Crimson Worlds Refugees: The First Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  “Listen up, everybody. On three you’re all going to unload everything you’ve got. Keep your fire to the right half of the tunnel. Any of you fuck up and shoot one of our own, and I promise you now, I will skin you alive and make a set of clothes from your miserable hide.”

  He popped his spent clip, listening to the whirring sound as his auto-reloader snapped another one in place.

  “One.”

  He glanced over at Colt and her people, lined up in single file along the wall. Emi Colt was a hell of a Marine, one who’d gotten her lieutenant’s bars directly from him after her performance at X48 II. She’d taken a bad hit to the leg there, and she’d just barely escaped the need to go through the controlled agony of a regeneration.

  And she returned to duty just in time to come along on this suicide mission…

  Frasier had considered asking for volunteers, but he’d decided he needed the very best he could get. Besides, they were all Marines…which meant they would all have volunteered. So he’d just made up a list and that had been the end of it.

  “Two.”

  The gunfire from down the hall was steady, but it wasn’t that heavy. Whatever had responded, it wasn’t a large force, not yet at least. Maybe Colt’s people can force the position…

  “Three. Full auto, now!”

  He flipped the weapon from semi to full, and he opened up, spraying the right side of the tunnel with fire. He could see Colt lunge forward, followed by Camerata and the rest.

  He concentrated on his fire, on keeping it to the side. The gun went through the 500 projectiles in the clip in less than ten seconds. Then it ejected the cartridge, and he heard the sound of the auto-loader again.

  He caught himself looking up at his display one more time, realizing again his scanners were useless. Watching his people disappear into the darkness was difficult. He had no idea what they were facing…or even where they were once they vanished into the gloom.

  But he knew one thing for sure. They were done sneaking around. If they were going to complete the mission, they’d have to fight their way in.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  AS Midway

  System X108

  The Fleet: 71 ships (+1 Leviathan), 17221 crew

  “It’s working, Admiral.” Compton could hear the relief in Gower’s voice. “All ten test patients are responding. They’re still tired, but all symptoms appear to be in retreat…and three of them test completely negative for the virus already.”

  Compton looked around the flag bridge. Gower had been on speaker, and they’d all heard what she’d had to say. He could feel the relief in the air. His people still faced a grim future, but they were warriors…they knew how to stand in the face of an enemy. But the fear of a plague was more insidious, and it undermined the resolve of even the most courageous. Midway hadn’t had any contact with the infected ships, but that had been tenuous comfort to her crew, who’d been waiting each day for the first reported case, any sign that the terrible disease would begin tearing its way through the flagship as it had so many other vessels.

  “That’s great news, Doctor. I know we’d ideally wait and maybe do another round of testing, but we don’t have time for that. How long will it take your staff to synthesize enough doses for all infected personnel?”

  There was no time to waste, none at all. Compton knew people were dying every hour…and, perhaps worse, at least from a coldly tactical perspective, he had more ships dropping out of the battle line as their crews became incapacitated. And he needed every ship he could get.

  “Two days, sir. It’s a complex molecule…and we need to be methodical and test each batch.”

  Compton nodded, as much to himself as anything. “Then don’t waste time talking to me, Doctor. You’ve got top priority on resources and supplies. Requisition anything—and anyone—you need. Just get it done in two days.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Compton’s hand moved toward the com unit, but he stopped short of the disconnect lever. “And Doctor…congratulations. To both you and Dr. Cutter. And the gratitude of the entire fleet. There are no words adequate for what you have achieved.”

  “Thank you, sir. Though most of the work was done by a First Imperium researcher half a million years ago. We just finished the last bit.”

  “Well, I’m thankful for her as well as the two of you. Now, go back to your work, Doctor…we need that cure.”

  Compton slapped his hand down, cutting the line. Then he let out a long breath. He knew his people were still in deep trouble, but if Gower was right, if that serum was a cure for the plague, at least one deadly threat was gone.

  Still, there will be another. And soon.

  He looked straight forward, his eyes on the main display. Everything was quiet. He knew that wouldn’t last, that sometime—in an hour, a day, a month—the scanner buoys by the warp gate would detect the energy of ships transiting. A moment later they would transmit details of the first ships to come thorough. Then they would fall silent, as the enemy vanguard destroyed them, temporarily blinding Compton to what was invading the system.

  The fleet was battered, all of its ship damaged to varying degrees. They had only one Leviathan left, and while Cutter had somehow managed to find a few reloads for the megalasers, they were few, not enough to make a difference.

  It was almost over. Compton knew he didn’t have the force to defeat another attacking fleet…and he was well aware the enemy would fight to the death, that any hope of inflicting enough damage to force a retreat was a hopeless dream.

  His people would fight, as they always had…they would battle bravely. He had no doubt about that. But they wouldn’t win, not this time. They were trapped, outmatched. And he had no idea what to do about it.

  No idea at all.

  * * *

  Mariko sat in her quarters, staring down at the image on her ’pad. Her eyes were heavy, watery, and she felt a sadness she’d never experienced. Max Compton was smiling on the small screen. He was reaching his arms out, scooping in a pile of chips at a poker game. Mariko remembered that day well. She’d stopped by, and Max had started winning, even bluffing Admiral Compton out of a large pot. He’d declared her his good luck charm and urged her to stay. But duty had called, as it so often had in recent years, and she’d left him with a kiss and a heartfelt ‘good luck,” and then she slipped out and headed down to the launch bay and her waiting patrol.

  He’d been happy that day. And he’d been happy when he’d been with her, she was sure of it. Just as she had been with him. But now that was gone. Max was gone…and as much as she’d tried, as hard as she had pushed her fighter pilot’s optimism and daring, she couldn’t imagine how he would make it back. The fleet and its people had endured dangerous missions, some she’d even considered near-suicidal. But a single ship and fewer than thirty Marines traveling to the imperium’s home world and destroying the Regent? She couldn’t even wrap her head around it.

  Why did Max have to go?

  She scolded herself. She was a fighter pilot, always in the thick of the danger. She knew why Harmon had to go. And she understood. But she was still brokenhearted.

  Mariko had always been a loner, always felt like a bit of a misfit. Until she’d come to know Max Harmon. Saying good bye to Harmon had been the most difficult thing she’d ever done. She’d ached to grab hold of him, to beg him to stay. But her discipline had held. She knew he had to go, and adding more guilt to his burdens would have been an act of selfishness, not love.

  She had looked up to Admiral Hurley as well, and she’d found a mentor and a friend in the fleet’s fighter corps commander. But Hurley was dead, lost in the last desperate fight of the rearguard. The news had reached her not long after Harmon had left, and in the space of less than two weeks, she’d lost everyone that meant anything to her. She’d expected to die in the last battle, and she’d made some kind of peace with that…but the return of the rearguard had saved the fleet, at least temporarily, and Fujin and the last twenty-four of he
r fighter crews had been spared.

  It would have been easier to die in battle.

  She knew it was a morbid thought, that the last thing Max would want was for her to give up on life. But she’d lost too much. Max. Hurley. The Gold Eagles…twice. She was alone, tired…empty.

  There will be another fight…soon, probably.

  She knew the next attack would be deadly dangerous, very probably the end of the fleet. But she was sure of one thing. It would be her last fight. She had a score to settle with the First Imperium…and she would send as many of them to hell as she could. Until they finally destroyed her.

  And then my pain will end.

  * * *

  Sasha sat quietly on the edge of the bed, reassembling the pistol. She’d run the self-diagnostic test, then she disassembled it and put it back together again. She would have one chance…and only one. The weapon was reliable, of reasonable quality within the limitations of the humans’ primitive technology. But she intended to take no chances.

  She knew what would happen when she killed Compton. His people would go mad with rage and anger. The shell that had been Sasha Debornan would be destroyed, almost certainly. The nano-entity would be reduced to its original state, invisible to the humans…and when Midway was destroyed it was likely it would be as well. But that was of no account. The nano-entity had only one purpose, to serve the Regent. Self-preservation was of no importance as long as the mission was completed.

  She looked down at the weapon as she slid the last components in place. Everything was ready. She had checked the duty roster. Compton had been on the flag bridge for over ten hours. Her recent experience combined with the biologic Debornan’s memories, suggested Compton was capable of working for considerable periods without a break. But eventually he would leave the bridge and head back to his quarters, for a rest, a meal, a shower. And she would be waiting.

  She’d managed to access the main AI, to insert a small program, one that would advise her when the admiral entered the lift. She’d even picked the spot, right where Compton would turn the corner. When he did, she would be there waiting. An instant was all it would take. And then it would be done. Terrance Compton would be dead…and the human fleet would suffer a blow from which it would not recover.

  She glanced down at the communications device laying on the bed next to her. When the time came, she would push the small button on the device. It would send a quick, nearly undetectable pulse to the companion unit on Saratoga. The message would convey a single message…simple, concise. It was time.

  Suddenly Midway’s klaxons went off, calling all hands to battlestations. Red alert.

  Debornan sat still. This would delay the operation. Compton was too well protected on the flag bridge, and her security clearance did not allow her access. She would wait here. Either the attacking forces would prevail, and destroy Midway. Or she would execute her mission when the battle ended, and an exhausted Compton returned to his quarters.

  * * *

  “Contacts still coming in, Admiral. In excess of two hundred vessels. They’re moving directly in system…not even stopping to destroy the scanner buoys around the warp gate.”

  Compton stared at the icons on the display, more of them appearing every few seconds. The fleet coming through was big. No, not big. Massive. More than enough to destroy all his ships…no matter what he did.

  And they know it. That’s why they’re not even bothering to take out our eyes.

  “Over three hundred vessels, sir,” Cortez said, his voice growing grimmer with each word. “Preliminary data suggests a line of Colossuses in the lead.”

  Compton felt the urge to slump in his chair, to let the overwhelming weight of reality push him down. But he resisted, held himself firm. Outnumbered or not, a chance of victory or not…he was certain of one thing. His people would fight to the end.

  “All ships will pull back to battle position three.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Position three was the closest to the planet, well within the range of the handful of newly resupplied megalasers. Cutter hadn’t found enough new cartridges to make a real difference, not against a force this size. But Compton was determined to take out as many enemy ships as possible, regardless of the outcome of the battle.

  We will not go gently into that good night. We will go kicking and screaming…and destroying as many of those bastards as we can.

  “All ships acknowledge, sir. “

  “Very well. Commander Fujin is to lau…belay that.” He tapped his own com unit. He owed Mariko her orders from his own mouth. He tapped his com unit. “Mariko, are your people ready?”

  “Yes, Admiral. All squadrons on Midway and Saratoga ready to launch. All fighters are equipped with double-shotted torpedoes.” Her voice cracked a little on the last part. Compton had not ordered her to overpower her weapons. But it seemed the right thing to do.

  “Very well, Mariko.” He understood why she had done what she’d done. They both knew this would be the last fight. If she wanted to go out with a bang, he wouldn’t interfere. And if she lost a few birds to torpedo warhead instability, those crews weren’t coming back anyway.

  “It has been an honor to serve with you, Admiral.”

  “And with you, Commander.” He paused. “Mariko, I just want you to know…the last time I spoke with Greta…Admiral Hurley…she told me how impressed she was in your abilities. She was fond of you. Very. I thought you should know.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Her voice was tentative, and he could hear her struggling to push the emotion out.

  “And Max loved you too,” he said, regretting the past tense immediately. “I’ve known him a very long time…since he was a child, and I’ve never seen anyone affect him like you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her voice was tight, clipped. He knew he was causing her pain with his words, but there were things she had a right to know. Especially if this was the end.

  “Good luck to you, Commander Fujin, and to those who serve with you.”

  “And to you, Admiral Compton.” There was a moment of silence, the sound of heavy breathing, and perhaps a sniffle or two in the background.

  “You may launch when ready, Commander.”

  “Thank you, sir. Commencing launch operations now…”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Access Tunnel Near Imperial Capital

  Deneb VIII

  The Fleet: 71 ships (+1 Leviathans), 17201 crew

  “There were six of them, sir. Some kind of small security bots. Nothing like the warrior units we fought on X48 II.” Colt was standing in front of Frasier, surrounded by the smashed debris of the robots. None of her people were down, which Frasier regarded as a minor miracle.

  She gestured down the corridor. “I sent Camerata and Salvatore to scout ahead, sir.” She paused then continued tentatively, “Major, what do you think of shutting down the stealth unit? Clearly the enemy has alternative means of discovering us…and we’re fighting with a hand tied behind our back without our own scanning.”

  Frasier looked back at Colt. Her voice seemed steady, but he could see the wound on her left arm, just below the shoulder. Her suit’s trauma control mechanism had sealed the breach—he could see the cream-colored foam plugging the damaged area. He knew her med system had covered the wound as well and given her pain meds, but he was sure it still hurt despite the injections. But Emi Colt was a Marine, and she was acting like one now.

  “Very well, Lieutenant. Now that everybody else is up here, I want you to take the rest of your people forward…give Salvatore and Camerata some backup in case they run into trouble. I’ll bring the main group up a hundred meters behind.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I’ll think about the stealth unit. You’re right, at least to a point. But we don’t know what the Regent can detect. We may just have run into a roving patrol…but if we drop the shield, we can assume the enemy will know exactly where we are…and how many of us are here. So meanwhile, I want you to report
in if you see anything. I do mean anything, Lieutenant, even if it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. And I want you to check in every three minutes regardless. Understood?”

  “Yes, Major. Understood.” She took a step back, pausing for a few seconds looking at Frasier. Then she turned and moved off into the darkness.

  Frasier turned back toward the disordered column behind him. “Alright, Marines, let’s get organized here. Six little robots, and you look like a herd of panicked cattle.” He knew he was being a little unfair. He hadn’t ordered them into any formation, and they had just raced down the hallway after Colt’s group, but fair had nothing to do with what was happening now. There was success or failure, victory or defeat, survival or death…and he knew the odds weren’t in their favor. He needed his Marines sharp right now…and by that he meant sharp.

  “Rodriguez,” he barked, “take your people ahead. Stay fifty meters behind Colt, but be ready to get up there in a hurry if her people run into trouble.”

  ‘Yes, sir.”

  Frasier turned, looking back at the rest of the team. “Dr. Zhukov, Captain Harmon…I need you all to stay in the center of the formation. We’re likely to run into more trouble before we get where we’re going.”

  “Connor…” Ana sounded like she was going to object, but then she just said. “Understood, Major.”

  Thank you, Ana, Frasier thought. He didn’t need her fighting him. Not now. He had his hands full with whatever the enemy was going to throw at him.

  “Perhaps I should go forward with you, Connor.” Max Harmon took a step forward. “There’s no telling what we’re going to find. This map is half a million years old. If anything has changed…”

  “Sir,” Frasier said, clearly uncomfortable at interrupting the mission commander, “with all due respect to your combat record, you’re wearing a pair of pajamas compared to my Marines’ suits. You’ve got no protection, none at all. One shot and the mission loses its leader.” Frasier’s tone was stronger, more aggressive than he’d intended. But there just wasn’t time to waste.