Conquest and Empire (Stellar Conquest Series Book 5)

by David VanDyke

  “Of course, Ezekiel. Sweet dreams.”

  Bogrin laughed uproariously, and that was the last thing Ezekiel remembered until he awoke in the Gliese 370 system.

  Chapter 9

  “Ugh.” Flashes of twisted dreams slithered through Ezekiel’s head as he clawed for consciousness, complicated by the fact that he could feel Roger experiencing some of the same things as he awoke. Without the comfort of VR space, the sarcophagus confined him and all the little physical annoyances added up to a distinct feeling of claustrophobia.

  He sincerely hoped Trissk would stay under longer, as had been programmed. Bogrin, by far the most competent biochemist, had scheduled everyone’s dosages, including Roger’s.

  “Erasmus to Captain Denham, please respond…Erasmus to Captain Denham, please respond…” an automated voice spoke, endlessly and patiently repeating the phrase.

  “Denham here,” Ezekiel rasped once he had sufficient connection to the VR environment to form words within its reality. “Give us a few minutes, please.”

  “Acknowledged,” the computer said, and then quieted.

  Ezekiel wondered whether the human crew of Erasmus was yet awake. One would expect they would come out of their short coldsleeps with more precision, given the advanced medical facilities available. According to the tests, digital computers recovered the fastest from the debilitating effects of FTL, needing only to be booted from a zero state by simple mechanical-analog detectors. Once the electronics activated, the humans should be awakened within minutes.

  As Roger shook off the lingering sedation, the elegant bridge stabilized around Ezekiel. A moment later he observed Bogrin and Trissk’s avatars appear, seated comfortably in overstuffed leather chairs. They wobbled, and then solidified.

  “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Ezekiel muttered as he turned to his instruments, throwing up a display from the external sensor feed.

  Quickly, a diagram of the Gliese 370 system built itself. Its sun, a small orange star, glowed in the center, an icon of the Erasmus showing nearby and accelerating directly away from it. As Sol was larger, the “downward” FTL gradient had allowed them a fast trip and an easy exit.

  As luck would have it, Erasmus had emerged only about a quarter of one solar orbit from Afrana’s current position. Ezekiel let out a sigh of relief. “Looks good. Standard traffic from the moon Enoi and Afrana – Koio, that is,” he said, using the Sekoi word for their own homeworld.

  Bogrin laughed, which was a Sekoi’s standard response to most emotions. To Ezekiel, who had spent a fair amount of time around the Hippos, his undertone seemed to convey concern and contradiction. “Not everything is as it should be. Where are the orbital fortresses?”

  Trissk leaned forward, staring intently at the display. “Bogrin is correct. I see no orbital defenses at all, and fewer satellites than when we left, rather than more. Something has happened in the last forty years.”

  Abruptly, an icon appeared against the backdrop of space, quickly morphing into an enormous ship shaped something like a blunted mechanical lizard with stubby legs and shortened tail.

  “Desolator!” cried Trissk, leaping forward to press his nose against the glass of the screen. “Hail him, please!”

  “I can’t yet. We’re on a passive sensor feed and there’s too much of Erasmus’ hull around us to transmit.”

  “Then get us out of here!”

  “I, too, would like to be free of our confining transport ship,” Bogrin said.

  “Fine. Denham to Erasmus: please open the cargo bay door and let us out.”

  “No problem, Captain,” came the voice of the comms tech. Less than a minute later, Roger backed carefully out of the cramped access tunnel and into space as if being birthed.

  Once freed, Roger moved away from the big FTL vessel and the VR representation of space gained detail as the ship’s own senses came into play. “Desolator has seen recent, heavy combat,” Trissk hissed. “Magnify his image.”

  Ezekiel obliged, zooming in on the great warship until he filled the screen.

  Trissk pointed, extending a claw. “There, and there, and there – and there – patchwork in many places, not entirely repaired. Look, some of his weaponry is damaged, though it appears his main particle beam turrets and most of his lasers have been restored.”

  “Lasers that are pointing at us,” said Bogrin. “Instead of speculating, perhaps we should simply contact him before a mistake is made.”

  Ezekiel hailed the superdreadnought. “Desolator, this is Ezekiel Denham aboard Steadfast Roger, the Meme-grown ship you see before you. Trissk and Bogrin are with me.”

  The resonant voice of the Desolator AI rumbled in their ears. “Greetings, Ezekiel Denham. I am in contact with the EFS Erasmus, which is even now providing me with an intelligence summary of all that has happened with Conquest and Earth’s solar system. I confess shock and pleasant surprise that our alliance has acquired a faster-than-light drive, and I look forward to installing one within myself and my surviving brethren.”

  “Surviving?” Trissk snarled. “What has happened?”

  Ezekiel broke in, “Let’s get out of VR space to talk, and I’m sure there are some people we need to see. Permission to come aboard?”

  “Of course, Ezekiel. You are cleared into Launch Bay Two, as is Erasmus.”

  “See you shortly, then. Roger, set us down where Desolator designates at all deliberate speed, please.”

  “I should hurry?” asked Roger.

  “We don’t want some tub of an FTL shuttle to show us up, do we?”

  “I understand.”

  The view of Desolator leaped toward them, and minutes later, Roger alighted on the vast deck of Launch Bay Two. Given that the superdreadnought stretched over nine kilometers from nose to tail and massed more than five hundred billion tons, room to berth smaller ships was seldom a problem.

  This time, though, Ezekiel thought things might be different. He remembered the great ship as clean, elegant, and mostly empty of organic life. Large enough to fit several Manhattans and their comparable populations within himself, Desolator’s main inhabitants had been millions of telefactors and robots, all controlled, directly or indirectly, by the AI himself.

  Now, though, the launch bay deck teemed with life, both mechanical and organic. The latter seemed mostly Ryss, with a few bulky Sekoi and a handful of puny-looking human figures scattered among them. Conservatively, Ezekiel thought he could see thousands within the vast room working at servicing several hundred craft ranging in sized from one-man grabships to transports larger than Roger.

  Many showed damage, though and some were clearly being cannibalized for parts. “I wonder what they fought?” Ezekiel said aloud.

  “Scourge,” Bogrin replied, pointing. In a junkyard heap along one wall they could see pieces of ships of that race’s design. People and machines clambered over those as well, dismantling and examining.

  “Release us from our coffins,” Trissk said. “I wish to speak to Desolator in person.”

  “As much as anyone can,” Ezekiel replied, “since we’re all running around inside his body anyway. Roger, initiate the dump sequence for us three, please.”

  A moment later they found themselves gasping and coughing upon the naked flesh of the floor of the sarcophagus room. Trissk began methodically cleaning his fur of biogel.

  “Here, look,” said Ezekiel. “I added showers.” He gestured at the wall where nozzles like short elephant’s trunks protruded. “Roger, give us a nice warm spray.”

  The three luxuriated in the flow, even Trissk, who had acquired a taste for hot water from living among the other races. Soon they were clean and clothed. Ezekiel deliberately ignored the fourth sarcophagus, and the other two didn’t seem to notice.

  Outside, a bipedal telefactor vaguely resembling a Ryss met them. “Come with me,” it said, leading them to an open tram.

  “You fought a battle with the Scourge,” Trissk said, apparently unable to contain himself any longer
.

  “Yes, though we called them bugs until your intelligence data arrived,” Desolator said through the remotely operated robot.

  “How did you defeat them?”

  “At great cost. Nine of my brothers fell, as did almost ten million Ryss, humans and Sekoi.”

  Ezekiel gasped. “Nine superdreadnoughts and ten million others? That’s horrible!”

  “That’s glorious,” Trissk rumbled. “Oh, that I could have been here!”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “One good death in battle is better than a thousand lives of peace.”

  Bogrin laughed, a strained thing. “We are unlikely to agree with such philosophy.”

  “Tell me further,” the Ryss said.

  “I have a briefing prepared. Afterward, we must discuss the future.” Desolator’s telefactor led the three to a large conference room with a holotank in the center.

  At the head of the table stood an impressive Ryss of middle age, the rank of Captain affixed to his battle harness.

  “Chirom!” Trissk said as he strode toward the other. “But no, that is impossible…and you are not he.”

  “I am Chiren. Chirom was my sire.”

  “And mine, in spirit at least. I am Trissk…brother.”

  The two Ryss clasped paws to wrists in the manner of their race. “It is good to meet you, of whom I have heard so much,” Chiren said.

  “So my old friend finally consented to be glorified?”

  Chiren hissed laughter. “Such was his reputation that many females vied for his attention. Eventually one would not be denied: Larsa, my dam. If you ever meet her, you will know why. Even in her dotage, she remains formidable.”

  “Gentlemen,” Desolator’s voice broke, in, “we have much to do.”

  “Of course,” Chiren replied. “Proceed.”

  “Once you have seen the briefing, we will introduce you to the leaders of the Allied Races. I presume you possess authority to negotiate?”

  Trissk growled deep in his throat, Ezekiel looked surprised, and Bogrin said, “I possess authority to command from Fleet Admiral Absen himself.”

  “That itself will be part of the negotiations.”

  “What the hell is this ‘negotiations’ bullshit?” Ezekiel snapped. “This system is Earth’s by right of conquest. More to the point, Desolator, you swore allegiance to EarthFleet. So did Captain Chirom, and I presume Captain Chiren and other captains after him.”

  “Of your second assertion there is no doubt,” Desolator replied. “I and my brothers, and the entire Ryss population of this system I believe, will follow Admiral Absen’s orders in all things military. However, the nonmilitary legal situation is much more murky, as the human Governor Colson contends that civilian authority always trumps military. He and the Sekoi leadership agreed several years ago to a coalition government of Afrana.”

  “And the Ryss?” Trissk asked.

  Chiren said, “The Ryss Council of Elders declined to participate, declaring the independent nation of New Ryssa congruent with the current borders of the populace’s territory.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Ezekiel said. “How can a few thousand Ryss declare themselves a nation?”

  Bogrin laughed, this time in genuine amusement. “You need to, how do you say, ‘do the numbers,’ Ezekiel. Ryss birthrates of litters of three to seven kits every year or two, combined with early sexual maturity, results in rapid population growth. It has been over forty years since we left Koio. Desolator, what is the current population of the Ryss in this system?”

  “Approximately ninety-seven million and growing at an overall rate of twenty-six percent per year.”

  “That means in just a couple of decades they’ll hit a billion!” said Ezekiel.

  “Correct. This projection, along with the unwillingness of the Ryss to employ birth control, has led to the current political situation: humans and Sekoi against Ryss. If not for the attack of the Scourge, we might have had an interspecies war by now.”

  “A war the Ryss can’t win,” Ezekiel muttered.

  “At least, not yet,” Bogrin said.

  “Do not be so hasty to think so,” snarled Trissk.

  “Oh, come on, Trissk,” said Ezekiel. “Unless the Desolator ships joined in, a hundred million Ryss can’t win against a combined population of, what, ten billion Sekoi and humans? Especially as the Sekoi will be fighting for their homes.”

  “Perhaps,” Trissk said darkly. “But I know my people. They will not accept being confined and marginalized.”

  “I can’t believe we’re even talking this way. Aren’t we allies, first against the Meme and now against the Scourge?” Ezekiel said, standing and waving his arms. “I don’t care what the human and civilian leadership of Afrana think. We’re still at war and this system is under martial law. If necessary, we’ll set them straight by threat of force.”

  Bogrin exchanged glances with Trissk and Chiren. “If we must. However, Spectre and Absen agreed jointly to appoint me the senior liaison from EarthFleet, as this is the Sekoi home system. With your concurrence, I have been given great authority and latitude to make whatever deal will best contribute to the war effort. Much has changed in forty years. We must be realistic.”

  A throat-clearing noise from the holotank speakers caused the three organics to look in that direction. Within its display floated the head and maned shoulders of a fearsome adult Ryss, and it spoke with Desolator’s voice. “Perhaps it would be best if I gave the briefing I have planned, and then you can discuss events within their full context.”

  Ezekiel nodded assent, followed quickly by the others. They sat.

  “First, a summary of events before the Scourge attack. The political situation remained stable until word of the fall of Earth arrived seventeen years ago. While it was axiomatic that Conquest continued on its way toward Sol’s system, most here grew to believe that one ship could not reverse the situation, and so eventually the human civilian government declared itself to be the natural heir of the Council of Earth, with EarthFleet subordinate to its will. After two years of negotiation regarding powers and protocols, Admiral Mirza accepted their declaration. As he is the senior EarthFleet commander in this system, and absent Admiral Absen’s orders to the contrary, I decided it was proper to accept this arrangement.”

  “Politics,” spat Trissk. “This is not a warrior’s province.”

  “I must disagree, Elder Trissk,” Desolator replied. “Politics is endemic to a warrior’s life. In fact, all the military writings of three races agree that politics and war are distinguishable only by their methods, not by their aims. A true warrior does not limit himself to the realm of physical discipline and violence. He must also understand how to shape power blocs, to mold hearts and minds in order to accomplish his honorable purposes.”

  “He’s got you there, Trissk,” Ezekiel chuckled.

  Trissk turned away to pace. “Such wisdom is…irritating.”

  “Most wisdom is,” Bogrin said with a peg-toothed grin. “Else, it would not be wisdom.”

  “What if I – we – were to command you, Desolator?” asked Trissk. “To whom do you owe your loyalty?”

  “First, to the rightful authority of EarthFleet, which now appears to be Admiral Absen and his designated representatives here in this room. I have a racial obligation to the Ryss, however, that I cannot ignore, and there are other duties – to humanity and the Sekoi as a whole, for example, and even to the Meme, now that they are our allies.”

  “Sounds like you have a lot of thinking to do,” Ezekiel said.

  Desolator said, “My thoughts have run their courses and reached their limits. Only new data and the actions of others will cause me to reassess as events progress. For now, I await instructions.”

  Ezekiel scrubbed his face with his palms. “Man, this is frickin’ complicated.”

  “What are your thoughts, Captain Chiren?” Trissk asked.

  “Much as Desolator’s.” Chiren spread his hands. “To captain a s
hip like this is to be a figurehead, a father to the crew, but I have never disagreed with his thoughts on military or political matters.”

  Trissk stared at the other Ryss for a moment as if nonplussed before turning to the avatar in the holotank. “I would like to know about the battle.”

  “Yes, let us review the military situation,” Bogrin agreed. “Please begin from shortly before the Scourge arrived.”

  “As you wish.” Desolator’s representation disappeared from the tank, replaced by a stylized representation of the Gliese 370 system.

  “New Jove has been militarized much as Jupiter is in Earth’s system. The gas giant and its moons provide abundant natural resources for EarthFleet’s conventional production. PVNs there have fed shipyards and facilities sufficient to produce twenty-six Conquest-class dreadnoughts and over two hundred smaller ships over the past four decades.”

  “Two hundred twenty-six! That is indeed a fleet to be reckoned with!” Trissk said.

  “Unfortunately, only six dreadnoughts and some fifteen light and heavy cruisers survived the Scourge attack, though production has been prioritized and we expect more hulls to be completed soon.”

  “Dear God,” Ezekiel breathed. “Eighty percent casualties, and over fifty percent among Desolator’s kind.”

  Desolator’s avatar nodded. “As you have deduced, I was able to reproduce first one, then two more, then four, then eight Dominator-class superdreadnoughts before the Scourge arrived four months ago. Unfortunately, all EarthFleet weapons systems were optimized against Meme. Even so, our forces performed creditably and took a heavy toll on the enemy between their emergence points and Afrana, though as you know, that distance is much shorter than from Sol to Earth. If we’d had a hundred million miles instead of a mere forty-three million, we might have annihilated them short of the planet.

  “Unfortunately, in order to prevent a mass landing and the risk of billions of casualties, we were forced to make a final stand above Afrana. The Sourge had stripped the moon Enoi bare of facilities, including the Weapon, and we fought a battle of attrition. Fortunately, before the fight we were able to take aboard millions of warriors, mostly Ryss, to function as Marines, internal defense forces. The bulk of the casualties were theirs as they gave their lives to stop the Scourge assault troops from overrunning me and my brothers from within.”