by Nick Webb
“Uh, Auntie Rayna, it’s good to see you too. Danny talks about you a lot. You’re a legend, to say the least.”
“Well well. That’s thoughtful and accurate of him.” She finally let go but held on to her upper arms, looking her up and down. “You look good. You didn’t pass Valarisi virus to me through the skin contact, did you? I tolerated my companion for a few days during the black hole battle, but that was enough for me, thank you very much. I like my thoughts to be my own.”
Liu nodded. “I understand. Many people feel the same. But my companion tells me that skin-to-skin transmission is no longer possible. They could do it when the Swarm controlled them thirty years ago, but it’s a skill that they lost because of the whole near-annihilation of their people thing.”
“Well. Can’t say that I’m not a little relieved. But still, I warned Shelby at the time, in the aftermath of the war. Admiral what’s-his-butt had ordered their destruction. And Oppenheimer kind of tied her hands seeing how he was her XO and working behind her back. But killing off a whole race? Not ideal!”
Liu nodded solemnly. “Not ideal at all. My companion says you have a gift of understatement.”
“Thank her for me, dearie. Now, on to business. Mr. President? I was about to come looking for someone important to deliver some important information to. I suppose you’ll have to do for now.”
“I, uh . . . thank you?” said Sepulveda.
“As you probably know, Shelby didn’t ask me to command a starship for my tactical brain, but for my data brain. She wanted me studying the ruin of Britannia, since it’s where both a Swarm ship and a Granger-moon met their demise. Wanted me to power through a few million terabytes of sensor data and make some sense out of all of it.”
“Million . . . terabytes?”
My god, he’s slow.
“Try to keep up, Mr. President.” Suddenly, she remembered Adam’s lesson earlier in the day. “Can I call you John?”
“Well, you certainly just did.” At least he wasn’t frowning. Progress?
“John. A million terabytes. That’s an exabyte, by the way. I should have just said exabyte but thought I should dumb it down a bit so I didn’t lose my audience.”
“Thank you, Captain. That’s . . . kind. And speaking of terabytes, I may have something for you, too.”
Well! He’s certainly a politician. I scratch his back and he scratches mine. I just hope the stupid isn’t contagious.
“Wonderful. Here’s what I’ve got.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw the senator shift on her feet a bit. “Unless you want to go sit down in a conference room? I thought given the urgency of all this you’d want to just skip the conventions and get down to business.”
The senator shook her head. “No, this is fine. Right, Mr. President?”
“It is. Please, go on.”
“Perfect. Long story short, I took some data. The error bars are still being nailed down, but the too-long-didn’t-read version is that I think Former President Barbara Avery, before her death on Britannia, summoned some large mass from the Swarm’s universe out of an artificial singularity that she somehow got her hands on. Given that she had her fingers in a lot of pots back in the day, it actually doesn’t surprise me one bit.”
They both looked stunned into silence. Good. Speechless politicians. Her reward for weeks of hard work.
“That’s—incredible. You’re sure?” said Sepulveda.
She glanced down at the current status of her error bars. “I’m ninety-two percent sure. I mean, not great, but not bad.”
“And you figured this out just by studying the properties of the Britannian debris cloud? Months after the fact?”
“Like I said. Shelby wanted me for my data-brain, not my tactical brain.”
Sepulveda pulled something from his pocket. A data stick. “I have something for you then, Captain Data-Brain. A few hundred terabytes of sensor and video logs of former President Avery’s residence. Not millions of terabytes like you’re used to, but it normally would take weeks to analyze. I need it done in hours. Minutes, if possible, but I realize you’re mortal.”
“Ha! Challenge accepted, John. Follow me.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Il Nido Sector
Paradiso, High Orbit
ISS Independence
Bridge
“Status, Ensign?”
“No change, Admiral Proctor,” said Destachio. “The only ships that have q-jumped into orbit in the last ten minutes have been the Copenhagen and the Kobe—the last of the sacrificial fleet. Still no sign of the Findiri fleet.”
“They’re taking their sweet time,” she said to Zivic, standing across from her at the command station. At least that gave them the chance to make what preparations they could, such as they were. Not having any tactical knowledge of the Findiri made them effectively blind. But orbital battles were orbital battles, no matter who you were fighting. Gravity pulled you down, engines kept you up, and railguns kept you alive.
Some distant flashes on the view screen indicated the arrival of more ships. Many more, judging by the dozens of twinkles. Proctor gripped her armrest and clenched her jaw. This could be it.
“Incoming message from Admiral Oppenheimer on the ISS Resolute,” said Ensign Sampono. “‘The cavalry has arrived,’ he says.”
Ensign Destachio nodded, a scowl on his face. “I’m reading the arrival of at least thirty-five ships so far, Admiral.”
Zivic spun around and nearly yelled. “What? What the hell is he doing here?”
Proctor stood up from the command chair and approached the front viewscreen. “Open a channel to the Resolute,” she said.
Sampono nodded. “Channel open, Admiral.”
“What’s going on, Christian? I thought you approved of the plan?”
Oppenheimer’s face appeared on the screen, displacing the view of the assembling fleet above Paradiso. “There you go again. I did approve it. That doesn’t mean I can’t effect other concurrent plans.”
“And what plan is that?” She wanted to ball up her fists, but didn’t want the bridge crew to think he was getting under her skin. She let Zivic show her emotions for her—he was absolutely fuming.
“Shelby, I’ll be honest, your plan had some merit, but it lacked . . . initiative.” He grinned, and she could see the disdain in his eyes. “While you and your fleet probe the Findiri offensive capabilities, we’ll be hiding out on the far side of Paradiso’s furthest moon. It’s only two light seconds away, so we’ll see it as it happens. And once we determine their capabilities, that’s when my task force strikes. The Independence and her task force is to join me when we do.”
She lowered her face to her palm. “Christian, I—”
“That’s where you say, ‘Yes, sir, Admiral.’”
She looked back up at him. “Yes, sir, and for the official record, this goes against my judgment, and my recommendations.”
“Your recommendations? All you’ve recommended is to slaughter a hundred of our best people, Shelby.”
“Admiral,” she began, straining to keep the frustration out of her voice, “I recommend that you do not leave Earth defenseless. That you do not leave New Dublin defenseless. Or whatever other UE world’s planetary defense fleets you’ve stripped to cobble this fleet together.”
“Noted. Prepare for battle. Oppenheimer out.” His face disappeared from the screen, replaced by the image of Paradiso far below.
Zivic flipped off the viewscreen. “That syphilitic shit-stained twat-waffle is going to fuck up the entire—”
“Language please, Commander,” said Proctor, sitting back down. “This complicates things, yes. But ultimately, our plan is unchanged.” She glanced at Sampono. “Our task force is all assembled?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then patch me through.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.” Sampono tapped her console a few times and nodded back at Proctor. “You’re on, ma’am.”
“To all members of the Greate
r Love task force,” she began, taking a deep breath. She’d based the name of the ten-ship task force on a favorite passage of scripture she learned as a Catholic schoolgirl: Greater love has no man than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.
“My friends, this is Admiral Proctor. This is your moment. You’ve grown up with stories about The Hero of Earth. Let me tell you—and I think I know this better than anyone—Captain Tim Granger was just a man. He was irritable, somewhat lax on the rules and regulations, often had terrible judgement, and was just a general all-round pain in the ass. Still is. But they called him the Hero of Earth. This is your moment. You’re ordinary officers and you all have your strengths and your weaknesses. And we, unremarkable people though we may be, are called upon to perform acts of greatness, and I swear to you, in this moment, we will rise to the occasion. You will rise to the occasion.”
She glanced around the bridge. All eyes were on her. Some, especially the younger, more inexperienced officers that had only recently graduated, looked determined and, if she wasn’t mistaken, fierce. Others, including some more experienced hands, looked like scared children trying to act brave.
She felt that too.
“And allow me to correct a misconception. This is not a sacrificial fleet. You are not sacrificial lambs, you are not going on a predetermined one-way mission, and you are most certainly not bricks.” She’d heard a few conversations in hallways, abruptly hushed when she passed by, that she was the new bricklayer, throwing ships around like bricks through the windows of the enemy.
“This is a mission where the primary goal is absolute and total victory. The secondary mission, should we temporarily fail in the primary, is intelligence. We need to know our enemy before the bulk of the fleet fights it. We can’t afford any more surprises. And so you will not take reckless, unnecessary risks. You are not dead men and women. We will fiercely fight, and if the odds become impossible, we will withdraw.” She paused, uncertain what to say next. Which meant her speech was over. “All hands, all ships, battle stations. You’ve trained for this, you know your duty. Your training and your friends around you will not fail you. Proctor out.”
How many pre-battle speeches had she given in her life? Ten? Twenty? And yet each one felt like it was the final. Each felt like what she imagined a newly inaugurated president of United Earth must feel as he delivers his words after his oath of office, only times a thousand.
And each time, she’d lived to deliver another.
And each time, she knew what she was up against.
This time? It felt different. And she felt strangely . . . alone.
YOU’RE NOT ALONE, SHELBY.
Thank you for the sentiment, she replied. But the assurance did little to assuage her uneasiness.
She watched Oppenheimer’s fleet disappear in dozens of flashes as they q-jumped away toward the farthest moon of Paradiso.
“Angel Wing, take position at Blindspot Alpha,” she said. Five ships of the Greater Love task force flashed and disappeared, their destination a few light seconds away directly toward Paradiso’s sun, but just one tenth of an arc second away from covering it, from their perspective. That way, they’d be virtually undetectable by most sensor bands.
YOU’RE NOT ALONE, SHELBY. I MEAN THAT LITERALLY. SOME OF YOUR FRIENDS HAVE COME.
A knot in her stomach finally came undone and she felt the barest hint of relief. “Oh thank god.” She turned to Ensign Destachio. “Who is it?”
“Ma’am?”
“The incoming ships.”
On the viewscreen, a few flashes indicated the arrival of a ship. The markings were clear. It was Russian Confederation. “Oh,” said Destachio. “That ship. Transponder says its the RCS Kursk.” He glanced at Proctor with a strange expression. She’d basically predicted the arrival of a ship, to within a few seconds. They didn’t know she still had her companion.
Another two flashes. Another two ships. “The big one is the Zhanshí, out of the CIDR. Captain Wang. And the smaller is—” He looked closer at his monitor, as if he didn’t quite believe it. “It’s the Kashaf. A Caliphate ship. Wow.”
“Yeah, wasn’t expecting that one,” said Zivic. “Haven’t seen one of their warships in—forever? Didn’t even know they had any.”
“Doesn’t look like a warship, Admiral,” said Destachio. “If I had to guess, more like a recon ship. Small. Just a single railgun and a few PDCs.”
Proctor nodded approvingly. “The more the merrier. Now all we need are the Itharans, and Jerusha is still working on the Eru, but that seems unlikely.” She reached inward to her companion. Are the Itharans near?
YES. THEY WILL ARRIVE BEFORE THE FINDIRI, BUT ONLY JUST.
And the Eru?
I . . . CAN’T FEEL THEIR IMMINENT ARRIVAL, NO.
Another flash indicated the arrival of another ship, this one very strange looking, as if it were a large shipping container with all the necessary instruments and system modules strapped to the sides haphazardly and apparently at random.
Proctor smiled. “Pure Trit. I expected nothing less.”
“I just hope nothing falls off during the battle,” said Zivic, with a small snort.
“Ensign, open a channel to our guests.” Proctor waited for the nod from Sampono, then began, “Thank you for coming. I know we’ve had our differences, but we’ve also come together before. I believe and hope that now is one of those times. The Findiri are real, and they are coming. It is not UE propaganda. And after they attack this world, they’ll attack other worlds. You will not be spared simply because you fly a different flag. But for now, please observe, take all the data you can, gather all the intelligence within your power, so that when we face them again we’ll have the advantage. Park fifty kilometers above Paradiso’s north pole, shutting down all systems except for thrusters and passive sensors, and you should remain undetected. Proctor out.”
She reached within herself. Did the Itharans understand that?
THEY DID.
The viewscreen showed the newly arrived four ships fire up their engines and swerve north from their current orbit, disappearing over the horizon within seconds.
DO YOU FEEL THEM, SHELBY PROCTOR?
Them?
THE ENEMY. THEY COME.
She closed her eyes and reached out, feeling the nascent Ligature like a whisper, or a gentle wave with smaller ripples superimposed, or the background rustling of grass and leaves in a field. Each race, especially those that had at one point been connected to the old Ligature, had its own signature feel or flavor she could sense through meta-space, just as one could distinguish between the rustling of grass from that of maple leaves. They were like shadows, or echoes.
And there they were. Other shadows. Other echoes. They felt . . . strange. Familiar, yet unfamiliar.
And one echo in particular. Not just familiar. Uncanny, odd, wrong. Yet very, very familiar. It had a stronger echo than the others.
It was their leader. And it was heading their way.
She opened her eyes and watched the screen fill with flash after flash, indicating the arrival of the Findiri fleet. She picked out the largest ship. “There. That’s their flagship. All hands, standby for battle. We’re going to take out their leader, and maybe, just maybe, that will end this before it even begins.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Britannia Sector
Orbit of Britannia Debris Cloud
ISS Dirac
Bridge
President Sepulveda allowed himself to be led up to the bridge of the ISS Dirac by the odd captain. At first he wanted to let himself get angry with her unorthodox treatment of him, but if Admiral Proctor had chosen this wing nut to be a captain, then she probably knew what she was doing.
The doors to the bridge opened, and Captain Scott scurried over to one of the sections where about a dozen fresh-faced ensigns and scientists sat. He couldn’t hear what she told them, but after a minute she tossed one of them the data stick, scurried back to the command console in
the center of the bridge, and called back to them, “And dearies,” she peered at some file on her console, “that is, Jonathan, Sarah, Sandeep, Jin, Orson, Naya, and—I’m sorry, how do you say this? Sour . . . ice?”
One of the scientists went beet red. “It’s Saoirse, ma’am. Pronounced sir-sha.”
“Ah. Surr-Shaw. Did I get it right?”
“Close enough, ma’am.”
“Right. Surrshaw, and, oh, all the rest of you. We need this now. And by now, I mean last week. The Findiri are here. Our friends are out there right now, probably in the fight of their lives. If this can do something to help them, we owe it to them.” She nodded a few times, focusing on her hands, analyzing her pep talk as if it were a physical object and deciding what finishing touch to put on it. “And the first to find something interesting gets shore leave for a month. Go!”
What a batty little lady, he thought. But if she gets results . . .
“Sir,” Tapper had sidled up to him. “I’ve finally heard back from Danforth. He says they just want you to stay put for now. Earth is too dangerous, as is Bolivar. Given that Interstellar One is slagged and they have no idea how the perpetrators knew where you were, they think it’s best to stay with the Dirac.”
He whispered back to him. “I don’t like it. I can’t just be out here twiddling my thumbs while Earth burns.”
“Earth’s not burning yet, sir. Danforth told me the fleet may very well stop them at Paradiso.”
“Paradiso? The Findiri are at Paradiso? Shit. Well, let’s just hope—”
Captain Scott’s thunderously triumphant voice interrupted him. “And we have a winner! What have you got, Sarah?”
One of the data scientists looked up. “Sending it to your station now, ma’am.”
“Just put it up on the big screen.”
Moments later, the viewscreen, which had been showing the most up-to-date model for the probability-density track of the potential Swarm universe material, flicked to a video.