Crimson Worlds Collection I

by Jay Allan

  There will be time, Jen, he thought...time enough for sleep when our work is done.

  The fleet decelerated hard as it approached the warp gate to 12 Ophiuchi. They'd had a long trip across the Gliese system - the Ophiuchi gate was well on the far side of the Gliese primary - so they'd accelerated halfway at 8g to build velocity, then decelerated most of the rest of the way. They were going through the gate slowly; they had a hard course change right after the jump, so any velocity would have worked against them once they were in the 12 Ophiuchi system.

  Garret had done his best to put together a fleet on an impossible timetable. No task force had ever set out for a campaign less than two weeks after fighting a major battle. His ships were battered - there was no way to repair all of the battle damage so quickly, not even to the most lightly hit ships. Only a few ships had missiles, and they only had a tithe of their normal supply. Garret had left most of the paltry supply of missiles, and all of the fighter-bombers, with the remaining fleet units. These vessels, mostly the ones too battered to leave with the departing task force, would have to defend the Gliese system in the unlikely event the enemy was able to mount a new offensive, and Garret wanted them as ready as they could be. Just in case.

  He felt the feeling of relief as the deceleration abruptly slowed to 1g. At 8g, the crew really couldn't do much except stay in their couches and try to breath. The ships' AIs did all the work. But now the crews sprang back into action and none quicker than Jennifer Simon. "Lead vessel insertion in 90 seconds, sir."

  "Very well." Garret voice was hoarse. He was tired, bone tired. After the jump was done and the course to the next gate was set, he'd grab a couple hours of sleep. Or at least lying on his bunk; sleep was a more problematic project. The warp gate from 12 Ophiuchi to HD82943 was not far from their entry point, so they wouldn't be maneuvering at more than 2g. That gave him a fighting chance to at least doze off for a while.

  The fleet deployment was standard for an unopposed warp gate transit. The first vessels through would be escorts, mostly fast attack ships, followed by the heavier escorts and then the capital ships. In an assault situation, a screen of escorts would go in first, followed immediately by cruisers to give the forming line some firepower. The battle groups would then come through in formation, minus those elements detached for the initial wave.

  Garret had lost count of how many transits he had made, though his AI could have reminded him it was 373. They all felt the same, not painful exactly, but not pleasant either. Civilians and first-timers usually found the experience very unsettling, but to veteran spacers it was a minor annoyance.

  Though utilized for over 100 years, warp gates are an occurrence only partially explained by 23rd century physics. The gate itself forms around a naked singularity, a phenomenon the existence of which was only theorized until an unmanned British space probe passed through one of the Sol system's two transit points and initiated the age of interstellar exploration.

  Warp gates generate gravity waves, very slight under normal circumstances, but building as successive transits are made. One or two ships going through need only move into the transit horizon, which ranges from 30-300 kilometers in known gates, and they emerge into the connecting system, with their exact entry velocity and mirrored vectors.

  However a task force or large fleet moving through a gate generates increasing gravity waves, which not only cause considerable turbulence, but also require the application of thrust to counter the effect and maintain the formation. The calculations involved are enormously complex and left to the ships' AIs.

  Normally, a warp gate gives off no detectable energy. However, as multiple transits are made, the space around the transit horizon emits a faint blue glow. By the time Cromwell was entering the gate, the halo was visible to the naked eye - if you knew just where to look. Garret had the projection up on the main display; he considered it one of space's rarest and most beautiful images. Warp gates had opened the universe to man's exploration and colonization. Of course, he thought, we turned them into a new way to wage war.

  He felt the tingling, not quite an electric shock, but close. The nausea was a passing feeling for a grizzled spacehound like him, though rookies were frequently incapacitated the first few times they experienced it. Then the flash, which seemed to come from inside his head and, when his vision recovered, the fringe of the 12 Ophiuchi system was laid out before him, the distant primary no brighter than the full moon in Earth's night sky.

  It did take time to traverse the gate itself, and the time increased with the distance between systems. The nanoseconds involved were imperceptible to the human mind; indeed, it was some years before the computers on transiting ships were able to measure the miniscule time expended.

  Garret had never become jaded about the miracle of the warp gate. In an infinitesimal fraction of a second, his ship had traveled 13.9 light years. If he were to find Gliese 250 twinkling in the inky blackness he would be seeing light that left almost 14 years before. His own ships, state of the art human technology that they were, would have taken over a century to make the trip conventionally.

  Once the last of the ships flashed into existence and the fleet's course was set for the next gate, Garret rose and walked toward the lift. "Lieutenant Simon, notify me if anything requires my attention."

  "Yes sir."

  Garret smiled. She's glad I'm going to get some rest. He was still thinking about what a wonder the warp gates truly were as the doors closed and the car began to move. He was amused that with all he had seen, with all he had done, he could still be amazed by anything. He was grateful for that.

  Chapter 8

  Western Alliance Intelligence Directorate HQ

  Wash-Balt Metroplex, Earth

  Stark held his glass up to the light, admiring the caramel color of the fine single malt scotch. Luxuries like this were available to a privileged few, and he was glad to be one of those. The Cogs were animals to him, necessary labor to do the dirty, dangerous, and unpleasant jobs perhaps, but nothing more. Poorly paid and completely replaceable people could do some jobs cheaper than machines. He considered that an interesting anomaly in a technologically advanced society.

  The middle classes, gutless, joyless, clinging in fear to their meager existences, were beneath his contempt. The Cogs, at least, were uneducated and knew no better. But those in the middle, living in places like Manhattan's Protected Zone and the WashBalt Core, they had no excuse. They'd been given just a taste of a decent life by their political masters, and they were so ruled by fear of losing it they did what they were told without question.

  It had been Stark's biggest surprise as he rose in the intelligence community that maintaining internal security had proved to be a minor task. Of course there were troublemakers - that's what those rooms down in Sub-Sector C were for, but there were remarkably few.

  In space, of course, the opposite was true. The colonies, full of troublesome types, seethed with discontent, and they resisted every effort by Alliance Gov to tighten the leash. The scope and ferocity of the war had put those problems on hold - neither Alliance Gov nor the colonies themselves wanted the Caliphate or CAC to end up controlling the frontier. But he knew the problem was still there, waiting to re-emerge once the war was over.

  He felt he could control the colonists because he understood them; he comprehended them in a way most of his associates never could. Gavin Stark had the arrogance of a man born into power, but he had not been. Most of the other members of the Directorate had their spots in the Political Class through accidents of birth. Places in the Academy were their birthrights, and they were assured of high positions in their careers. But Stark's path had been a different one, far more difficult and less common.

  He'd been born into the lowest strata of the middle classes, and he was only a clerical worker when he began his career. But random fortune had placed him on the junior staff of a powerful politician. In his youthful optimism, he'd hoped the Senator would mentor him, but the one time he'd a
pproached the great man all he'd gotten was a beating from the bodyguards...a lesson in learning his place in the social order.

  But espionage was in Stark's blood and, not content to meekly accept his place along among the sheep, he set about to find another way. That way turned out to be evidence of the Senator's graft, which was so vast in scope it exceeded even the considerable level of corruption that was a de facto perk of his position. The Senator had stolen from general funds, of course – they all did that. But he'd also stolen from other politicians, including a few even more powerful than he was. Stark didn't hesitate to blackmail the man, and the second time he spoke with the Senator, things turned out quite a bit differently. Stark was granted admission to the WashBalt Political Academy, the first of many "favors" he would enjoy from his new political sponsor.

  Eventually, the Senator exhausted his usefulness, and Stark was never one to leave a loose end he could tie up. His unwilling benefactor ended up in Sub-Sector C, never quite understanding how it had happened. And the Senator's replacement owed Stark a big favor for clearing his way to the newly vacant Seat.

  "Mind if I interrupt this daydream?" The old man stood in the doorway. Jack Dutton was Number Two at Alliance Intelligence. Indeed, he could have had Stark's job but, old and tired, he'd deferred to his protégé instead. Dutton was the consummate professional, with a lifetime spent as a spy, but he no longer had the drive and killer instinct he saw in his younger ally. He was content to remain Number Two and deflect the burdens of the top job to Stark.

  Stark looked up and smiled. The old man was his only real friend - or the closest thing to a friend a reptile like him could have. "Please. The diversion would be welcome. Quiet introspection is overrated." He motioned to the credenza along the wall. "Have some of the single malt. It's top notch."

  "Have you read the intel on Li An's plot to take out Admiral Garret?" Dutton walked slowly over to the side table and poured himself a drink. "She's got Liang Chang so scared shitless he may just pull it off out of sheer desperation."

  "Yes, her plan is interesting." He took another sip from his Scotch and put the glass down. "I'm a bit concerned about how much intel she seems to be getting from Alliance sources. I'm going to have to take a closer look at the Directorate."

  Dutton dropped tiredly into one of the soft leather guest chairs. "Yes, she does seem to have a fair number of sources...certainly more than the ones we feed her intentionally." He rubbed his forehead. "I've been tangling with that miserable bitch since before you started your climb up Senator Harper's back." He took a drink then looked at the heavy cut crystal glass approvingly. "You're right. It is excellent."

  "I'll send you a case. Let's call it a birthday present. I never have been able to uncover when you were born...assuming you were born and not hatched or something. Sometimes I think you've just always been here." He looked up with a wicked grin. "I guess the records don't go back that far."

  Dutton laughed and took another drink. "So what do you want to do about Li An's ambush of Admiral Garret? Change his route? Or hit Liang with another force?"

  Stark paused. "I was thinking about doing nothing."

  Dutton wasn't surprised by much, but he wasn't expecting that response. "Liang's got a good chance to succeed if we don't intervene. Garret's ships are depleted; we stripped the base at 12 Ophiuchi to supply his fleet in Gliese. He won't be combat ready until he gets to Columbia and resupplies. And Liang will target everything on Cromwell. He's terrified of ending up in one of Li's little rooms if he fails."

  Stark just sat silently, leaning back in his chair. Dutton's eyes widened in realization. "You want to get rid of Garret?"

  "Just a thought." He gave Dutton a hard stare. "We both know we're going to have to do something about him sooner or later. This last victory has made him almost a legend. He owns the navy...none of them will refuse him anything. Can we really trust a guy with so much power?"

  Dutton looked concerned. "You know I agree with that generally, but the war isn't over yet. Li wants Garret dead precisely because she doesn't think they can win as long as we have him. Do we really want to give that up?"

  "Yes, I know what Li is thinking. But I have my own set of scenarios. Tell me what you think of this. We send a rescue force to intercept Liang, but we make sure they don't get there until after he has engaged Garret's ships. Liang probably takes out the Cromwell and kills Garret, but we both know that depleted or not, the admiral's going to go down fighting. Liang's going to take losses, probably heavy ones. Wouldn't that be an amusing time for our rescue force to burst onto the scene, just in time to avenge their beloved admiral?"

  Dutton's face brightened slightly. "We'd take out a huge portion of the rest of the CAC fleet." He smiled. "And if Garret manages to fight his way out, it still looks like we backed him up and sent him help. Either way, Liang would still be hit by both forces."

  Stark was leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile on his face. "So? What does the old master think?"

  Dutton paused, thinking. "I like it. Or rather, I want to like it. But I'm still a bit concerned about the prosecution of the war. If things go as planned, the CAC will be in bad shape for a while, but we still have to deal with the Caliphate. And you know the South Americans are going to be a factor too. We had a good run with General Santiago and his sabotaging their supply net, but now we're going to have to fight them. And it's not like we haven't suffered losses too. None of them have anyone who can face Garret, but without him, who knows? The odds are still too even to risk our big advantage."

  "You are, of course, familiar with our classified shipyards in the Wolf 359 system?

  "Of course." Dutton nodded quizzically.

  "What would you say if I told you I'd used some, shall we say, aggressive management tactics to encourage productivity?"

  Dutton snorted a short laugh. "I'd say it sounded like you."

  "Then what would you say if I told you the four Yorktowns under construction there will be ready to launch in 30 days and not a year?"

  The old man look startled. "What did you do? Roast them over a fire?"

  "Not too many of them." Stark grinned. "Just one, really. I needed the shipyard CEO to resign so I could quietly replace him. We discussed it down in Sub-Sector C. He whined a lot at first, but by the time we were done I think he understood my point. Too bad he died in a yachting accident right after he stepped down."

  "That was us?" Dutton looked a little annoyed. "You didn't tell me anything about this op."

  Stark sighed. "Look, Jack. I didn't mean to cut you out, but we need those ships, and I know you're a little soft on these political and corporate types."

  "Gavin, you need to be careful." Dutton looked at the younger man with concern. "These are powerful people. You can't treat them like Cogs. They have certain rights under our syst..."

  Stark put up his hand. "Relax, Jack. I haven't declared war on the political class; I just do my job. We need those ships, and to get them we needed someone kicking ass over there, not some inbred corporate magnate who thinks he has a birthright to take up space. The fat fuck was sitting in a suite at the Willard with three female acquaintances when my men picked him up. So what the hell was he doing in WashBalt when he was supposed to be out at Wolf 359 managing a vital 500 billion credit war contract?"

  Dutton sighed. "Fool. Do they think this war will win itself? And you replaced him with?"

  Gavin knew where the old man was going with this. "He's someone I found. Someone with more to gain than the imbecile he replaced."

  "I know you're ambitious, Gavin." Dutton leaned forward and looked at his companion intently. "Be careful. Don't make too many powerful enemies. The Political Class is protective of its position. If it got out that you'd disposed of a high-ranking Corporate to replace him with a nobody - and that's how they will see it - there's going to be hell to pay."

  Stark smiled. "Don't worry, my friend. I may have come from the wrong crowd, but I'm no crusader. I don't care where
someone comes from if they serve my purpose. But we need those ships, and now we've got them. And Garret already arranged for field repairs and conversions on all the captured CAC and Caliphate ships in Gliese. For the first time in the war, we've got the clear advantage."

  "Which means we don't need Garret anymore?" Dutton looked grim, unsure.

  "It means we can do without him." Stark's voice was superficially decisive, but Dutton knew him well enough to sense the uncertainty. He was gambling. "If Li An and Admiral Liang want to rid us of Garret and serve us up most of the rest of the CAC fleet in the process, I think we need to let her." He paused. "I know Garret would be helpful in winning the war, but do we really want him to have even more stature? What would a few more victories do? You know we're going to have problems with the colonies after the war. Have you considered what would happen if Garret sided with them?"

  Dutton swallowed the last of his Scotch and got up to refill his glass. "The whole navy might follow him. Or at least a good part of it." He paused, his glass in one hand, the crystal flask in the other. "It's dangerous either way."

  "War is dangerous business. But we need to make decisions based on logic and strength, not fear." His eyes narrowed and he looked right at Dutton. "But I want you with me on this. If you don't agree, I'll scrub my plan and we'll warn Garret and change his flight plan."

  Dutton paused, making a soft noise as he blew air out his mouth. "I'm with you. If you think it's the right move, I'm behind you." He paused again, started to say something, and then stopped, putting the flask down on the table.

  "What is it?"