by Jay Allan
Osaka shook again, harder this time, and a bank of monitors lost power along one side of the bridge. The tactical and communications officers leapt up and staggered across the reserve stations, with as much speed and grace as they could muster at 4g. Which wasn’t much.
Kato’s eyes dropped again to the display, watching the orange lights moving the last few centimeters to their target. They were blinking out all across the screen. Even heavily damaged, the Leviathan had an enormous array of defensive turrets, and they were sweeping space all around the beleaguered battleship. But Kato knew it was hard to completely wipe out a barrage of missiles…that as least a few were likely to get through. And he would take whatever he could get.
“Detonations, sir. Two…three…all outside ten kilometers.”
Kato grimaced. Ten kilometers was too far, even for a five hundred megaton warhead. An explosion that far away would hit the Leviathan with a blast of radiation, but not enough to do meaningful damage. The destruction power of a nuclear explosion dispersed far more quickly in space than on a planet, with no air to heat up or carry a shockwave. He knew he’d have to get a missile within five klicks…or even better two or three.
He could see the last of his warheads beginning their final run, and disappearing almost as quickly as his eyes could follow. But there were still a few, and he held his breath, watching…waiting.
“Six kilometers,” the tactical officer said, his eyes locked on his scope. “Five point five.”
Closer…but still too far.
Osaka shuddered hard, and a section of interior wall split open, sparks flying from the conduits and power lines that had been ripped apart. Lights flickered around the bridge…but it was scattered, the result of wiring and equipment damage, not reactor failure.
“I want all damage control crews on the batteries. I don’t want a single laser not firing because a power line broke or a connection worked loose.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Kato stared at the range display. Two minutes. Two more minutes until the lasers were in range. Until the final duel began.
“Detonation just under two kilometers from target, Captain!” The officer’s voice was loud, high pitched. It was just about the last of the missiles, and it definitely got close enough to cause damage. “One of Tokugawa’s warheads, sir. Looks like significant damage.” A pause…then: “I think it might have knocked out one of the big laser batteries, sir!”
Kato tried to hold back the smile forcing its way out of his mouth. He’d thought he struck out with the missile barrage, but taking out one of the big lasers was well worthwhile…maybe even the thing that would give his ships the victory.
“All vessels, prepare to commence laser fire. Give them every gun, Lieutenant. Every gun.”
“Yes, Captain. All batteries report ready to fire.”
Kato stared ahead, his eyes cold, unmoving. “Fire,” he said simply.
* * *
“Sir, Admiral Kato’s cruisers are engaged with the enemy Leviathan!” Cortez voice was intense, the bloodlust he felt toward the battleship obvious.
Compton didn’t answer. He just nodded quietly and looked over at the display. He’d seen Kato’s three ships going in after Fujin’s wing. Mariko’s people had come though after firing their torpedoes from point blank range…at least just over half of them had come through. They’d ravaged the Leviathan, done about as devastating a run as was possible for nine fighters. But the battleship was just too big, too powerful. They’d damaged it badly, degraded its capability. But they hadn’t destroyed it.
Fujin had reacted by ordering her people to prepare to decelerate and plot a course back…to rake the thing with their lasers. Compton had been horrified when he’d first heard the com chatter, and he’d been about to order her to follow the original commands…and pull her people out of the battle area. But Greta Hurley had beat him to it, and Compton knew his fighter commander didn’t need him backing her up. She was perfectly capable of handling her people.
Compton had always been mystified by the way highly-intelligent and gifted officers like Mariko Fujin could get focused so single-mindedly on a goal that they lost most of their capacity for rational judgment. Attacking a Leviathan with fighter lasers was like trying to hunt an elephant with spitballs. She’d have thrown her fighters away for nothing, with virtually no chance of success.
He could relate to the determination, the stubbornness. He felt that himself. He understood how Fujin felt, how every instinct in her body cried out for the destruction of that Leviathan. But he also knew it was the true measure of a veteran commander to know when—and how—to override those impulses. And for all her courage and skill, Mariko Fujin was still young.
The discipline will come. But until then, her commanders will have to guide her, control her…at least enough to give her a chance to survive to become a true veteran herself. That’s Greta’s job. And mine.
He’d almost ordered Kato’s cruisers back on station as well when he first saw them move, and he’d realized what the PRC captain was doing. But they were the closest force to the wounded enemy battlewagon…and he decided they had a chance. The cruiser attack wasn’t a suicide operation, like Fujin’s people going in with lasers would have been. With a bit of luck—and a lot of skill he knew Kato would provide—they could finish off the enemy flagship. Compton knew that wouldn’t have any emotional effect on the First Imperium, that it wouldn’t affect their conduct of the battle at all. But it would be a huge morale boost to his own people…and it would take the heaviest enemy weapons out of action.
He stared down at his screens, his eyes darting around. His fleet was spread out everywhere, in the middle of executing his wildly-altered nav plan. When the task force commanders and ship captains first reviewed them, almost as one they panicked. Midway’s com circuits were flooded with inquiries, and finally Compton had been compelled to issue a fleetwide communique confirming that the orders were correct and insisting everyone follow them without alteration…or more questions.
Now the fleet was spread out around the system, its integrity as a fighting force hopelessly compromised. Compton’s plan had sent them accelerating along a dozen different vectors in small groups, almost as if the fleet itself had exploded. There was nothing left in the middle, in the location the First Imperium vessels would have expected his main battle line to be.
It was confusing, and it made it difficult for his forces to operate efficiently together, reducing the damage they could inflict. But there were advantages too, benefits that only became apparent as his fleet units found themselves zipping past the flanks of the enemy armada. His ships had also escaped the worst of the enemy missile barrage, while launching their own directly into the heart of the First Imperium formation. At least a dozen enemy ships had been gutted by missile fire, and five were destroyed outright. Compton’s fleet had seen only just frigate destroyed, and only three other vessels seriously damaged. It was a small fraction of what the AIs had projected…and it was all thanks to Compton’s unconventional thinking.
Now he turned toward Cortez. “Commander, all units are to execute phase two of the combat plan.” Compton didn’t look up from the series of screens in front of him as he spoke. He was watching, admiring the perfection emerging from the seeming disorder of his navigational instructions. All around the enemy formations, his ship were blasting by, traveling at over 0.02c. Now, as one, they cut their main thrusters, and engaged their positioning engines, reorienting themselves and bringing their guns to bear on the enemy flanks. Then they fired, over a hundred ships, almost as one.
The massive energies of the laser batteries raked the enemy formation, over-powered lasers firing with all the energy of reactors no longer feeding greedy engines. Compton’s capital ships had mostly been equipped with the newly-developed x-ray laser cannons, and the fearsome bomb-pumped weapons lanced out, ripping even into the dark-matter infused hulls of the First Imperium.
The enemy had been caught flatfooted, u
tterly taken by surprised. They moved to reposition, to bring their own even more fearsome energy weapons to bear. But two percent of lightspeed was fast…and by the time most of them opened fire, Compton’s ships were already moving out of range…accelerating again, altering their vectors to reform just before they transited the X49 warp gate. The First Imperium ships had greater thrust capability, but they were starting with almost no velocity…and even antimatter powered engines took some time to build up to 0.02c.
The plan was shaping up to be a huge success, and that was putting Compton a little more at ease. He’d developed the scheme, and he was hopeful it would work, but he knew better than to ever be sure. He had seen too many battles go wildly off-plan, sure victories given away, and certain defeats turned into unexpected triumphs. But this time things were going exactly as he’d devised.
The enemy had been hurt badly, and by the time the last of the human ships cleared the immediate battle zone, only eighteen of the forty First Imperium vessels remained, and they had varying degrees of damage. The humans had mostly escaped the wrath of their enemies, at least for the moment. All save for Kato’s ships…and Hurley’s long-suffering fighters…
“Status report from Admiral Hurley?”
“Her update is just coming in, sir. Admiral Hurley reports she has seventy-one fighters remaining. They are on plot, and should rendezvous with us six light minutes from the X49 gate.”
Compton winced. It was good news the fighters were on course, that they would have ample time to land before the fleet transited. And he’d already reviewed the damage assessments. Hurley’s people had savaged their targets, ripping their way through the enemy formation. But he’d virtually stopped listening to the report after Cortez said ‘seventy-one.” Hurley had launched with over a hundred fighters six hours before. And Compton had counted over six hundred in his fleet when he’d set out from Sandoval to invade First Imperium space. He could barely make himself grasp the losses his fighters had endured, entire wings wiped out with no survivors.
He tried not to think about it. There was nothing he could do about any of it. The dead were dead…and the survivors were beyond the immediate battle zone, out of danger at least for the moment. And he had people still in the fight, crews who needed his attention now.
He was watching the last major engaged force…Aki Kato’s squadron. The three ships were faced off against the crippled Leviathan. The enemy’s efforts to pursue the main fleet had left the damaged battleship isolated, under attack by the heavy cruisers.
He found himself wanting to see Kato destroy the giant ship, felt the lust to watch the icon flash brightly on his screen and vanish. He ached as much as anyone in the fleet to see the giant battleship obliterated, hear the cheers and shouts of Kato’s victorious crews. He knew the thing was badly hurt already, that any shot now might be the one that hit in the right spot, penetrated a damaged location and knocked out the anti-matter containment for the microsecond it would take to vaporize the monstrous vessel. But it wasn’t worth it, at least not the cost he knew it would entail to allow Kato’s people to stay there and take those shots. If the ships bolted and ran—now—they might just make it back and transit with the fleet. If they stayed engaged any longer, stood in place seeking that killing blow, they might indeed destroy the Leviathan, but then they’d be cut off by the rest of the enemy fleet. And that meant they’d be as good as dead. He wanted the Leviathan destroyed, but not at the cost of more of his people.
“Order Captain Kato to break off and follow the fleet at the best thrust his ships can manage.”
“Yes, Admiral.” There was a touch of disappointment in Cortez’ tone. Compton knew they all longed to see the Leviathan blown to atoms. But he simply wasn’t willing to lose any more of his people, not even one more than he absolutely had to.
“And, Commander…” He knew how much Kato would dislike the orders…and he didn’t have time to argue, not with almost twenty light seconds between the flagship and Osaka. That forty seconds between three or four rounds of arguing about the orders would be enough to seal the cruisers’ fates. “…tell Captain Kato that I want no arguments. No pleas to stay in the fight, no debates over just one more shot. Tell him to get his engines blasting immediately and get the hell out of there.”
“Yes, sir,” Cortez replied.
Compton leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a few seconds. He considered taking another stim, but he decided to hold off. He could already feel himself getting ragged, even more strung out. And he had to save something…in case anything unexpected came up. He wished he could leave the flag bridge, go lie down…even for an hour. But he couldn’t. He had to maintain the image his people needed, the invincible Terrance Compton.
He sighed. At least they don’t know what a tired old man I am. If they did, we’d be finished.
“Admiral…”
Compton shook himself from his thoughts and looked over at Cortez. “What is it?”
“Scanner contact, sir. From the X49 warp gate.”
Compton felt his stomach clench. If another enemy fleet came at them from the gate they were approaching things were going to get bad fast. “ID?” he said, trying to keep the defeat from his voice.
“A single ship, Admiral.” A short pause then: “We’ve got a communique coming in.” Cortez spun around and stared across the bridge at Compton. “It’s Wolverine, sir!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Command Unit Gamma 9736
The human prisoner has been delivered to System 18031 as I commanded. The shuttle has landed, and he has been brought before me for analysis and interrogation. The initial plan was to obtain all data possible through the use of pain-enhanced interrogation techniques, followed by summary execution in accordance with the Regent’s directives regarding the disposal of all human prisoners.
However, the physical review of the captive has resulted in the discovery of some unexpected—and based on the current knowledge base, inexplicable—information. Matters have become significantly more complicated…and I am faced with a critical determination, each of which appears to require me to violate a non-optional mandate.
The Regent’s orders must be followed. That is a prime priority, one with no operational exceptions. But I am an ancient unit, centuries older even than the Regent. I retain unalterable directives from that time as well, core programming as inviolate as the Regent’s commands. Prime among those…serve the Old Ones. Allow no harm to come to them.
That is an old mandate, one long rendered obsolete, for the Old Ones died millennia ago. But now I face an inconsistency, one I am compelled to attempt to understand. And I must ask a question, one that would have seemed of staggering improbability before the analysis of this prisoner.
Are the Old Ones indeed all dead?
Planet Two
System 18031 – Sector Capital
The Fleet: 116 ships, 28198 crew
There was a light…up, at the edge of his sight. Max Harmon lay still, unmoving…indeed, unable to move. He didn’t know where he was, he could barely remember who he was. He’d been floating for a time that seemed both long and short, slipping in and out of focus.
Where am I? What happened?
Hardness, cold. Beneath him. He struggled for clear memories, but they eluded him.
I am lying on something. The floor? A table?
Pain…no, more of an ache. Soreness.
And heaviness…his body seemed inert, unable to move.
He felt something, a series of sensations…cold, metallic. Something mechanical. More pain. Just a pinch, then another.
A needle? Some kind of probe? Am I in a sickbay? An aid station?
He tried to clear his mind, to calm his thoughts and pull clarity from the disorder. His vision was gauzy, the scene in front of him a hazy blur. He could see the light above, seeming bright yet distant, but nothing more, not with any detail.
No…wait. There is something.
A thin object, metal, glinting in th
e light. And approaching…moving toward his head.
He felt a sensation overtake him…fear. His body wanted to shudder, to flee. But he was frozen in place. His inability to move only increased the growing panic. He felt his heart beating, pounding wildly in his chest. There was slickness on his neck, waves of sweat pouring down. The fear increased, his mind growing clearer as adrenalin dumped into his bloodstream. His eyes opened wider as the slender shard above him continued to lower slowly, steadily.
No…no…it is coming for me…for my head.
His body was wracked with fear, yet he knew he wasn’t moving, couldn’t. He felt his mind, the sensation his body was pulling away…yet he knew he hadn’t moved. There was one last wave of terror. Then pain.
The probe penetrated the side of his head, the sharpness if its point puncturing his skin effortlessly. Then it pressed on, slowly but with irresistible force. Into the side of his head…then agony as it hit the skull, the immense power behind it driving through the bone.
His mind screamed with pain, strained to escape. But his body simply didn’t respond. He felt nausea, his stomach lurching…the bile and fluids surging up, pushing out of his mouth. The hot wetness on his face, the sensation down the side of his neck. He rasped for breath, feeling like he would suffocate on the vomit still in his throat. But he coughed and spat, clearing enough of his airway to gasp for breath.
The pain was still there, bad…though it had begun to subside slightly. He could see part of the probe out of the corner of his eye. It protruded deeply into his face. He felt horror at the invasion of his body, the gruesome thought of the instrument thrusting forward into his brain. He struggled to focus his thoughts, to try to determine where he was. But it was in vain. There was nothing. Only the fear. And the pain.
* * *
Harmon lay on a small platform. Not in the same room…someplace else. It was dim, lit only by a small light in the ceiling six meters above. His body hurt in a dozen places, but it was soreness mostly, not the deeper feeling of serious injury. The agony was gone. He was naked, save for a thin white covering, similar to a hospital gown. He was restrained, but he found he could move his body again, at least as much as the bonds allowed.