Crimson Worlds Refugees: The First Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  “Power down the reactor. Minimal output…only life support and scanning systems active.” Skarn’s voice was edgy, her nerves on display. Cornwall had just come through the warp gate, back into system X72. This was where they had branched off from the fleet…and traveled to Y17, only to find the race they’d come to find long extinct. Now they were back where they had started, but the fleet was long gone. She hoped that meant the enemy had moved on as well, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Fast attack ships had strong stealth capability, as long as they cut power and acted like a hole in space.

  “Reactor at 10%, Captain. All systems on minimal except scanning and life support.” Inkerman sounded as nervous as the captain. Cornwall’s crew had faced the unknown, but now they were all painfully aware they were behind enemy lines. There had been First Imperium forces in this system when they left. The fleet had been fighting here when Cornwall slipped through the warp gate to Y1, hoping no enemy vessels picked up the transit and followed.

  Skarn remembered how she’d felt during the first few transits. She had been sure the enemy was following her ship, that Cornwall would be caught alone, far from support. But they’d made their escape clean, and the trip to and from Y17 had been clear sailing. But she knew that luck couldn’t last. They were chasing after the fleet, along the same vector as the enemy pursuers. It would take a lot of luck for them to get back. And all the skill she could muster.

  “I want scanners on full. We know the fleet was in this system and they had a fight here. The enemy might have moved on by now, but this is probably along their line of communications, which means we could run into nasties just about anywhere.”

  “Scanners on full, Captain. No contacts.”

  “Very well, Lieutenant. Maintain position and silent running for thirty minutes. Then, if all is clear, we will make for the X74 warp gate….and the way home.” Or what passes for home…

  “Yes, Captain. Maintaining reactor status, and continuing deep scans.” Inkerman leaned over his workstation, typing for a few seconds. “Navigational instructions ready for X74 gate approach. Locking into the navcom.”

  Skarn allowed herself a passing smile. She was still nervous. Actually, calling it nervous was a bit of spin. She was scared shitless. But she was also starting to feel like a real captain, and she’d be damned if her people weren’t turning into a real crew. Maybe they’d make it back after all.

  She liked the thought, but she wasn’t sure she believed it. Still, she knew one thing. They were going to try like hell.

  * * *

  Sasha sat in her quarters, her fingers moving rapidly over her workstation’s keyboard. It took a considerable effort to reprogram the ship’s com systems, to allow her to send the required messages. She knew the fleet had passed through X72, and that the First Imperium forces had engaged them here. And now she had new knowledge, information that belonged not to Sasha Debornan, but to the strange presence inside her, the one that controlled her actions utterly now. She didn’t know for certain there were First Imperium vessels in X72, but she knew standard procedure called for a squadron of stealth vessels to maintain position where a fleet had passed through. Normally, the undetectable scouts would simply report the presence of any enemy force, but since Cornwall was only a single attack ship, it was possible the pickets would engage and destroy her. And she had to make sure that didn’t happen. Cornwall had to get safely back to the fleet. It was essential to the plan.

  She was typing at least ten times as rapidly as she’d been able to before, another strange new ability. It was an alien presence controlling her actions, but her own memories were assisting in the effort. It was a strange amalgam, and she felt herself taking actions she couldn’t stop.

  The part of her mind that made her Sasha Debornan was trapped, imprisoned. She tried to escape, to regain control of her body, her actions, but all her efforts were in vain. She could think, and she was aware of what was happening, but she couldn’t communicate, couldn’t so much as move her own finger.

  She’d felt strange since shortly after she’d gotten back from the planet, but it had been several days before she noticed anything serious. She’d had some aches and pains, and an odd feeling, a tingling in various areas of her body. She felt bloated, and then the pain worsened. Then, suddenly, she was doing things she couldn’t control. She’d watched helplessly as her hands typed access codes, reprogrammed the ship’s computer. She was doing things she’d never been able to do, using skills she hadn’t possessed before.

  There was something inside her, controlling her, while she remained imprisoned, watching helplessly. Watching herself sabotage ship’s functions. Watching herself murder Tony Vaccilli. And now she was sending out secret messages to First Imperium vessels. She struggled, tried with everything she had to focus, to regain control. But there was no use. She was trapped.

  She was typing now, sending out codes, drawing power from the ship’s batteries to do it. She couldn’t understand the programming she’d just done, but somehow she knew the purpose. Nothing she was doing would show up on any ship’s display. Not even Cornwall’s AI would be aware of her actions. She panicked for a moment, concerned she was calling to First Imperium ships, giving them Cornwall’s location and bidding them to attack. But no, that wasn’t right. She was warding them off, instructing them not to attack. She didn’t know how she knew that, and she had no idea why whatever force was controlling her was doing it.

  She felt a wave of frustration and she put everything she had into trying again to regain control of her body. But there was nothing. She was trapped, cut off.

  Okay, she thought, losing it isn’t going to help anything. Think…you know what your body is doing. Why? What is happening?

  As her mind calmed, she could feel something inside her, all over her body. Something foreign, alien. Moving through her blood, through her flesh and organs.

  Nanobots. Suddenly, she knew. She understood. On the planet. They’d penetrated her suit…the itching she’d felt. And then they multiplied, replicating, spreading through her body. She could feel them now, not individually, but billions of them moving. They were everywhere, in her brain, her spinal cord. Controlling her.

  And there was nothing she could do but watch.

  * * *

  Don Rames walked down the corridor, nodding to several shipmates as they passed by. He knew who they were, but the part of him that cared was submerged, restrained. Soon it would be gone entirely. The presence that controlled his body was old. It was a collective, made up of billions of microscopic machines, created by the few that had invaded his bloodstream. They were remnants, and they had been on the planet for millennia.

  They were servants of the Regent, and they’d been sent to destroy the bipeds on the planet. They had entered their bodies, replicated, taken control, just as they were doing now. The bipeds fought, the nanos controlling them, driving them into endless battle…until none remained. Then, they deactivated. Trillions of the tiny devices then powered down and ceased to function, as the bipeds had before them. All but the original ones, the nanobots of the Regent’s manufacture, the ones that had landed on the planet and infected the first of the doomed race. They survived, for endless untold ages they endured, waiting, watching for new enemies. And then the new bipeds came.

  The tiny robots responded to their ancient programming. The new biologics wore protective suits, but the nanos passed through, drilling into the tight web of the fabric and sealing it shut again behind them. Then they entered the creatures, slipped in through pores, through bodily orifices, spreading, replicating, using the host’s energy and food to fuel their multiplication.

  The bipeds left the planet, returned to their spaceship…and the nanos came with them. They served their ancient function, took control, prepared to destroy the spaceship to eliminate the bipeds aboard. The nanos existed to serve the Regent. They had no directive for self-preservation. But then they accessed the computer systems serving the biologics. They learned they wer
e en route to a fleet, one carrying thousands of the biped creatures.

  The biologics had fought with the forces of the Regent. They were fleeing even now. The nanos responded to ancient programming…to serve the Regent. There was a higher priority than eliminating a single vessel. They must destroy the new biologics.

  But few of the nanos had survived the endless eons, and there were only enough to control the two bipeds. They could replicate more given time, but that would take years, as it had on the planet…and the struggle was already underway. So they explored the databases, sought ways to destroy the bipeds. And they found something.

  There was one of the biologics, a leader. They followed him, fought at his command. He had saved them many times. He was the primary cause of the Regent’s failure. His tactics were superior, they frustrated the Regent and the Command Units of the imperial fleet.

  The nanos knew. In that moment they knew what they had to do. They had to return to the human fleet…and when they got there they had but a single purpose. They would kill the biped leader. They would kill Admiral Terrance Compton.

  Chapter Ten

  From the Personal Log of Terrance Compton

  What is a suicide mission? Some are obvious, for example a pilot at the controls of a critically-damaged fighter, smashing into an enemy ship in a final act of defiance. But when does daring, calculated risk-taking, become something else, something darker, more hopeless.

  There is no choice, not really. I’ve reviewed the AI’s projections and run my own. I’ve put fifty years of experience at war in space to work, trying to imagine a way, any other way. But there is none. The fleet will never reach Shangri la, not unless I can find a way to buy a respite from the relentless pursuit.

  And I have. I will detach a rearguard, a small force of ships that will wait behind when the rest of the fleet transits, until the enemy catches us. Then this forlorn hope will transit—through a different warp gate—and hopefully lead the enemy fleet off in a direction away from the main fleet.

  It is a sound plan, one that has a good chance of gaining the fleet the time to reach Shangri la. But is it a suicide mission? Surely I didn’t conceive it that way. My plans for the rearguard include an eventual return to the course for Shangri la…but is this realistic? Or simply something I cooked up to relieve myself of the burden of ordering men and women on a suicide mission? I truly don’t know anymore. But whatever the fate of the rearguard, I will be with it.

  It goes against everything I’ve been taught, all tenets of naval strategy. The commander of the fleet should remain with the fleet. I can hear the voices, my old instructors at the Academy, Augustus, all of them, screaming in my head. But none of it matters. There are decisions made from strategy, from duty. And then there are just things a man must do. I have sent thousands to their deaths…and worst of all, perhaps, they have gone willingly, faithfully executing the orders I gave them. I cannot sit in my chair any longer and send thousands more into such peril, not unless I go with them.

  They will all resist…Sophie, Max, Erika West. They will argue…and they will insist on coming with me. But they are all staying behind. I have tried to make decisions as fairly as possible, to see to the needs of all the people of the fleet. But this is pure commander’s prerogative. I will go into this danger, perhaps to my death. But when I do, I will know that those few I love are safe, or at least safer. And I make no apologies. I have served with every bit of strength I have, as I will until the enemy finally destroys me. But this I do for me…

  AS Midway

  X78 System

  The Fleet: 98 ships (+6 Leviathans), 23758 crew

  “I don’t understand, sir.” Max Harmon was standing in the corridor staring back at the admiral. “If you’re going into a fight, I should be with you. I’ll stay on Midway.” Harmon had been on his way to the flag bridge when he’d run into Compton in the corridor. He’d been in sickbay when the orders came down to prepare to transfer all the patients to Saratoga. The battle was over, at least for the immediate future, and by all accounts, other than her landing bays, Saratoga wasn’t in any better shape than Midway. And without the bays it was going to be a nightmare to load up the wounded.

  Harmon had served under Compton for a long time, and he knew the admiral well, as well as anyone in the fleet. He immediately realized something was wrong. And now the admiral had just confirmed his fears.

  “No,” Compton said. “I don’t want you to stay, Max. I want you to transfer to Saratoga. Admiral West is going to need all the help she can get maintaining control of the fleet. I want you to stay with her until I get back. I need you to stay.”

  Harmon stared back at Compton. They both knew the admiral’s return was an ‘if’ and not a ‘when.’ He was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice almost distraught. “But, sir, you can’t do this, not without me.” Harmon was exhausted, utterly and completely drained. He’d been at Mariko’s side for three straight days, without a rest, without even taking time to eat anything. His distress at Compton’s plan had given him a brief burst of urgent energy, but now he looked like he was about to collapse.

  “I have to do this, Max. You’ve known me long enough to understand.” Compton took a step toward Harmon. “I love you like a son, Max…but I have to do this. And I need you to do as I say.” He paused. “Stay with Mariko. Go over to Saratoga with her…and once you’ve got her settled in, report to Admiral West.” Compton stared at his protégé, trying to maintain his calm, to hide how much it hurt to send Harmon away. But he’d made his decision. He might die, several thousand of the fleet’s spacers might die with him. But he didn’t want Max Harmon to be one of them. He didn’t know if Mariko was going to make it, no one did. But if she survived, he wanted Harmon to be there, to have a chance at happiness. And even if the pilot he loved so much died, Harmon was young…and if the refugees managed to find a home at Shangri la, he’d have a long life ahead of him. Compton had seen more death, lost more friends and comrades than Harmon could imagine, and he knew one thing. Life went on for the living.

  Harmon just nodded. His face was grim, and the fatigue was even more pronounced in his expression. “Admiral, I don’t know what to…”

  “Max, I’m not going to crash Midway into an enemy Colossus. The rearguard has a dangerous mission, but not a hopeless one. I’m going to try like hell to get back, to get all the people going with me back. But I need my mind clear…and it won’t be unless I know you’re with Erika, helping her maintain control of the fleet.”

  “Yes, sir,” Harmon said miserably.

  “And I need you to do one other thing for me, Max.” Compton’s voice was emotional.

  “Anything, Admiral.”

  “I need you to make sure Sophie goes too. She’s not going to want to leave any more than you do. But I need her to go. I need to know she’s safe, at least as safe as anyone in the fleet can be.” His eyes focused on Harmons, pleading with his friend.

  “I’ll make sure she goes, sir. Whatever it takes.” Harmon gasped for a breath, holding back the emotion the best he could. “I don’t know what to say, sir. You’ve been more than a commander…more than a father. I just don’t have…” His words trailed off, and he stood there holding Compton’s gaze.

  “I know, Max,” Compton said softly. “I feel the same.” He reached out and put his hands on Harmon’s shoulder. “Now do as I ask, son. Go.” He pushed forward, taking Harmon in his arms, hugging the young officer.

  The two embraced for a few seconds. Then Harmon stood there, staring silently at the admiral. Finally, he took a deep breath and nodded. He knew Compton would fight like a demon to bring the rearguard back…and he realized there was a chance…there was always a chance. But there was something else, a feeling, a nagging thought he couldn’t banish from his mind.

  A voice speaking to him, telling him he would never see his friend Terrence Compton again.

  * * *

  “Get all that stuff packed up. Now!” Hieronymus Cutter was sto
rming around the room, terrorizing the scientists and assistants busy at work gathering the various artifacts and specimens from the lab. Those who knew the brilliant scientist could hardly believe the changes in him over the past year. He’d been quiet, shy, socially awkward…a man of almost incalculable intelligence who found it difficult to carry on a conversation with another. But in that year he’d developed breakthroughs that had saved the fleet, he’d boarded an enemy battleship with a pack of Marines…and landed on an ancient First Imperium planet with the same leathernecks. He’d risked his life again and again, and he’d won the respect of the hardest, most grizzled warriors in the fleet. The Marines had accepted him as one of their own. And the new improved Hieronymus Cutter had proven to be a nightmare to the scientists and technicians working under him.

  “We don’t have time to waste,” he roared. “And I want every one of those specimens neatly packed. The future of the fleet depends on this research, so anyone who is careless now will have to answer to me for anything that is broken or lost.”

  “They’re working as quickly as they can, Hieronymus.” Ana Zhukov had walked up behind Cutter. “I sometimes wish the old Hieronymus could see you now.” She smiled, at least as much as the current situation allowed. She knew Cutter was worried about Admiral Compton. She was too. Most of the fleet looked up to him, but they saw him as something distant, great. Ana and Hieronymus had worked closely with him, and they’d become part of his small, trusted inner circle. Ana had come to know the real Terrence Compton. And she was deathly afraid he wasn’t coming back, that he’d committed himself to a suicidal tactic to buy the fleet a chance at escape.

  “As quickly as they can isn’t fast enough, Ana. We’re almost out of time…and we need to get this stuff off Midway. All of it.”

  “I know, Hieronymus, but terrorizing everyone isn’t going to help. They’re not Marines, you can’t treat them like they are. They can’t handle it.”