Message for the Dead

by Jason Anspach

  But the G3 was right. Their military assets, as represented on the tac display, updating in real time, dying in real time, fighting in real time on the wide table beneath their unblinking eyes, weren’t enough to do much of… anything.

  There’s no room to maneuver, thought Keller.

  Admiral Ubesk cleared his throat.

  “We still have the Seventh,” he said. “I’ve had them continue their course track, and they’re fully reloaded for another alpha strike. Black Fleet point defense has almost collapsed. The Seventh’s next strike will all but eliminate any one of the battleships if we concentrate fire. So… we could nuke the flagship now and claim victory. But the window for that action is closing, and I’m afraid there won’t be time to pull our troops out of engaged fighting aboard the ship before we hit it.”

  The import of what the admiral was suggesting was abundantly clear. Taking out a ship with legionnaires on board doing their best to take the ship at all costs. Sentencing to death those soldiers too deep into the superstructure to get out before the strike.

  It would be crossing a line.

  “No,” said the commander. “We won’t be doing that either.”

  He’d been that leej. The one on the far end of danger close, enemies inside the wire, artillery strike from the rear. He’d been there when the line was thin and the last call was to drop everything right on top of yourself as you dug in and hoped today wasn’t your day.

  No leej should ever die that way.

  Not on Keller’s watch.

  “What about using the Seventh against the Doomsday Fleet?” he asked Ubesk. “Commit them to battle against their mother ship before it reaches the Black Fleet flagship. Deny support.”

  Admiral Ubesk stared at the map. Nothing on it told him the answer, because so much of what was on it, or rather wasn’t on it, was unknown. It was all one giant unknown.

  “Commander,” he said, “we have no idea what the capabilities of that ship are. The Seventh presently has no fighter cover, and they have converted many of their weapon mounts to ranged warfare. Firing SSMs at point blank has always been a problem of data acquisition, and enemy ECM is much more effective at short range. The SSMs need maneuver and evasive room to avoid any PDC capabilities that thing might possess.”

  Admiral Ubesk took a deep breath, almost a sigh. “It would be a suicide charge at best. Best-case scenario. If I were in command of that ‘Doomsday Fleet,’ sensing imminent threat, I’d recall these Interceptors that are all over our fighters and cover my approach. The Seventh already spent her Interceptors to get our troop transports close. So they’d be effectively defenseless.”

  “But we don’t know how the SSMs will perform against this new ship,” Keller countered. “Keeping them out of the battle might give us just enough room to capture the Black Fleet flagship and any important personnel. Doing that might check the House of Reason.”

  “I understand, Commander. But as you said… we have no idea. In Repub Navy command and staff college we call that suicide. I’m not saying it’s not an option—and it might well be the only one we have right now—but it’s commander’s discretion to engage in such an attack with so many unknown variables. I understand that this is not the Legion’s way. I’m just telling you that’s how the Navy sees this.”

  Keller nodded. “Get Admiral Landoo on screen.”

  ***

  Combat Information Center

  Republic Super Carrier Freedom

  Admiral Landoo listened attentively to the tactical situation as given by Admiral Ubesk aboard the Mercutio—and the Legion commander’s subsequent request.

  “We realize the risks of an unsupported attack on an enemy fleet that has no known tactical database with which to plan from… but the commander is asking that the Seventh move to intercept this new ship in order to prevent the battle from being lost. I have advised him on how we do things in the Repub Navy. Admiral Landoo,” said Ubesk, “you’re a capable officer. You seem to have become the expert in fighting unknown ships in recent weeks. The decision is yours. If you choose not to proceed with this course of action, then my directive to you is to target Terror with a full alpha strike and break off for another reload. If the battle lasts that long.”

  Landoo said nothing.

  With a slight nod, Ubesk gave her time to consider. “We’ll await your decision, Admiral.” The screen went dark, only to be replaced by the flag of the Republic a few moments later.

  Landoo turned to face the darkness of the CIC.

  She was one strike away from exacting her revenge on the ship that had destroyed most of her fleet at Tarrago.

  But according to Admiral Ubesk’s briefing… this new fleet could be supporting the House of Reason. That would ruin everything—and toss away a battle that had already cost far too many lives.

  She left the CIC and entered the main bridge. In the distance, the Legion’s fleet was engaged in heavy fire at close range. Supported by her fighter wings.

  They were safe here.

  Even if the battle went south, they could jump away.

  The House might even forgive their treason.

  But they, the fighting forces of the Seventh, had trusted her.

  They had depended on her.

  Just as she had depended on them.

  Which was what made the military different from the rest of the galaxy. Most ran from the fire. The military was supposed to run toward it.

  She spun about, found the comms officer, and gave her order.

  “Bring the fleet about at flank speed. New targeting orders will be the alien ship. Stand by to fire our first salvo in the next minute. Tell all crews we’ll being doing a fast reload for the next strike. Disengage standard safety parameters.”

  ***

  Imperial Flagship Imperator

  Starboard Hangar Deck

  As Kat Haladis maneuvered the delicate shuttle into the bay, she looked over the flaming wreck of some tri-fighter that had botched its approach. Damage control personnel were running to contain the fire.

  Kat spotted her target and coaxed the ship in closer for the pickup. She put gears down and extended the boarding ramp for the emperor and his elite guard. It would be a tight fit, carrying all of them, but it was a short trip back to the Terror. She assumed that was their destination. Assumed that the emperor was transferring his flag from the Imperator, the condition of which looked quite dire.

  As soon as the passengers were aboard, the captain of the shock troopers appeared in the cockpit. He slipped into the empty co-pilot’s seat next to Kat and held out a tactical datapad.

  “The emperor says we need to board this hangar on this ship. Can you get us close?”

  Kat checked the schematic, then synched it with the near-space tactical display on the shuttle’s control panel. “This hangar?” she asked, pointing to the display.

  “Roger,” confirmed the captain.

  Kat sighed. But only to show how difficult it would all be. Fly through a firefight between two fleets, avoid any point defense fire, and somehow get into an enemy hangar bay.

  She was an Interceptor pilot. But like all Imperial pilots, she’d done a week at Vessel Assault School. She knew the tricks she was told would work.

  The question was whether those tricks would actually work, or whether they were just untried theory.

  She moved her hands forward, ignoring the screaming pain within her body, and throttled up the engines. The shuttle glided off the deck, out through the hangar portal, and into the maelstrom of battle.

  ***

  Audacity

  Arriving in Utopion Space

  “Deflectors up! Battle stations,” barked Desaix from the co-pilot’s chair as soon as they jumped into Utopion space.

  “What the…” said Atumna.

  The Audacity was flying straight into a massive Repub destroyer that was engaged with a Black Fleet battleship.

  She altered course, narrowly avoiding hitting the destroyer. The turret fire from the
two ships seemed oblivious to the passage of the speeding corvette.

  “Do we have any idea what’s going on here?” she yelled over the sound of proximity alerts and target lock warnings. “Captain?”

  But Desaix was too busy trying to get a handle on the near-space sensors and make sense of the battle.

  “These are all Legion fleet,” said Jory from comm and sensors. “The ones engaging the Black Fleet at point blank. And… I’ve got a ping on Admiral Landoo and the Seventh.”

  “First priority is to find out where Legion Commander Keller is. We have to deliver this message to him. But also try to get someone from Landoo’s command team to acknowledge our arrival for tasking,” Desaix ordered.

  “Seriously…” muttered Atumna from the controls. She reached up and diverted power to the deflectors. Warning lights acknowledged waist guns were ready and seeking targets.

  “Rocko, keep ’em off us. Other than that, don’t engage anyone.”

  “Copy that, Captain,” came the reply over the comm speakers.

  Beyond the two massive ships at broadsides, the view from the speeding Audacity was apocalyptic. Much of the Legion fleet was heavily damaged. The Black Fleet battleships were being swarmed by Repub fighters and chasing Black Fleet Interceptors. The debris from wrecked ships, destroyed assault craft, and crippled fighters was everywhere.

  “I have Keller’s adjutant on comm. Putting him through, Captain,” called Jory.

  Two tri-fighters came in fast at the Audacity, turbo blasters raking the command section. The deflectors held, and the Interceptors streaked off and away.

  “Captain of Audacity, this is Colonel Speich. The commander is directing combat operations from aboard the Mercutio. I understand you have a priority message for us?”

  “We do, Colonel. Problem is, it’s encrypted for non-transmission. It’s from Owens. We are to place it in the commander’s hand according to our instructions.”

  “And where is Major Owens?”

  Desaix paused. Not because the Audacity looked like it was about to smash into a missile frigate currently firing an entire salvo of SSMs from its launchers, but because for the first time he realized it fell to him to tell them what had happened to Owens.

  He had to tell them that Owens didn’t make it.

  “He did not survive,” Desaix said simply.

  Long pause.

  “Clearing you to dock with Mercutio. It’ll be hot, but we’ll try and keep them off you, Captain. The commander will be standing by. Speich out.”

  A moment later, Atumna got the clearance to approach the docking hangar alongside the Mercutio.

  “Every done a combat dock?” Desaix asked.

  Atumna answered with a sickly smile.

  “Me neither,” admitted Desaix. “Should be interesting.”

  Fighters swarmed. One of them erupted along the Audacity’s hull. The carnage and destruction was beyond Desaix’s ability to take in. Maybe beyond anyone’s ability. And so Desaix just flew his ship, ran his crew, and wondered just how important Owens’s message was in the grand scheme of things.

  ***

  Cybar Attack Force

  The first Interceptors manned by artificial intelligences swept in over the battleships. Micro-SSMs, advanced beyond anything developed by Repub or private R&D, dropped away from each wing of the crescent-shaped quicksilver-gleaming fighters. The missiles shot forth in a series of direct yet erratic maneuvers designed to prevent target acquisition by the opposing fleets’ point defense networks. Far quicker than the SSMs the rest of the galaxy thought of as latest-gen, the missiles took only seconds to streak in on the Revenge and disable many of her key systems with precision strikes.

  The Revenge was instantly crippled, drifting without motive power. But the Cybar Interceptors were already moving on toward the Legion’s fleet. Their next strikes would be far more devastating.

  Within moments the tiny, fast, and agile Interceptors were shooting the Legion fleet to shreds.

  In one pass the Cybar had devastated both fleets, each comprising the best each side had to offer.

  Now the smaller Cybar ships broke off into pairs like carrion birds and began to systematically tear their targets to pieces with blaster fire. Raptors and Lancers, along with tri-fighter Interceptors, broke off their attacks and, without any sort of unanimous consent, began to try and take out these new alien fighters. Their effort was valiant, and the Cybar lost a few fighters, but it was far from an even fight.

  And behind them, beyond the destruction near at hand, the massive mother ship approached the battle like a mammoth scavenger eyeing a field of corpses. Sensors in both fleets were detecting the unusually powerful energy signatures building within the massive ship.

  Within seconds, the Seventh would intercept and engage at close range.

  ***

  Combat Information Center

  Republic Super Carrier Freedom

  Landoo flicked her eyes to the engagement clocks, digital displays annotated by set actions. The most recent alpha strike of SSMs was two minutes into its run, and they were just over one minute away from the next reload.

  The bizarre alien ship was looming ever larger as the digital display zoomed and expanded, showing the closing engagement ranges of each ship.

  “Fifteen seconds to impact for alpha strike,” called out the OIC of fleet weapons.

  “What’s that Black Fleet shuttle doing out here?” someone remarked. But there was no time for that.

  The missiles slammed into the alien vessel. Landoo held her breath as the explosions expanded across the hull of the massive ship.

  “Damage report?” she asked tensely.

  No response. She noted that the Black Fleet shuttle was now missing from the board.

  “Damage report!” she shouted again.

  “Hard to say, Admiral. Sensors are coming back with bizarre readings. We definitely hit them, hit them hard, and we are seeing some kind of damage… but because of our lack of familiarity, it’s hard to say what we actually did.”

  Another officer spoke up. “Admiral, I’m detecting some kind of massive energy surge within the main ship. It’s… it’s similar to a core meltdown by one of the mega-planetary reactors. We must have hurt them worse than we thought. The energy readings are… incredible. Absolutely off the chart.”

  A nervous relief swept through the CIC.

  And then the mauler weapon—as it would become known by future conspiracy theorists who managed to get their hands on sensor data or even actual footage that supposedly never existed—fired at the entirety of the Seventh.

  It was initially purple-hued as it made contact with the oncoming Seventh Fleet, which was still maybe ten to twenty seconds from firing its next alpha strike of SSMs. But then the beam spectrum shifted into a frequency of light that was too painful to look at even in unfiltered recorded images. Classified sensor data would later indicate it was a heat ray that approached tens of millions of Kelvins.

  It wasn’t a beam so much as a directed flash.

  It appeared briefly.

  And then it was gone.

  And in its wake was the expanding and near unidentifiable wreckage field of the entire Seventh Fleet.

  They had been vaporized in an instant.

  ***

  Audacity

  Docking with Legion Super Destroyer Mercutio

  The corvette had just heaved alongside Mercutio’s main docking hangar and secured mag-mooring when Desaix leapt from his seat and took the ladder down to the bridge hatch. Major Thales was right behind him. Casso already had the hatch open for them.

  The wide sprawl of the docking hangar in deck three of the mighty Mercutio was abuzz with shuttles evacuating wounded away from the battle. Across the space, Commander Keller was already coming toward them, with Colonel Speich beside him.

  And they were sprinting.

  Desaix pulled the message device from his jacket. He saluted the commander and handed it over without discussion. The comman
der turned to Colonel Speich.

  “Play it.”

  Colonel Speich cast a questioning look that clearly meant: In front of these men?

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Keller. “They’re in just as deep as we are.”

  Speich inserted the memory device into his datapad. As he authenticated his ability to view, Keller turned back to Desaix.

  “Major Owens?”

  Desaix shook his head. “He made sure we got off their ship. It’s even bigger than those monsters out there. Running some kind of heavy reach tractor system I’ve never seen before. Without his…” Desaix paused. “Without his sacrifice, Commander, we wouldn’t have gotten out of there. So I don’t know what’s on that thing, but it seems to have been important to him.”

  The playback began.

  Owens’s thick, bearded face appeared in ghostly blue holograph form. What he said was important. And not one person listening wasn’t shocked to the core by the recording that followed Owens’s introduction. Even Desaix, who’d never much cared for fleet intrigues and politics, a man who was happy to fly his ship out on the edge of the galaxy and deal with things as they came at him, either by wit or blaster, was shocked.

  When the playback finished, Desaix looked up at Commander Keller. The man looked like he’d aged ten years in seconds.

  He looked tired.

  He looked done.

  He looked like a man who’d fallen for all the worst cons on some street along the galactic backwater. And now he had no money to get home, or even back to his ship.

  Except for his eyes. Commander Keller’s eyes were alight with a terrible, bitter fire. A rage. Like he was some… some… horrible thing that had been betrayed, and now, on the other side of everything… all that was left was revenge.

  Revenge was the only thing left in those eyes.

  When Keller spoke, his voice was cold. Cold like the slabs of marble bodies are laid to rest upon well after midnight. Cold like the grave.