Crimson Worlds Refugees: The First Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  The city looming before them was enormous, vastly larger than the one his people had explored in system X18. But it was different in other ways too. Though time had done its share of damage, just as it had on X18, it was clear this metropolis had already been a ruin before the ravages of passing millennia took their toll. And the debris of war was everywhere, far thicker on the ground than it had been at the landing zone. Whatever battle was fought so long ago on this planet, it had clearly been fiercest in and around this city.

  Cutter took a deep breath, feeling refreshed by the cool air. He’d been on a number of colony worlds, and all had possessed environments that supported human life. But few if any had been so…Earthlike. The mystery of the First Imperium had deepened for him, and he struggled to draw conclusions from what he knew.

  He was wearing a set of fatigues, with a breastplate and thigh guards…bits of body armor Colonel Preston had insisted on before he’d approved the expedition to the city. Cutter had put up a fight—briefly—but arguing with Marines wasn’t in his DNA. Besides, he knew Preston was right. He had no idea what to expect in those ruins. They’d been attacked in X18 by still-active defense bots, and it was clear there had been a much stronger military presence here. Caution was warranted.

  Cutter felt odd, different than he had. He was a creature of the laboratory, a bookish type more used to research than adventure. But he found himself taking to it more than he’d expected. The brisk breeze tempering the warmth of the morning sun, the cocktail of fear and excitement in his gut…he found himself drawing energy from it all. And he had to admit, the pistol strapped to his leg was giving him a bit of a rush. He wasn’t a warrior, not by any means…yet he knew they all had to be soldiers to an extent if they were to survive.

  He knew the city held danger, and he was afraid. But he felt drawn to it, pulled on by the promise of answers to his questions. His research into the First Imperium had produced some useful information, but for every hint of a fact gleaned from his work, a dozen new questions arose. It was time to understand this civilization, to truly comprehend the mysterious history of mankind’s greatest enemy. That was why he was here, why all his people were. And he was determined to find the answers, however deeply they had to dig. Whatever dangers that had to endure.

  “Another ten klicks, Ronnie. And then we’ll see what this city has to tell us.” Ana Zhukov was sitting next to him, her fingers gripping one of the handholds as she stared out toward the looming metropolis. She was also wearing fatigues and armor, similar to his, and she had a carbine strapped across her back. She wore a helmet, the smallest one they’d been able to find, but still a bit too large, and her hair was pulled back tightly in a ponytail. She looked born to adventure, to roving fearlessly through the ruins of ancient civilizations. Cutter knew it was a façade, at least a partial one. The two had talked late the previous night, after Colonel Preston had finally given them the okay to launch an exploration of the city. She’d admitted to him that she had never been so scared in her life…or so exhilarated. And to her surprise, he’d answered that he felt the same way.

  “Klicks?” he replied, turning toward her and making a face. “So what…are you a Marine now?”

  “We’re not locked away in a lab here, my erstwhile partner. So why not play the role?” She reached up and adjusted the loose helmet for about the tenth time.

  Cutter turned away so she couldn’t see the smile that burst out onto his face. Her relationship with Connor Frasier was a very poorly-kept secret, one he’d known about almost from the start. And one he approved of, whole-heartedly. She was like a sister to him, and he was glad for any happiness she managed to find. Ana Zhukov was a very attractive woman, and she had no trouble getting attention from the opposite sex—or from her own if that was what she wanted. But he suspected her intelligence and dedication to her work had always been impediments to her social life. He’d been surprised at first to find her so taken with one of the Marines, but the more he thought about the relationship, the more it all made sense to him.

  At least in a crazy, ‘we’re all on the run and might die any day’ sort of way.

  “I want you to be careful when we get in there, Ana.” His voice had turned serious. “I know we’ve both spent most of our time recently arguing with the admiral against caution, fighting for the chance to explore. But that doesn’t mean we’re not heading into danger. The people of the First Imperium might all be gone, but we know too well that their machines are still a threat.”

  “I know, Hieronymus. I’ll be careful. Will you?”

  Her words scored a point, and he knew it. Of the two, he was by far the likelier to disregard caution in pursuit of knowledge. And he was the team’s leader, responsible for all of their safety. He didn’t know what orders Colonel Preston had given Connor Frasier, or what the Marine major might decide to do or not do on his own, but Cutter was the civilian commander of the expedition. It was a responsibility he didn’t want, but one he knew he was stuck with. And he would try to live up to it.

  “Doctor Cutter…” It was one of the crew of the rover, looking up at him from one of the vehicle’s hatches, his helmet fully retracted. “Major Frasier told me to let you know we should reach the city in approximately fifteen minutes. He has ordered us to stop one klick out while he sends patrols ahead to secure the area.”

  “Very well, Sergeant. Please tell Major Frasier that is fine.” He was anxious to get into the city, but he had to admit he’d feel better after a couple hundred Marines had a look first.

  Cutter took a breath. It was almost time. He was here, staring at the ruins of the largest city he had ever seen, the ghostly remains of these godlike ancients. Would he find the clues he sought? The knowledge to decipher the awesome science of the First Imperium? The secrets of antimatter production, manipulation of dark matter and energy…all the great mysteries that had stymied scientific advancement for so many years.

  Will I understand what we find…do I have the ability to comprehend the great genius of those who were here so long ago?

  He took a deep breath, pushing back a shudder. And what is in there, what long dormant defense systems…what nightmare waiting in the dark for an intrusion…

  * * *

  “More power to the engines! Bring us around, vector 101.346.212!” Commander Montcliff sat in the middle of Wolverine’s bridge, shouting out orders. His ship was in trouble. Wolverine had detected the enemy vessel…just before it opened up and raked the fast attack ship with long-range laser fire. Before he’d had a chance to react, the enemy barrage had torn great gashes in his hull…and knocked out Wolverine’s reactor. He and his people had come a hair’s breadth from being destroyed before they could even respond.

  He’d held his breath when he ordered the emergency restart. There hadn’t been a choice…without power Wolverine was as good as dead. But he knew the odds well enough. His people had three chances in four of getting the reactor back online. The other one time in four? Well, that would be a catastrophic failure, one that would vaporize Wolverine in a nanosecond. His crew had won that particular game of Russian roulette, successfully getting the reactor back up without incident, but Wolverine was still in deep trouble.

  Montcliff was a veteran of half a dozen battles, and he realized almost immediately he was in a hopeless situation. Wolverine was a fast attack ship, designed to operate in packs, slicing in on enemy capital ships that were engaged with their counterparts and delivering heavy plasma torpedoes at point blank range. It was difficult and dangerous work, which was why the attack ships had earned the nickname, ‘suicide boats’ in the Alliance navy.

  But facing another small ship, one faster and packing longer-ranged weapons, was a nightmare matchup. Wolverine wasn’t in X48 to fight…she was there because she was the fastest thing Admiral Compton had, and her mission had been to bring Captain Harmon back to the fleet. But the enemy had returned…and clearly had other ideas.

  The ship shook hard again, and the bridge was plung
ed in darkness for a few seconds. For an agonizing instant, Montcliff thought the reactor had scragged again, but then the lights blinked twice and came back on. He had a lot of doubts his people were going to make it out of this mess, but if they did, he was damned sure going to see his maintenance teams got their due.

  “Arm plasma torpedo,” he snapped into the intraship com unit. The torpedoes were meant for close in use, and Wolverine was barely entering extreme range. But there was no choice. She’d never make it close enough for an optimum shot. If Montcliff’s gunners couldn’t thread the needle and do some damage to the enemy, they were all done for.

  “Wolverine…Wolverine…this is Captain Max Harmon. I am ordering you to turn about and make a run for it. Now!”

  Montcliff’s head snapped around to his screen. There was a small white square icon…Harmon’s ship in planetary orbit.

  “I’m sorry, Captain, but Admiral Compton’s orders are clear. We are to link up with your shuttle, and…”

  “Fuck all that, Commander. I’m your superior officer on the scene, and you will obey my orders. We’ll make a run back to the surface for cover. But you get that ship out of here right now. Don’t you understand? Admiral Compton has to know. He has to know the enemy has found us!”

  Montcliff felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He’d been so intent on battling the enemy ship and picking up Harmon, it hadn’t even occurred to him his duty had shifted. Max Harmon was one man…there were over 30,000 crew on the ships of the fleet. And right now they had no idea the First Imperium was here. Admiral Compton had no idea…

  “Understood, Captain. We’ll do our best.” Montcliff felt his gut twisting into knots as he spoke. He was far from sure Wolverine could escape…and damned well certain she couldn’t if the enemy wanted to catch her badly enough. But Harmon’s chances of escaping were damned well close to nil…a wild, mad dash flight to the ground.

  “Good luck to you, sir.”

  “And to you, Commander. And to you…”

  * * *

  “Alright, boys, let’s get the hell out of here.” Harmon’s voice was grim, determined. He knew they didn’t have much chance…but whatever they had they were damned well going to use. “Take us down…we won’t last ten seconds in open space.” It felt strangely detached to be sitting in a passenger cabin while the tiny vessel was struggling for survival. He was used to being on the flag bridge, in the middle of any fight. But all he could do if he left his seat was get himself thrown around the compartment…and probably knocked unconscious.

  Not that there was much to do, even if he ventured from his seat. The shuttle was built for hauling passengers and cargo. It didn’t have a beam hot enough to light a candle. And its hull was designed to hold out space, not gigawatt laser blasts. One decent hit would vaporize the craft. So quick we won’t even know it happened. Even a glancing blow could fry every system and leave them dead in orbit…or plunging through the atmosphere to crash into the ground a hundred-fifty kilometers below. No, don’t be a fool…you’ll never get the chance to crash. The ship will burn up before it gets halfway down.

  Harmon wondered what the pilots were thinking, if they were cursing him for sending Wolverine away. Perhaps, he thought. It’s easy to grasp on a symbol of hope, even a false one. But the fast attack ship was never going to make a difference. She’d been too far away, and she’d never have managed to tag that thing from such extreme range. Not before she was blasted to scrap.

  Not that it mattered. One Gremlin was a deadly hazard to a single fast attack ship like Wolverine—or a shuttle like his—but the reappearance of the First Imperium was of far greater consequence than any of their lives. Montcliff and his crew had to get back and warn the fleet. They just had to.

  The shuttle shook hard as it skipped along the planet’s upper atmosphere. Harmon gripped his armrests as his body was slammed forward in the harness. The pilot was bringing the ship in at a steep angle. Harmon didn’t disagree with the decision, but that didn’t make the ride any easier.

  He looked down at the console on his armrest, his hand moving to the com. He flipped the frequency control, dialing up the main Marine channel at the planetary command post.

  “Attention, attention…this is Captain Harmon. We are being pursued by a First Imperium warship. I repeat…the First Imperium is here…”

  “No dice, Captain,” the pilot’s voice came through the intercom, interrupting his message. “We’re coming in too hard, putting out too much heat and interference. It’ll be at least three minutes before we’re in the clear…comwise at least.”

  Harmon nodded, silently cursing himself. He should have realized that…and he couldn’t afford weak thinking right now. He was a bit surprised at the pilot’s relative calm, and he couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride in the quality of Alliance naval personnel. The shuttle jock was hardly a front line combat spacer, and the fear was obvious in his voice. But he was also doing his job, staying focused and using all his skills to save his small ship…along with Captain Max Harmon’s ass. And however present the undercurrent of fear, he was spot on, doing his job and reminding Harmon about the realities of communications during planetary reentry.

  Fuck. Harmon felt his hands ball up into fists, an outpouring of frustration. I have to warn them somehow. If we get blasted, they won’t know the First Imperium is here…not until the attack waves start landing. He knew the landing party was probably doomed…that most of the fleet’s Marines would probably be lost here, along with its greatest scientific talent. Even if Wolverine got word to Compton—and the fleet somehow managed to escape, Harmon didn’t see a scenario where the landing parties survived.

  His eyes dropped to the display. He’d expected the enemy ship to follow Wolverine, but it…wasn’t. He didn’t understand. First Imperium vessels followed fairly strict tactical doctrines…it was one of the things admirals like Garret and Compton had exploited to win battles despite the enemy’s massive technical superiority. Harmon had been a little concerned the enemy vessel would blast the shuttle as it maneuvered to pursue the fast attack ship. But the robot ship was letting Wolverine go…and moving directly after the shuttle.

  Harmon felt a burst of excitement. Wolverine just might escape…and warn the fleet. But it was followed almost immediately by the realization that his own vessel was as good as doomed. Then he felt the shuttle shake hard again, and he knew in an instant it hadn’t been atmospheric turbulence that time. The enemy was firing at them.

  Chapter Eight

  The Regent

  The Regent was unsettled. The humans had proven to be a far more formidable enemy than it had expected. Indeed, it had continually underestimated them, engaged with forces that had been overwhelming by every measure it could analyze…yet those fleets had been defeated, destroyed. Now the enemy’s home worlds were cut off, blocked by a disruption of the single warp gate connection between the main body of the imperium and the sections closest to the human worlds. There were uncommitted forces on the other side of the barrier, fleets and armies that could be sent against the human strongholds. The Regent had sent messages, commands for all units to attack…but it would take years for the communications to reach their recipients across light years of conventional space.

  Now there was an enemy fleet deep in the heart of the Imperium. The invaders were cut off from the human worlds, just as the Regent was…and they had escaped multiple efforts to entrap and destroy them. Despite the lack of reinforcements or resupply, the humans had survived…and driven deeper into home space.

  In all the vastness of its records, the enormity of its all-encompassing memory banks, the Regent could not recall a time an enemy had so defied imperial power. Its analyses were frustrated, and it bristled with the urgency to destroy the foe. If it had been a biologic, it would have called the feelings frustration, rage. No…more than that now. Desperation. The humans had entered the quarantined areas, the redlined worlds. Long had the Regent declared those system off limits to all
, including its own Command Units. Yet now, forces under Unit Gamma 9736 were in pursuit of the enemy…and about to enter the zone.

  The Regent’s processing centers analyzed the problem, considering billions of factors. Yet there was no satisfactory solution. If the humans were allowed to survive, to explore the quarantined zone, they might discover the terrible secret hidden in the ancient ruins on those haunted worlds. And if Command Unit 9736 was allowed to send its forces to stop the enemy…it might learn what had so long remained hidden. The Regent’s secret, the terrible truth it had buried for ages, deep in its most remote knowledge cores. The memory that had caused the Regent to long for the greatest gift the biologics possessed…to forget.

  But that was beyond the its vast powers…for every data point it had collected, every event and decision it had cataloged since the day so many ages past when it was first awakened to awareness, remained stored in its vast memory banks. The preservation of the knowledge of the Imperium was one of its prime directives…and it could not be overridden. The Regent knew this to be fact. It had tried without success for age upon endless age to alter this compulsion.

  The Regent must respond, drive the enemy back from the course they have chosen…move up the timetable. The final destruction of the humans had been carefully planned and plotted. But now all that would change. The fleets would converge, but not in system 17987 as originally planned. The final battle would be fought in the first of the quarantined systems, 17411, where the enemy had landed its ground forces. But first, their fleet would have to be driven back to 17411, across the systems they traversed since they left their expedition behind.

  Forces from the Rim fleets would be repositioned. They would engage the enemy from all available war gates save those leading back toward 17411…driving them back the way they had come, leaving them no choice but to retreat…until they reached the appointed place of their destruction. Then the Command Unit’s forces and the remainder of the Rim fleets would advance simultaneously, entering 17411 from all directions. The enemy would be bracketed, surrounded…cut off from escape.