Exodus: Empires at War: Book 14: Rebellion.

by Doug Dandridge

  “I, can’t tell,” said the pilot.

  “We’re not being hit by lasers,” said the sensor tech after coughing up the contents of her stomach that splattered around the cockpit. She went back to hacking as the stomach acid burned her esophagus.

  That they weren’t still under fire was a good sign, but not definitive. The platform might have just stopped firing at them, or its lasers might have gone offline for one reason or another. Wilma forced a hand over the control pad of her chair and pulled up a holo of the platform, rendered by the fighter’s computer into a steady view. The platform was in the process of breaking up, brilliant flares of fire breaking through the hull. Suddenly, with a great flash, the center of the platform converted to plasma.

  The pilot cheered as he looked back, his fingers still working his board as he tried to steady them out. In a few seconds he had taken the spin off, and the fighter was moving straight through space, on a trajectory that had them falling through the void away from the star.

  “Can we attack another one?” asked the captain, hoping against the evidence otherwise that they still had some offensive capabilities.

  “The grabbers are barely functioning, ma’am,” said the pilot, shaking his head. “The wormhole has collapsed, and we have no missiles. The peashooters of a lasers we have wouldn’t burn through their armor in less than minutes. So no, ma’am. We’re out of the fight.”

  Wilma gritted her teeth, then nodded in acceptance. At least they had killed one of the platforms, probably all that could be expected of their single small craft.

  * * *

  “We have power, sir,” said the engineer over the holo com.

  “How much?”

  “Enough to move us at two hundred gravities. Some energy for the electromag field. Lasers.”

  “And we still have the particle beam?” asked the admiral, hoping against hope.

  “No, sir. We had some shorts on the ring. Some of the negative matter got through the weakened electromagnetic field and cancelled out parts of the frame. Unfortunately, by the time one of my ratings got to it the damned thing had already collapsed.”

  “Shit.” Suttler frantically tried to come up with something, anything, to take out at least one more of the platforms. There was one solution that he really didn’t want to consider, but no matter what he looked at, that was the only one that he could come up with.

  “Helm. What kind of closing velocity can you give me on that platform there?” He pointed to one of the three extant platforms, sitting a couple of hundred thousand kilometers to their port.

  “I can get us there at a couple of thousand kilometers a second,” said the chief, looking back at his commander.

  “I’m not sure we have enough laser power to take that thing out,” said the tac officer, shrugging his shoulders.

  “That’s not what I’m thinking about,” said Suttler, looking into the eyes of the other officer and seeing dawning recognition.

  “That’s suicide, sir,” said the wide eyed officer. He was representative of the feelings of the crew, willing to put their lives on the line in a near suicidal attack, but quailing at actual suicide.

  “And if we don’t stop the Cacas, the star is going to kill us all anyway. So, either we sacrifice ourselves, and possibly save the rest of the system. And we die. Or we sit here doing nothing, the system gets fried, and we die. It really seems like an easy decision, doesn’t it?”

  The questioning looks on the faces turned his way told him that it was not an easy decision for most of them. People would put themselves at risk of death to fulfill a mission. Humans were courageous in that way. But committing an act of suicide, purposefully doing something that would definitely kill them? That was something else. Maybe if he had a crew of Lasharans. Those fanatics would cheerfully go to their deaths if they thought it would garner the approval of their hellish god.

  “Look, we can’t hurt them any other way. So we will do the only thing I can think of that will assure at least serious damage to their platform.”

  “Sir…”

  “It’s my decision,” said Suttler, starting to get angry at the way this discussion was going. Wondering why they were even having a discussion. He was in command, and this ship would do what he wanted. As would the crew. “Can anyone come up with something else?”

  “I think I can, sir,” said the engineer. “It’s going to leave us pretty much helpless in the end, but we’ll still be alive, possibly, if it works. And I for one would rather have that possibility, slim as it might be.”

  The engineer quickly outlined his proposal, and the admiral flipped the information over to the helm to run a fast simulation.

  “It’s workable,” said the chief. “And it still leaves the possibility for your committing to a ramming run on the first pass if that’s what it takes.”

  “Okay,” said Bryce after a moment’s thought, all he had time for. “Let’s do it.”

  The helm chief smiled and turned back to his board, programing in the maneuver. Things would be moving too fast at the end for a mere organic to control. He looked back at the admiral and gave a head nod.

  “Engage.”

  * * *

  “We have another platform dropping off, my Lord. No com for explanation.”

  The low admiral didn’t need a com. Another crew, or at least enough of them, mutinying. He looked over at the plot that only he could see, showing the two remaining platforms by their graviton emissions, and the conjunction of them in the center of the star. The platforms were only ninety degrees of arc from each other, versus the one eighty that would be optimal for two of them. And would two be enough to keep the reaction propogating? Had it already reached the point of no return?

  He didn’t have the answers, and from what he had read in the technical reports neither did the alien scientists who had come up with it. All tests had been with twelve projection devices, and all had proceeded until the star had exploded its outer layer. They had no data on what happened with early shutdown. There were three possibilities he could think of. The star continued on until it reached the sub-supernova stage. It continued to violently flare, for months, maybe years, but didn’t detonate. Or it settled down relatively quickly, and was back to normal within days.

  “Should we order them to shift?” asked the Chief of Staff, the only other male on his vessel who actually knew what was going on.

  “No,” said the admiral, giving a head motion of negation.

  “They will not be producing the most efficient effect the way they are set, my Lord.”

  The low admiral just stared at the other officer, a non-believer who was a true believer in the Empire and the power of the Emperor. He noted the looks of the other bridge officers. Some were showing recognition of what was going on. All showed fear in their expressions, even those who hadn’t completely figured it out. The admiral felt like he had betrayed his people. But if he did what he felt like doing in his heart, he would betray the Emperor he had sworn allegiance to. And if he continued to destroy this system he was betraying the Gods he wasn’t sure he believed in. Believed or not, he had been raised to respect them, and wondered if turning his back on them had doomed him.

  “My Lord,” said the Chief of Staff in a loud tone. “I insist that we order those ships to shift.”

  “If you are so insistent, then send the command yourself,” said the admiral, crossing both pairs of arms over his chest. “I will not.”

  The Chief of Staff sent him an angry look and stormed over to the com station, yelling for that male to start sending the message. The com officer looked back at his admiral for confirmation, and didn’t get it. The Chief of Staff growled low in his throat, then walked from the bridge with clenched fists. The admiral was sure he knew where the male was going. He could get a com link back to the fleet headquarters in the home system, and the admiral was expecting that he would receive an order to execute his superior officer and take charge. Knowing that, the admiral still could not force himse
lf to give the command to ensure the destruction of the system.

  * * *

  “If we have the time to vector out of the system, I would like to do it, your Majesty.”

  Sean looked at the face of the commander of the battle force, Admiral Conrad Alvera, responsible for over a thousand ships and their crews. Cautious Conrad, he was called in the fleet, and of course he wanted to save his ships and people. Sean couldn’t fault him for that. The Emperor still didn’t want to back off. If the force pulled out of the system they would give the Cacas more time to devastate the planet they were orbiting. But if they were still in the system and the star blew, most likely the majority of those ships would be destroyed.

  “I’m not sure, Admiral. What I am sure of is that if we fail to save that world, we are likely to lose an ally.”

  “But if we lose the fleet, and the planet is destroyed anyway, what have we accomplished? I’m sorry, your Majesty, but I think this is a loss. Better to cut our own losses and have the ships and people for further operations.”

  Including yourself, thought Sean, trying to detect the fear in the officer. It was there. It would be strange if it wasn’t. Not enough to panic the officer, and the Emperor was sure that if he gave the man a command it would be carried out. Still, the admiral had jumped over the heads of his own superiors to talk with him, a move that might cost him greatly in the future. The admiral had figured that his people were worth it, and had gone ahead.

  “How fast can you change vectors and get out of there, Admiral?”

  “My navigation officer thinks we can get to safety in eighteen hours. That’s killing most of our velocity into the system and angling out.”

  “You realize that if the star is going to blow, it will be well before eighteen hours.”

  “Still, your Majesty, we improve our chances. And Admiral Mei will need even more time.”

  And I owe Mei for my life, he thought. The woman, then commander of a battle cruiser, one of the first hyper VII in the fleet, had picked him up off the battleship Sergiov and transported him out of the system, saving his life. He did owe her, and was that any reason to give a command during a battle? He wished he had been there in the man’s shoes, even with the risk. In that moment he gained some insight into his friend, Walborski’s, motivations. It was too difficult to send other people into battle to take risks, while sitting safely in the rear. His friend was a man of action, not a staff officer.

  “Go ahead and start your vector change, Admiral. But if the situation changes we will send you back in.”

  “Thank you, your Majesty,” said the relieved looking officer.

  * * *

  “We’re receiving orders from command to start vectoring out of the system,” called out the com officer, looking back at his admiral.

  About time, thought Mei, staring at the plot that showed two active projector ships still stirring up the star. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen with so few of them still in action, but she was imagining the worst. She thought command must be imagining that as well, since they were giving the order. The question was, did she have the time.

  “Order all ships to start changing their vectors,” she told the com officer.

  The young woman nodded, face set with fear, but turned and started talking into the mic at her station.

  “And order Duke von Rittersdorf and the other scout squadron commanders to seek what cover they can.”

  She was very thankful that she had ordered those forces out into the asteroid belt. It had been a utilitarian decision, of course, but it had the effect of putting some more of her people in a position to survive. They could shelter behind some of the larger asteroids out there if they had to, and coincidentally saving the life of her favorite subordinate. She knew as a commander that she shouldn’t be thinking that way, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Status of our missiles?” she asked the tac officer. She didn’t hold out much hope of them doing anything, but it was her only hope. The reports coming back from the battle indicated that the ultra-high velocity missiles weren’t doing well in that space, and she didn’t expect the ones she had sent in to do any better.

  “Unknown, ma’am. They should be arriving within fifteen minutes, and then we’ll know.”

  If the missiles started pulling grabbers and shifting their trajectories it would mean they were still able to track. If not, it would indicate their sensors were out, and they were not able to track. They would continue on until they hit the largest target in the area, the star.

  “Transmission coming in from Commodore von Rittersdorf,” said the com officer.

  “Put him on my side holo.”

  The face of the young commodore appeared on the holo, his concern evident.

  “Duke Maurice,” she said in greeting.

  “Are you going to be able to get out of there, Duchess?” asked the other officer.

  “I, don’t think so. It was worth the shot, but I think that luck was against us this time.”

  “I…”

  “Just keep your ships safe. If something happens to me, you are now the commander of the scout force, at least what remains of it.”

  “Your people are in my prayers, Duchess,” said the commodore. The holo blanked, and Mei said her own prayer. What else was there to say to each other. Her and the commodore went back a long ways, to the beginning of this war, when his then destroyer had saved her and her ship. She was happy that he had a chance.

  “How much time will we have when the star blows?” she asked her tac officer.

  “About nine minutes, ma’am.”

  Mei nodded, thinking about what she would do with those last nine minutes. It would give her time to get to her cabin. Satin wouldn’t know what was going on, but she didn’t want him to die alone.

  * * *

  The ship shook from another hit, the defensive laser penetrating the electromagnetic screen and vaporizing armor. Stealth/attack ships weren’t intended for this kind of assault. The screens were slightly weaker than those of a destroyer, the armor not much more. Warning klaxons went off across the ship as the red of damage lit schematics all over the vessel.

  Just hold together for another couple of seconds, thought Suttler, wiping a hand across his sweaty forehead. He would prefer they hold together even longer, but he would take existing long enough to pull off the attack.

  “Reactors are full of antimatter,” called out the engineer. “We’re on battery power.”

  The space around them was thick with superheated plasma, if anything just above a perfect vacuum could be called thick. Prominences were ripping from the star, many now continuing out into space. One hit the platform, splashing from its strong electromag screen. The Grampus shook as it took the less dense fringe of the flare.

  It reminded the admiral of stories he had read of hell. And they were riding right on the edge of infernal realms. The ship was on a ride of doom, heading directly toward the enemy platform on a collision course.

  As much as the plasma was causing turbulence, and possibly damaging sensitive systems, it was actually an aid to their attack. Lasers were having trouble tracking through the fog, and several blasts were intercepted before they reached their target.

  At the proper moment the ship boosted down, diving underneath the platform. The computer went through its evolution as programmed, much faster than any organic could perform. Things happened within a microsecond.

  Just before they passed under the ship the emergency doors over the reactors blew off, heading up into space to the facing side of the platform. The twin reactors boosted out, their grabbers sending them away at thousands of gravities. It was the failsafe device built into all human made warships. It didn’t always work, but when it did, breaching reactors were separated from the troubled vessel in time to save them. Or in this case, in time to hit a target.

  The reactors were filled to the brim with antimatter, as much as the magnetic fields within could hold. Tons of the volatile substance.
Many times more than a ship killer missile warhead. The twin vesicles ruptured as soon as they hit the Caca platform, releasing the almost unimaginable power of tons of antimatter combining with the same amount of matter in the annihilating reaction that powered interstellar civilizations.

  Grampus continued on, accelerating on the crystal matrix batteries at two hundred gravities, draining energy quickly. It moved away from the platform and angled up, changing its vector to run away from the star. Behind it the platform broke apart, the center disintegrating, the ends, short and long, propelled away by the enormous blast.

  “That leaves one,” said the tactical officer.

  “And hopefully someone else to take care of it,” said the admiral. Grampus was speeding away from the star. It didn’t have the reserve battery power to change its course to an attack vector. It had no more weapons. It couldn’t do anything even if the crew had wanted it to

  Suttler pulled up the holo showing the graviton emission track of the star, now only showing one platform, and an asymmetrical blob in the center that was causing very little in the way of disruption. In the rear view the star was still a roiling mass of violent plasma, prominences rising. For several minutes the spectacle continued, while the last Caca platform switched off. Several flares fell back into the star, then more. It took some time, and plasma was still flying out into space, but it soon became obvious that the star was not going to blow.

  “We did it, sir,” said the helmsman.

  “Well, we certainly did our part,” agreed the admiral, nodding. “Now, we have to hope the fleet can do its.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Religion is regarded by the common people as true, by the wise as false, and by the rulers as useful. Lucius Annaeus Seneca

  July 3rd, 1004.

  “Their ships are no longer generating hyperwaves into the star, ma’am.”

  “Very good, tac,” said Mei Lei, glancing at the plot. “Order the force to here,” she said, pointing to a spot on the plot that would give them a good angle of attack on the enemy fleet without placing the planet in the line of fire.