A private citizen could make any statement they wanted, as long as it didn't give aid and comfort to an enemy. Newsies were constantly running hit pieces on nobles, and there was nothing the aristocracy could do about it. In fact, most of the dozen richest citizens in the Empire were commoners, and even Taelis had an industrialist in his duchy who had garnered more wealth than the duke and counts combined. It was a strange arrangement, but it worked. There was a stewardship of the public lands that stayed with the same family for perpetuity. While the average citizen had the freedom to advance themselves to the best of their abilities.
“Admiral Lee is reporting that his force has jumped down into normal space, your Grace,” reported his chief of staff, Captain the Countess Samantha Shaw. “Out beyond the hyper three barrier.”
Mgonda nodded. That was now SOP on this front. Ships would come into normal space far beyond the effective range of the nova. That allowed them to scout the system before ships entered. Unfortunately, it also slowed down their timetable, forcing the fleet to change their operating procedures. And buying the Ca'cadasan Empire much needed time. But time for what?
“Lee reports that they had spotted Caca projector ships near the star.”
Which, as they had already learned, could mean much or nothing. The Cacas had placed battleships in positions to mimic the projector ships. Imperial vessels had avoided those systems, only to find out later that they had been spoofed.
At least Sean has seen reason, thought Mgonda, thinking about the command that had just come down with the Emperor's signature on it. There would be no further rescue attempts of systems where the Cacas had set an ambush. There would be public outcry over that decision as well, but the duke heartily approved. The people of the Empire were the primary responsibility of the Emperor, not aliens who didn't belong. That was a difficult decision, dooming whole genetic lines, and some would say the Emperor's hands would be dripping with blood for making that call. That, of course, was pure bullshit. All of the blood was on the hands of the Cacas, and the Emperor had merely removed the Imperial contribution of lives that would be added to the equation.
Now if they had the new graviton shield tech, a rescue attempt would be a possibility. Unfortunately, there were only six of the projectors, and all would be needed to erect a shield. Add to that the necessity to use almost all the power generation capacity of the Donut, and shields were a rare and precious resource not to be used lightly.
“Tell Lee he is to sit out there for twenty-four hours. Observe and report back before he moves.”
As General Grant said in the nineteenth century war that preserved the United States, you have to spend lives to save lives. That was true, in most respects. But why spend lives when it was impossible to save the lives you were trying to rescue.
Sometimes the duke regretted his decision to remain in the Fleet when his father died. He was tired of ordering men and women to their deaths. But this had been the war, the command, he had been waiting for. And truth be told he was one of the two best field commanders the Empire had. Maybe the best. He couldn't turn his back on the people. And this war looked like it could still go on for a number of years. After it was over, though, he just might consider retirement. Not to sit in Parliament. His sister could continue to act as his proxy. But to sit in comfort at his duchy seat, perhaps sail the warm seas.
“Admiral Lenkowski is reporting a large Caca force moving through his area of operations,” said Shaw, hurrying back over to her admiral. “Here.”
The plot changed to show Len's area, the positions of his ships highlighted. And the red icon of a Caca force near the center of the plot.
“They're estimating ten thousand ships. Admiral Lenkowski is reporting that he is moving to catch them in the target system.”
“Crap,” growled Mgonda. Why couldn't he get a fat target like that? It was doubtful that it was an ambush, since even the Cacas wouldn't sacrifice so many ships as bait. Or would they?
Should I warn Len? he thought. No, Len was smart enough to be careful, and would resent Taelis reminding him of the obvious. Len would proceed cautiously, and unleash hell on the Cacas when they entered his sights.
It wasn't fair, but it was just. Len had some new tech aboard a small percent of his fleet. Another miracle from the scientists of the Empire. And this time Chan's team had not been a major mover in developing it.
* * *
“My Lord,” called out the force tactical officer, looking back at his admiral. “The enemy fleet has just jumped down into hyper I. Estimated time to the barrier, thirty-one minutes.”
Superior Low Admiral Lrastar looked at the plot that was showing an enemy fleet he couldn't handle moving into the system he was charged with defending. The superior low admiral was newly named to his rank, itself something new. Until recently there had only been four ranks of flag officer, five if the rank of Supreme Admiral, the overall leader of the fleet, was taken into account. The current supreme admiral had decided that they needed new ranks to account for the larger fleet organization the Ca'cadasans found themselves with.
At the start of this war the Ca'cadasan fleet had been divided into conquest fleets, subfleets and battle squadrons. The current battle fleets, recycling the term, were many times larger than the original conquest fleets, though not large enough it would seem. Now they had the Front Fleet, Battle Fleets, Battle Forces, Scout Forces and System Defense Forces. Within them were squadrons and super-squadrons. The rank of Senior Captain had also been added to differentiate between those that led capital ships, and those who commanded the lesser vessels.
The icon of the enemy fleet was slowly moving inward. They were actually coming in at many times light speed, but the scale of the plot made them seem slow.
“Something's wrong, my Lord. Some of those ships are boosting faster than they should.”
“Using acceleration tanks, perhaps?” Both sides used the tanks, liquid filled chambers that would fit one crewman, and absorb over thirty gravities beyond what the inertial compensators could handle.
“Possibly,” said the tactical officer in a tone of uncertainty. “But why only these few. One hundred and nineteen. Why only use the tanks with those few, when the others could benefit as well.”
Lrastar didn't like it, no matter the explanation. When dealing with humans the unexpected or unexplained normally meant some kind of new development. New tech. Unfortunately, Lrastar, leading such a small system defense unit, just over three thousand vessels, didn't have any kind of instantaneous transmission capabilities. Short of sending a vessel through hyper, there was no way he could send a message to command informing them of this development. And based on the disparity of forces, he doubted anything he sent would actually get through.
If only we didn't have to deal with that petulant child of an emperor, thought the admiral. He hadn't had anything to do with the assassination of the last emperor, the father of the current. In fact, everyone who could be proven to have had a connection had died soon after. That was too damned convenient. If he hadn't had anything to do with it, he had still approved. Sort of. It went against their traditions to usurp the rightful ruler. Then again, this ruler had been trying to make too many changes. Even if the rank and file of the fleet had agreed with the changes, they were too much, too soon.
This child emperor was making changes of his own. He had gone back to the traditions of the fleet, fighting to the last ship and being in decisive battles. Unfortunately, the Ca'cadasans were outclassed in most of those fights, and the fleet would have been better served to have allowed retreat. An example would be his situation here. There was no way he could win the coming fight, and he had no projector ships to set off the star. If he had taken the obvious course of action and sent his fleet out to break and run, even if he survived he wouldn't, in the long run.
Lrastar was a believer in the old religion, along with over eighty percent of the rank and file. He didn't like killing planets. He couldn't care less about individual aliens.
They were inferior, according to Ca'cadasan tenants, even though he had found some that could out think any male of his species he could think of. Genocide was a different matter, and the Ca'cadasan religion could name no more heinous crime than the destruction of an evolutionary line. The humans were the exception, but now it seemed that those beings had simply refused to go into the night.
There had never been an emperor in the history of the people who had ruled for less than five hundred years. If most of the officers and a good number of the ratings in the fleet had their way, this one wouldn't even make it a decade.
“Those ships are going too fast,” said the tactical officer in an excited tone. “They won't be able to slow to translation speed before they hit the barrier.”
That made no sense. The humans weren't about to throw their ships into the barrier for no reason. Both sides, in fact every known species that wasn't a member of the ancients, were limited to a point three light translation speed or less. It had to do with how far ahead the hyperdrive arrays could open a hole up in front of the ship. Far enough out and a ship moving at point three light would slide through it perfectly. And no one had, so far, been able to come up with a workaround. Until now, maybe?
* * *
“You understand, your Majesty, that this is just a test run,” said Johann Peterson, the chairman of the board and majority stockholder of Peterson Shipbuilding and Transportation. “It's going to be up to your people to find the tactics to use the tech to its best. But I'm confident that this is going to result in a lot of changes.”
Sean looked over at the man, who at one time had been considered a thorn in the side of the Empire. Peterson had fled a system that had been on lock-down. A fleet was gathering in that system, and intelligence had suggested that no one be allowed to leave lest the information get out. Peterson had taken exception to this, and had fled the system in his custom build yacht. A yacht that incorporated a subspace drive alongside the traditional hyperdrive. Subspace drive, the tech humans had used to leave their home system and relocate to their present home, was much slower than hyper. But since no one had used it for centuries, it was untraceable with the technology the fleet was using to try and track Peterson down. It had opened up new possibilities for system insertion. Of course the Cacas had responded, and installed subspace disturbance sensors to their ships. Still, it had been of benefit while that lasted, and Peterson had earned a full pardon for what the Fleet had designated a treasonous act.
A huge problem with hyperdrive was the translation velocity, to and from hyperspace. For the humans the limit had been point three light for the last two hundred years. And the lack of progress on improving the maximum velocity had made it seem like it was a lost cause. The problem seemed simple on the surface. Just increase the projection distance of the hyperdrive, moving the hole further out in front of the ship, so it could fall through. Move too fast, and the ship got to the translation point before the rip in space had fully formed. Best case scenario? Nothing happened and the ship continued on in normal space or hyper, as the case might be. Worst case? The ship took major damage. Rarely catastrophic, but enough to reduce it to a drifting hulk until major drive repairs were made. The best theoretical hyper-physicists and engineers had attempted to solve the problem with no luck.
Until now Sean would have stated as fact that no industrial concern had theorists and engineers as good as the fleet. Peterson had proven him wrong, and his people had solved the problem.
“The Cacas should start wondering by this time,” said Peterson, looking at the icons on the plot. One hundred and nineteen ships were accelerating at fifty gravities higher than the rest. Another advantage to the new hyperdrive projector was the ability to use their extra capacity to boost the acceleration of the vessel and add to the compensator capacity to make that work without crushing the crew. The one hundred and nineteen vessels would now be reaching the halfway point, the turnover, where they would start decelerating at the same rate that they had accelerated to get there. The other ships would get to that point some minutes later, starting their own decel profile.
“This is fascinating,” said Admiral Chuntoa Chan, looking like she was on the verge of exhaustion with everything going on, sitting in one of the conference room seats by virtual proxy. “My analysts are already starting to come up with tactics to use this against the enemy. I wish we could draft Mr. Peterson's people onto my staff.”
“That wasn't the deal, Admiral,” said Peterson.
Sean knew that he could change that deal whenever he wanted. Still, it was bad policy to make an agreement with a major defense contractor and renege on it.
“Mr. Peterson's people are his, and will continue to work on his projects,” said Sean firmly. “Of course, if any want to leave, we will be glad to take them.” he looked at his research and development admiral with narrowed eyes. “No headhunting, Chuntoa.”
“I wouldn't think of it, your Majesty.”
Liar, thought Sean with an internal chuckle. He knew the admiral would like nothing more than to have every creative scientific and engineering mind in the Empire under her department. The Emperor had always thought that a bad idea, as had his father. Hence the division of wormhole production and utilization specialists under Dr. Yu. Chan had most of the weapons specialists under her, but the people who actually produced the wormholes were not.
“There's still the problem of what the Cacas are going to do with this knowledge,” said Peterson, frowning. “Once they know we have it, they are sure to turn their scientific resources to duplicating it.”
“Well, since they are all idiots,” said Chan with a smile, “I wouldn't be too worried about that.”
“They might not be the brightest species in the Galaxy,” said Sean, waving a finger in the air. “But don't forget. They have species in the Empire every bit as intelligent as us.” But they are so bad at organizing those resources, and treating their people well, that it might not be a concern.
“Of more import is how that will stretch their supermetal production,” continued the Emperor, moving into territory that Peterson would have more understanding of than Chan. “They've already converted a third of their production planets to making wormholes. Their ship production is still very much below ours, and if they discover this and try to catch up, it's going to push shipbuilding further on down the list of priorities.”
“And it won't for us?” asked Chan.
“If I could, your Majesty?” asked Peterson, holding up a hand. “Admiral Chan. We have tripled our supermetal and negative matter production since the beginning of the war, and then tripled it again. Currently we have more than we need, though that will change as we start to convert our ships to a new standard.”
Sean groaned when he heard those words. Peterson would become even more wealthy, but ships would have to be taken out of service to be refitted.
“It takes over one hundred thousand tons of supermetals to rebuild the hyperdrive arrays to this standard. We will actually have to increase production to do everything we want to with those materials.”
“And we are starting to hit our limit,” said Sean, shaking his head. “We have to encourage our allies to produce more, which might lead to problems in the future.”
Stronger allies could become stronger enemies in the future. But they had to worry about the here and now, and let the future take care of itself.
“But the Cacas will not have a hope of increasing their production to meet us. Over time they will find so many of their projects starved for materials. They will have to make a choice as to what projects to commit to. And no matter the choice, it hurts them and helps us.”
“And here we go,” shouted Peterson in glee. The ships were approaching the hyper barrier, and would arrive still pulling point three three light. Too fast to translate, doomed to fall out of hyper as wrecks. Or worse.
* * *
“They, they jumped to normal space,” called out the tactical officer. “Resonances are consisten
t with a normal translation. None of the harmonic overtones of the catastrophic variety.”
“How fast were they going?” asked the Chief of Staff.
“Point three three light,” answered the tac officer.
“Impossible,” blurted the COS.
Not if they're doing it, it isn't, thought the admiral. “They must not have many of their ships equipped with this yet.”
“Why do you say that, my Lord?” asked the COS.
“Because many more of them would be coming in like that if they had. This was a test run, against a system they knew couldn't report back to command.”
“And now they're boosting at five hundred and seventy-five gravities, my Lord.”
Another shock. That was fifty gravities more than that class of hyper VII battleship was known to pull. The other advantage, and one that might shift the tactical balance even further than the ability to open rips in space so much further ahead of the ship. At the moment the admiral was glad that his sons and their mothers were on the out of the way planet where he had established his home. Because things were not looking good for the Empire.
* * *
“I'm guessing that they're even more shocked now,” said Peterson, leaning forward in his chair and looking at the plot that was transmitted through the wormhole.
Sean nodded. He had liked the idea of being able to go in and out of hyper at a higher velocity. But the increase in acceleration had thrilled the admiralty. They would have been able to increase acceleration by multiplying the number of grabbers on each ship, but the new hyperdrive arrays gave more bang for less mass than grabbers.
The ships were adding an extra four hundred and ninety meters per second to their velocities. One thousand seven hundred and sixty-four kilometers per second in an hour. They would still be limited to point nine one light in most cases. Going faster increased the particle storm the ships would be passing through, a risk no commander was willing to take if they had a choice. There were plans afoot to tackle that problem, but it was more of a brute force approach that would add mass to the ship for no other return.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 16: The Shield. Page 15