Storm of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  “I do understand, Max. Truly. If there was any other way…”

  “Are you saying your people will defy me? That you will refuse to treat dying Tanks or Admiral Frette—or anyone else this treatment can help—if I do not grant your demand?”

  Achilles took a breath before responding. There was no threat in Harmon’s tone, but he was well aware he was talking to an absolute dictator. All Harmon had to do was tap the comm unit on his collar, and Marines would come in and drag him away.

  And, the Regent would have a spectacle guaranteed to make even its electronic systems laugh…Earth Two, plunged into civil war, even as its fleets were far away, locked, no doubt, in brutal combat.

  “I wouldn’t phrase it like that. There is no disloyalty intended…but there are reasons we must retain control over every aspect of these treatments.” Achilles was uncertain how much more he wanted to say, but then he added, “We could have hidden the efficacy of the protocols. I could have come here and told you it just didn’t work. But, we do not want to lie to you, and we do not want to see people die when we can save them.”

  “But, you don’t want to share the secrets of all this? Are you trying to retain some leverage, position yourselves to make demands at some future time?”

  Achilles understood Harmon’s concerns. He’d been barraged by all sides for decades now, even in his days as elected president before he’d seized power. And, it was no secret there were those among the Mules who nurtured aspirations for the future of the Hybrids.

  “The treatment needs our blood, Max.” Achilles decided to trust Harmon, and he blurted out the truth before he could change his mind.

  “What?” Harmon sounded stunned. Whatever he had expected to hear, that wasn’t it.

  “The serum used to stimulate Themistocles’s cellular regeneration program is developed from blood samples. Hybrid blood samples.”

  Harmon was silent at first, but the surprise was evident on his face.

  “Yes…everything you are thinking now is correct. The Mules cannot disclose the secret behind the treatment because our blood is required to produce the required drug cocktail. We can manage the volume of Plague cases, at least if Tank population levels are kept within certain guidelines, but if this line of research leads to more extensive uses, to extreme longevity treatments, for example, increasing potential human lifespans by centuries…our blood would become the greatest treasure in the universe.”

  Achilles paused for a few seconds and looked at Harmon. If you want the Mules and the Normals at war with each other, a titanic struggle almost guaranteed to destroy us all…I can’t think of a better way to achieve it than to announce that Hybrid blood is the secret to practical immortality.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Flag Bridge, E2S Midway

  System G48

  Earth Two Date 02.16.43

  Strand sat at her command station, watching the fight raging all around Midway. Her task force had been heavily engaged for hours now, and she’d lost almost a third of her ships. Every other vessel she had, all that remained under her command, including the flagship, was heavily damaged.

  But the enemy forces were worse off, gutted, their broken hulls streaming fluids from severed conduits and bleeding radiation from fractured reactor cores. More than two First Imperium vessels had been destroyed for every one of her ships lost. By any measure of combat effectiveness, her spacers had conducted themselves with the utmost effectiveness, courage, and tactical brilliance, and they had accomplished their primary mission, pulled the enemy fleet from the planet, opened the way for the Marines and for West’s main force to advance.

  Still, she still found it hard to compare electronics and programming lost on the enemy ships to the men and women who had died in her hulls. Did two ships full of AIs and computer relays make up for the dozens of human beings killed when one of her vessels was destroyed?

  Not to her way of thinking, no matter how successfully things seemed to be going or how much tactical glory accrued to her.

  Still, the battle was beginning to look like a success. Her people were going to suffer more casualties before it was over, certainly, but she didn’t doubt anymore that they could defeat the rest of the First Imperium fleet. At least what she could see of it.

  She glanced at one column of data, ten squadron designations, each followed by two numbers. The first showed each unit’s starting strength, and the second, the losses it had suffered. She paused, blinking her eyes and looking again before it truly hit her. McDaid’s squadrons had fought like devils, and they had done more than their part to defeat the enemy task force. But that effort had cost them a third of their strength.

  She reached out, touching the screen, bringing up detailed information. McDaid was still alive, at least. She counted the pilot among her few true friends, and she was relieved to see he’d made it through the fighting so far.

  Even as she looked at the display, trying to deal with her squadrons’ losses, she saw a line of yellow spheres far off Midway’s starboard, approaching the planet. Captain Rivers’ task force had gotten close, very close, before the planetary defenses had detected them. The orbital fortresses had launched their own missiles now, but Rivers’ people would get theirs off before any enemy ordnance reached them. Strand didn’t doubt the incoming assault would be an unpleasant one for the attacking ships, that it would take down many of the brave attack crews, but it wouldn’t interfere with the assault on the planet. Rivers and his people would suffer heavy losses, but then the survivors could bolt and run. They’d have done their jobs…and they’d have no duty remaining except to save themselves.

  Strand knew just how crammed full of nukes Rivers’ ships were, even as they began to launch. She’d worked alongside Erika West, supervising as the yard crews had pulled out every bit of non-essential equipment and filled the emptied space with makeshift magazines. It had been a rushed project, and even now, Strand couldn’t quite understand how they’d gotten it done…but they had. And, now it was time to make use of that immense destruction power.

  Wave after wave of missiles blasted forward, as she watched on the display, line after line of massive warheads tearing through space at nearly 70g, heading right for the planet and its defenses. Even as each successive wave of deadly weapons spat forth from the vessels’ magazines, she found herself surprised at the continued barrages. She knew just how many missiles the task force carried, but still, she couldn’t quite reconcile with what she was seeing.

  Thousands of gigatons were heading toward the planet and the massive array of orbital constructions surrounding it. An attack that large would pose a deadly danger even to fleet units, mobile ships able to conduct evasive maneuvers. Against stationary ground targets and satellites in set orbital patterns, it was Armageddon itself.

  Strand didn’t have a doubt the barrage would obliterate its targets, at least all those in orbit and on the planet’s surface, and she was genuinely surprised the enemy had let the attackers get close enough to launch their bombardment. She imagined the thermonuclear fury, boiling oceans, great craters being gouged out of the soil and rock of the tortured world, earthquakes orders of magnitude beyond the greatest disasters in human history.

  She also knew that none of that staggering power would destroy the production facility. Its massive particle acceleration chambers were almost certainly buried deep in the planet’s crust, and she didn’t have the slightest doubt that they were well-built, strong enough to endure the planet’s natural seismic activity…and no doubt any surface bombardment as well.

  The loss of the orbital and surface solar collectors would almost certainly reduce output, but the planet’s extensive volcanic activity would still sustain a significant level of production in the deeply buried generating stations…and she didn’t have a doubt there were also extensive stores of antimatter down there, the output of years of operation, buried kilometers beneath the surface in secure magnetic bottles, out of the reach of even Rivers’ five hundred megat
on “penetrator” bombs.

  Strand turned and looked toward Hercule’s station, rapping out a series of commands to her aide as she did. Her forces were at point blank range now, slowed to a crawl and trading deadly blows with the remaining First Imperium ships. The fight was still hot, but McDaid’s attacks had broken the back of the enemy formation. She could see the fire of the First Imperium forces waning, their ships slowly failing, one after another falling silent…or losing containment and disappearing entirely, in the almost unimaginable fury of antimatter annihilation.

  Hercule responded, following every tactical command, passing back acknowledgements, transmitting positional adjustments to ships of the task force. In every way, he confirmed the wisdom of her choice of him as her primary aide.

  She leaned back and looked out over the display, her eyes moving from one of her ships to the next. It was time to finish off the enemy force, even as the last of Rivers’ missiles pounded the surface of the planet.

  * * *

  The Fleet Intelligence reviewed the data from the remaining probes. The system’s surveillance systems had been nearly wiped out, leaving only a scant view of the enemy forces closing on the planet. That was a status it would have viewed as alarming…had it not been part of the plan. The Regent had been quite clear. The enemy was to be allowed to close with the planet, even to devastate the orbital defenses and the surface installations. Even now, the enemy’s nuclear warheads were obliterating the defense network, and warheads were raining down on the planet, obliterating everything on the surface.

  The Intelligence had initially been unsure of the purpose in allowing such damage to be inflicted, but it had analyzed the Regent’s plan, and it had gained comprehension. The primary mission was to lure the enemy fleet in, as close to the planet as possible before the final trap was sprung. The defense grid was bait, as were the installations on the surface. They were expendable. Only the underground operations, and the antimatter storage units, were to be defended at all costs. And, for all the fury of the enemy’s bombardment, the subterranean installations had escaped all but minimal damage.

  The Intelligence had watched the battle unfold, sent task forces to intercept the forward enemy line, all in accordance with the plan. It had watched as the enemy shattered the formations, and it had done nothing. The vessels destroyed had not been lost in vain. The humans suffered heavy losses as well, and many of their surviving ships were seriously damaged.

  Normal tactics called for the Intelligence to dispatch reserves, to finish off the enemy’s lead formations. But, the main human fleet was advancing now, just as the Regent had predicted, and the Intelligence followed its orders. It waited…waited for the enemy to close to the designated point, from which there could be no retreat. Then, it would spring the trap…it would attack with all its forces. The remnants of the shattered enemy advance guard could wait. The fleet could finish it after it had destroyed the main body of the human armada.

  The Regent had been correct. The humans had lashed out, sent in a force to assault the planet. Now, their main forces were advancing, no doubt to renew the bombardment in what could only be a fruitless effort to destroy the deeply buried facilities. Let them come. Let them launch their missiles at the wasted surface of the planet. That was the Regent’s plan. They would move forward, expend their ordnance, launch all their missiles. The planet’s surface was already radioactive slag, and the protected chambers deep below would survive any surface assault.

  The Intelligence monitored the data, waiting. It felt something akin to anticipation, even excitement. The destruction of the human fleet would be a major step toward the total defeat of the enemy. Without their fleet, the humans would be unable to slow the Regent’s search activities. Their destruction would be inevitable. The Intelligence had done the calculations itself, reviewed the data on known human fleet operations. The projected time until discovery of the human homeworld ranged from eight of the enemy’s months at a minimum, to nine years, seven weeks at a maximum. The Intelligence could wait; the Regent could wait. To Intelligences of their kind, nine human years was but a passing instant.

  The Intelligence reviewed the vast armada of ships awaiting the final command. The forces were ready, each task force in formation, waiting only for the order to advance. Soon, it would be time. Soon, it would attack and destroy…

  Wait…

  Something was wrong. The enemy ships were decelerating.

  That was not as expected. The humans were supposed to advance, to come closer to the planet, far enough into the system so that escape was impossible. They were still too close to their entry warp gate for the Intelligence to launch the final attack.

  The Intelligence fed full power into its scanning devices. There was no doubt. The enemy was slowing, turning about. They appeared to be preparing to leave the system.

  That couldn’t be right. The humans were shrewd combatants, they couldn’t possibly believe that they had completely destroyed the antimatter production facilities with their first attack. And, nothing short of the total destruction of antimatter production could justify the scope of the operation they had mounted.

  The Intelligence analyzed possibilities…millions and millions of permutations in the merest fraction of a second. It reviewed data. The humans were communicating. It analyzed their encoded messages. The encryption was one the Regent had broken. The officers on the comm lines sounded scared. They spoke of flight, of escaping before the enemy could destroy them.

  No, that wasn’t possible. The biologics were inferior, but their warriors were usually steadfast. They would not retreat simply out of personal fear.

  The communications were coming in from multiple locations…and from the vessel the Intelligence had identified as the human command ship. Not all the communications were in the broken code. The Intelligence had to sift through partial bits of information, and some of what was said was still a mystery. But, there was concern…and fear. The human commander was expressing last minute doubts, concerned about risking the fleet. Worries that the Regent had positioned forces behind the planet.

  Which, the Intelligence realized, was correct.

  The Intelligence analyzed the situation, reviewed the data it had. The enemy was preparing to run…they expected the trap. The humans were skilled warriors, but they were subject to fear, to irrational actions. A decision had to be made.

  The Intelligence considered, reviewed even more reams of data. Then it made a decision.

  It issued its orders. All ships were to advance and pursue the enemy main force. The enemy fleet could not be allowed to escape. The Regent had allowed Planet Z to endure considerable damage to trap he enemy ships. To allow them to flee now would be a disaster.

  The Intelligence considered the enemy advance guard. It had to send a second wave now to finish off the survivors, but most of the reserve ships would be sent to pursue the humans’ main fleet…into the next system if need be, or farther. Wherever they might go, they would be destroyed. That was the Regent’s command.

  Perhaps they would even lead the Regent’s fleets to their homeworld in their panicked attempt to escape.

  * * *

  “Contacts, Admiral. Enemy ships coming around from behind the planet and its two moons.” A moment’s pause. “They must have been maintaining position there to keep the moons between them and us.”

  How many? The words began as a spoken question, but they turned into a silent thought as Strand focused on the display and saw the answer for herself. It was full of small spheres, dozens—no, hundreds—of ships streaming around from the far sides of the two natural satellites. They were racing past the rapidly cooling plasmas and the clouds of radiation that were all that remained of the planet’s defensive grid.

  Strand had felt a momentary panic, a fear that the entire massive force was heading for her battered line of ships. But then she realized what was happening.

  They’re going for the main line.

  For Erika.

  S
he swallowed hard, her mind racing for options, trying to decide what to do. Her impulse was to advance, to hit the enemy fleet in the flank as it moved forward. But, her ships were still fighting the remnants of the task force that had opposed it. She couldn’t order her battered ships to break off, to ignore the remaining First Imperium forces. But, if she didn’t disengage now, her ships would never get to the enemy in time.

  Stay focused…even if we go now, we won’t get there…not quickly enough.

  “Admiral, we’re getting a signal from Garret. Tight beam laser transmission.”

  She hadn’t been expecting anything from West, even with the new developments. The orders had been for strict radio silence between the two divisions of the fleet.

  “On my channel, Commander.”

  “Admiral…there is no incoming message. Just a coded signal.” There was a hint of confusion, then a short pause before Hercule continued. “The pulse was directed to Midway’s AI.”

  Strand turned and looked over toward her aide. “The AI?”

  “Yes, Admiral. It’s a command code override.” Another pause. “The AI is now requesting you put your headset on. Apparently, there is a coded message for you stored in Midway’s banks.”

  Strand’s face twisted in confusion. What kind of message was in her own flagship’s AI without her knowledge?

  She pulled on her headset, feeling a tightening in her stomach as she did.

  The AI began almost immediately. “Admiral Strand, I have a decrypted message stored, and I have received command authorization to deliver it to you alone at this time.”

  Strand felt a rush of anger toward the machine. Midway was her ship…and it pissed her off having her own computer hold back information from her. “A message from where?”