Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars)

by R. Curtis Venture

  “Done,” he said at last. “I’ve passed the search on to the gate network. It’ll be routed through to all exit points as each gate forwards its next databurst.”

  “Thanks,” Caden said. “Let’s hope it turns something up.”

  Brant was about to reply, but stopped and flicked his eyes down. Caden had heard his holo chime faintly over the comms channel.

  “I’ve got a result back already.”

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Santani said, with the slightest hint of sarcasm.

  “Ignore me. It’s just telling me about the Rasa. Of course we know she’s at Kosling.”

  “The Rasa?” Caden was puzzled.

  “Oh, yes; Amarist Naeb. That’s what we’re calling her now, apparently. Well, it’s a term for her condition. Because she’s blank.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Another faint chime sounded, somewhat distorted. Brant’s face blurred momentarily as he read from his holo.

  “Doctor Danil Bel-Ures,” Brant said. “Project supervisor at Gemen Station. She arrived in the Meccrace system two days ago. Must have left Herros just after they sent their last databurst.”

  “Any idea what she’s doing at Meccrace?”

  “It’s where her family lives.”

  “Still,” said Caden, “worth following up on. If I were you I’d have some of your field agents bring her in.”

  Santani stood up. “This could go on all night. If I’m not on the command deck, I’ll be in my quarters.”

  Before she had begun to move, a third chime sounded over the comm. Brant’s eyes flicked back and forth, then widened.

  “Oh. Oh shit.”

  Santani sat down again. “What is it?”

  “Medran Morlum,” Brant said. “He was one of the geologists on Echo, a physical chemist.”

  “What about him?” Caden said.

  “Oh, fuck me sideways! Caden, he arrived on Aldava after the attack on Echo. He’s been where you are right now!”

  • • •

  “Make no mistake, Operation Seawall is an act of aggression,” said Fleet Admiral Groath Betombe. “As of this moment the Perseus theatre of war is once more considered active and hostile.”

  From the moment he had been ordered to the rendezvous, Pensh had had no other illusions. The Laeara system was not just the ideal place from which to protect the Imperial worlds along the Viskr border; it was also the perfect staging area for an incursion into Viskr territory and, if necessary, for the invasion of Riishi itself.

  The bright white star sat near the inner edge of the Perseus arm, a stone’s throw away from the Orion arm and just at the point where the two dense stellar bands started to run parallel. It flanked a pinch point which could be used to bar access to the colonies downstream on the Perseus arm, with the added benefit that reinforcements for the upstream edge of the Orion arm could be easily arranged, should the Viskr attempt a retaliatory incursion of their own.

  Betombe certainly knew what he was doing, Pensh reflected. But then, as far as the Laeara system went, this was not his first rodeo.

  “This operation is the first part of a vital campaign, which will ensure the safety of our Perseus arm colonies. Now, as to why you are all here: it is my intention to enter Viskr space, and to force their fleets to pull away from their own borders.”

  There was a very brief murmur as the officers summoned by Betombe reacted.

  “Operation Seawall is intended to drive the Viskr armada away from the border worlds. We believe we know their objective, and this effort will deny them the opportunity to achieve it. Without that opportunity, Commander Operations believes their forces will back down. For now, at least.

  “The Eyes and Ears listening programme has provided us with the latest intelligence on Viskr movements along the border. I will be splitting this armada into a number of task forces, which will make co-ordinated incursions, to herd the strongest enemy fleets deeper into their own territories.”

  “And what if they don’t back off from us?”

  The woman standing next to Pensh looked incredulous, as if Betombe had asked her to do something impossible. Perhaps she is right, he thought.

  “Captain Riese, a fair question. I would imagine it’s one that has occurred to everyone here. Thank you for asking.”

  She took her seat as he gave his answer.

  “If they don’t back off, then we will begin to hit civilian targets until they learn to be more cooperative.”

  A ripple of disquiet spread amongst the gathered officers.

  “I should add that we don’t expect it will come to that. The listening posts have monitored unusual movements for the past few weeks. Viskr border forces appear to be moving almost randomly, breaking apart and redeploying without any perceptible strategic goal. As a defence force, their movements give them the appearance of being ineffectual. It is the opinion of Commander Operations that the Junta has appointed an incompetent to oversee those fleets.

  “We’ve seen this before. The command structure of their navy is shaped more by nepotism from above than merit from below. In this case it certainly looks as though there is no forward planning involved in the border patrols. The ship commanders will be at the limits of their patience already, and we will exploit that.”

  It was clear from her expression that Riese remained unconvinced. “How exactly will we be exploiting it, Sir?”

  “We will be decapitating every fleet we come into contact with. Your primary targets are capital ships and command facilities. Cripple them, scatter the remainders, and then move on— Admiral Pensh?”

  Pensh had raised his hand. He felt all eyes turn to him. “The Gousk battle station will surely take some decapitating?”

  “Very true, which is why Love Tap will be leading the task force that hits the Gousk system.”

  “Admiral.” Riese’s tone conveyed plainly to Pensh that she did not share Betombe’s optimism. “How confident are you that their forces will withdraw?”

  “Command projects a high probability, based on past experience. Also, take into account that the border worlds are relatively low in value. The Junta would rather consolidate its defences than spread them thin. Historically, the Viskr have been very consistent in this regard. I’m sure our downstream colonies would attest to that.”

  A chuckle passed through the room, but Riese took no part in it. “When we hit their command points, the rest of their border fleets will retaliate.”

  “You will of course defend yourselves. Our objective is to make the border regions as hostile as possible for the Viskr forces.”

  “I see. In other words we will be picking fights, knowing full well that they will respond.”

  “Basically yes.”

  “What’s to stop their gates from interdicting against our withdrawal?”

  “Nothing at all. If they attempt to interdict, make the gate your primary target. But my suspicion is that they will not wish to prevent our forces jumping away.”

  “One more question, Sir, if I may. Why exactly are we opening this old wound again?”

  Betombe hesitated before he answered, fixing Riese with a hard stare. “Because Command believes the Viskr have acquired a significant weapons technology, which they intend to use against us.”

  Pensh saw a perplexed look flash across Riese’s face, but she appeared to have run out of questions. Either that, or she had decided she was coming dangerously close to disputing a fleet admiral’s strategy in front of a room full of flag officers.

  “Rest assured, Captain, that the show of strength the Viskr Junta likes to advertise is as much for its own people as it is for us. It’s smoke and mirrors, by and large. In battle they are no more capable than you or I.”

  In Pensh’s opinion, Riese looked as though she were already resigned to the fate Betombe had prescribed her. He knew her better than that though; she would keep the rest of her misgivings to herself until something went wrong, at which point she would be making angry representations to
Commander Operations.

  “Before we move on to commands and assignments, are there any other questions?”

  Pensh looked around the briefing hall, and saw dozens of unquestioning faces staring back at Betombe. Unlike Riese, the other captains apparently had no issues with this operation.

  Things were certainly about to get interesting.

  — 13 —

  Unassuming Aldava

  In some ways, Jasamma was almost exactly like Damastion. But in others, Elm had found quickly, it could not be more different. All the colours here were bold and vivid for a start, the weather could change at a moment’s notice, and he could do things here that were — for whatever reason — forbidden on his homeworld.

  Banks of pure white stratus interrupted the deep indigo of the planet’s sky, turning what might have been an oppressive canopy into an appealing, ever-shifting canvas. Far off in the east, dim vertical bands betrayed the rain that a cumulonimbus leviathan unleashed onto distant foothills.

  Here though it was still dry and warm, and Elm played in the shallows of the serene lake just a stone’s throw from where Father had erected their tents. Unlike the Damastion freshwaters near their home, the inland waterways of this part of Jasamma’s temperate zone held no dangerous predators. Elm had been free to make as much mischief as he could in the clear, warm waters.

  Father was laying on a recliner while he read from his holo. He had claimed he was only bringing fiction with him, but soon after they had arrived Elm had spotted him reading what appeared to be a map of the border territories. He had chided Father in the precocious manner of young children, not understanding the reason for his own objection. For him, it was simply enough that Father had said one thing, and done the opposite.

  “You’re right,” Father had said. “I did say I wouldn’t bring work with me.”

  “We’re supposed to be on holiday,” Elm had persisted.

  With a smile Father had turned off the holo and picked up a towel. “How about a swim?”

  That had been almost two hours ago, and Elm was now alone in the water, pale and wrinkled. Father peered over the top of his holo occasionally to check that Elm was still within sight.

  Elm decided that for now he had experienced all the entertainment the water had to offer, and splashed back to the shore with exaggerated, sloshing steps. When he reached dry land he ran with arms waving, shaking off the water, until he was free of the sandy bank and the brilliant emerald of waxy native grass was beneath his feet. He found the towel that Father had left for him, and draping it around his slight shoulders he ran back to the camp.

  Father placed his holo in his lap and smiled. “Had enough?”

  “I got bored.” Elm shivered. “I’m really hungry.”

  “That’s hardly surprising; you’ve been jumping around all afternoon.”

  Father got to his feet and tossed the holo onto the recliner, then went over to a ring of soot-smudged stones that surrounded the remains of their last fire. He took twigs and broken branches from the pile nearby, and arranged them inside the ring.

  “Can’t we use the grill?” Elm asked.

  “No, let’s do it properly,” Father said, “otherwise we might as well be at home.”

  “But it will take ages.”

  “You won’t die of hunger, Elm.”

  Sure enough, he managed to survive long enough for the fire to take hold, and Father cooked them both fish from the lake. Elm was given the task of finding leaves and berries, specially selected from the list of safe and edible plants that Father had downloaded from the local network. They sat on a log that someone had once dragged down to the shore, looked out over the glassy surface of the silent lake, and ate.

  When they were done, Father was quiet. Elm looked at him expectantly, hoping that his customary war story or anecdote would follow the meal. But Father stared out across the waters, as motionless as they were, as if he were a world away.

  At length, Elm broke the silence. “Father, tell me a story about a battle.”

  Father looked at him and smiled wanly. “Not now son.”

  “Why not? I want to know about the war.”

  “Because I need to talk to you about something else.”

  Elm recognised what he thought was sadness in Father’s eyes. The man looked tired all of a sudden.

  “Your mother and I have been talking about separating,” Father said. “We aren’t good for each other any more.”

  Elm felt a silent explosion go off in the top of his head, pop, the shock of what he had heard jarring his comprehension. He did not know how to react.

  “I want you to know that we both still love you.”

  “Are you leaving?” Elm was almost shouting.

  “It makes sense for you to stay with your mother. I’m going to be away most of the time anyway, as long as this war carries on.”

  Elm was speechless, and a cold, empty hollow formed in the place where his stomach should have been. A sharp blade of pain stabbed upward from it, and lodged in his throat. There was nothing he could do but cry.

  “It will be okay.” Father put his arm around him. “In some ways it won’t be any different to the way things are now.”

  Elm pulled away sharply, ducking his shoulders under Father’s arm. “No it won’t be okay! Why would you leave?”

  “You’ll still see me just the same as you do now, Elm.”

  “It won’t be the same. You’re leaving me!”

  “I’m not, I’m leaving your mother. Believe me, it will be much better for the both of us this way.”

  “How will that be better?”

  “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

  “I don’t want to understand when I’m older, I want to understand now. Why would you leave me?”

  “Please believe me son, I have no intention of leaving you. It’s your mother and I who have the problem. It’s your mother I’m leaving, and I will love you just as much as I do now.”

  “Why can’t I live with you?”

  “You know that’s not possible,” Father said. “I’m going to be back on the Curtailer, on the front lines. Families aren’t allowed on warships.”

  “You’re just saying that,” Elm sobbed. “You don’t want me with you.”

  “It’s not allowed.”

  “Then don’t go back.”

  “You know I have to go back, Elm.”

  “No you don’t,” he shouted. “You don’t have to go back, you have to be a father.”

  Before Father could reply, Elm leaped to his feet and stormed away, tears stinging his eyes. He picked up speed, not caring which direction he was headed in, and ran into the tree line.

  Under the canopy the air was still and humid. Here and there clouds of insects buzzed around each other in a complicated courtship dance which heralded the twilight of their short lives. Elm was oblivious to them, and clambering through low branches and undergrowth he tried his best to find a place to hide.

  After a short time he came to the base of a huge tree, its hulking roots creating sheltered wedges, and he sat down heavily on rubbery moss and a litter of crimson leaves.

  Deep inside him, in the place where he kept the bad feelings, he could feel the inevitable stirring. Something was twisting inside him, trying to expand. He had long ago learned to bury the emotions that hurt him, pushing them down into a single point and forgetting all about them, but sometimes they fought back. Sometimes they clawed their way out of the pit, emerged from the emptiness to confront him.

  Today was one of those rare occasions when he was not strong enough to keep them down. The gates burst, and the feelings escaped. Leading the offensive came resentment, abandonment, and worthlessness, riding on a foaming wave of personal affront.

  He wrapped his arms around his knees, buried his face in them, and cried.

  It was some time before he ran out of tears, and the light was beginning to fade. In the distance he could hear Father’s voice, his name being bellowed with increa
sing urgency. He put his hand on one of the great roots to help himself up, and almost immediately felt a tickling followed by a sharp stabbing sensation.

  Elm yanked his hand back, cradling it protectively with the other, and looked at the root. On its back, close to where it had rolled when he pulled his hand away so sharply, a long white creature writhed and flexed its centipede legs. Vivid pink striations stood out against its milky, segmented body, and Elm remembered reading that this was the warning colour displayed by so many of Jasamma’s venomous fauna. His hand was already starting to burn, as if the blood itself were boiling.

  He backed away from the creature — which was already righting itself — and ran from the tree, heading back the way he had come. He ducked beneath branches, leapt over stones and fallen trees, snapping twigs and churning up the carpet of fallen leaves as he barrelled through the woods in the direction of Father’s voice.

  By the time he reached the tree line, his vision was starting to swim. His ears rang, and a dull, throbbing pain filled his head, elbowing out everything else. He staggered the rest of the way, every thought breaking apart and becoming difficult to hold on to. He was vaguely aware of Father catching him just before he fell to the ground.

  There were flashes after that. A voice here; Father’s urgent message to someone on the holo. A picture there; his own hand, swollen and bruised, held up in front of him while Father examined the bite. But mostly there was the molten hot pain, and the deafeningly noisy churning void of delirium.

  Most of the experience was mercifully rejected by his memory. But in months to come, he would remember that he had awoken to hear the shrieking roar of air jets, his bones shaken painfully by the forces of a rapid descent. While his vision swam and the shape of things around him seemed to bend and warp, he had realised that he was looking at the inside of a medivac lander, bound no doubt for some Jasamman emergency ward. Before he lost consciousness again, he had felt the vehicle shake hard and veer off sharply to one side—

  • • •

  —the deck swinging one way then the other in response to the turbulence.