by Richard Fox
“No.” Makarov jabbed a period and closed her notebook. “Time is valuable. I don’t waste my time. I will not waste others’.” She slammed back the hot tea. If it caused her any pain, Calum didn’t notice.
When she arrived at the operations table, Delacroix’s holo was ready and waiting across from her normal spot. The rest of her captains’ holograms shifted from side to side, looking uneasy.
“Scorpion, what did we learn?”
Graphs formed in the holo, full of science jargon that Makarov didn’t understand.
“We recorded fascinating readings at the moment the rings took damage. The space-time grade fluctuation perfectly followed the Kapur Theorem which will—”
“Skip to the end,” Makarov said through grit teeth.
Delacroix rolled his eyes and Makarov resisted the urge to rip his face off.
“The damage to the ring disrupted the planetoid’s Alcubierre field and cut its acceleration, but only briefly—not because the ring came back online, but because the drone net around the surface formed a new field.” Delacroix nodded slowly. “The new field is just as strong, but the Kapur signature matches readings from recorded drone interstellar travel.”
“And?” Makarov asked.
“And look at this.” Delacroix swiped a screen and a graph with a slight decline came up. “This is the planetoid’s gravity. As soon as the drone field came online, the pull of gravity from Abaddon decreased, and it is only getting weaker. Granted, it would take years to have any measurable effect…Yes, Admiral, I see that look and I’ll cut right to the chase. The drones are consuming themselves to keep the Alcubierre field up and running.”
A video of Abaddon’s surface came up. Drones spewed from open portholes and melded into the net surrounding the planetoid. Burning embers traced up and down the net’s filaments, like a lit cigarette wasting away.
“The power needed to keep this planetoid moving is enormous, and the drones were not designed for this. Hence, the Xaros use the rings to relocate large objects, not a drone net like we see now.”
“We take the rings off-line permanently…what effect will that have on Abaddon?” Makarov asked.
“Assuming they keep the same acceleration, it would decrease the mass of drones arriving in our solar system by thirty percent,” Delacroix said.
“Seventy percent of a giant shitload is still a giant shitload,” Calum said.
“Correct,” Delacroix said. “The ability of the drones to create their own field also puts my task force in a precarious position. The drones can power through the effect of the graviton mines. There’s no way to stop Abaddon from reaching Earth.” Murmurs filled the air as the rest of the captains reacted to the news.
“The strain…” Makarov tapped a finger against the side of the table, “you set off the mines and the drones will have to burn their candle at both ends to keep up the speed, yes?”
Delacroix’s eye slid from side to side as wheels turned in his head.
“Yes, we have to monitor the consumption rate a bit longer.” Delacroix’s eyebrows shot up. His holo turned away from the table.
“I’m sure he will return in a moment with a brilliant deduction,” Makarov said. “Now, if we can’t stop this thing, then we must weaken it. Give Earth a better chance when it arrives.”
Delacroix returned to the table, a smile across his face.
“Good news, everyone! I ran some simulations based on my idea—”
“My idea,” Makarov said.
“Her idea, and we can force the Xaros to expend between forty and seventy percent of their total strength. How? Take out the rings, then Task Force Scorpion makes for Earth at best speed, seeding graviton mines every few light-hours for maximum effect. It’ll be like forcing the Xaros to run uphill. Given the details, the forty percent solution is preferred, naturally.”
“How do we get to seventy percent?” Makarov asked.
Delacroix went pale. “That’s the worst-case scenario, given what we know about the Xaros’ ability to highjack computer systems, and that the minelayers will only be a few steps ahead of Abaddon to maximize the effects. The ships can’t run on automation. They have to continue to the limits of their life-support systems.”
“The minelayers run ahead of Abaddon until air, food and water run out,” Makarov said.
“And then the crews die,” Delacroix said, swallowing hard. “My ships have to run at full speed. No other ship in our fleet can keep up with the minelayers.”
“It may come to that,” Makarov said. “It may come to that for all of us.” She looked around the table. Captains straightened up as they found her gaze. “We are here, in the depths of the unforgiving void, to fight for Earth. Give her a future. We have a chance to win, and we are going to fight for it. There is no price we will not pay, no burden we will not bear. Am I clear?”
Calum tapped her on the elbow and whispered to her.
She hit a flashing icon and the holo switched to a close-up of the damaged ring. Drones pressed into the exposed pyrite, melting, then morphing into the brass outer casing and the pyrite.
“Easy to conquer the galaxy when you have no supply chain to worry about,” Calum said. “The drones convert mass to omnium, then to more drones, to whatever they need.”
Makarov zoomed out. A circle of light opened on Abaddon’s equator, then darkened as a swarm of drones poured forth.
Makarov felt her stomach knot. “Battle stations.”
****
Corporal Brannock wondered, not for the first time, just who he pissed off to get hull guard duty. The Midway had small bunkers across her hull where security teams would protect against drones attempting to cut into the hull. The idea had proven marginally successful during the Battle for the Crucible, even though casualty rates had been exceedingly high for those tapped to stand on the wrong side of the ship’s armor and fend off Xaros drones with little more than a gauss rifle.
He shared bunker D-28 with Derringer, a Marine heavy weapons team and three doughboys. The heavy weapons team nursed a Gustav cannon mounted on a turret ring. The two Marines had spent the last half hour practicing detaching and reattaching the weapon, all the while cursing whatever naval engineer expected them to swing the weapon in a circle to engage targets coming from the other direction.
All wore the new combat power armor, the armor plates coated with the same material that made up the aegis plating. Brannock didn’t care for the glossy sheen, but noise and light discipline had little effect when fighting in the void. The armor would, according to the quartermaster who’d issued it to him, protect them from a Xaros disintegration beam. The engineer went on to say that not getting shot was still the preferred method to survive on the battlefield, but anyone hit and not killed should write up the experience to benefit the next design iteration.
Indigo shook Brannock’s shoulder.
“Sir. Sir!” Indigo pointed to the bunker’s bolted door.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me ‘sir’? I work for a living.” Brannock pushed Indigo’s hand away.
“Time to go see, corporal sir,” Indigo said, his eyes wide with anticipation.
“Has it been thirty minutes? Fine. Derringer.” He kicked the sleeping Marine’s feet. “Taking the big boys on a little walk.”
“This mean I have to wake up?”
“Yes, exactly that.” Brannock detached the air supply lines running from the side of the bunker to his helmet. The doughboys did the same, wrapping the lines around their hooks just like he’d taught them when they first started their shift.
The doughboys didn’t come across as terribly bright, but they learned simple skills surprisingly fast. Brannock wished he could say the same for Derringer.
The corporal opened the door and stepped out onto the Midway’s hull, his mag locks gripping the matte-gray armor with each footfall.
A squat void craft with wide wings sat on the hull ahead of him. It had ball turrets on the top and bottom of each wi
ng, mounted to the fuselage, twin gauss Gatling cannons, rocket pods and a spine-mounted rail cannon. The new Osprey gunships had arrived only a few days ago, and he’d been keen to get a closer look.
The doughboys were even more eager to know more about the Osprey. They’d nearly gotten into a fistfight over who got to look through the bunker’s view slits to see it. Promising to take them out to see the new weapon if they behaved for a half hour had calmed them down instantly.
There were two of the new gunships not far from the bunker, a flight of Eagles just beyond them. All were mag-locked to the Midway’s hull. Putting pilots and crews on the ship’s surface took stress off the flight deck when it came time to get more fighters and bombers into the void.
Brannock glanced at Abaddon, glowing like a bale eye. There’d been no official word on the Gallipoli and the ships that left with her, but they sure weren’t with the rest of the fleet in the void above his head.
“‘Join the Marines! Fight a planet!’ Let’s see the recruiters use that line,” Brannock said.
Indigo grunted, his default response to anything remotely complicated.
Brannock stopped a few yards from the Osprey and shrugged. “Here you go. Remember, no touching.”
“No touching,” the three doughboys said as one. They bustled past Brannock and pointed at the larger gun emplacements, grunting in approval.
“What the hell are those?” came from behind him. A pilot in a lighter, less armored vac suit walked up to him, his steps tenuous on the hull. The call sign “Zorro” was stenciled on his chest.
“You’re asking me, sir? Thought you flyboys would be all over the new toys.”
“Not the Ospreys…those.” Zorro pointed at the doughboys.
“Yeah, them. Bio constructs made to look like us, minus the freaky skin and Cro- Magnon features. Guess Ibarra can’t make proccies fast enough so now they’re mass-producing these guys,” Brannock said.
“What do they do?”
“Whatever we tell them, so long as you can say it with very small words. They fight like demons. I saw some footage of them in Hawaii ripping Toth warriors apart. I spent that whole fight on ship security detail, thumb way up my own ass.” Brannock shook his head.
“I was in the upper atmo, knocking down their transports,” Zorro said. “You think I can talk to one?”
Brannock called Indigo over. The doughboy went to the position of attention when he saw Zorro’s lieutenant rank.
“At ease, soldier. Bend down a bit,” Zorro said. He leaned close to Indigo’s face and took a long look at him. “Amazing, isn’t he? Ibarra creates life now. Same way he created us.”
“What do you mean, sir? The proccies?” Brannock asked.
“Aren’t you one too? The whole fleet are proccies.” Zorro held up a palm to Indigo, who returned the gesture with a hand nearly twice as big.
“Suppose so. That rumor was going round the ship after the fight with the Toth. Then Admiral Makarov told everybody it didn’t matter one way or another far as the military was concerned. I got better things to worry about than if my mom and dad were tubes. The parents I remember are dead, killed on Earth with everyone else.”
“What’s your name?” Zorro asked the doughboy.
“Sir, unit designation Indigo-347.”
“How do you feel about being out here?” the pilot asked.
Indigo grunted.
“Don’t bother, sir. They’re as dense as armor. The only time I’ve ever heard them even laugh is when one of them passes gas,” Brannock said.
“Sir.” A massive hand shook the corporal’s shoulder. He turned around and found another of his charges, Cobalt, pointing at an Osprey turret. The crewman inside banged on the shell and pointed to a piece of paper with an IR frequency on it.
Brannock manually set his receiver and said, “Yeah?”
“Shit’s going down,” the crewman said. “Xaros coming in hot and heavy. You better get back in your hole, Marine.”
“Why am I always the last to know things like this?” Brannock grabbed the doughboys and pointed them to the bunker. Zorro had already left.
“Bottom of the totem pole, buddy. Good luck.” The crewman closed the channel.
Rail cannons flashed to life across the fleet. Fighters lifted off from the Midway’s hull and zoomed out of the flight deck. He glanced at Abaddon and saw a dark mass made up of thousands and thousands of drones advancing on the fleet.
The rail gun battery behind the bunker crackled with energy then shot out a round with a white flash of light so bright it burned an afterimage into Brannock’s eye.
“Shit!” Brannock repeated the word over and over again until he got back to the bunker and hustled the doughboys back inside.
“What’s going on out there?” Derringer asked.
“Drones, coming right for us.” Brannock slid aside a view port on the roof, letting him and the rest of the bunker see Abaddon and the battle unfolding around them.
“All hull security elements, prepare for contact,” came through the ship’s defense network.
“Now they tell us.” Brannock checked the charge on his gauss rifle and chambered a round. “Lock and load.”
The doughboys slapped magazines into their oversized gauss rifles. The two Marines manning the Gustav said a quick prayer over the weapon.
“They tell you what’s happening?” Derringer asked.
“Nope. We stick to our assignment, shoot any drones that make it to the hull.”
“Fight!” Indigo slammed a fist against his chest then drew the pneumatic hammer off his back.
****
Holos shivered as the rail batteries did their work. Makarov watched as hundreds of projectiles traced from her fleet to the encroaching Xaros. The swarm was nearly ten times what the Gallipoli had faced, all single drones packed together.
Makarov closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the hum of the deck plates beneath her feet, the tremors of firing rail guns. Calm came over her. A warship was one of the few places she ever felt truly at home.
The leading shells detonated just short of the drones, shredding hundreds into oblivion with razor-sharp flechettes. The swarm contracted as fire from Eighth Fleet peppered the mass of drones. The drones took more casualties as their close order left little room to maneuver away from the shotgun blasts from the shells.
“What’re they doing?” Makarov asked.
“They must have thought we’d lead with the q-shells,” Kidson said, “to try to mitigate that by spreading the effects through many separate drones.”
“Commander Laskaris requesting permission to open fire with the energy cannons,” Calum said.
“Not yet,” Makarov said. The swarm tightened then flew apart to reveal a spiral construct ship. Four gleaming darts floated near the back end, each the size of a destroyer.
“Guns, concentrate lance fire on that launcher. All ships, engage maneuver pattern delta. Stay out of each other’s line of fire,” Makarov said. She slammed her palms against the table and mag-locked her feet and hands. The Midway lurched as the carrier activated its auxiliary thrusters to carry out the sudden maneuver.
In the holo, her fleet broke to a side. The weight of fire slowed to nothing as ship realigned.
The Xaros launcher shot out a lance, moving fast enough to reach her lines within a few tens of seconds. The lance’s projected course jumped all over the place, then settled. It was heading for the cruiser Warsaw.
“Warsaw, all ahead full, now!” Makarov shouted.
The Warsaw surged forward and the lance’s plot fell behind the ship.
“Guns, plot a—” Makarov stopped as the lance veered to the side. The weapon changed its course, heading straight into the Warsaw’s flank. Point defense batteries on the Warsaw battered the lance, to no effect. The lance slowed, but still hit the Warsaw with enough force to break through the aegis plates like they were paper and impaled the ship through the engines. The lance caught in the wreckage, its silver tip ju
tting between the number four and six thrusters.
The Warsaw listed to the side like a speared fish.
“Another launch!” Calum called out. The plot on the next lance resolved…it was coming for the Midway.
“Randall, emergency thrusters. Guns, hit that thing with q-shells and lance shells before it can maneuv—” A sudden downward acceleration sent blood rushing into her skull. Her hands snapped off the holo table and flew over her head. She felt the grip of her boots slipping off the hull.
Blood pounded against her temples and her vision darkened. She pressed her toes against the sole of her boots and the gravity linings in her boots tightened their grip on the floor. The acceleration quit and Makarov stumbled against the holo table and fell to the deck.
She pulled herself back to her feet. The incoming lance flew through clouds of q-shell electricity from exploded munitions as the rest of the fleet fought to save the flagship. The lance’s projected path would take it into deep space. The disabled lance didn’t correct its course and missed the Midway by an uncomfortable few hundred yards.
“Captain Randall,” Makarov said to him on a private channel, “install another acceleration chair for me next to the holo table once the battle is over. I do not want my career to end with a smear on the ceiling.”
“Aye-aye, Admiral,” Randall said.
“New contacts…coming from the Warsaw,” Calum said.
Drones poured out of the dead ship. Lumps of glistening metal sloughed off the lance embedded in the ship and formed into new drones.
“Launch! Another lance…on an intercept course with the Tarawa,” XO said.
Whoever’s leading the Xaros…he’s damn good, Makarov thought.
****
Brannock scanned through his firing port, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he waited for the Xaros to arrive.
“Drone touchdown in sector thirty-seven! At least twenty all coming from the—” The IR transmission broke into static.
“Should we go help?” Derringer asked.
“Thirty-seven is on the exact opposite side of the ship,” Brannock snapped. “This is our sector. Our job is to keep drones off that rail battery until someone tells us we have a new job.”