Trespassers: Book 1 of the Chaos Shift Cycle

by Cameron, TR

  He could see the other leaders falling in line behind the fleet admiral. Dima’s strategies always involved moving out of the path of direct force instead of meeting it head on, so he gave in with a deliberate browbeaten expression. “No doubt you are correct though, and we will soon be able to celebrate the destruction of the Union at the hands of the alien threat.” He took a moment to look down at his notes, centering his thoughts. “With that in mind, I’d like to suggest that a sizable force of ships, say at least a squadron of eight, better two squadrons, form a picket, to take position outside the projected landing points for the aliens’ transport device.”

  Dima was interrupted by the admiral in charge of the AAN’s science division, who held that position by virtue of his friendship with the president. “We’ve named it the wave drive, and we’re certain they can only use it in the middle part of a sector. Our records of it, provided by the Beijing,” the man gave him a nod, “show it building as it comes into the sector and then cresting near the midpoint when the ship appears on our scan. This evidence is reinforced by the positioning of the other ships as they awaited their last element.”

  Dima nodded back at the man, entirely unconvinced by the alleged science that the committee had undertaken. “With this in mind, we should place our vessels right at the outer edge of several sectors along the most likely invasion paths. In that position, they should be able to detect the aliens as they arrive and then tunnel to safety to get a message to us. Then a sizable reserve force stationed here can deploy to take advantage of any opportunity the aliens offer.” Or any threat they present.

  Dima was overwhelmed for a moment, reflecting bitterly upon a lifetime of having to circumvent the officers above him, rather than being able to trust them to do the correct thing. It was all he could do to bite down on the words threatening to escape from between his lips—challenging them to act for once in a manner appropriate to their ranks, instead of imitating a pack of children playing at toy soldiers. He tasted blood and discovered that he had bitten the inside of his lip. He touched it with his finger and regarded the blood as if he had never seen its likeness. This single drop would become liters, then buckets, then an endless cascade fountaining away the lives of the young people of the AAN.

  Dima couldn’t let that happen. He would make sure it didn’t, starting right now. “Gentlemen, ladies,” Dima said, “I’m ready to depart on this mission to seek the final destruction of our UAL enemies. I believe the plan I described gives us the best chance of striking while they are damaged, but I welcome any revisions or suggestions. As your fist, I will crush our enemy, and then I will crush the invaders in the name of the Central Committee of the Allied Asian Nations.”

  From their expressions, he figured he had fooled at least two thirds of them, and the ones that weren’t convinced were willing to use him to their own ends. He was surprised, though, at the speed at which Admiral of the Fleet Victor Volkov responded, “You have your squadrons, Captain Petryaev, but they’re under the command of Captain Ilyana Volokov of the Moscow. You’re to report to Captain Volokov at 0800 tomorrow morning to receive your assignment. The Beijing will deploy, along with fifteen other ships, to act as our early warning network. Ready your crew and prepare to get underway as soon as your meeting is completed.”

  The entire committee stood as one, signaling the end of the audience. He knew this was the preordained result regardless of his words. It so happened that Ilyana was the daughter of the Fleet Admiral. As he left the room, Dima masked his fears behind a hard glare. Humanity was in a much more dangerous place now than it had been just twenty minutes before.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When the Washington emerged from tunnel space, they saw an unprecedented sight. A sizable majority of the UAL’s fleet was gathered, and the sector was filled with vessels of every shape and size. Fighters performed exercises in a large defensive screen as small shuttles took people from one ship to another in a constant flow. Capital ships teamed up for simulated attack runs, heading to their positions as part of a layered grid of protection.

  The remaining members of the admiralty had arranged a fleet-wide conference by video, since they lacked a starbase and were unwilling to risk their entire command on a single ship. Okoye and Cross sat on the disconcertingly comfortable couches in Okoye’s quarters, a video connection allowing all the commanders to see one another. Kate was sitting in the captain’s chair on the bridge with her earpiece plugged into the discussion.

  Introductions were quickly made as the gathered officers identified themselves by rank, name, and posting. Not all the captains were present as those in charge of support vessels were resupplying ships that had been in combat and ensuring the rest were fully stocked before that critical moment arrived.

  The admirals looked nervous. Losing a large chunk of one’s peers to an enemy they’d underestimated should have that effect, Cross thought. He caught the captain’s eye, and could tell he had noticed the same thing. He didn’t appear at all positive about it. Hiding his mouth behind his hand, Cross whispered to Okoye, “They look afraid.”

  The captain made a cutting motion with his fist, but then answered using the gesture-language common among engineers. To the uninformed, it looked as if he was drawing an inverted V with three fingers. To an engineer, he was signaling the shorthand for ‘affirmative, shut down.’ Cross’s eyes narrowed, then widened in appreciation of Okoye’s mental powers as he realized the captain knew he’d recognize that language due to the connection he’d forged with Jannik. He shook his head, impressed that the captain walked the walk that he talked.

  With a stammer, the admiral overseeing the logistics division called the conference to order. On the screen, Cross saw the various side conversations trail off, and all the participants turned forward to listen to the admiral. “Here’s our situation, ladies and gentlemen. We have an existential threat from an alien species calling themselves the Xroeshyn. Due to an unavoidable series of circumstances,” Cross felt a pang, but refused to give it the satisfaction of elevating it to a worry. Admiral Wesley Matthias continued, “We have come to the attention of these beings, and they intend, as demonstrated by their own words and actions, to destroy us. Their technology is notably different from ours, and our science team has been working on that problem. Admiral Sandoval will brief you on that matter shortly.”

  One captain interrupted, “What did we do to them?”

  Matthias shook his head. “Irrelevant, Captain. Focus on what matters.” Looking down at his notes, the admiral found his place again and resumed speaking. “Our plan, at this time, is to mount several roving patrols with overlapping check-in times, so we have maximum notice of the next incursion, when and if it comes.”

  “Oh, it’ll come,” Cross murmured into the space before Matthias spoke again.

  “Once we have warning, either from the patrols or from the picket ships already dispatched to our outermost sectors, we’ll converge with enough ships to give us at least a 1.5 to 1 advantage. If possible, we’ll send more, but we will not commit our entire force to any battle. Instead, upon notice of enemy forces in our territory, squadrons will deploy from our rearward starbases to the starbase nearest the battle. Our picket ships will fall back to protect the next starbase in line, and we will leapfrog our ships backward as needed, defending each starbase, when and if the enemy reaches it.”

  Several of the captains’ voices rang out at once.

  “Why are we not taking the battle to them?”

  “We will look like cowards.”

  “We should hammer them with all of our available forces and send them back to their part of the universe in pieces.”

  The admiral held up his hand to forestall anymore more outbursts. “The admiralty is well aware that this is a defensive-minded approach, and most of us would also prefer to take the fight to the enemy. But our limited information prohibits it. We’ll get stronger with each engagement as we learn how to most effectively combat them. A fighting withdr
awal that sacrifices time for empty space gives us the best chance to win a total victory.”

  A captain spoke directly to one of the people who’d made an outburst, “Of course, Charles, if you can defeat them all during the first engagement, that would be just fine. Go right ahead.” Several others laughed, and Captain Charles Windham of the Manchester gave them a humorous growl.

  Miguel Sandoval, the admiral representing the science division, took over the briefing. “So far, our best guess is that most of their weapons, their drive systems, and their defenses employ gravity in one way or another. We’re still looking into the details but the evidence seems to support this assessment. We’ve seen their shields bend energy beams and appear to curve the paths of torpedoes. This would be consistent with a localized manipulation of gravity.” He tapped a quick sequence on a handheld tablet, and his image was replaced by slow-motion replays of enemy ships arriving in the starbase sector.

  “As you can see in these images, the wave seems to crash into the sector, leaving the ships behind. We feel this wave drive, for lack of a better term, is manipulating gravitic frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum in a way we’ve never seen before. Our best minds are, well, at a loss, to be honest. All we know is that it works.” He cleared his throat and reappeared on the screen. “We have some ideas on how to deal with their defenses using our existing loadouts, and how to modify our weapons to be more effective against them. We’ll set up a conference with your sensor officers and your chief engineers after this one to discuss it. We’ve also discovered that overwhelming the shields is as effective against the aliens as it is against human ships, so anytime we can manage an advantage of two on one or better, we have a reasonable chance of getting through them.”

  “So, do that, Charles,” the same captain quipped, gathering laughter again from the assembled officers. Even the admiral’s lips quirked at the comment.

  “Absolutely, absolutely,” finished the science division’s representative.

  Next up was the supreme commander of the Navy, Admiral Anwen Davies, who had inherited the position when the previous fleet admiral died aboard the Toronto. “To facilitate these match ups, we’ll designate wing ships for each vessel. Bigger ships, like the Rio, will have multiple wings. Think of it like your first day at the Academy, gentlemen and ladies, nobody goes anywhere alone. At the first sign of trouble, if both ships can tunnel, they will. If only one ship can tunnel, it will bring word of the incursion. If for some reason neither ship can tunnel, both ships will fight a delaying action until one can get away.”

  Davies looked into the camera, giving Cross the impression that she was looking straight at him. “Make no bones about it, people. We’re in a fight for our lives, but we’re always in a fight for our lives. This time is different, though, because our very existence as a people is at stake. We cannot afford to screw it up, and that means each and every one of you needs to be at your best, one hundred percent of the time. I know you will be.” She sat down again, and conferred with the officer next to her, their words unintelligible to those not in the room.

  The logistics admiral stood up again and asked for questions. Cross opened his mouth to speak, but Okoye repeated the gesture for ‘shut down,’ and Cross obeyed. After several queries dealing with logistical matters, another commander spoke the words that had been in Cross’s mind.

  “Is it time to join forces with the AAN, Admiral? If not, are we still maintaining our defenses against them as we also defend against this alien threat?”

  Matthias was clearly prepared for this question and paused hardly at all before offering the answer. “We cannot depend upon the Alliance. Too much is at stake. The aliens do not appear to have targeted them, but if we’re lucky, perhaps they will. Even if they spent some time doing reconnaissance on the AAN forces, it would give us an opportunity to complete our defensive deployment. So, let’s hope they notice our friends in the Allied Asian Nations. Next question.”

  Cross couldn’t remain silent, despite seeing Captain Okoye raising his hand to stop him. He asked, “Should we at least warn them? Share information with them?”

  The admiral looked exasperated. “Perhaps I’m not making myself clear, Lieutenant Commander Cross, is it? Our concern is not with the AAN. Our concern is with the technologically advanced alien species attempting to end our existence. Focus, please.”

  Cross bristled, but fortunately the session ended before his brain lost the battle with his mouth. Okoye turned to him, shaking his head, and said, “You are as predictable as the day is long, Cross.”

  “Are you saying I’m wrong, Captain?”

  “There’s the rub, as they say, Lieutenant Commander. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I believe you are very right, and before this is over, we will need all the help we can get. However, as you are no doubt aware, you’re part of a military organization, and that organization has an entrenched and respected hierarchy. Despite your occasional belief to the contrary, you’re not at the top of this hierarchy. Popping your head up is a great way to get it cut off by those who are.”

  His frustration pushed him to his feet, and Cross walked a few steps before turning and facing the captain. “So, even though it’s the wrong thing to do, we’re going to stand by and let it happen? Is that what you’re saying? For fear of getting my head figuratively chopped off, I should support a decision we both know is wrong?”

  Okoye clapped his hands and bowed his head. “Cross, you’re still seeing things in only two shades, when everything exists on a continuum. We cannot be sure it’s the wrong decision until we have proof that it’s the wrong decision. So, I guess the question is, do you want to be here where you might do some good, or do you want to be on a starbase filling out paperwork? Because ship captains who disagree in such an obvious fashion don’t get to stay ship captains for very long.”

  The captain stood and made a shooing gesture at him. “Think on it Cross, think hard on it. But do it on the bridge where you can release Lieutenant Commander Flynn to take part in the science and engineering conference with Jannik.”

  Cross’s ire had disappeared as Okoye spoke and possibilities presented themselves to him. Whenever he imagined he fully understood the captain, he found another layer of nuance he had missed completely. Taking the bridge watch would give him some necessary time to process this new information. As the captain intended, no doubt. “Sir, Yes, sir, Captain Okoye, sir.”

  Okoye smirked. “Dismissed, Lieutenant Commander.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hierarch Kraada Tak strode along the street connecting the cathedral with the emperor’s palace, the metal heels of his boots clicking a quick-time march. He could’ve taken other transport, but his mood was such that a long walk before meeting Emperor Enjaaran would be a good preventative measure. As was leaving his ceremonial mace at home. His hand itched for it, and he put the offending appendage into the pocket of his robe.

  Two attendants hurried beside him, and he kept up a steady stream of instructions as they walked. Since the discovery of the humans, his workload had tripled, but the hours available in a day hadn’t increased even a single eighth. “See that the proclamation of holy war against the humans is sent to all of our ships and is the central message of sermons in all of our churches for at least the next three eight-days.”

  “Yes, Hierarch.”

  “Verify that each vessel in the invasion force has a reliable religious officer on board. If there is anyone we doubt, reassign them to one not in the vanguard and replace them with someone we can trust. If we run out of trustworthy people, one of you eight will need to go. Send Kiaan, he’s an ambitious individual. Some time aboard a ship would be just the thing to take the edge off him.”

  “Yes, Hierarch.” The attendants gave each other a grin behind his back. Anything that tore down one of the other aspirants elevated them by the same amount in their common quest to someday replace Kraada.

  Work time ended as they crossed the threshold into the palac
e. Kraada turned to his attendants and gave them final commands. “Wait for me, this shouldn’t take more than half the afternoon. If you run out of tasks,” he moved closer to avoid the guards listening in, “see what you can learn about the mood of the palace. Carefully, brothers.” They nodded to him, and he nodded in return.

  He allowed himself to be led to the small meeting room beside the audience chamber.

  “Welcome, Kraada Tak, did you have a nice walk to the palace?” The emperor, as always, projected a thin veneer of civility when greeting his subordinates. He was in his formal dress, complete with sheathed sword at his belt. Kraada indulged in a moment of fantasy that began with him having not left his mace behind and ended in grisly fashion.

  “Good afternoon, Emperor, and thank you for asking. It is good to walk amongst the people and hear those things they may not intentionally bring to your attention.”

  The other man in the room spoke, “I couldn’t agree more, Hierarch. Such information is always valuable, and the emperor is well served by those of us who gather it for him.” Drovaa, too, was overdressed for the occasion, in the starship commander’s uniform he was entitled to, but rarely wore in favor of his dress uniform. His holsters were empty, however. One did not wear weapons into the presence of the emperor.

  Drovaa came over and clasped Kraada’s forearm. He murmured softly, his voice carrying only across the distance between them, “Not my idea. Yours?” Kraada shifted his eyes left and right in response, as much of a gesture as he could keep hidden from the emperor. Both men turned to face their ruler.

  “Where does our invasion stand, gentlemen?” Enjaaran Velt had taken him to task days before in a private meeting for declaring holy war without warning him first. Kraada had been conciliatory, but hadn’t wavered where his primacy in religious matters was concerned. He still felt the residual tension from that conversation, and imagined he saw it also in the stiff way the emperor stood with his hand never far from the hilt of his sword, absentmindedly stroking it.