by Z H Brown
The display projected a simplified simulation of Xandarius’ plan. A black dot with a red ‘X’ in the center appeared on the edge of the system. It moved rapidly toward the star, while a mass of white and yellow dots formed a barrier in its way. A dozen red triangles, semi-transparent and overlapping, converged on the dot, symbolizing the barrage.
“Attack Group Typhoon will be our deployed attack fighters. The fleet will fire their own barrage as an opening salvo, before launching all fighters, which are free to attack in any way they see fit. The Imperium fleet ‘Sandstorm’ has decided to keep half of its fighter craft for its main defensive line, but their numbers still more than double the amount of fighters we initially brought. While the fighters engage the invader, the fleet will retreat to the other side of their planetary post to delay the attention of the target.”
Another mass of dots formed another impediment to the target. After the opening salvo represented by more triangles, millions of tiny dots, shimmering like grains of sand caught in the bright light of dawn back on Oasis raced out to meet the black and red blob. As with the last blockade, the target passed through the larger and smaller dots without slowing or changing direction.
“If the creature makes it through Meteor and Typhoon, it will then have to face the Golden Armada. The Imperium fleet, with its flagship at the center, will attack in a similar fashion to Typhoon: an opening salvo, followed by a fighter sortie. From what we’ve been told, the Armada will attempt to encircle and overwhelm the creature with sheer numbers and firepower. Thankfully, they possessed enough forethought to plan a fallback should they suffer too many casualties; The Golden One and whatever survivors remain will jump away from the battle to the other side of the system, before falling in with Attack Group Lightning.”
Finally, the dot reached a barrier that it did not immediately barrel through; apparently, the computer projection believed that the sheer number of Imperium ships would be enough to at least momentarily halt the monster. However, its stop was brief, as the wall of yellow lights slowly disintegrated. A mass of dots, about a fifth of what had been in the middle of the system, suddenly joined the points of light that symbolized Lightning.
“Attack Group Inferno will have to do a bit a scrambling before they plunge into the fight; if the creature is still advancing, and, ancestors forbid, does not look injured, or indeed undaunted, then the survivors of Attack Groups Meteor and Typhoon will initiate Plan: Onslaught. By the time the beast reaches the Armada, the remnants of the first two fleets that are still combat capable will jump to Inferno’s location and take up positions in our forces. All craft joining Inferno will fall under Admiral Venrius’ command. Once the fleet is ready, Inferno will launch a combined assault with the Imperium forces dubbed ‘Scorpio’ stationed there.”
The lights around the first rocky world suddenly tripled in number. Ansaria felt that that was an optimistic projection of how many survivors would be able to link up with Inferno. Either way, the fleet massed between the dot and its destination, only momentarily slowing it before once again scattering.
“Finally, we come to Attack Group Lightning and Imperium Fleet Sunstorm We are the last line of defense between this system’s star and that monstrosity. We shall initiate an opening attack meant to stun the creature long enough for both flagships to fire their primary weapons…that is assuming the Golden One survives his first encounter.” Amongst the assembled admirals, Venrius was the only one to laugh, though Xandarius didn’t seem to notice. The projection showed the final defensive line, with two dots larger than the rest: one white, one yellow. Finally, as the target entered the last leg of its race, a veritable wave of red overlapping fields of fire confronted it, slowing it to stop, before disappearing. Ansaria felt hope welling in her chest that this would indeed be the final outcome.
“If that cannot destroy the creature, then I will order all survivors of Meteor, Typhoon and Inferno to immediately jump into Z-Space and return to the Empire and join up with Shield Fleet. If the worst should happen, Empress Zira and Admiral Travay will assume command of all Imperial forces.”
Xandarius’ announcement about what would happen if he were to be killed in the coming battle cast a gloomy dourness over the assembled. Nobody, from Ansaria’s squad, to the commanding officers of the Imperial fleet, to the Emperor’s personal advisors looked like they were confident about a future without Xandarius leading them.
Then another thought struck her: if the rest of her squad survived their encounters with the Star Eater (and she realized that this was a pretty big if to begin with,) then they could very possibly be forced to leave herself and Alvara behind. She shifted her glance just enough to see her second-in-command. Ansaria could tell by the way her gaze was boring into her, the same thought had crossed her mind.
She was so focused on thinking about her squad having to go on without her that she hadn’t noticed that Xandarius was talking again. “Now, does anyone have anything they would like to add at this point?”
“I do, Your Majesty,” said Tread, stepping forward to address his emperor.
“Go ahead, sergeant.”
“In what way will Bronze be participating in the coming battle?” Xandarius’ face clouded over with concern. “Ah yes…the alien A.I. I have considered the matter thoroughly, and while its help has been forthcoming, altruistic and …appreciated, I have decided that it will not be participating in any combat. While it seems for all intents and purposes that the A.I. has indeed decided to aid use, I will not risk the future of our empire or its peoples on the still very real possibility that it might decide to rekindle its former partnership if things start to go south. Therefore, Bronze will remain in its isolated network for the time being. Its only function in the forthcoming events will be to tell us when exactly the beast will arrive, based on its projections.”
Tread accepted this with a nod before stepping back into the line. While Ansaria was disappointed by the depths of Xandarius’ mistrust, she had to admit that the Emperor’s actions were at least reasonable.
“Sire,” said Lanta, her voice a light and musical sound. “Does the Imperium have a fall back plan similar to ours? Will the ships fighting with us in Meteor and Typhoon also join the others further down the line?”
“They do: the Imperium forces will rendezvous with their emperor’s flagship after each blockade is breached. What they are ordered to do if we fail to stop the invader completely has not been shared with me.”
“My lord,” said Venrius, his voice carrying a conniving tone that Ansaria found immediately dislikeable. “Surely you don’t mean to allow yourself to be destroyed by such lowly a thing as a mindless beast, gargantuan though it may be. Do you really mean to deprive your loyal subjects and soldiers of your guidance and courage in future battles with this and other enemies?”
Xandarius slowly rubbed his bearded chin while he replied. “I have thought long on this topic, admiral: if it would be better for me to retreat and personally lead the second defense. However, I feel that the only way I could face my ancestors in the next world would be to say that I stood against the monster to the bitter end, fighting to my last breath in the vain hope that with my last action, I might smite the monster. So no, Venrius, I will not be leaving this battlefield unless the Star Eater is defeated.”
As Xandarius spoke of his plans to fight the coming terror regardless of whether he survived or not, Ansaria felt new hope, confidence, and even a little anticipation welling up inside her. A part of her wished the beast was coming this very day, so that she might see it obliterated by the power of the Empire and have it finished.
When no one else spoke, Xandarius stood from his throne. “If there are no other questions, then let us retire. We still have much to do, and every minute brings our adversary closer.” With that, his admirals and soldiers saluted him as he swept out of the room, Fornost and Epsilon right on his heels.
Chapter XXVII
The Nightmare Arrives
As the time tick
s down to arrival, citizens and soldiers across the Empire await news from our brave protectors and our valiant Emperor. We have been informed that official word about the battle and its aftermath will be coming directly from the major-domo of Emperor Xandarius himself, Administrator Epsilon. The Administrator arrived yesterday at the gathering of Shield Fleet, and is in constant contact with the Throneship, ready to relay the outcome of the battle and the fate of the Empire.
--INN special report, priority-broadcasted across all the Imperial Network
At last, after seemingly endless days of planning, preparation, practice, and plenty of dread, a morning came where Ansaria and her squad awoke with a message on their TIGs, informing all troops to report to their combat posts as soon as possible.
The squad got into their armor in record time, and yet it seemed to take an eternity to Ansaria. The room was silent, save for the sounds of armor being adjusted and locked, or the metallic clicks of weapon checks. Normally, the squad would be groaning about how exhausted they were from all the practice drills, or grumbling about a dream that had been interrupted or how hungry they were; not so today. On a day when it would have done Ansaria good to hear some of the familiar chatter of her friends, there was none to be found.
The ride to the mess was done in silence as well. Ansaria tried to think of something, anything to say to fill the silence, but everything that came to mind seemed forced or trivial in the face of the coming battle.
When they arrived in the mess hall, they discovered that their dour mood was not limited to their squad. Despite the room being packed full of soldiers and crewmembers of all different sizes, shapes and species, the assembly before them was mostly silent. Any talking was done in a low murmur, as through the speaker did not want to interrupt a eulogy at a funeral. Ansaria hadn’t been in many battles before (discounting recent events, of course), but she had never seen such an apprehensive bunch before. During Ansaria’s time as a private, she had only been involved in a handful of battles, most of them against bandits, raiders and anti-Imperial extremists. And yet, on the eve of every battle, the atmosphere among the troops had been tense, certainly, but still charged and lively. People would joke, brag, insult; all the things soldiers did to relieve some of the tension out of the very real possibility of dying. But here, these troops didn’t look like they were going into battle:
They looked like they were going to their deaths.
Once they had found somewhere they could all sit together, Ansaria was not surprised to discover that she didn’t have much of an appetite. Truth be told, the bites she did force down were tastier than normal, so it seemed that somebody (possibly Xandarius himself), had ordered a higher-quality meal for the troops. Everyone else seemed to be feeling the same way as her, except for Tread, who was ingesting glowing blue pellets of energy at a steady rate; being synthetic definitely had its advantages.
After everyone had eaten what they felt was a decent amount (aside from Tread, whose tray was pristinely clean), Ansaria and the rest bussed their platters before exiting into the hall. This was the part Ansaria had been dreading the most: everyone but Alvara would be fighting elsewhere in the system, and since today was a day unlike any other, the sergeant’s duty prevented her from accompanying her friends to the teleportation room. Their goodbye would have to be here.
The squad stood in a tight circle out of the way so that other troops could get in and out of the mess. At what might have been a prearranged moment, Slog held up his artificial hand for Critter to jump on to. He had been riding on his friend’s shoulder all morning, but since he was serving in Typhoon fleet with Tread, he had to switch carriers. Tread held out his own robotic hand for Critter to jump onto, before placing him on his own shoulder. Now, all eyes turned to Ansaria.
“I know we’ve all been through a lot recently; since that ancestor-forsaken ship crashed on our turf, we’ve been pushed to our limits and beyond. We’ve all suffered and sacrificed since this started, some more than others, but the important thing to remember is that after everything we’ve gone through, we came out of it alive and together. Now, I know that for the first time we’ll be going into battle separately, but though we may be thousands of miles apart, we are still working together to stop this monster; as long as you all remember that, we’ll come out alive from this, too.” She pondered for a moment before adding “and if any of you die today, I will personally collect your remains and then search the universe for a way to reanimate you so I can spend every day of my very long life ordering you to do push-ups on Oasis.”
To her relief, everyone busted out laughing; real, genuine laughs that they were all sorely needing.
“You know what I think?” said Slog. “I think that after this all over, we go back to that bar on MC Epsilon, and let the captain buy us all a round.”
“I’ll buy you three rounds, corporal, provided we all get to meet this girl you’ve been messaging night and day,” chuckled Ansaria.
“Great idea, then you can all tell her about how I single-handily slew the extragalactic creature with my private warship.”
“Knowing you, Slog, you’ll probably come out of this with a robot leg.”
“Ooh, that’s low, captain,” said Slog in a hurt tone, but with a wry smile.
“And what, precisely, would be wrong with getting a robotic leg?” asked Tread with a slightly more superior tone than normal. “I for one have found that Corporal Krunkle’s company has improved by a surprising amount since acquiring his replacement.”
“Yeah, by about eight percent,” added Alvara. Everyone laughed again.
After the laughter died away, they found themselves ready to separate. Slog, Tread and Critter shifted closer to Ansaria, leaving Alvara alone in the direction leading to the lift that would take the sergeant to the bridge. They all stood there for what seemed like far longer than a minute.
“You all be careful out there, OK?” said Alvara finally. Ansaria and the others nodded in agreement. With that, she turned and began to slither to the transport. Just as she reached the lift, but before the doors opened, Ansaria called out to her.
“Hey, M! Blow the bastich's head off!”
Alvara gave a wide smile before the doors behind her opened and a pair of technicians stepped off. She kept the smile as the doors closed before her and carried her off and away from her friends.
After lingering a moment more, Ansaria turned and led her remaining troops to the lift at the other end of the hall. Her hand was gripped tightly on her sheathed sword, her fingers brushing the thin strip of fabric tied to it.
The ride to the teleporter began to accumulate some of the gloom that had been dispelled at their big goodbye. Tread was standing ramrod straight, his gaze fixed on an indiscriminate point on the wall. No doubt he was undergoing a pre-battle checklist, possibly multiple times. Critter was hopping from foot to foot and upon and down on Tread’s shoulder, his movements in no way distracting to his android teammate. Slog’s brow was furrowed in contemplation, the fingers on his robotic arm subconsciously flexing and relaxing.
After what seemed like an eternity and yet arriving all too quickly, they reached the teleportation chamber. The room was empty, save for the teleport technicians, who both stood straighter as the heroes of the Empire approached them. Tread and Critter, who would be departing first, saluted Ansaria, who returned it with a lump in her throat. The android and his tiny comrade stepped on to the platform.
“Destination, sergeant?” asked one of the technicians.
“The carrier Mountain Storm, Attack Group Typhoon,” replied Tread, all business. The other crewmember locked on to the destination before nodding to his partner. He nodded in turn before pressing a series of buttons. With a blinding flash of light, the two members of Oasis squad vanished.
Slog also saluted Ansaria, but then held up his robot hand. Ansaria, with a slight smile reached down and gripped it tightly. “Hey Sarge, oops…cap’n, just promise me this: if things do go south, and I do end up knoc
ked out of the fight again, you come and get me, OK?”
Ansaria tightened her grip. “When have I ever left a soldier behind, Slog?”
Slog smiled broadly before letting go. With one last look at his CO, Slog lumbered over to the teleporter.
“Destination, corporal?” asked the first technician. “The Firestorm, Inferno fleet.”
The teleporter operators repeated the process they had taken with Tread and Critter. After another blinding flash, Ansaria found herself standing alone, without her squad. Ansaria took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, got a firm grip on her sword hilt and the memento attached to it, and stepped up for her turn.
“Destination, Captain Dormus?” asked the first technician with the slightest waver in his voice.
“The Stormfront, Attack Group Lightning.”
The technicians performed their tasks, only this time, before sending Ansaria on her way, they both saluted her.
“Good luck, ma’am,” said the technician, his finger hovering over the button. Ansaria gave the two a reassuring thumb up, before her vision was overwhelmed with white light.
When her sight returned, she was standing aboard the now-familiar bridge of the Stormfront. The viewscreen outside showed a smattering of ships around them, with the Throneship hovering partially in view to port. Admiral Minos was standing nearby, his hands clasped behind his bulky back, his gaze fixed on the expanse of ships and space before them.