08.30
H2 walked slowly down the corridor. It was empty, as it usually was. The tunnel was part of the old facility built by the last of the living beings of the First Imperium, part of their plan to pass their knowledge on to the races that followed them, the primitive beings they had nurtured and genetically engineered to bring about sentience. Humanity was only one of those species, but the Regent had found and destroyed the others long ago.
The tunnels had been beehives of activity when the fleet had first arrived. Practically every scientist on Earth Two had come to examine the ancient technology, to try to discover ways to adapt it, to learn to use the amazing devices the Ancients had left behind. But now the immense Cutter Research Compound sat on the surface above the underground complex, and the ancient hardware and data systems had long been moved to the new facilities. Most of the old surveillance systems had long ago ceased to function, and the rest of them had been shut down when the last of the artifacts was moved to the surface. The underground complex was empty, abandoned, an eerie relic of a long dead age.
So why have I seen Achilles down here three times in the last week?
He moved slowly, his eyes darting to the ceiling, looking for cameras or other surveillance devices. The compound above was wired throughout, every room, every corridor. The reasoning was sound. The work done there was sensitive, and sometimes dangerous. But it had always had a bit of a dystopian feel to H2. As the first of the Mules—or possibly a proto-Mule, as he had sometimes been called—his life had been public enough, and as he got older he found himself more and more disturbed by the constant sense of being watched.
He’d started coming down to the tunnels a couple years earlier, something he’d kept to himself, not even telling Hieronymus. He’d been driven there by the desire for real privacy, for a place he could walk, sit, think…without someone watching. He’d had no nefarious purposes, but nevertheless, he’d kept it a close secret. And then he saw Achilles.
He’d ducked behind a wall before the Mule saw him, and he was almost certain he’d kept his presence a secret. After that, he’d been more careful, keeping watch when he went to the tunnels. And he’d seen Achilles twice more. Something was going on, he was sure of it. But the complex was vast, and his refuge was only a tiny part of it.
He began exploring…and then he spotted it. A surveillance device. Not old First Imperium tech, but a new unit, recently installed. That had pushed him over the edge. There was something going on. And he had to tell Hieronymus. He’d almost gone to the scientist, told him what he knew. But then he realized he knew almost nothing, and he decided to come down one last time, to try to find a way around the camera. To discover what was going on.
He’d accessed the schematics of the facility, the map that had been painstakingly created in the two years after the fleet had arrived. He’d been in the tunnels for hours now. He hadn’t found a way in yet, but he’d discovered two more surveillance units…and after a quick look at the map he began to get an idea of the basic area the cameras were protecting. It was a spot at the very edge of the facility. There were just a few small rooms there, nothing of consequence. Yet clearly someone—and he could only suspect Achilles—was trying to hide something.
He peered around the corner. There it was, another device. They all protected approaches to a specific location, but the map showed that area was nothing but solid rock.
At least according to the map…
He reached into his pocket, took out a small device. The jammer would work, he was fairly sure of that. It would interfere with the camera and with any audio sensors. Whoever was watching would know something had interrupted the data flow. If he was lucky, they would assume it had been a technical glitch…the jammer was designed to appear as such.
He shook his head. Achilles would never make that assumption, he realized…none of the Mules would. H2 knew the jammer would alert whoever was responsible, that it would provoke some kind of respon
se. But there was nothing else he could do. He had to know what was going on. All he could do was take a quick look…and then get out before anyone had the chance to react.
He held the device in his hands for another minute, taking a few deep breaths. He was edgy, his stomach tight. He’d been a researcher his entire life, not a spy. He didn’t know what he was about to start, but he had a good idea it would be important. And dangerous.
He flipped on the jammer. Then he filled his lungs with a last deep breath and walked around the corner. He moved quickly…he knew he didn’t have time to waste. And he still had no idea what he was looking for.
He could feel his heart pounding, the impulse to leave, to return to the surface. But he quieted the doubts and continued.
The corridor extended another ten meters, with nothing but two small rooms on either side. On the map, the hallway ended at the solid rock of Earth Two’s crust, the terminus of the underground facility. But H2 was staring at a door. One that most definitely was not on his map.
He stepped up to it, his gaze running up and down the portal. It was definitely new, not of First Imperium construction. And it was locked.
He reached out, running his finger over the panel. It was a sophisticated lock…but he was sure he could hack his way in. Given time. Time he wasn’t sure he had.
He knelt down, reaching behind him to the small sack hanging from his waist. He set it on the floor, pulling out a tiny device. It had a tiny probe on one end, and a small screen on top. He held it in front of the electronic lock, staring down at the screen, watching as numbers moved swiftly from top to bottom. He turned a small control on the side, calibrating the tool. He held it in place for another half minute…then he heard a loud click, and the door opened. He could hear noise now, loud, coming from inside. It sounded like machines, of many different types, like a mine or a factory.