The ship shook again, and the Captain looked fearfully at the schematic that showed her damage, afraid that he might see the wormhole gate no longer operative. It was still totally functional, and the access tube to the outside was still up as well.
“Damage to rear port grabber unit,” called out damage control over the com. “Unit offline.”
“Repair time” asked Francois.
“The unit will need to be replaced in dock, sir,” reported the Senior Chief in charge of the damage control center.
“We need to start decel, now,” called out the Helm Officer, a panicked look on his face. “We’ll barely have time to get down to jump velocity as it is.”
“Do it,” growled the Captain, looking over at the side viewer to make sure Benoit had heard what they were doing.
The ship shook again, and the Captain looked quickly at the display to ensure that the wormhole was still there. He looked over at the com screen which showed Captain Benoit. “Are you still up and running?”
“We’re taking a pounding, but our stern wormhole is still up. I’m not sure how much longer it will be. We only have one stern tube active besides it.”
“We have two,” said Francois, crossing his fingers. “I think the best course will be to present broadsides to them when we’re ready to shoot what we already have aboard.”
“It will take us a couple of minutes to cross load all of them to one of the broadsides,” said Benoit.
“Understood,” replied Francois, looking over at his Tactical Officer and nodding at the man, who started the process in motion, the autosystems pulling the missiles from the stern magazines where they had loaded them before, then shifting them through internal tubes to one of the broadsides.
“Imperial ships will be past the barrier in three minutes,” said the Sensor Officer.
“Are the stern weapons locked?” asked Francois of his Tactical Officer.
“Accelerated up to full and ready to go,” said that officer. “Ready to fire on your command.”
The ship shook again, a hit over the stern ventral area. He actually welcomed the hit there, which did not threaten any of his grabber units. The timer clicked down and the graviton waves of a hyper translation came to the sensors. Nineteen point sources, coming through within a second of each other, and firing hyper capable missiles within two seconds after arrival.
“Open fire,” yelled the Captain, and a moment later both battleships added their fire to the mix.
* * *
“Both of the ships are still there, sir,” said the Sensor Officer over the com from the battle bridge. “One has dropped to four hundred forty gravities. I suspect they have taken major damage to their propulsion systems.”
“Time to translation, one minute,” said the Flag Navigator.
“All ships are to acquire and fire as soon as we enter III,” ordered Nguyen. Hopefully this will distract the enemy enough for those ships, or at least whichever one is carrying the wormhole, to make it to Bolthole. He looked around the flag bridge at the crew, some he had known for quite some time, some newly assigned at Bolthole. It’s been nice knowing all of you, thought the Admiral, not sure he liked the idea of leading all of these people to their deaths, or his own.
“Translation, now,” called out the Flag Navigator, and the lights dimmed while nausea struck. Moments later they were in the slightly brighter red dimension of hyper III, all of the ships letting loose with volleys of hyper capable missiles.
* * *
Bonaparte shook slightly while she fired what she had at the enemy. A missile left the stern tube not hooked up to the wormhole, while the portal itself released a stream of thirty missiles in a millisecond, all traveling at point nine five light, their hyperdrives coming up point zero one seconds after leaving the portal. Three seconds later the stern tube fired again, then the ship rotated to put its port broadside to the following enemy. A dozen missiles came accelerating out of those tubes, while the ship continued to turn, as it had done before, releasing six missiles from the forward tubes and then a dozen more from the starboard broadside. By the time the stern was presented to the enemy again another launcher was aligned with the wormhole at the other end and thirty more missiles came through. All told, they had launched one hundred and twenty missiles screaming out a point nine five light, and another sixty-four that accelerated at fifteen thousand gravities, a rate they couldn’t maintain for more than a couple of minutes.
It was a slaughter for the twenty-one Machine ships that were following close behind, already into their deceleration before reaching the barrier. They targeted the slower moving missiles, what their computer minds told them they had at least a chance of stopping. The portal launched missiles slammed into them, turning twenty-one vessels into the same number of spreading plasma clouds that dropped quickly out of hyper.
The rest of the missiles reacquired as their primary targets dropped off their sensors, piling on accel and changing vectors to curve after the other Machine ships.
“Translation in two minutes,” said the Helm Officer. The missiles fired from the other human force came shooting past, heading after the two other groups of enemy coming in at an angle from either side. “Human task force has gone into full decel.”
And I hope they get their asses out of this, thought Francois, looking at the plot that showed the enemy ships still coming on, on a heading that would lead them into the front of the human task force on their present heading. There was still a chance that those enemy ships would catch the battleships before they got into the system and beyond the hyper I barrier.
“Enemy ships are changing their acceleration profile,” said the Sensor Officer over the com. “Vectors are changing. I think they’re running, sir.”
“Damned if they aren’t,” exclaimed the Captain. They aren’t taking any chances. They gambled on being able to take us out, with the possibility of a capture. Now the odds are against them, with the addition of that other task force. Actually heavily against them, with the subtraction of over half their own force.
“Translation, now.”
The nausea struck, and both battleships slid smoothly through the portal into the dimension of hyper II. An hour later they were making their final jump, the hole to normal space open ahead. They slid through again, this time into a Universe of stars in all their abundance. Ahead was a system alive with electronic signatures. The viewer showed that everything was well, all of the habitats and factories still in orbit around the asteroid, ships in transit through the system harvesting hydrogen and antimatter from their respective production points.
“We’re receiving a grav wave transmission, sir,” called out the Com Officer, a smile on his face. “They’re welcoming us to the system.” The Com Officer turned back to his board for a moment, reading the translation of the encrypted transmission. “And inquiring about our wormhole.”
“Let them know what we have. And that we will be in orbit around their base in,” the Captain looked over at the data feeding across one of the screens surrounding his chair, “thirty-nine hours.”
Twelve hours in the transit into the system the task force that had come to their aid translated into normal space and starting forging into the system on a vector that would not bring them to the asteroid. Seventeen objects translated in. They were missing a cruiser and a destroyer, the cost of coming to the rescue.
Chapter Nine
In the twenty-first century, the robot will take the place which slave labor occupied in ancient civilization.
Nikola Tesla
SUPERSYSTEM, MARCH 6TH, 1002.
“And that’s all we know for now, your Majesty,” said Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom, Chief of Naval Operations. She had the job of coordinating the entire Fleet, including Exploration Command. In peacetime that was almost too much for one person, no matter how competent. With the largest conflict in human history going on one front, a sideshow war against another of the major power raging, and now what looked like yet anothe
r major conflict in the unincorporated space on the other side of the Empire, McCullom was in way over her head.
I need to assign an overall commander to that front, thought Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, the Emperor Sean the First. Right now it’s going through Exploration Command, Sector I Fleet, and every other little fiefdom out there. “But we are sure these are the same machines that we chased out of the Empire centuries ago?”
“That is what Admiral Nguyen’s report stated,” said McCullom. “The one he had sent back to Exploration Command base at New Gaea.”
“Damn,” said Sean, shaking his head. “And Bolthole?”
“It’s still there. The wormholes we sent to them finally got there, though it appears to be a very near thing. We received a transmission from one of those battleships in transit to the base. It seems that Nguyen also made it, so they have a moderately powerful force there now.”
“Enough to stand off the Machines?”
“Unknown, your Majesty,” said McCullom, her eyes narrowing. “We simply have no appreciation for the strength of their fleet or their industrial base. Nguyen dispatched scouts into the region they are suspected of occupying, but we have not received any intel from them as of yet.”
But being the same Machines we created, thought the Emperor, looking at the holo that should that region, and what they had speculated was there based on that very limited intelligence, they were built to be industrious creators as well as machines of war.
“How soon before we can get a wormhole ship gate open to Bolthole?”
“I’m not sure we have the resources to open one out there at this time, your Majesty,” said McCullom, obviously uncomfortable at disagreeing with her Monarch. “We have a lot of operations going forward at this time. Those are taking up a lot of resources, and we need gates to move those resources in a timely manner.”
“Then close down one of the ship gates in the Supersystem,” ordered Sean, still looking at the holo. “The ships from one of the industrial systems can take a couple of days to travel to another system and use their gate.” He pointed at the center of the holo, at the blinking dot that designated the stronghold that had been the brainchild of his father. “I want them to have a ship gate. Not just to protect our own property and people, or even the Klassekians, important as they are. But to protect all of the other living planets and sentient species that might be in that region, potential victims of our mess. We should have ended those things centuries ago.”
“We’re not even sure if these are the descendants of the machines we created, your Majesty.”
“Nguyen seems to think so,” said Sean, looking unflinchingly into the eyes of his CNO. “He’s the flag officer on the spot, and I have to trust his judgement unless and until we learn different. And even if they aren’t our evil legacy, I still want them stopped before they overrun that entire region.”
“Then you realize that they’ll also need ships,” said the CNO. “I’m hoping not as many ships as we need on the main front, but any number we release from the Empire weakens us.”
“I realize that, Sondra. And we’ll just have to make due. At least the Cacas are not in our Empire at the moment.”
“They will be back, your Majesty. You can count on that.”
“I am counting on it, Admiral. Every night, in my nightmares. But because they are not pressing us at the moment, this is an opportunity to do something out there in that region. So get them some ships, Admiral. Real warships, and as many hyper VII vessels as you can. And missiles, shore defense batteries, everything they need to fight a war. And one last thing. I want an overall combat commander out there. Not that I don’t trust the flag officers we have out there, but realistically, I want someone who knows how to fight. Explorers are needed at times, but sometimes we need fighters, people whose only skill is to close with and destroy an enemy.”
“I’ll try to find someone, your Majesty. I have several candidates in mind.”
“At least a five star,” cautioned Sean. “I want someone who outranks everyone else currently in the region, so we don’t have flag officers getting involved in a pissing contest.”
“You’re sure you want to do this, your Majesty. Pulling a fleet admiral out of the chain of command is just going to cause problems with the operations we have planned.”
“Well, there has to be a competent fleet admiral in one of the quiet sectors,” said Sean with a smile. “Someone who feels that this war is passing him or her over. That would see this as an opportunity to have an actual combat command.” Sean closed his eyes and searched through the Imperial Navy database for possible candidates.
What about this one, he thought as a profile came up on his implant. Fifty year service record, award for valor, combat experience against both the Crakista, the Klang and Lashar. Last command was as a full admiral in charge of a task group. Then promoted and sent to administration in Sector VI? Administration?
Sean sent the picture of the woman to the holo. She was a still young hundred and seventy, still attractive, though she must have been a real beauty before she had taken on the weight of the world. Waves of deep red hair fell down her shoulders. In some ways she reminded Sean of Jennifer, though the resemblance would have been much more pronounced if her features hadn’t hardened. Now there were deep frown lines on her face, cold eyes staring out of the holo.
“No, your Majesty,” said McCullom, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the other woman. “Not Admiral Bednarczyk.”
“What’s wrong with her? She seems to have just the background we need. And since she’s not currently serving at one of the primary fronts, moving her should cause the least amount of disruption.”
“Oh, she’s competent enough,” said McCullom, looking over at her Monarch. “She just suffers from a lack, shall we say, of interpersonal skills.”
“And what does that mean?”
“She had one of the highest rates of resignations among her subordinates of any flag officer in the fleet,” said McCullom. “She speaks whatever is on her mind, and she has no filter. It was thought by the Admiralty that the best place for her was an administrative post in a quiet sector.”
“But from her record, she’s a fighter.”
“Oh, she’s a fighter alright. And if there’s no enemy of the Empire to engage, the people around her do just fine. And she is totally unable to play the political game.”
“I need a fighter,” said Sean. “I could care less about whether or not she can play politics. The question is, will she be honest with her needs and capabilities if she is put in command. I don’t want someone telling me they can do something, just because they’re afraid to tell me the truth.”
“She won’t be afraid to tell you what she thinks, and she really won’t care how you react.”
“Get her on the com for me,” ordered Sean. “As soon as possible.”
Sean leaned back in his chair, wishing he could just relax for a moment. But he had decisions to make about anything and everything concerning the war. The wars, he thought, shaking his head. Every time they seemed to gain some ground in these conflicts, a new complication appeared, stretching the capabilities of the Empire to the breaking point.
“Your Majesty,” said a voice that could have been soothing if not for the arrogant inflection to the words. “You wanted to talk to me.”
Sean opened his eyes and found himself looking into the hard eyes of the woman he had asked for. “Did Admiral McCullom tell you what I wanted?”
“She did,” growled the woman. “And I have to tell you, it’s about damned time you offered me a combat command.”
“Do you think you can handle it?”
“That depends on what tools you give me,” said the woman, her tone one of someone angry at the Universe. “Give me insufficient tools, and I can promise a glorious death to all of the people you put under me, with myself leading the list.”
“We’ll give you what we have available, Admiral. That’s all I can promise.”
&nb
sp; “And that is not good enough, your Majesty. I don’t do glorious death, and I don’t allow the people under me to do so either. Give me the resources to win the fight, or get someone else.”
“You realize I could order you to take command, Admiral,” said Sean, his eyes narrowing at the tone of the woman.
“Yes, you could. And I would go. And proceed to hole up with everything I have at Bolthole and try to withstand a siege. What I would not do is take offensive action, which we would need for a victory. As I said, give me what I need to win, or get another commander.”
Sondra said she was difficult, but from her record, she is a fighter, and I get the same feel from her in person. I don’t know what I can promise her, but I want her out there.
“We don’t know how many of them there are, yet,” said Sean, shrugging his shoulders. “So I have no way of telling what kind of firepower you will need, and we do have a little war going on in Sectors III and IV.”
“You could grab a hundred ships from each of the other sectors,” said the woman, her eyes closed in thought, checking into the database. “Most are having some problems with pirates, but you don’t really need capital ships to find and destroy those bastards. So give me fifty capital ships from each sector other than the two hot spots, as well as some cruisers and whatever destroyers you can spare. That will be a start.”
“I really don’t like weakening the other sectors that much,” said Sean, grimacing.
“Then you really don’t want to win on this new front, do you, your Majesty? That seems to be what you are telling me.”
“OK, Admiral. Then here’s how we’ll do it. I want you to gather a task group and partial staff where you are at, then take them through the gate to Donut space as soon as possible. Look over the files of who you want to fill out your staff, task force commanders, all of that, and send it up the line to personnel. I can’t promise you’ll get everyone you want. We are still at war with the Cacas, after all. And we will send other ships to rendezvous with you in Supersystem space.”
Exodus: Machine War: Book 2: Bolthole Page 13