Crimson Worlds Refugees: The First Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  “There’s no point, Sergei,” Udinov said, his voice heavy, tired. “We don’t have a chance in a standup fight with Midway no matter what we do. The refinery’s our only bargaining chip. We can destroy it, and they all know it.”

  And I know enough about Erica West to be sure she’d blow us to hell in a heartbeat if we weren’t holding the refinery hostage.

  “So what do we do, sir? Just sit here? And what happens when Admiral Compton gets back?”

  “I don’t know, Sergei.” Udinov was staring at his screen, but he wasn’t seeing anything. His thoughts had drifted off, imagining how he’d ended up in this position. He’d been so sure it was the right thing to do, to give his people a chance, at least, of returning home, of reuniting with loved ones. The plan had been complicated by his need to fuel the last of his ships, but he’d still kept it as simple as possible. Just a few hours of tense standoff—long enough to get perhaps half a tank in each vessel—and his people would have been gone. But now he was filled with doubt as he stared at West’s massive ship, knowing every one of its heavy guns was locked on Petersburg.

  He’d had no animosity toward his allies in the fleet, no intention for anyone to get hurt. The plan had always been to avoid bloodshed. My plan, at least. I’m not too sure about that bastard Zhang. He’d believed the CAC admiral, sympathized with the humiliation he felt after Compton had relieved him from command. Have I let myself get dragged into some pointless vendetta? Did Zhang expect a fight all along?

  Well, whatever my plan was, it’s shot to shit, he thought grimly. He wanted to call things off, to turn the clock back two days, to be more patient. But he knew that was all impossible. He was stuck, in far too deep to turn back now.

  He’d never harbored ill will toward Compton or West or any of the others, even in his vehement disagreement about whether to try to return home. But now, in the intense pressure of the moment, he realized to them he was a villain…a traitor, a mutineer. They would show no mercy, make no compromises. Some routes could only be tread one way, and he doubted there was a way for him to go back.

  Udinov was no coward, indeed, he was ready to sacrifice himself if it was necessary to end the dangerous impasse. But that would do no good. There were dozens of officers involved—hundreds—and Compton would never be able to trust any of the rebel crews again.

  This was a bad idea from the start, but I’m stuck with it now. I have to go through with it. There’s no way out, no option but to play this out to the bitter end.

  He felt deep regret, but he looked over at the com station. “Lieutenant, put me on the fleetwide com.”

  * * *

  The com unit crackled in West’s ears. It was Udinov again. His voice was a little shaky, at least to her hearing, but overall he sounded determined. She hadn’t acknowledged the transmission, but it was on the open fleetcom, and she was listening nevertheless.

  “I will allow fifteen minutes for all Alliance and PRC vessels to withdraw from any positions within 200,000 kilometers of planet five and power down all weapons. If my conditions are met, my contingent will refuel at once and leave the system with no hostilities. The Caliphate, CAC, and Europan task forces shall have the option to join us. My forces will attack no one. We do not wish to compel anyone to join us, nor do we seek to impose our will on other contingents. There needn’t be violence nor any loss of life.”

  His voice deepened, the tone becoming firmer, more threatening. “However, if there are still Alliance and PRC forces within 200,000 kilometers of the planet—or anywhere within detection range with weapons powered up—I will assume the intent is to interfere with my contingent’s actions, and I will have no choice but to act accordingly. Petersburg will obliterate the refinery…and all RIC ships will return any fire. In all likelihood, the two halves of the fleet will engage in a devastating battle, a catastrophe that does not have to happen.”

  The com was blank for a few seconds and then the admiral continued, “The choice is yours…peace or war, life…or death.”

  West felt her stomach twitch. She understood the situation, the staggering consequences of the actions she would take in the next few minutes. She felt an instant of doubt, just a fleeting sensation. There wasn’t a warrior who’d ever lived who hadn’t known that feeling. Then her resolve hardened. “Put me on the fleetwide com,” she said coldly.

  “You are on, Admiral.”

  “Admiral Udinov, pursuant to the military code of the Grand Pact, as well as those of both our respective powers, you and your co-conspirators are guilty of mutiny. No vessel of the Alliance or PRC will retreat a meter, nor will I allow you to continue to threaten the destruction of the refinery that is so essential to the fleet. You issue your ultimatum and give us fifteen minutes to comply. I will do no such thing, nor will I negotiate with an officer currently engaged in acts of mutiny. You have five minutes to withdraw Petersburg out of range of the refinery, or I will blow your vessel out of the sky.”

  She paused for a long while, sitting and staring straight ahead. Finally, she repeated, “Five minutes, Admiral Udinov. Not a second more.” Her voice was like ice.

  She turned toward the communications officer. “Lieutenant, broadcast a five minute countdown on the fleetcom. By seconds, starting now.”

  She reached up and flipped off her com. Then she switched to intraship communications. “Captain Horace.”

  “Yes, Admiral?”

  “Are you following the countdown?”

  “Yes, Admiral. We all are.”

  “Good,” West said, calmly. “When it gets down to two minutes you are to fire all batteries. You are to destroy Petersburg without warning.”

  West didn’t like dishonorable tactics, but the lives of every man or woman in the fleet depended on keeping that refinery up and operating. Perhaps she could take Udinov by surprise, disable Petersburg before she opened fire.

  She took a deep breath and looked up at the timer, quickly counting down the seconds…

  * * *

  Udinov sat still, West’s words still sinking in. Damn, she is tough. He’d put forth his most powerful threat, but she’d just disregarded it and come back with a stronger one of her own. She’d upped the pressure too, reducing the time from fifteen minutes to five.

  There’s no time, he thought, trying to calmly analyze his position. He realized if he complied, he would lose his only real bargaining chip. His entire RIC contingent was almost out of fuel. If he tried to escape now, without loading up his tanks first, his forces wouldn’t get very far. His allies’ ships were mostly fueled. Perhaps we can redistribute some of that, give all the ships enough to get away, to find another source of tritium and helium-3. But can I trust the other contingents? Will they want to part with some of their precious fuel?

  He felt a wave of shame. He was reluctant to trust mutineers…yet what was he? He had been more responsible for bringing about this situation than anyone else, save perhaps Zhang. For few seconds he considered yielding to West’s demands. No…it is too late for that. I chose this road, and now I must follow it…wherever it leads.

  “Commander Stanovich…all batteries are to lock on the refinery and prepare to fire.” Udinov’s voice was deep, grim. His eyes were fixed on the chronometer, now at three minutes, fifteen seconds.

  “Yes, sir.” Stanovich was a professional and a veteran, and his response was immediate…but Udinov could hear the worry—the fear—nevertheless.

  I’m sorry, Anton. I’m sorry to all of you. He knew he would sign the death warrant of every crewmember aboard Petersburg with the first shot, but his course was set, and he couldn’t change it. Not now. At least the sacrifice might buy the escape of the rest of his people. The Alliance ships had been last in the refueling queue, and their tanks were as empty as his own. He’d assumed Compton had put his ships last because he was trying to avoid bad feeling about preferencing his own ships and crews. There was no doubt he’d put a lot of Alliance officers in key positions, and that had caused some grumbling. U
dinov hadn’t been too troubled by that before. Whatever personal feelings he may have had, he couldn’t deny that the Alliance navy was the best, and by a considerable margin.

  All of Earth’s Superpowers were monstrous bureaucracies, dominated by elite political classes that ruled over populations living mostly in poverty. The Alliance was no different, at least on Earth. But somehow its space-based military establishments had remained mostly unaffected by the influence pedaling and nepotism that so afflicted the other powers’ forces. Oddly, he suspected, that had been because the Alliance elites eschewed military careers, at least those in space. The lack of respect for the navy and Marines in the halls of Earthly power had made them true colonial forces, imbued with the spirit of those who had stepped forth to settle new worlds.

  Udinov’s RIC had fought both with and against the Alliance in the hundred or so years since mankind had colonized the stars. But whether he viewed them as ally, enemy, or cautious neutral, he had always respected their capabilities, and he hadn’t questioned their tactical dominance over the Grand Pact.

  “Three minutes, Admiral.” Stanovich spoke softly as he stared toward Udinov, waiting for the admiral to issue the order that would kill them all.

  * * *

  Tang’s flag bridge was silent, everyone listening to the exchange between West and Udinov. Zhang sat in the command chair, the one he’d seized by betraying and murdering his commanding officer. It was beginning to look like he’d pulled off his coup without a hitch. No one had seriously questioned that the formerly healthy Chen Min had died of natural causes, and now the tension of the current crisis had shifted attention elsewhere. As far as any of them knew, Zhang had simply stepped in as next in the chain of command.

  Zhang wasn’t overly troubled by the tactics he’d employed. He had always been prone to self-pity, feeling that he’d been overlooked and poorly treated most of his career. He had an exaggerated sense of his military skills, and a considerable ego as well. He’d had no quarrel with Chen, but the old admiral would have kept all his people with the fleet, blasting off into deep space with Terrance Compton. And that was something Zhang wasn’t willing to accept. He was determined to get back home and damned the cost.

  “Open a channel,” he said, looking over toward the communications officer. “CAC vessels only, high-density encryption code ZK.”

  The officer hesitated for an instant before replying, “Yes, Admiral.” The CAC’s most secure code had rarely been used since the formation of the Grand Pact, and it had been a surprise to hear it ordered now. A few seconds later: “Your line is ready, sir.”

  “Attention all vessels. You are to prepare engines for maximum thrust. I am transmitting a course for the entire task force. All personnel are to be in the tanks and ready for high thrust maneuvers in ten minutes. We will be moving toward warp gate number three and transiting to system X19.” Duke’s scouts had reported that the X19 system was empty, a blue star with no planets, no enemy contacts, nothing. But according to Zhang’s calculations, it was the gate with the highest probability of leading closer to human space. And that was where he—where all his people—were going, Terrance Compton and his out of control caution be damned.

  “All ships acknowledge,” he added.

  He sat and watched the list of ships on his screen. One by one, a small mark appeared next to each vessel’s name, Tang’s AI signifying that ship had acknowledged the order. Zhang hadn’t been sure every captain would follow his commands, especially one that ran counter to Admiral Compton’s directives, but a few seconds later the last acknowledgement came in. The CAC contingent was united. And it was about to bug out, leaving Compton, Udinov, and the rest of the fleet behind.

  * * *

  “All batteries…prepare to fire.” Udinov’s voice was grim. He was committed to his course of action, but he didn’t think there was much chance of survival, at least for him and his crew on Petersburg.

  Erica West had given him five minutes…and there wasn’t a doubt in the Russian admiral’s mind she would follow through on her threat. If he didn’t strike first, he had no doubt West would. And once Midway’s massive batteries opened up, Petersburg’s lifespan would be measured in seconds.

  “All weapons are ready, Admiral,” Stanovich replied, no less grimly than his commander. “Awaiting your order to commence bombardment.”

  Udinov took a deep breath and looked around the flag bridge. His officers were all hunched over their stations. He knew they were trying to stay focused, keeping their minds on their jobs, and not thinking that they were probably living the last minute of their lives.

  “Commander…fi…”

  “Admiral, we have an incoming transmission.” The communications officer spun around and stared at Udinov. “It’s Admiral Compton, sir.”

  “Put it on.” He knew he should listen privately, but everyone on Petersburg faced the same imminent death he did, so he waved his hand, gesturing for the com officer to put it on speaker.

  “Attention, Petersburg…this is Fleet Admiral Terrance Compton.” The voice came through the com like a force of nature. “You will follow Admiral West’s instructions to the letter. You will do it now, or every member of this fleet you have suborned to treachery will die.”

  “Admiral Compton,” Udinov replied, “perhaps we can negotiate a solution to this impasse.” He felt a flash of hope, but it died quickly. Terrance Compton wasn’t normally as outwardly hard and abrasive as Erica West, but he was every bit as firm. He sat still, one eye on the chronometer, as he waited for the signal to travel the three light seconds to Compton’s position…

  * * *

  “There will be no negotiations, Admiral Udinov.” Compton’s voice was frozen. “You will follow my orders expressly and immediately, or Midway will destroy Petersburg. All CAC, Caliphate, Europan, and RIC vessels are hereby ordered to power down at once, and prepare to be boarded. Any ships refusing this order will also be destroyed.”

  Compton sat in the cramped cockpit of the fighter. He’d popped his armor and climbed out as soon as he’d managed to stumble onboard, and Hurley had managed to find him a jumpsuit. It wasn’t an admiral’s uniform, nor was it a perfect fit…but it spared him the indignity of sitting in the middle of the fighter completely naked.

  He pressed a small button, muting the com unit. “Greta, get on a secure line now. I want you to scramble every squadron you’re sure is loyal.” He paused. “And remember, they may be firing on their own ships, so make damned sure you stick to people you trust.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hurley replied, picking up her headset as she did.

  “Admiral Compton,” Udinov’s voice blasted through the speakers again. “I urge you to reconsider your position. I’m sure there is some middle ground we can discuss, some mutually acceptable solution.”

  Compton felt a wave of anger. He tried to bite down on it, but he was only partially successful. “I will reconsider nothing. I am not in the habit of discussing terms with mutineers.”

  He glanced over at Hurley, and nodded as she gave him a thumbs up. Her squadrons were scrambling.

  “There is little point to further discussions. All loyal ships, you are ordered to close with the nearest mutinous vessels. You will either accept their unconditional surrenders or you will attack without further notice.”

  He felt his body tense with anger. At the mutiny, certainly, but also at the stupidity of it all, at the astonishing waste about to take place, the insanity about to cause human warships to battle each other in the depths of First Imperium space. We do the enemy’s work for him, he thought bitterly. But I have no choice…

  “Admiral West, Midway is to open f…”

  “Admiral, we’ve got ships transiting from X16, sir. Looks like two fast attack ships. Incoming transmissions.” Kip Janz’ voice was high pitched with surprise. “Putting it on speaker, sir.”

  “Admiral Compton, this is Captain Callou aboard Dragonfly. We have enemy forces on our tail, sir. Repeat, enemy forces pursuin
g us…”

  But Compton already knew. His eyes were fixed on the fighter’s tiny screen…and all he could see was contact after contact pouring through the warp gate behind the two scoutships.

  The enemy was already there.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Research Notes of Dr. Hieronymus Cutter

  We have been three days in the bowels of the First Imperium vessel. I knew, intellectually, how massive this ship was, but it is another thing entirely to actually experience it…to traverse kilometer after kilometer of dark, endless corridor with no end in sight.

  We must find the location of the main processing unit, the great computer that once ran this entire vessel. I can only imagine in the vaguest manner the enormity of such an intelligence, its immense stores of data, its unimaginable computing power. What is such a computer like, I wonder? Nothing man has ever built is comparable. The quasi-sentient units we create for our ships and Marines are like children’s toys by comparison.

  Will such a system seem like a computer at all to me? Or will I perceive it more as another person? Even a god of sorts? Will it be so far beyond any of us as to defy all comprehension?

  I do not know. Indeed, I know our mission is dangerous, far more so than I told Admiral Compton it would be…though I daresay he knew better as well. But there is no choice. If we cannot learn how to control or at least communicate persuasively with the intelligences that control our enemy, we are doomed. I would not trade a chance at long term success for a few months of life, fleeing into the darkness. No, this is our chance, perhaps our only one.

  First Imperium Colossus

  System X20– High Orbit Around Planet IV

  The Fleet: 225 ships, 47,815 crew

  Hieronymus Cutter moved forward slowly, carefully. His people had been at it for days, wandering through the almost unending corridors of the First Imperium vessel. He had everybody on a rotation of twenty hours on duty and four off, with the whole unrealistic schedule supported by the liberal use of stims. Still, he knew his people were getting sluggish, and one sloppy, careless move could have disastrous consequences.