by Jay Allan
Graham wanted to run. More than he’d ever wanted anything. His small flotilla was an exploration unit, not a combat task force. The tiny flotilla had no place fighting a battle, especially not a meaningless one so far from home. He turned and looked across the bridge toward the navigation station, and in his mind, he heard himself issuing the command to race back toward the entry warp gate, to bolt for home. But the words that came from his mouth were quite different from the ones he ached to utter.
“All ships…battlestations.” He wanted to run…but he knew he couldn’t. The fleet—indeed, all of Earth Two’s offworld services—had a single rule that towered above all others, an unbreakable directive, one all its spacers swore to uphold, even at the cost of their lives.
Do nothing that could lead the enemy back to Earth Two.
The struggle of years before, that of the original Fleet, and earlier even, of the forces from Earth and its colonies, against the First Imperium had been one fought against an enemy both far larger and vastly superior in technology.
Forty years of research into First Imperium technology, mostly conducted by Earth Two’s gifted population of Mules, had changed that significantly…and narrowed the scientific gap, though it hadn’t closed it entirely. But, there was no way of knowing what resources this new Regent commanded, how many ships and fleets awaited its orders to advance upon a newly-discovered Earth Two, and bring about the destruction its predecessor had failed to inflict.
“Identity confirmed, Captain.” Graham knew the instant he heard the officer’s tone. “First Imperium vessels. Feeding incoming data to the display.”
Graham turned his head toward the main screen, his eyes focusing on the crucial spot, just as the small cluster of circles appeared, marking the location of the approaching ships. There was no doubt now that they were enemies. His gaze darted back and forth, between the symbols representing his own ships, and those denoting the First Imperium vessels. His first guess was that the forces were evenly matched, more or less, and a more detailed look at the projected tonnages of the First Imperium ships served to confirm that initial analysis.
Not that it mattered. He’d still have retreated if he could have, but there was no point in even trying. The First Imperium ships were almost certainly faster than his own, and even if Vaughn and his other ships could slip away, where could his people go? They couldn’t head anywhere close toward the way home, not even the convoluted and out of the way route they’d taken when they’d set out months before. And, fleeing into the hopeless depths of unexplored space wasn’t any more appealing than fighting where they were, at least not to Roland Graham.
Besides, destroying the enemy fleet, every last vessel, was the only way any of his people had a chance of ever seeing Earth Two again…of returning home to their friends and families. And that, at least, was something worth fighting for.
“All ships, arm missiles…prepare to flush external racks.”
* * *
Enemy missiles were detonating everywhere. One cruiser had already been destroyed, obliterated by a five hundred megaton warhead that had exploded less than one hundred meters from its hull. Such a result deviated considerably from standard probability, a lucky shot in the sort of terms used by the humans, but more missiles were incoming, and, overall, enemy targeting appeared to be extremely accurate. Far more pinpointed than the records of earlier combats suggested.
The intelligence monitored the flow of information. The enemy force was substantial, certainly for what seemed to be a scouting mission, its tonnage almost equal to that of its own imperial squadron. The intelligence had launched its own barrage as well, of course, and even as it analyzed the situation, its missiles approached the human line and began to unleash their deadly warheads. Enemy warheads detonated all around its own ships, but those it had sent against the humans were deadlier, their antimatter warheads ten or more times as powerful as the thermonuclear devices used by the biologics.
Still, the exchange would be a close one, the two forces still evenly matched. The humans retained the inexplicable edge they’d always enjoyed, a natural affinity for war that the intelligences of the First Imperium had been unable to duplicate. Normal procedure would require the summoning of the reserve forces hidden in the system, massing sufficient firepower to ensure victory.
But, the intelligence did nothing. Victory wasn’t the goal. Not this time.
The intelligence was sophisticated, a step below the New Regent in terms of its programming and computing power, certainly, but a significant entity nevertheless. It understood that without the hidden reinforcements, it faced its own possible, even likely, destruction. It might have felt something like alarm at the prospect of its potential termination…had that not been its true mission.
The force the intelligence commanded would lose the battle that had just begun, and that defeat would be intentional. The intelligence would see that it was defeated, even if the expected combat instincts of the enemy proved inadequate. The humans had to defeat the force…they had to seize or destroy the freighters. Only then would they determine that the cargo vessels were carrying antimatter. That the force was outbound from Planet Z.
Then, they would be compelled to investigate, to cross into the next system.
The intelligence analyzed the New Regent’s plan, as it did all data that came into its possession. The goal was clear. To lure the enemy into a trap. But the intelligence saw danger as well. Planet Z was the New Regent’s primary antimatter production facility. Other than the system housing the physical presence of the New Regent itself, it was the most vital location in all space. Risking it seemed…reckless. Yet, the intelligence continued its analysis, seeking comprehension of the Regent’s rationale. The human enemy was unpredictable. They had a genuine, if non-quantifiable, aptitude for war. They were not easily deceived. If the plan was to succeed, they must be enticed to commit most or all of their available forces. They would only do that if they truly believed they had found a vital target.
The intelligence reached understanding, to a point. Planet Z would be a priceless objective to the humans, and the possible destruction of such a vital target would virtually compel them to commit all their strength to a strike. No factory world, no cluster of ships, no other target, save Planet X and the New Regent itself, could achieve the same thing.
The New Regent’s plan was logical. The entrapment and destruction of the enemy’s military would lead directly to their ultimate destruction. Yet, the Intelligence could not fully rationalize the risk factors. Had it been in charge, it would not have authorized the plan. It would instead order the enemy force destroyed at once to prevent discovery of Planet Z. The antimatter stores, and the sole production facility for the precious resource was simply too important to risk.
Not that it mattered. The decision was the Regent’s…and the intelligence would be destroyed before the success or failure of the trap was evident. Its destruction was essential to the plan. It didn’t feel fear, not, at least, as the biologics would. There was something, perhaps a string of calculations akin to what the humans would call regret at the loss of productive years, centuries, millennia it might have endured. But nothing powerful enough to defer it from its orders.
It activated the fleet comm network, sent out commands.
All ships, forward. Engage the enemy at close range.
Chapter Two
Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)
Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two
Earth Two Date 10.14.42
“Achilles, you have to talk to President Harmon. The limitation on quickenings is not only a violation of every right and dignity of our people, but it is a deadly danger to the entire republic…if we still choose to use such an inaccurate designation for what is, of course, an absolute dictatorship.”
Achilles looked at Freya, feeling a great deal of sympathy for the young Mule’s views, and also a counterbalancing fatigue, one that came more from age and experience than
intellect. Freya was one of the best of the new generation, one of the first Mules quickened after the repeal—or, more accurately, the weakening—of the Prohibition. The change in the law, one that Achilles himself had pushed hard for, one he had even been ready to throw the republic into revolution and chaos to attain, had in the end become a compromise. Achilles himself had relented from his hardline demands and reached a deal with Max Harmon. He’d accepted a limit on Mule quickenings in place of the Prohibition’s absolute restriction, which had been a total victory of practicality over principle.
On every moral and ethical level, it still grated on him, twelve years later almost as strongly as it had at the time, and it offended his sense of justice. But he’d come to respect Max Harmon, and as much as he chafed at accepting a dictator, and a Normal, to rule over his people, he’d been painfully aware that the real enemy was out there, hidden somewhere…a New Regent, and one that would destroy them all, Normal and Mule alike, if it got the chance. He’d had no choice, and despite his bitterness, he knew he’d made the right decision…and he knew Harmon had done the best he could, too. If he’d pushed, if Harmon had lost power…Achilles wasn’t even sure there would still be an Earth Two.
“Freya, I understand your anger…truly, I do. You speak much as I did many years ago. But, you must listen to me. You are young, and for all your unquestioned intelligence and ability, you lack experience and a full understanding of the situation. You do not…”
“Do not condescend to me, Achilles. I am fully aware of the threat posed by the New Regent. Indeed, what chance would Earth Two have against this threat without our efforts? The Normals might as well be digging holes with sharpened sticks without us.”
Achilles felt a surge of anger at Freya’s interruption, and at her exaggeration. The Mules were capable in many ways, far more so than any of Earth Two’s other inhabitants, but arrogance went hand in hand with their ability. Freya displayed that weakness obviously, as often as not, embellished by a perverse sort of pride coupled with the stridency of youthful assertion. Achilles was older, he had seen far more than Freya, and he had learned to hide his own arrogance over the years. He’d also learned the most difficult lesson of his life, one that still smarted. He learned he was sometimes wrong.
Still, being interrupted and lectured to by twelve-year-old barely in sight of adulthood, Mule or not, was too much, even for his more controlled demeanor. “You are capable and intelligent, Freya, perhaps the most able member of the second quickening…but you would be well advised to recognize your limitations. Mule or not, you do have them, and the sooner you realize this, the better you will direct your intellect to productive and successful endeavors.” He paused, feeling the anger quickly diminish. He’d been no less obnoxious at her age, and his subconscious reminded him of that fact. “You will exceed my abilities one day, young one, I have no doubt of that…but that day is not today.” There was no anger remaining, but a heaviness to Achilles’s tone, an authority that his young companion, for all her raw pride and arrogance, could not match. Or completely ignore.
“Apologies, Achilles. I meant no disrespect.” Achilles could hear something like sincerity in her voice, but he also knew it was only partial. He remembered only too well his own thoughts at Freya’s age. Arrogance was a common enough trait in adolescents and young adults among the Normals, but young Mules were gifted—and to an extent, cursed—with extraordinary intellects and physical capabilities, and at Freya’s age, most lacked the wisdom to deal with it all effectively.
“I was your age once, too, Freya. I understand your anger, the fury you feel at perceived injustice. But you must consider the history of our people—all our people—and the threats we face.” Achilles felt a bit guilty for what he knew was a touch of hypocrisy. He felt responsible for the Normals, but it was a stretch to suggest that he felt like one of them, that all of Earth Two’s population were his people. But he knew well enough they all needed each other, and that likely they would survive or perish together.
“But, Achilles…the restrictions on our numbers only weaken Earth Two, including the Normals. More of us would mean greater numbers working to decipher the First Imperium technology…and, if there were enough of us, we would make better warriors than the Tanks, too.”
Achilles held back a sigh. As with many of the naiveties of youth, Freya’s words were logical. They just didn’t take all factors into consideration. “You are right, in specifics, Freya. But, dissension on Earth Two and struggles between its population groups would be a source of great weakness, one that would likely supersede any benefits having more of our kind would bestow in the long run. Consider this…doubling the number of researchers would not increase the results by a factor of two. Much advancement is built on the foundation of previous discoveries, and that requires time. Simply adding more of us would yield a diminishing return, at least in terms of research applicable to defending Earth Two.”
Freya remained silent for a moment. Then, she nodded and said, “Achilles, I understand…at least in part. But, when will we make a stand? Must we wait forever? The Regent may indeed be out there, plotting our destruction, but it has been twelve years since the last major engagement. There have been small encounters, surely, but how long must the Mules wait before we claim what we justly deserve? Another twelve years? A century?”
Achilles was silent. For as quickly as his mind generally worked, Freya had asked him something for which he didn’t have an answer.
“I have read accounts of your rebellion, of the statements you made when demanding an end to the Prohibition. I understand why you accepted a compromise solution, Achilles, but surely you have some idea how long we must wait. How long we will wait. Your concerns of twelve years ago, those that drove you to open revolt, fears of the population growth of the Normals progressing so far beyond us as to continually reduce our influence…those arguments are still as valid today as they were then, or nearly so. The subsequent quickenings have blunted that effect, to an extent, but they have not eliminated it. Each year, we quicken one hundred of our kind, while the NBs, Tanks, and other groups increase the overall population by many thousands.” A pause. “We must take action at some point. If you say, ‘not now,’ I will defer to your judgment and wisdom. But surely, there must be some limit, some time after which outside threats can no longer be allowed to defer us. So, when?”
Achilles didn’t answer, not immediately. Freya was young, barely past the twelfth birthday that marked the informal beginning of adulthood among the Mules…but she was correct. And, he was too. Was it right to lead his people into a future that might have no place for them? To help the Normals defeat the First Imperium and ensure Earth Two’s survival…only to risk having the others act on their fears of the Mules once the deadly threat from outside was gone? His people were smarter and more capable, but the overwhelming numbers of the Normals could very well be sufficient to defeat the Mules, to wipe them out completely. Max Harmon wouldn’t allow that, Achilles was confident of that. But, Earth Two’s dictator could be overthrown, too, or simply assassinated. Even if Harmon survived any attempts on his life and held on to power, he was a mortal, and he would die one day. One man was a fragile thread on which to base the hopes for the Mules’ survival.
He felt doubts, and he was unsettled about how deeply Freya’s strident attitude had affected him, awakened concerns and tensions he’d kept in check. But his discipline slowly took hold again. Concerns about the others turning on the Mules were entirely valid, but none of it would matter if Earth Two was destroyed. A victorious First Imperium would mean the deaths of the Mules as well as the Normals. That had to be the primary concern right now, whatever worries might exist for the future.
“Freya, you have never seen the First Imperium forces, save as historical records in the library computers. You have studied their technology, analyzed bits and pieces of their ships, the debris salvaged from the struggles of twelve years ago. I am devoted to the Mules, my brothers and sisters from t
he original quickening…and all of you who have followed since. Those of you from the subsequent quickenings are almost like my children, and you all have my devotion and respect. You would not exist save for my efforts to see the Prohibition repealed. I will protect you in any way I can, but right now, the greatest danger to us is not the Normals with their fears and inferiority complexes…it is the First Imperium, a genocidal enemy that will kill everyone on Earth Two if it is able. Including all of the Mules.”
Achilles paused for a few seconds, and then he picked up a small piece of a circuit board from the table next to him. “This is technology of the Ancients. You have been studying this scrap of a machine old beyond imagining for months now, have you not?” He hesitated for an instant, but he didn’t wait for a response. “It is complex, highly-advanced. For all your unquestioned intellect and ability, it is a herculean task for you to reach a full understanding of how it works.” He raised his hand, holding up the artifact. “The people who designed this…those who were, in part, our ancestors, were themselves defeated and destroyed by the very machines they created. Your intelligence, your physical capabilities—everything that sets us apart from the Normals—comes, at least in part, from the DNA of the Ancients spliced into your own. Those people, whose knowledge and understanding dwarfed our own, were exterminated by the very adversary we now face. No doubt, they had discussions about how to fight their enemy—our enemy—and yet, they are gone from the universe, nothing left but a history long faded into legend. We could suffer a similar fate.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Yes, Freya, you are right…we face dangers from the Normals as well, and one day we will have to deal with them, and the relationship between our respective genetic groupings. But, the Regent is by far the deadlier enemy right now. We must first see to its destruction…for the only alternative to that is our own extinction.”