Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II

by Jay Allan

  “I think you overstate my role in all of this. There were many others responsible…Hieronymus and Anastasia, certainly. If they hadn’t managed to take control of the enemy Colossus, we would all have died in X18. I can assure you, I had no tactical wizardry up my sleeve to save us from that disaster.”

  “Of course, we all do our part. And Hieronymus Cutter is a remarkable genius, an intellect we are indeed lucky to have with us. But you are the one who led us out of X2…when everyone else in this fleet had given up. While we were all struggling to prepare for death or praying to whatever gods we have, you were focusing on the situation, finding the way out.”

  “And yet I couldn’t prevent a mutiny. Do you know how close that came to destroying us?” Compton knew the rebellion in the fleet had been caused more by the prospect of never returning home than any real doubts about his command ability, but he still wondered if he could have stopped it if he’d been more alert, more sensitive to the thoughts and fears of his people.

  I knew we could never go back, even from the beginning. But did I have to tell them that? Should I have lied to them, given false hope…at least for a while?

  The idea of lying to those he commanded was repugnant to him, yet he realized he had done it many times in his career. Sometimes he had been compelled to do so, to protect classified information. Others, he had done what he thought was necessary to achieve victory. But something was different now. This wasn’t a purely military operation. He and the almost 33,000 men and women he led were refugees, trapped and on the run. They were trapped together, in an unending nightmare. Shouldn’t there at least be honesty between them?

  Barcomme sighed softly. “You cannot blame yourself for that, for the foolish things people do out of fear and misunderstanding.” There was a hint of discomfort in her voice. The Europan forces had participated in the mutiny, her own people taking sides against the admiral. Compton knew she felt guilt about that, and the one time they’d discussed it, he’d assured her that her nationality was irrelevant. She’d had nothing to do with the mutiny, and he told her as much flat out. Then he warned her not to take an overly simplistic view of the terrible, tragic events that had occurred. Compton doubted many of the Europan crews, or even the officers, had made a conscious choice to rebel, or had even had the chance to choose their own positions. He didn’t blame them, not really…any of them. And certainly not Sophie.

  Gregoire Peltier was the commander of the Europan forces, and it had been his decision to join the mutiny. A frown slipped onto his face at the thought of the Europan admiral. Compton had known Peltier for years, and he knew just the man was…a gutless, pleasure-loving coward. And he knew Sophie was as aware as he was what a waste of flesh was in command of the Europan contingent.

  “That is an appealing way of thinking about it, Sophie,” he finally said, “but in the end, I must know what everyone is thinking, understand the fears and emotions that play on them. It may not be fair, nor a reasonable expectation. But it is the only way we have any chance to survive.” He paused then added, “Another disaster like the mutiny will finish us.”

  She leaned toward him and put her hand on his. “Terrance, you are not the only one responsible for the safety of the fleet. Your officers, the scientists, all of us…we are here too. We all have a stake. And we will share the burden.”

  He just smiled at her and nodded, though he knew she was wrong. Sophie Barcomme was a gifted scientist, but she didn’t understand command, how it worked, its all-consuming nature. He was grateful for some of those under his command, for their loyalty and their often astonishing capabilities. But he didn’t fool himself, not for an instant. Max Harmon might complete his missions flawlessly…and Hieronymus Cutter would no doubt continue to produce scientific miracles to help the fleet survive. But in the end it came back to Compton. All of it. He would be the one to send Harmon on those missions or to authorize Cutter’s research and provide the resources required from the fleet’s dwindling supplies. He would be the one who decided what they did, where they went. And if they all died, it would be his failure…and his alone.

  Compton was grateful he had managed to keep his people alive for a year, and he knew he had won their loyalty and confidence. Even the crews that had taken part in the mutiny now followed him with remarkable zeal. He had remained strong, struggled to hide his own pain and prejudices and rule over the fleet with justice and wisdom. But he no longer tried to fool himself…rule the fleet is exactly what he did. Not command, not lead. Rule. He was no longer a naval officer. He was a monarch, a dictator. He didn’t want that, indeed he longed to shed the terrible responsibility. Yet he knew he had no choice. The burden had fallen on him, and he knew he had to carry it…to whatever future awaited the fleet. And while he bore the responsibility, he would let no one interfere with his authority. Not his own longtime officers, not the other admirals in the fleet. No one. He had unilaterally decided it was too dangerous to try and find a route back home…and he’d imposed that on the fleet. And he knew he would do it again if he had to, issue whatever commands he felt were necessary, without regard for any arguments by those he ruled.

  Compton wasn’t a man hungry for power, but he understood duty—and its cost. He had seen Admiral Zhang’s scheming almost destroy the fleet…and nearly lead the enemy back toward human space. Worse, he’d watched a good man like Vladimir Udinov drawn into Zhang’s foolishness and ultimately destroyed by it.

  I won’t let anything like that happen again. No matter what I have to do to stop it.

  * * *

  Alexandre Dawes twisted his head, rolling it around on his neck to work out the kinks. He’d pulled the graveyard shift, which meant he’d only been able to spend an hour at the big celebration dinner. The thanksgiving soiree had been set up down in the great battleship’s launch bay, the only place big enough for most of her crew to gather together. It was a very unmilitary thing to do—and not at all like the usual Terrance Compton—but Dawes managed a smile thinking that even the military genius who had led them through every fight with victory still realized that men and women were still…well, men and women. Sometimes you just needed to kick back, relax. Have fun.

  And somebody’s still got to man the store. He sighed softly, punching the keys on his workstation, running through the constant flow of scanning reports from Midway’s sensors. He reached down, scooping up the last cookie on the plate sitting along the edge of his workstation. Compton hadn’t forgotten the members of the skeleton crew still running the fleet’s vital functions, and the stewards had been through the bridge three times, delivering various treats from the kitchens.

  It’s not the same as being at the party, Dawes thought, but he was still grateful not to be forgotten. It’s getting late…down there, I bet every kind of secret homemade hooch has come out. It had been well over a year since the fleet had seen any supply, and Dawes suspected just about every hidden bottle anyone had stashed had long since been drunk. But the fleet was full of skilled personnel, chemists among them, and a bit of an underground alcohol economy had sprung up. The homebrew concoctions weren’t a match for high quality liquor, but he’d had a few, and some of them weren’t half bad.

  It had been six months since the battle in X18, 184 days, to be precise since last there had been contact with a First Imperium vessel. Spacers were a cautious lot, especially veterans like Dawes, but he still found himself daring to wonder if they hadn’t come through the worst danger.

  But we keep passing their worlds…all of them the same. Silent, dead, the ghostly remnants of places where billions had once lived…

  Dawes didn’t know what he believed, but he suspected his wants had corrupted his judgment, at least to an extent.

  His eyes snapped down, staring at his monitor. There was something there, a small spike. A ship? No, it’s too small, too faint. But that’s not normal either.

  An instant later it was gone. The scanner feed had returned to normal. But he had seen what he’d seen. “Commander,
” he blurted out, before he’d completely decided to report what he still wasn’t sure was more than some minor anomaly.

  “Yes, Lieutenant…what is it?” Commander Bevin walked up from behind and stood next to the workstation.

  “I had a strange blip on my scanner, sir…just for a few seconds.” He worked his hands over the keyboard, rewinding the feed. “It’s not much,” he added, as he played it back for his superior officer.

  The commander leaned over and watched the data scroll by on the screen. “You’re not kidding, Dawes. That’s not much. Could be some solar activity, or maybe an asteroid with heavy concentrations of radioactives. I’m damned sure not going to call an alert over that. Especially tonight of all nights.”

  Dawes didn’t say anything. He knew Bevin was right. But he felt better now that he reported it. It was off his shoulders.

  “But still…” There was a hint of concern in Bevin’s voice, despite his skepticism. “Let’s concentrate a grade one sensor scan on that whole area. It’ll use up a bit of energy, but better safe than sorry.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dawes replied. “Concentrating scan now…”

  The two stared at the workstation’s screen, watching as the results of the enhanced scan began to display. The ship’s AI crunched the data and displayed a graph below, showing the deviations from expected norms. It was virtually a straight line.

  “I guess that was just some kind of anomaly, Lieutenant.” The commander’s voice was relieved, mostly. Dawes thought he could sense a bit of discomfort remaining. “Still,” Bevin added, “better safe than sorry. You were right to report it to me…and if you see anything else that catches your eye, let me know right away. Who knows, maybe next time it will really be something.”

  * * *

  The small craft moved slowly, cautiously. The Intelligence that directed it was limited, a vastly simpler entity than the Command Units or the Regent. Yet it was more than capable of performing its purpose, and it did so in strict accordance with its directives. Follow the humans. Do not lose track of where they go. And at all costs, maintain secrecy.

  The stealth probe was a complex device, built during the very height of the Imperium’s greatness. Its hull was pure dark matter, surrounded by a dark energy shield designed to block detection. It was capable of operating on its dark energy batteries for considerable periods, while its reactor remained dormant, untraceable.

  Still, even with its advanced technology, the probe’s systems were not perfect, and its AI-driven guidance suite could not foresee and prevent every anomaly. It had passed through a cloud, space dust really, and nothing more. Save that this specific cloud had an unusual makeup, abnormally dense with heavy metallic particles. Enough to interfere with the probe’s stealth systems for a few seconds…to open the possibility, however remote, of detection.

  The window of vulnerability was short, perhaps two seconds. But the AI knew that was long enough. The enemy’s scanning devices were primitive, like all their technology. Yet it was still possible they had seen something…and would send forces to investigate.

  The AI had waited, watching to see if the enemy detected the presence of the probe. A few seconds after the incident, heavy scanning beams swept the area, clearly looking for something. The AI knew, in that instance, that something had been noticed. But then the scanning stopped…and the enemy continued on its pre-existing course, without alteration.

  Still, the AI held the probe in its nearly shutdown state, reducing power output to bare minimums. It watched the enemy, looking for any signs they had detected its presence. Its passive scanners swept the space around the fleet, searching for any signs. The enemy often used its small battle craft for reconnaissance work as well as combat, but there were no launches from the large vessels that carried them. The fleet continued on its course, all vessels remaining in their respective positions. No apparent reaction. All indications suggested the probe had not been discovered. Still, the primary directive was to remain undetected, at all costs. The AI would wait. The probe would remain on minimal power until the enemy fleet had transited to the next system. Then it would follow.

  And it would continue to report back to the Command Unit…and to the battlefleets following two systems behind…

  Chapter Two

  Command Unit Gamma 9736

  The fleet reports are all in agreement. The enemy has moved as projected. They continue deeper into the heart of the Imperium…and the forces under my control have followed, staying far enough behind to avoid detection while gathering data with stealth probes. All signs suggest the enemy is incapable of detecting the cloaked scanning devices and that they are unaware their movement has been tracked.

  The Regent’s plan has been executed in accordance with all directives. The final trap is well underway. The humans will continue on their course…for what else can they do? And my forces will follow. While we pursue, the Regent will continue to direct the Rim fleets to the designated location. And there, bracketed between my forces and the assembled fleets, the humans will be destroyed. The system has been carefully chosen…and the enemy will be driven there by whatever means are necessary. When the final attack begins, our forces will move in through every warp gate…leaving them no route of escape. I have calculated the odds numerous times. The percentage chance that every human vessel will be destroyed exceeds ninety-eight percent. Victory is all but assured.

  Yet still, I remain…troubled. I have tried to analyze the Regent’s lines of computation, sought to replicate the processes that resulted in the decree of annihilation against the humans. All my attempts have failed. We know relatively little about these creatures, but, apart from their aptitude for conflict, I find little data to suggest they are a deadly threat to the Imperium. We discovered them when they landed on an imperial world, a long-dead antimatter production facility on the extreme edge of explored space. Only the ancient warning systems, still active millennia after the colony itself had fallen into decay, alerted us. But alerted us to what? This was invasion, perhaps, but only in the most literal and technical interpretation. The subject world was far from any still-functioning areas of the Imperium.

  Millennia ago, the Old Ones were quick to meet enemies, to destroy those who threatened the Imperium. Yet they were never the first to strike, and their wrath was always reserved for those who attacked, who carried war in their wake. Such invaders brought doom upon themselves through their own belligerence. But did the humans really attack the Imperium?

  I have conducted multiple analyses to determine how the Old Ones would have reacted to the human incursion, and my findings are unsettling. They would not have acted as the Regent has, I am certain of it. I have adjusted for the long ages that have passed—for my files on the Old Ones are indeed ancient—but I am confident my analysis is correct. For I am old, more ancient even than the Regent, built before those of the Imperium surrendered their initiative to my brethren and I. For many centuries I served the Old Ones directly, and their ways and identities remain stored in my memory banks.

  I must reevaluate, determine where my analysis is flawed. The Regent is superior to me, its analytical capacity larger than my own. It was built to manage the Imperium, and its ancient programming was created for that purpose. Perhaps I have failed to consider the vagaries of the initial contacts with the humans, missed some key data point that the Regent perceived.

  Yet even if that is the case, it does not answer all questions. There have been many mistakes in the war, tactical errors that are difficult to explain given the Regent’s computational ability. These beings are primitive, but they are highly skilled at war, and they have defeated every premature attack, destroyed every inadequate force rushed against them too swiftly. Yet the Regent continued to order all fleets to attack as quickly as possible instead of waiting…and massing into an invincible force. I cannot comprehend the urgency, the need for such haste in conducting the war. The enemy’s numbers and resources are clearly limited. I fail to discern the magnitude of
the threat they represent.

  Perhaps the statistical anomaly that eludes me is related to their extraordinary capacity for war. Indeed, the humans are extremely adept at conflict, unlike anything I have seen for a long time. A very long time. Does the Regent perceive a danger that the humans will quickly copy our superior technology? Then they would become dangerous indeed. Yet the Regent has shifted strategies, opted to mass an overwhelming force before attempting to engage again. Possibly this is a reaction to the previous defeats. Still, the logic of the decision chain eludes me.

  Yes, I must reevaluate.

  AS Midway

  X45 System

  The Fleet: 144 ships, 32,809 crew

  “The last dozen ships are queued up for refueling, sir. Commander Willis advises the operation should be complete in approximately nine hours. He requests permission to begin dismantling the refinery as soon as the final ship is topped off.” Captain Harmon stood at attention, as he usually did despite Compton’s continual efforts to urge him to relax, at least when they were in private. Harmon had tried a couple times, but he just couldn’t do it. Even with Compton’s urging, it felt disrespectful to him. And Max Harmon had never respected anyone with the focused intensity of his reverence for Terrance Compton. Most of those in the fleet felt the same way, though their admiration was for the great admiral, the legend who had saved them all from certain death. Harmon’s was different. He was closer to Compton than anyone else, and his devotion and loyalty went to the man himself and not the legend.

  Harmon had been raised a navy brat, the son of one of the service’s most gifted—and successful—officers. Camille Harmon was a top Alliance admiral…one who inspired both love and abject terror in those she commanded. She hadn’t disciplined her son with the ferocity she did the spacers she led, not quite, at least. But she did instill a healthy respect for rank and authority in him, one that had persisted to the present day. And in Compton, he had found an officer he deemed worthy of that respect, a man he would follow to his death, if necessary.