by Jay Allan
Freya had looked like she was going to argue, but the resistance had gradually slipped from her expression. She stared back at Achilles, and for a moment, her cold, decisive countenance was gone, replaced by the uncertain look of an adolescent. “I see your logic, Achilles, and I begin to understand. Yet, we will still have to face the Normals one day, will we not? They allow their fear to guide their policies toward us even now, when they desperately need our capabilities to face the First Imperium…they will surely target us more aggressively if the Regent is defeated and they feel they no longer need us. When the Mules are the only target for the fear they now lavish on the Regent.”
Achilles sighed softly. He regretted the amount of truth in Freya’s concerns. He’d tried to focus on the efforts to fight the Regent, to set aside his other concerns for the future. But he knew, as his young companion clearly did, that the Mules would indeed have to be ready to defend themselves and their position one day.
“Yes,” he said softly, the regret heavy in his tone. “When the Regent is destroyed, we will have to look to ourselves, and ensure our own futures…including the elimination of any restrictions on future quickenings.”
“So…we must be ready to fight the Normals.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No, Freya…It is my fervent hope that it never comes to that.” He’d been willing to fight the others himself, twelve years before, though now he regretted that things had come so close to such a pass. “The Normals are inferior, there is no question of that. But, they are our cousins, as children under our care…in some way even, our living ancestors. Our purpose must be to protect them, not to destroy them, to mentor their civilization…to keep them safe. Even from each other.”
Freya looked right at Achilles. “To control them.”
The leader of the Mules looked back at the woman standing next to him, silent for a moment before he answered.
“Yes, Freya. To control them.”
Chapter Three
Force Communique, Captain Roland Graham
All ships…I want scanners on full power. We’ve encountered something here, something important. We need to determine exactly what it is, and what connection it has to the First Imperium. I know we were about to go back, to return home, but duty has called, and we will answer, as we always have. I know all of you will do your duty, and we will find what we need to know and depart for home…as soon as possible.
E2S Vaughn
G48 System
Earth Two Date 10.15.42
“Captain, we’re picking up energy readings…massive ones.” A pause, as the tactical officer turned and looked across the bridge toward Graham. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before, sir.”
Graham leaned back in his chair, his pose a bit odd-looking perhaps, but the only one that was tolerable for him at the moment. The fight in the G47 system had been a tough one, and Vaughn had taken several solid hits, including one that had thrown him forward hard. His harness had kept him from flying across the ship’s bridge, but the quick jerking motion had exacerbated his old wound. He’d severed his spine years before in a training accident, and despite Earth Two’s advanced medical technology, it had never fully healed. Usually, it was just a background soreness, one he’d become used to tolerating, but right now it hurt like hell.
“All ships, full active scans. I want to know what we’ve found, and I want to know now.” Graham had hesitated before ordering his battered force to move through the warp gate, but his duty was clear. He’d encountered and engaged First Imperium forces, and he had to investigate. Perhaps his people had just run into the enemy’s version of his own long-range exploratory force…but it was also possible his ships had stumbled onto something important, perhaps even the New Regent’s homeworld. There was no choice. He had to find out.
“Yes, Captain.” A moment later: “All ships confirm. Gorgon and Preston report their long-range scanners are still non-operational.”
“Very well.” The two ships without scanners both had extensive damage, with most of their systems operating far below standard levels. They really had no place moving into a system that could contain a First Imperium world, but Graham didn’t want to leave them behind by themselves either, not in a system that had just seen First Imperium warships in it.
They’re better off than Cravath and Cayman, at least…
Graham knew he was lucky his force had only lost two ships in the fight in G47, but that didn’t change the fact that seventy-six of his people had died in those hulls, not to mention another forty-three on the other ships of the flotilla. He’d seen comrades die before, of course, but that had been twelve years earlier, and there had been a crucial difference then. He hadn’t been in command. He hadn’t been the one responsible for their deaths.
Graham sat silently in his chair, shifting his weight again in a hopeless effort to banish the throbbing pain. The bridge was nervously quiet, save for the occasional beep or other sound from one of the instruments. Graham knew his people understood the importance of the scans they were conducting, and also the deadly danger into which they were likely heading.
“Energy readings appear to be localized on and in orbit around planet two, sir.”
Graham stared at the main display, watching as the readings ticked up with each passing second. Whatever was on that planet, it was more energy than Earth Two could produce in a century.
His eyes darted from one screen to the next, checking everywhere for signs of any ships moving to intercept his force. Nothing.
It doesn’t make sense…
A portion of the energy readings were natural—volcanic activity was his best guess—but that was only a small part of what his scanners were detecting. There was nothing natural that could explain the overall levels his ships were picking up, at least nothing he’d ever heard of. Coupled with the enemy ships his force had already engaged, vessels that had come from the current system, he was sure there was something artificial on that planet.
And, artificial means First Imperium…
“Bring us in closer, Lieutenant. I want maximum spacing between ships and dispersed approach vectors.” He couldn’t see how he was doing anything but walking into a trap…but there was nothing else he could do. At least he could spread out his formation, give some of his ships a chance to make a run for it if an overwhelming force appeared suddenly.
“Yes, Captain.”
Graham listened as the officer relayed his orders. There was fear in the man’s voice, but it was firmly under control. Graham was proud of his people, and the sudden realization of how likely it had suddenly become that they might face deadly danger any moment hit him like a punch in the gut.
He listened wordlessly as the officer reported that all ships had acknowledged. His eyes remained fixed on the display, waiting for more data on the energy readings…and for the enemy ships he knew were out there somewhere to appear.
There was massive volcanic activity on the planet, that much was becoming clearer with each passing moment, as the scan distances declined. But the other readings were growing, too, and even before the ship’s AI reported its updated findings, Graham knew what it was. What it had to be.
Antimatter.
And, that meant the First Imperium for sure. But the readings were beyond what would be expected of any normal First Imperium fleet, even a heavily industrialized world. Whatever was down there, it was almost immeasurable.
Graham’s mind raced, not because he didn’t have an idea—he did—but because he found it too difficult to accept. Was it possible? Had his people stumbled onto a massive First Imperium antimatter production facility?
It made sense. The planet was close to the system’s sun, giving it plenty of solar energy, and as his ships got closer, they began to pick up signs of massive satellites, most likely collection stations. And, the extensive volcanic activity was another huge energy source, one First Imperium technology would have no trouble adapting to other uses.
Antimatter pro
duction itself was a relatively simple process, but it was one that required energy. Massive, almost unimaginable, amounts of energy. That had always been the stumbling block for human development of antimatter as a fuel or weapon, not the methodology of producing it, but the means to generate enough energy to manufacture meaningful quantities.
If this is an antimatter production planet, it is a massive strategic target. Almost as crucial as finding the New Regent’s location itself.
Graham could feel the tension in his body, the urge to order his fleet to turn and run, to somehow get back and send word to Earth Two. But he couldn’t take that kind of chance…not until he was absolutely sure.
He watched as the scanners continued to update the displays. The energy readings became more focused, and radiation levels were coming in now, too. The cargo ships his force had destroyed in the adjacent system had carried antimatter, and the combat vessels had launched antimatter-armed missiles…there was no doubt from the size of the explosions or residual radiation they’d left behind.
And now, he was sure, as sure as he could be. That antimatter had come from the current system.
It had been produced there.
“Lieutenant, Vaughn and Typhoon will continue to move toward the planet, active scanners at maximum. The rest of the fleet will decelerate and prepare to head back through the…”
“Captain, we’re picking up unidentified ships, coming around from the far side of the planet.”
Any doubt Graham had still held was gone. His people had found a crucial First Imperium site, perhaps the enemy’s primary antimatter production facility. Maybe even their only one. The New Regent, after all, was a reserve unit, hidden beyond the borders of the old Imperium. Its resources had to be smaller than those the original Regent had controlled.
If the fleet can destroy this production facility…
Or capture it…use it to produce antimatter for our own use…
Graham’s eyes darted up to the screen, to the cluster of contacts heading toward his ships, accelerating at 70g.
If we can get out of here and get the word back…
“All units, maximum deceleration…now!”
His ships had to deal with their forward velocity before they could do anything about actually moving back toward the warp gate and getting out of the system. Right now, they were all heading toward the planet—and the oncoming enemy fleet—at better than three hundred kilometers per second.
“All ships acknowledge, Captain.”
They can acknowledge all they want, but…
He was still doing the calculations, but his gut had the answer before his brain did. The enemy ships were going to get into range long before his own could get away and through the warp gate.
That meant he’d have another fight on his hands. And they’re fresh and we’re already worn down…
“Put me on fleetcom, Lieutenant.” He snapped out the order without even thinking. He was operating on reflexes, on pure instinct. “Poseidon and Ventura…you are to decelerate at maximum emergency power, and then you will accelerate at full and get through the warp gate. And I mean full…everything you can squeeze out of your reactors and engines. You have to get back to G47…and then through the system and to G46.” He knew one extra system wasn’t that much, that he was taking a huge risk with the orders he was about to give, a command that would violate his own primary directive. He wanted every safeguard he could get. “Once you’re in G46, scan thoroughly for any enemy presence, and if clear…” He paused, hanging on the precipice between issuing the order and pulling back. “…launch a probe directly back to Earth Two.” He was still uncertain, a part of him wanting to rescind the order as soon as he’d issued it. But, the high command simply had to know about this, whatever the risk. Defense was a losing game long term, and the surest route to victory was to find vital First Imperium assets and destroy them. And, this was a big one.
Still, if he made an error, if the ships he was sending launched probes back to Earth Two, and there was a First Imperium vessel hidden somewhere, watching…
He would either be the officer who discovered the way for Earth Two to move closer to winning the desperate struggle against the Regent…or he would be the man who’d made the hugest blunder in history.
“All other ships…” He continued, trying to push the doubts away. He’d made his decision, and they served no purpose, not now. He’d crossed the Rubicon, and looking back could only distract him. “…we’ve got to buy them time to get back, and that means putting up one hell of a fight here. I know you’re all still smarting from the battle in G47, and we’ve got some damage spread out through the fleet, but this is what we’ve got to do…and I know I can count on each and every one of you to give your absolute best effort.”
And to die. That’s what he was ordering his people to do, most of them at least. He knew that despite his mind’s efforts to deny it. If they had stumbled onto the First Imperium’s antimatter production center, he could only imagine the defenses that would be in place. The ships heading toward his fleet already outnumbered his own…and he didn’t have the slightest doubt that there were more enemy vessels hiding behind the planet.
“All fleet units…battlestations. Let’s show these bastards what we’re made of.”
He turned toward the tactical station. “Lieutenant, prepare to launch all remaining missiles.” Vaughn had flushed her external racks, and she’d launched more than half the ordnance in her internal magazines during the fight in G47. Now, he needed everything his ship—all of his ships—had left to give.
“Weapons control reports all missiles armed and ready, sir.” A short pause. “All ships report ready to launch as soon as the enemy ships enter range.”
Graham shook his head slightly. He didn’t have any real confirmation the approaching ships were actually enemies, though he didn’t have any doubt either. He pondered that thought on and off for the next twenty minutes or so, until the vessels began launching their own missiles…and gave him any assurance he might have needed that they were hostile.
He looked across the bridge toward his tactical officer. He knew everyone on the bridge was waiting for him to give the launch order…but they would have to wait a bit longer. “All ships…hold missiles. We’re going to get closer before we launch.” The enemy outnumbered his forces, and he didn’t have a doubt those missiles heading toward his fleet had antimatter warheads. Numbers and tech were both against him, and that left only tactics as an offset. He had to outthink the enemy, to outfight them. History told him the human victories against First Imperium fleets had been the result of creativity and the right combination of erratic and premeditated action.
Intuition. Gut feel. And his gut was telling him he needed to think outside the box.
“Yes, sir.” He could hear the uncertainty in the tactical officer’s tone. Doctrine called for launching missiles immediately, not holding them. There were instances where missiles were had been held to extremely close range and launched in sprint mode, directly toward their targets, but that wasn’t a realistic option either. To manage that, Graham would have to hold his weapons back until after the enemy barrage reached his ships. Antimatter warheads were far too dangerous to endure while still holding missiles in the tubes, especially since most of his ships were already damaged. But, he could hold the weapons for a while, launch them at the last possible moment before the enemy volley entered range. That was a wager on his crews’ skill and discipline, a tactical maneuver that left no allowances for delays or contingencies. It was a risk, but one that would improve targeting, and reduce the time the First Imperium ships had to intercept the incoming warheads. It would make a difference, some at least. And, Graham would take anything he could get now.
It would also time the detonation of his missiles with his own ships entering energy weapons range. Whatever shape his vessels were in, whatever they had left when they got through the enemy barrage, they would come on their targets just as they were enduring
the impact of his own missile attack. He was facing machines, and not people, so there was little chance of benefitting from any psychological edge…but the enemy’s robots wouldn’t have time to do any damage control at all before they were fully engaged, not even minor adjustments and recalibrations. That might not be a huge advantage, but he would take whatever he could get.
He reached down, grabbing the harness that was hanging down from his chair and pulling it halfway across his body. He almost let it drop, remembering the pain as he’d lurched forward against the hyper-nylon straps in the previous fight. But, even for the pain in his back, the throbbing that was growing worse and worse, he realized he’d likely have been killed if he hadn’t been strapped in at all. And, he had to live, at least a little longer. He had work to do…duty to perform.
He snapped the end of the harness into the buckle and heard the loud click as it set in place.
Chapter Four
Navy Medical Center
Victory City, Earth Two
Earth Two Date 10.15.42
“Twelve years, my love…can it be so long? Are you still there? Do you hear my voice when I speak? Sense my presence when I sit by your side?” Fleet Admiral Erika West sat in a small, hard metal chair next to the hospital bed, speaking softly, almost inaudibly. There was a woman lying in front of her, still, eyes closed, as they had been for twelve years now. But, she was breathing, on her own, as she had for many years now, free of the bulky respirator that had once been required to force air in and out of her tortured lungs. Unconscious but still alive. Nicki Frette had been in that coma since the first—and to date, only—major battle with the forces of the New Regent. She’d brought her fleet home, some of it at least, but she’d paid a price…and so had West.
The admiral commanding Earth Two’s fleets felt the urge to reach out and touch Frette’s cheek, to feel for warmth, or some other token reassurance that her friend and lover was still alive. But she could see the faint shimmer, and she knew the field that kept the stricken officer alive, that protected against the pathogens that would ravage Frette’s weakened system, would repel any hand she reached out to touch, with a rather painful shock. She’d done it more than once, but that had been years before.