Into the Darkness: Crimson Worlds Refugees I

by Jay Allan

  The range was below 30,000…25,000…20,000…

  “Fire!” she howled, a shriek like some demon from hell.

  The ship shook as the torpedo launched, and Mariko slammed the throttle forward and to the starboard. Six gees of force slammed into everyone onboard, as the straining, dying engines of her stricken ship struggled to change her vector before she crashed into the enemy vessel.

  For a fleeting instant, she’d thought she cut it too close, that she and the other three crew of her ship were going to die. But then the fighter whipped past the battered enemy vessel at 2% of the speed of light…and the single wounded fighter, the last of the Gold Dragons, began to decelerate and make its way back to the fleet to refuel and rearm.

  The unit was down to one ship, but that didn’t matter to Mariko Fujin. There was still a battle raging, and as long as it continued, she would lead her ship—the last Dragon—back into the maelstrom.

  She owed that much, at least, to her dead friends.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Command Unit Gamma 9736

  The first wave had failed. Over one hundred vessels destroyed. The enemy fleet had taken losses too, but far less severe. The Regent’s message had warned of the surprising military capabilities of the humans. Their technology was inferior, primitive, but their combat abilities were considerable. It was as if they were attuned to warfare, as if they had been bred to fight.

  Indeed, there was a parallel, deep within the Unit’s memory banks. Long ago, before the Old Ones had gone, in the early years of the imperium. Before, even, the unit had been created. The Old Ones had been a society divided into castes, and in the most ancient of times, the great warrior class had dominated. It was they who had created the imperium, sweeping away all enemies and clearing the way for settlers and scientists and artists to follow.

  The great battle clans of those early years fell into a long period of decline. Their prowess had made them obsolete. They had crushed all enemies, eliminated the danger of invasion. There was a quote—the unit found it deep in its memory banks—Ashi’Talan, clan master of the Talan, looked out over the vastness of the imperium and he wept, for there were no new worlds to conquer.

  No, the unit decided. There could be no relationship between these aliens and the warrior clans of the Old Ones. The Regent would surely have detected any connection. The effectiveness of the enemy, their skill at war, was simply an aspect of their culture, the result of their primitive savagery. They fought well, defeated forces that were superior to them in materiel and technology. But it would not save them.

  Even now, the Unit had more fleets in motions, forces vastly stronger than the first armada sent against the enemy. The humans were highly skilled at war, there was no doubt of that. But against what the Unit was now sending toward them there was no chance of victory.

  The Unit felt a strange hesitancy…was it regret? In its own way, it had begun to respect these creatures. But its purpose was to serve, and the Regent’s orders were clear. Death to the aliens.

  Still, the Unit thought…they are much like the old warrior castes. I will destroy them, as I have been commanded to do. But they shall have a final battle worthy of remembrance…and I shall record their end in my permanent memory banks, alongside the tales of the ancient wars.

  AS Midway

  X18 System

  The Fleet: 202 ships, 44,711 crew

  “We can’t run, not until we get everybody fueled up.” Compton was sitting in his office, just off Midway’s flag bridge. The battle was over, all but the mopping up. His people had performed brilliantly, and the fleet units that had so recently been on the brink of firing on each other had stood side by side and won a great victory, utterly obliterating the enemy armada.

  “I understand, Admiral, but the enemy knows where we are. What’s to say they won’t come pouring through that warp gate again any minute?” Max Harmon sat opposite the admiral, slouched into one of the guest chairs. He normally sat totally upright, almost at attention in the admiral’s presence. But it had been days since he’d gotten any sleep, and even the stims weren’t doing much for him anymore.

  “Nothing.” Compton’s tone was deadpan. “But if we take off now, we’ll have ships running out of power almost immediately. This last fight pretty much drained the tanks of the ships that haven’t refueled. We’re in no position to get away from a pursuit like this. Even if we try to redistribute fuel on the run, the fleet as a whole will still be dangerously low.”

  Compton shook his head and sighed. “No, Max, if they’re going to be on us that quickly then they’re going to catch us anyway. At least with more fuel we can put up a fight.” He paused. “If we flee now, we abandon the refinery. We’ll have to find another rich source of both tritium and helium-3…and we’ll have to stop there and start over, building a new facility. That’s an awfully uncertain prospect. I’d rather gut it out here a couple more days while we top off the rest of the ships. If we’ve got another fight coming, this is as good a place as any.”

  “You’re right, of course, sir,” Harmon said, a flicker of doubt still lingering in his voice. “But I’m still worried about what might be behind that last attack force. You and I both know the First Imperium has good data on our strength. The battle went better than we could have hoped, but still, there’s no way the enemy intelligences considered that force strong enough to guarantee our destruction. If I had to guess, I’d say they that fleet was just a sacrifice, sent through to keep us pinned down while they brought up more strength.”

  “I can’t argue with your tactical analysis, Max.” A fleeting smile slipped across Compton’s face. He’d always known Max Harmon was a highly skilled and intelligent officer, but his aide still surprised him occasionally with the completeness of his grasp of the situation.

  He is truly his mother’s son.

  “But none of it matters,” Harmon said, nodding as he did. “Because, however hazardous it is to remain in X18, the alternatives to staying here are all more dangerous.”

  “Precisely. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing we can do. We’ve got enough mines in the supply ships for one more good spread. I hate to burn through them, especially when we’re not even sure the enemy is coming, but it’s a precaution I think is worthwhile. Let’s prepare a welcome for any other First Imperium forces that decide to poke their noses into X18.”

  “Do we mine every warp gate or just the one they came through?”

  “Good question, Max. There’s no reason to believe the next attack will come from the same gate. We’re deep in their home space now…they could come at us from any direction.” Compton paused. “I think we’ll cover them all. At least that way we’re guaranteed some effect. I’d hate to waste the last of our ordnance only for them to come from a different direction.”

  He looked up at Harmon. “I want you to handle this, Max. Requisition the ships you need, and get it done as quickly as you can. We might not have much time.”

  “Yes, sir.” Harmon nodded. “Is there anything else?”

  “Not right now, I don’t think. I’m sending one of John Duke’s attack ships to X20 to recall Admiral Dumont. We can’t afford to do without his task force if another enemy assault comes through one of those gates.”

  “Are you going to pull the scientific team out too?”

  Compton hesitated, as if finishing a thought. “No, I don’t think so. Cutter’s work is too important. If there’s a chance—any chance—we’ve got to take it.”

  “But what if they activate that ship…”

  “That’s a possibility, Max, but Dr. Cutter is probably the smartest person in this fleet…and Dr. Zhukov isn’t far behind. Let’s remember, for all our tactical wizardry, for the skill of officers like Augustus and Elias Holm and Erik Cain—and all the battles they won—it was Dr. Hofstader’s theory that saved mankind. The rest of us would have died glorious deaths, no doubt, but you know as well as I, there was no way we could have stopped that fleet in X2.” He paused a
few seconds, remembering the brilliant plan to scramble the warp gate, the stratagem that saved billions of people…and stranded his fleet in the heart of the First Imperium.

  “It’s still a gamble, Admiral. A big one.”

  “Do you think anything we do now isn’t a gamble? I have wracked my brain, but I can’t think of any course of action that does more than buy us a little time. But we can’t keep running, even if we could stay ahead. We’re going to need food. We have to set up some kind of manufacturing facilities to build ammunition and spare parts.” He paused and stared at Harmon. “And everything we’ve seen in these systems suggested we’re moving deeper into the imperium itself. We’re running…but we’re running to the enemy, not away.”

  The two sat quietly for a few minutes before Harmon spoke. “Well, sir…I guess I should be going. The sooner those mines are in place, the better off we’ll be.”

  “Yes, I think you’re right, Max. You’d better…”

  “Admiral Compton…” It was Cortez’s voice, and Compton could tell immediately the tactical officer was clearly worried about something.

  “What is it, Jack?”

  “Admiral Udinov is on the line, sir.”

  “Put him through.” Compton stared over at Harmon, but the aide shrugged his shoulders and looked back quizzically.

  “Admiral Compton, have you been watching the CAC contingent on your scanners?”

  “No, Admiral. Why?” Compton had a bad feeling in his gut.

  “Because I think Admiral Zhang is making a run for it. Tang and several other ships seem to be moving away from the main formation. And they’re accelerating at 30g.”

  * * *

  Zhang felt himself floating, drifting. The tanks made it hard to maintain focus, and the drugs were even worse. But it was the only way to travel at 30g for any extended period and survive. And Zhang knew one thing for sure. He had to get the hell out of this system. If he gave Compton time to react, the admiral would blast the CAC admiral’s few ships into atoms.

  He’d lost control over most of the CAC task force. His coup had succeeded, and the entire contingent had accepted him as their commander. But then the First Imperium ships came swarming into the system, and most of his captains refused to abandon the fleet while it was under fire. Zhang argued with a few of them, but then he decided to bug out with whatever would come with him. In the end, Tang and three destroyers crept away during the battle, heading for the X19 warp gate. It was a second choice, a last minute replacement for the X18 gate that was now the entry point for the First Imperium forces.

  Zhang was only semi-coherent, but he could feel the fear—the terror that Compton would notice his flight soon enough to have him intercepted, that the Alliance admiral would capture him. Zhang had no illusions about what would happen then. Compton might stage a show trial before spacing him for mutiny, but he might not even bother. He might just shove Zhang out the airlock as soon as he was captured. Fighting wasn’t an option, not four ships against the whole fleet. No, sneaking out while everyone else was distracted by the fight was the only way.

  Zhang knew he could have remained in the fight as well, and afterward, if the humans won the battle, he could have petitioned Compton for leniency. He knew the fleet admiral detested him, but he also realized Compton had to maintain control of the fleet. It would be hard to enforce death sentences against officers who had joined in the desperate battle. Indeed, it was likely that some kind of blanket amnesty would be declared for Udinov and the others—and it might be difficult for Compton to pardon everyone involved and not to extend that to Zhang.

  But still, the CAC admiral couldn’t bring himself to trust Compton. And he could never be sure his role in Chen Min’s assassination would remain a secret. Terrance Compton wouldn’t be so quick to accept the natural death story. He’d order investigation after investigation until he’d uncovered the whole plot. And then there was no doubt Zhang Lu would die. His instincts screamed for escape, and he heeded their call.

  Zhang had other reasons for his decision. He understood, at least on a rational level, that Compton’s concerns were valid. The enemy might indeed be able to track his ships as they searched for a way back to Earth. But his fear and his lust to return to his comfortable life and the perquisites of being a member of a major political family were too strong. He convinced himself he could elude pursuit, that there was no reason to remain stranded, to willingly plunge deeper into the unknown.

  His four ships were on a direct path for the warp gate. They would accelerate at 30g the rest of the way then they would adjust their course through the X19 system to position for the next transit. With any luck, they’d be too far ahead before Compton could react effectively…and any pursuers would be too far back to catch them.

  He felt himself slipping deeper into a dreamlike state, and at last the fear began to subside. His mind was awash with a mix of memories and dreams, thoughts of returning home, a triumphant hero, back from the very depths of deep space.

  * * *

  “Erica, this is the most important mission you’ve ever been on. If that damned fool actually manages to find a way home, he’ll bring death to billions of people on a thousand worlds.” Compton was angry, as much at himself as at Zhang. He expected nothing better from the miserable piece of shit, but he knew he’d dropped the ball, lost focus. Even he’d been surprised that Zhang would abandon his own CAC ships in the middle of a fight to the death.

  “I’ll get him, sir.” West’s voice was firm, her eyes focused on Compton’s. The only visible sign of tension was her right hand tapping against her leg. All things considered, it wasn’t too much of a tell…not considering she and Compton both knew her new command was likely going on a suicide mission.

  They were standing in the landing bay, next to the shuttle that would take her to her new flagship. Compton knew she’d been aching for reassignment since she’d been cleared for duty, but now that he was giving it to her he felt nothing but remorse.

  “I’m sorry, Erica, but the Thames-class cruisers are the only ships we’ve got that are fast enough to catch up to him and strong enough to have a chance against Tang in a fight.” And not one of them has refueled yet. She’ll probably have enough power to catch Zhang, but will she be able to make it back? “I know the ships are low on fuel, but you have to catch up to Zhang’s ships, no matter what.” And burn so much tritium you have no chance of returning.

  “Don’t worry, sir.” Her face softened, and she took a step closer to him. “I understand what is at stake, and I give you my word, sir…I will see it done. Whatever it takes.”

  Compton nodded. Yes, Erica…go now. Take six ships and 1,600 crew, and go die cleaning up my mistake. He was wracked with guilt, but he forced himself to look up at her, to lock his eyes on hers. She deserves that much from you, at least.

  She took a step back and snapped to attention, giving Compton a crisp salute. “With your permission, sir, I’d better be going.”

  “Permission granted, Admiral West. And Godspeed.” He returned the salute, struggling to hold back his emotion.

  * * *

  “We’re fully refueled, Admiral.” Captain Horace’s voice came through the com, shaking Compton out of his daydream. He’d been thinking about West and her people, wondering how far they’d gotten in the day since they’d left. He knew her people would be buttoned up in the tanks, blasting their engines at 35g to catch up with Zhang…burning through the last of their dwindling fuel supplies. He’d known for decades there was no justice in war, but he’d never quite made peace with that fact. He doubted every crewmember on Tang and her companion ships had wanted to abandon their comrades. They were stuck there, common spacers with no control over what their commanders chose to do—but they would die just the same when West’s ships attacked. Just as her people faced a very uncertain prospect of survival, even if they won the fight.

  ‘Very good, Captain.” Compton felt guilty about refueling his own ship when so many others were worse
off. The Alliance Yorktowns had massive storage facilities, but the three vessels were also the strongest in the fleet by far, and with no idea when the enemy might attack, he needed as much of his fighting power ready for whatever came next.

  And if it comes down to abandoning the ships that haven’t refueled, you will do that too. And you will lie in your tank and feel Midway accelerate away while the vessels pushed to the rear of the refueling queue lag behind and die.

  “Commander Cortez, the refueling operation is to continue in accordance with the new prioritization.” It was simple. The stronger a ship was in a fight, the sooner it got fuel. Compton hated the concept, but he also knew he should have done it from the start. There was no place for egalitarian ideals, no decisions to be made by drawing straws or organizing things emotionally. If any of his people were to survive, he needed to be sharp, focused…and cold blooded.

  He wondered if the crews on the ships pushed to the end of the line understood the logic of the plan. They had nothing to do but sit and wait, and watch their scanners to see if the enemy returned before they got their turn to refuel.

  “Yes, Admiral. Current projections are approximately forty hours until completion of the operation. Commander Davies projects a further ninety-six hours for complete breakdown of the facility or forty to recover only the most critical equipment.

  Compton just nodded. He’d already written off the entire refinery and all its equipment. He knew that would have long-term consequences—much of the gear would be hard to replace from the fleet’s dwindling stocks. But he knew he’d be lucky just to get his ships refueled and out of X18 before the enemy came back in even greater force. He couldn’t imagine how he could justify taking the risk of staying in place an extra four days to retrieve equipment, no matter how vital it was.