by Mike Smith
“But where could he have gone, alone? It’s not as if he would be crazy enough to take on Malthus by himself…” Miranda paused, considering her last sentence. “Okay I take that back. Jon is crazy enough to take on Malthus alone, but where?”
Sofia stuck a datapad into her hands. “Here, read this,” she insisted. “Jon transmitted it just prior to his departure.”
“Why? What is it?” Miranda inquired, glancing at the words.
Imperial Proclamation
I, Emperor Jonathan Radec, last in the great line of Imperial Emperors, do declare by Imperial Decree that the House of Malthus is guilty of treason of the highest order. All assets and businesses belonging to such are to be confiscated and liquidated; all funds to be frozen with immediate effect and distributed justly to their victims. From this day forth the House of Malthus no longer exists, their name to be struck from the history books, for all eternity.
Let their fate be a warning to all other traitors and conspirators.
Jon Radec, Emperor
Her eyes opened wide in disbelief, as she reached the bottom of the text, observing Jon’s signature. “Oh shit.”
“It doesn’t matter where Jon has gone. Malthus will find him and kill him. He has no other choice after he reads that.”
“Where is Jon?” Another voice rang out urgently across the bridge.
Both women looked up, into the blond hair and worried blue eyes of Paul Harrington.
“Paul. What are you doing here?” Sofia asked in surprise.
“I don’t have time to explain. I must talk to Jon, immediately. It’s imperative that I find him and warn him,” Paul said, agitatedly.
“He’s gone,” Sofia explained, as she and Miranda exchanged worried glances, wondering what could have happened to upset the usually composed man.
“I’m too late then,” he swore, slumping into the nearest seat, rubbing his eyes despairingly.
“Paul, what has happened?” Miranda demanded, as she had never seen him look so rattled before.
“I just received a call from Admiral Sterling,” Paul explained in a weary voice. “It seems that Admiral Alexeyev slipped a personal message to him, in the last set of dispatches. Alexeyev has been hiding Malthus.”
The two women exchanged glances. “We know,” Sofia explained. “Robert Calis told Jon a couple of hours ago. We think that is where Jon is heading—to confront Malthus.”
“Malthus left Alexeyev and the 4th Fleet a few days ago.”
“To go where?” Sofia replied, confused.
“Terra Nova.”
“What?”
“What!”
The two women exclaimed aghast. “We need to warn Jon, he needs to know. So that he can stop Malthus.”
“You don’t understand,” Paul sighed wearily. “That is why I am here—to stop Jon going.”
“I don’t understand,” Miranda said, looking first at Paul then Sofia. “Malthus must be going after his family. We need to warn him.”
“That is exactly what Malthus wants you to do,” Paul replied. “Malthus knows that nothing will stop Jon if he thinks the ones he loves are in danger. Malthus has a fleet with him. The whole thing is one elaborate set-up, designed to ensnare Jon and kill him once and for all. Malthus will make him choose between his life, or the lives of everybody on Terra Nova. If Jon doesn’t surrender to him in person, Malthus is going to kill his family and then everybody else on the station.”
At the horrified look from the two women, Paul added hopelessly, “Everybody that we know and care about is going to die, and there is absolutely nothing that we can do to stop it.”
Chapter Eighteen
Terra Nova Station, Aquila System
“Thirty seconds until we exit into normal space,” the Operations Officer reported, glancing nervously at the dark shape, currently slumped into what had once been Admiral Alexeyev’s command chair. All on the command deck had observed Captain Benson shoot him several times, yet none had seemed to stop him, and the bloodstain on the floor clearly demonstrated Captain Benson’s fate.
Everybody on the ship had heard the stories, circulating around the fleet that this man couldn't die, that he could talk with the dead. A number of deck crew on the flight deck, even reported that Captain Harrison had stood next to him, and everybody knew that he had been dead for months…
A bead of sweat ran down the side of the Operations Officer’s face, as he wondered if the man had even heard what he had just said.
“Sound General Quarters. Signal the rest of the fleet to go to full tactical alert, and deploy weapon systems as soon as we are clear of the wormhole.” The dark figure seated in the Admiral’s command chair ordered distantly.
With a quick look at the Executive Officer, who nodded imperceptibly, the man hurried to carry out his orders before they arrived.
“You are expecting trouble, my Lord?” The Executive Officer asked quietly.
Jon observed the older officer, standing patiently at his side, his greying hair and troubled eyes clearly demonstrated he had been in the navy for a considerable time, and seen much. “You were in the Imperial Navy.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“What lessons did you learn during those years?”
The older officer thought about the question and considered their current situation. “Hope for the best, but expect the worst, my Lord.”
“Exactly,” Jon replied. “This feels like a trap, smells like a trap and sounds like a trap. Hence, it is most likely a trap. Admiral Alexeyev was no fool, and I doubt that he tolerated fools on his bridge, therefore congratulations on your promotion—Fleet Captain. I only hope that you will surpass your predecessor.”
The newly promoted Captain glanced at the blood stained carpet. “Thank you, my Lord.”
“Exiting into normal-space, now.” The Operations Officer announced, as the Invincible exited the wormhole, the dozens of other warships—escort carriers, cruisers, destroyers and frigates that comprised the rest of the 4th Fleet in close formation all around the massive flagship.
The Invincible dwarfed the other, much smaller ships of the fleet. Over one hundred and fifty years old, the battleship was one of the oldest in the fleet. It was a relic of a long bygone era of massive naval confrontations, caught up in the midst of an arms race of increasingly larger, and heavily armoured warships. A warship designed for a war that never took place, as, soon after the remaining independent colonies all swore fealty to the Emperor and disbanded their navies, all fell under the combined fleet of the Imperial Navy.
As soon as all the ships were clear of their collapsing wormholes, the escort frigates started to spread out, forming a wide outer perimeter around the fleet. The escorts were designed to engage the much smaller, fast moving targets that the larger warships would find difficult to target with their heavy weapons. However, they in turn were vulnerable to the heavy weapons of larger, more heavily armed warships. This was the purpose of the heavy cruisers and destroyers that formed the inner ring of protection. It was a formation that had lasted over seven hundred years, each ship complimenting the other, forming an impenetrable barrier around the flagship, at the centre of the group.
In an almost carefully choreographed dance, multiple weapons blisters started to become visible. As the hulls of the warships retracted, deadly weapon emplacements swung into place. Particle beams, railguns, pulse cannons, and missile batteries swung out into their fully deployed positions. At the same time high intensity targeting scanners swept back and forth through the surrounding space, able to detect anything larger than a speck of dust within one hundred thousand kilometres.
For the first time in living memory, a fully deployed, battle ready Confederation Navy Fleet entered a system fully expecting to do battle—and depart victorious.
The fleet quickly detected the massive station, Terra Nova, several hundred kilometres distant, followed almost immediately thereafter by the enemy fleet situated between them and the station.
A
fleet that outnumbered them almost ten-to-one.
*****
“Large numbers of unknown contacts detected,” the Operations Officer called out, almost immediately after the ship had exited the inbound wormhole.
“Do we have an ID on any of the ships?” the Captain asked.
“No Captain,” the Operations Officer shook his head. “But there sure are a lot of them. Latest count so far is over two hundred enemy contacts, but they are in a close formation, which could be blocking our scanners.”
“Two-hundred?” The Captain exclaimed in dismay. “Even at the height of the Imperial Navy, that would be a fleet to threaten the very existence of the entire navy. We can field nothing like that number, not any more, not since the disbanding of the Imperial Navy and the more recent cut-backs.”
“Malthus is no fool,” Jon commented softly. “He has obviously been planning this for many, many years. He knows that the navy is the backbone of the Confederation. I wouldn’t be surprised that the Senator, or one of his political cronies, sponsored the decision to disband the Imperial Navy, every budget cutback, and every ship decommissioning. He has been slowly stripping the Confederation of its last line of defence, one ship at a time, while at the same time building up his own fleet. He has been playing both sides of the same coin simultaneously.”
“What can we do?” The Captain exclaimed wretchedly. “We cannot fight that armada by ourselves.”
“Captain, Lord Radec, we have an incoming transmission from the enemy fleet,” the Operations Officer called out.
“Why don’t we hear what they have to say?” Jon suggested, although he already had a good idea of what Malthus wanted. “Open a communication channel.”
“Benson, what the hell are you doing here? I ordered you to remain at Betelgeuse and wait for my orders—” Senator Malthus appeared on the view-screen, red faced with fury.
“Good day, Senator,” Jon replied. “I’m sorry, were you expecting somebody else?”
“Radec,” Malthus exclaimed in complete shock, his mouth dropping open in surprise, before he abruptly shut his jaw, trying to rein in his incredulity. “Where is Benson?”
“You are referring to Captain Benson, your son, I presume?” Jon inquired mildly. “I am afraid that he is not here at the moment. He is currently waiting upon higher judgement for the numerous crimes that he has already confessed to.”
“Release him, immediately,” Malthus ordered, grinding his teeth together in frustration.
“I’m afraid I cannot do that. As the Great Maker only rarely returns those sent before him for judgement. I’ll be perfectly honest with you Senator, that I fear greatly for your son’s immortal soul. I worry that the Great Maker is going to find him lacking, and likely send his soul to internal damnation for most of the rest of eternity.”
“He’s dead?” Malthus looked shocked.
“Fairly sure of it,” Jon nodded. “After I cut off his head, it and his body were separated by some considerable distance. I think that the likelihood he will recover is extremely slim. Even then he would look damn silly walking around without a head.”
“You will pay for that Radec. You will pay for it, with your life.”
“Oh, come Senator,” Jon laughed. “This is hardly surprising news. After all, you have been trying to end my life ever since the attack on Eden Prime, with obviously very little success.”
“Once I’ve tortured you to death, I’ll start with your wife. I have her you know. What my son did to Harrison’s will be nothing compared to what I do with her. I won’t kill her, however. I’ll keep her alive in absolute agony and, after she has borne me several sons, I’ll strangle most of them, while she watches, and then raise the others as my own.”
“I’m sure that you will have far more success with them, than you did with that idiot Benson,” Jon quipped, ignoring all the Senator’s hollow threats. “However, I think that you will have trouble with that particular plan, as you don’t have my wife. Not anymore. She is perfectly safe.”
“You’re bluffing, you have no idea where she is, you cannot possibly—”
“You’re referring to Robert Calis on Callas Prime?” Jon interrupted. “I think you’re a little behind on current events, Senator. I spared the life of Mr Calis, but made it abundantly clear what would happen to him if anything unfortunate befell my wife. I think it’s safe to say that he is now highly motivated in her defence. I am certain he would gladly sacrifice his own life to save hers, especially as he now knows what the alternative is.”
Malthus was speechless, trembling with rage, his mouth opening and closing several times before he could find any words. Finally, with narrowed eyes, he gloated. “I found her once, I can do so again. You still have lost Radec. If I cannot have your wife, I will take the satisfaction of knowing that you watch helplessly while I slaughter everyone on this station, including your parents and wife’s son. I was going to be magnanimous and offer you a trade, your life for theirs, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll offer you the same deal that you offered my son, none at all. You can watch as they die.”
“Who said anything about watching helplessly? I command a Confederation Navy Fleet and that civilian station is under our protection. Any hostile move you take against the installation would be considered an act of war. We will defend it.”
Malthus just looked surprised, as if he had never even considered the possibility, then he laughed. “We have ten times the number of ships that you do. I could defeat you easily with only half the forces under my command. You bluff terribly Commander, as we both know you hold an empty hand.”
“I observe your ships Senator. They are wrecks, anything that could be bought at the cheapest, knockdown price. The rest are a bunch of privateers and mercenaries, pirates and cutthroats. All they care about is money. How long do you think they will stand by your side and fight when the dying starts? I meanwhile command the elite of the Confederation Navy, ships born and bred for war, with a crew that is highly motivated and will fight to the death to stop you. Surrender now and I will let you live. Fight and I will kill you.”
“I don’t plan on surrendering, not when I have victory in the grasp of my hand. Watch Radec, as I destroy every last thing that you hold dear.”
“I’ll take that as a no then,” Jon said, gladly. “I was hoping you would say that, as I have already sworn a great many oaths that you will die for your crimes. I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone.”
*****
Malthus shook his head, astonished at the arrogance of the man. He was all but defeated, but just refused to accept it.
“What are your orders, Senator?” Captain Miller, Commanding Officer of the Revenge inquired. As Malthus’s flagship, it was the largest ship in his fleet, a converted cruise liner, extensively modified while still retaining the luxury of the original ship. Nothing like the drab, utilitarian ships of the Confederation Navy.
“Radec will never attack us,” Malthus gloated. “Even if he is crazy enough to try and do so, his crew would mutiny and kill him first. It would be suicide. Therefore continue with the original plan and engage the station. Remember, do not destroy it, as I have promised Radec I would let him watch as I killed his family. The others I care little about—kill them all.”
Captain Miller hesitated. The reason he had been selected by the Senator to lead these ships was his military experience, something that was severely lacking in the rest of the fleet. For he had once been a captain in the Imperial Navy, before he had abandoned that career to seek his riches as a soldier of fortune. Yet he had never forgotten his past, or the names from it.
Sometimes, late at night, after the enlisted personnel had departed and the senior officers had called it a night, the Fleet Captains gathered for drinks. With the lights turned down low, the shadows growing in length, they had remained and, in hushed whispers, spoke of these people. For more than one of them had been in an impossible situation, a no-win scenario, a hopelessly lost cause. But their orders had always
been the same.
Listen. Watch. Wait—but never to interfere.
For then these unmarked ships appeared, ships that appeared in no navy database, crewed by names that were whispered in awe amongst the fleet. For it was these people who always did the impossible, achieved the unimaginable, won the insurmountable. Miller had never considered that one day he would be on the opposing side of these people, yet here he found himself. With a fleet powerful enough to defeat the entire Confederation Navy, facing one small unarmed station, and a tenth of the Confederation Navy—but both led by these very same people for whom losing was a complete anathema.
“A problem, Captain?” Malthus inquired, noticing his hesitation.
“No Senator,” Miller hurriedly reassured him, before turning to relay his orders.
*****
“Communications,” Radec called, after the view-screen went blank. “Do we have long range communications? Can we signal the rest of the navy?”
“No, Lord Radec,” the officer replied. “They are jamming all communications, including our access to the Tachyon relay network.”
“Very well,” Jon sighed reluctantly. “Then it looks like we do this ourselves.”
“My Lord,” the Captain replied, aghast. “You cannot be serious. We cannot hope to be victorious against such an armada.”
“I concur Captain,” Jon replied reluctantly. “But perhaps it is enough that we simply deny Malthus his victory.”
“I don’t understand,” the Captain replied confused.
“Malthus wants the station.” Jon pointed at the installation on the tactical display. “More specifically he wants the occupants of it, my family. For he believes that their deaths will avenge his own. I propose that we deny him that. Open an encrypted communication channel with the station. Use a tightly focused laser to carry the communication. They cannot jam that, and it is impossible for them to intercept, as it is line-of-sight only.”
With a nod of understanding the Communications Officer established the connection with the station, several hundred kilometres distant, via the tight-beam laser. “Connection established.”