“You’re aware the Surno Materials facility on Aquila was destroyed by the Senecans yesterday?”
“Yes, sir. Most unfortunate. I know they were a major supplier of ours.”
“Not merely of ours. They were also a significant supplier of metamaterials to the Alliance military. Now the Alliance is busily soaking up the remaining available supply from other manufacturers.”
He glanced a little nervously around the table. “Of course this company has a long history and tradition of supporting the Alliance, and we stand fully behind the war effort. But the fact remains we will also need supplies if we expect to deliver on existing orders, not to mention future ones.”
She couldn’t help but frown. “Without a doubt. But while Surno was a reliable supplier, there are numerous metamaterial manufacturers on Alliance worlds and friendly independent ones.”
“Yes, and they are all now being courted heavily by our competitors and every other provider of space-worthy end products.”
“Ah, well, I can see the difficulty. However, as Director of the Design and Prototyping Division, I’m not certain how I might be able to help.”
One of the directors, Amanda Vashi, clasped her hands on the table. “We recognize it isn’t your normal area of focus. But your, shall we say, ‘social’ talents and networking connections are well known and respected, by this Board and the community at large. Combined with the stature of your family, we believe you would make an excellent ambassador for the company and a shrewd negotiator.”
She suppressed a laugh; that had to be the most polite way of saying ‘you’re very attractive, can work a cocktail party like nobody’s business and excel at fooling powerful men into believing you’re flirting with them’ she had ever heard. “I’m flattered, Ms. Vashi, but there are a number of important projects ongoing in DPD right now which I would hate to neglect.”
The chairman smiled in his usual annoying, condescending manner. “Certainly there are, but I’m sure they will survive a couple of days without your direct guidance. We want you to go to Messium and persuade the president of Palaimo Metallurgy to supply us a minimum of sixty percent of our metamaterial requirements for the next year—for reasonable and fair compensation, naturally.”
Her weight shifted to her back foot and she crossed her arms over her stomach, deciding she could stand to lose a bit of deference. “Can’t those negotiations be conducted over holo? I really don’t see the need for a personal visit.”
“Palaimo’s president is something of a prima donna, I’m afraid. And he is, as I noted earlier, being wooed by other companies as well. We believe a personal touch and a touch of extra attention will be required to make the deal happen.”
She pursed her lips together to swallow annoyance. She didn’t particularly want to trek all the way out to Messium to kiss some self-important corporate executive’s ass. But she didn’t see how it was particularly up to her either. With a silent sigh she nodded and gave the chairman a brilliant if somewhat plastic smile.
“Then I am happy to assist the company in any way I can. I’ll make the arrangements today.” She looked around at the directors. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to give my presentation now.”
“Absolutely, Ms. Rossi. Please, continue.”
“Thank you.” She sent the presentation to the large screen above the table. “As you may recall from my earlier visit, the proposed EM reverse shield is intended—”
Nance burst into the room. The woman’s eyes were wide, and she appeared out of breath though she couldn’t have run more than a few meters.
“Turn on the news feed! Alliance Strategic Command has been destroyed!”
62
SPACE, NORTHWEST QUADRANT
Orellan Stellar System
* * *
The 2nd Regiment of the 4th Brigade of the Earth Alliance NW Regional Command patrolled the Fionava-Balta-Orellan corridor, as had been its duty for more than a decade. Periodic superluminal traversals ended randomly to avoid predictable patterns and were interspersed with lengthy periods of impulse propulsion. Of course this being the Earth Alliance military, ‘randomly’ actually meant one of seven predetermined sequences.
Lieutenant Colonel Malcolm Jenner paced in front of the CO chair as the seconds counted down to the shift from superluminal to normal impulse propulsion. They would be at full ready when the transition occurred, as always, but particularly so after the EASC bombing hours earlier had put the entire fleet on Level IV alert status.
He had been the commanding officer of the EAS Juno for all of twenty-three days, and ready state still made him apprehensive. It wasn’t like commanding ground forces, where you could hear and smell and sense the situation you were heading into—where even as a commander you had a weapon in your hand and at least the illusion of control over your own fate.
Here, standing on the deck of a starship in the void of space, he could request information and give orders but do little else to affect his fate or that of his men. It was one reason he disliked space, but only the latest one.
He had tried to comprehend the appeal, to grasp the wonder and amazement others felt toward the stars. For Alex, he had tried. But he had failed.
It wasn’t as if he was a luddite; he embraced humanity’s continued advancement as much as anyone. He simply preferred the sensation of soil beneath his feet and wind in his hair, of fresh, non-recycled air which carried on it the scent and taste of life. He preferred what was solid and real, where if you could see it you could touch it, feel its texture between the tips of your fingers. As far as he knew, no one had ever touched a star.
Not even her.
Yet here he was, commander of a starship for twenty-three days and flying into the middle of a war.
He had been happy serving as the operations officer for the 3rd BC Brigade in Vancouver. It was a good posting, with plenty of responsibility and solid officers under him. But if he wanted to make full colonel in the next decade—or possibly ever—a flight command tour was all but a necessity. And he did want to make colonel, almost as much as Veronica wanted him to.
It was only because she believed in him and thought he was capable of greater things that she pushed him so. He knew this in his heart.
So he had left behind his beautiful new wife of two months, his honorable if slightly staid job and his charming house in the North Vancouver foothills for a half-year space tour. Seventeen days in he had found himself in a war. Alex would be laughing her ass off if she could see him now….
“Flight Lieutenant Billoughy, prepare to idle the sLume drive at 14:35:00. Helmsman Xao, is the Orellan asteroid belt survey loaded into the navigation system?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. Impulse in two…one…mark.”
In the large viewport dominating the bow of the bridge, stars crystalized into focus. Though nearly 3.4 AU away, the sanguine light from the system’s red giant sun cast an eerie hue over the scene. Two of the other four frigates in the formation materialized in the port and starboard peripherals as well as on the tactical map to his left.
“All systems—”
An explosion off their port viewport blew a hole in the side of the EAS Somerset 2.3 seconds after it emerged from superluminal. The shockwave shuddered across the bridge, causing him to grab for the arm of his chair while he implemented Level V alert status. Alarms rang through the deck, but he filtered the increased noise to the background.
He quickly sat down so as not to stumble around the bridge like some ground-pounder. Miniature versions of the tactical and sector maps leapt onto small screens beside him. He watched in dismay as the EAS Caroline ventured forth to their starboard, never seeing the ‘asteroid’ beneath it which detonated and blew out its impulse engine.
Lt. Colonel Jenner: Command, the asteroid field is mined. I repeat, the asteroid field is mined.
The field had been mapped to a three-meter level of accuracy so ships were able to avoid collisions. Now it appeared mines ha
d been disguised to resemble asteroids to the casual observer—‘asteroids’ which would not be on the map.
“Science, I need active visual scans. Update navigation on new obstacles as they are found. Tactical, deploy drones in sets of four spaced one hundred fifty meters apart. Billoughy, keep our course at least two hundred meters rear of the drones. Systems, divert non-critical power to plasma shield—”
The tactical map flared red as a dozen Senecan fighters dropped out of superluminal into the middle of the asteroid field and spread to engage. Based on the speed they were approaching, they did possess detailed mappings of the mines’ locations as well as the asteroids themselves.
The Caroline made for easy pickings with its impulse engine disabled. It took under eight seconds for the small ships to destroy its sLume drive and blow a hole through its shields and into the port stern hull.
The comm screen to his right shouted in bold letters when their own fighters launched from the carrier accompanying them, the EAS Sao Paulo. The surrounding space lit up in arcing laser streams and small explosions as numerous asteroids fell victim to the crossfire.
For a breath he paused to acknowledge the scene depicted in the viewport. So this is what space warfare truly looked like. Admittedly, it was beautiful.
“Weapons, you get a clear shot on one of those fighters, you take it. Billoughy, increase minimum distance to drones to four hundred meters and prepare for evasive maneuvers.” A bright plume flared ahead; he thought it might be a drone catching a mine, but a glance at tactical confirmed it was a fighter. One of ours.
He stared at the screen, briefly transfixed as a Senecan fighter drew its opponent into a mine, diverting at the last instant and leaving the Alliance ship to disintegrate.
“Jesus…Science, get the updated scans out to the other ships.”
Lt. Colonel Jenner: Recommend all capable vessels initiate active visual scans to update navigation maps. Our optimal range does not encompass entire battle sector.
Rear Admiral Tarone (Sao Paulo): Michigan, Hirami, assume defensive positions off Sao Paulo flanks. Juno, get your ass back here on the double and assume point.
The carrier, having been lucky enough to arrive at a location absent of any mines, had little choice at the moment but to hold its position. Given its size and relative lack of maneuverability, it faced certain damage and probable crippling if it attempted to navigate the asteroid field. Requesting protection was understandable.
Nonetheless, Malcolm bristled at the order. It left their fighters with effectively no support and created a giant stationary target for the enemy.
“Billoughy, reverse course and adopt a position 0.8 kilometers N 5.00° E of the Sao Paulo.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me. Those are our orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tactical, continue deploying drones to replace those destroyed.” By this point the drones were doing a decent job of clearing a path forward in about a 60° arc. Maybe the fighters would be able to use it to their advantage…he looked back at the screens. Shit, they only had four still flying to the Senecans’ nine?
This was a bloodbath.
Even without the mines the battlefield favored the opponents’ superior maneuverability—undoubtedly one reason it had been chosen. The Senecans clearly had identified their ostensibly ‘random’ routes and knew they would eventually traverse the asteroid field.
He sent a private pulse to Tarone.
Admiral, we’ve lost two-thirds of our fighters and a third of our frigates. Perhaps we should consider retreating.
Run from a few tiny fighters? Ridiculous.
…Yes, sir.
With the dwindling number of Alliance fighters to offer resistance, several of the enemy vessels began advancing on their position.
“Weapons, be ready to lock on to the first ship to come in range.”
“Yes, sir.” Seven seconds later a pulse beam leapt out of the well of the Juno.
It was virtually impossible to escape a pulse beam once it had locked on, and the ship did not. But it did execute a hairpin turn to drop behind a real asteroid an instant before the beam reached it. The asteroid exploded into hundreds of shards, some of which surely caused damage to the fighter—yet it emerged from the debris to resume advancing.
Dammit.
But perhaps the Admiral was correct. There was no way nine Senecan fighters could survive against the weaponry of three Alliance frigates and a carrier long enough to do any real damage.
The error in his thinking became apparent when five fighters converged toward the Hirami off the Sao Paulo’s port flank, dancing and weaving almost too rapidly for the eye to follow. Frigates wielded only two plasma weapons.
The comm screen lit up again.
Lt. Colonel T’soki (Hirami): Request weapons support from Sao Paulo.
Rear Admiral Tarone (Sao Paulo): Negative, cannot fire from this position without hitting Hirami.
“Weapons, any chance we can target one of the fighters without catching the Hirami?”
“Possibly, sir. Searching for a target in right quadrant…locked.”
Lt. Colonel Jenner: Hirami, we’ve got one of them for you.
Lt. Colonel T’soki (Hirami): Much appreciated.
“Weapons, if you can take any more out, do so.”
But it wasn’t enough. Three of the fighters were destroyed, but by the time the Hirami was able to retarget, the remaining two were on top of them. They dropped in a deep arc beneath the Hirami and targeted the impulse engine. It would require a lot of firepower for so few fighters to take out the engine though; maybe he could take them out before they succeeded.
“Weapons….”
“Trying, sir.”
Then the Senecan vessels did the unthinkable. They accelerated and suicided into the impulse drive.
The blast ricocheted through the Hirami’s hull, ripping it to shreds in seconds.
He couldn’t hear the metal tearing apart, nor the screams of the crew. Nonetheless it was a horrific sight, witnessing the destruction of 74,000 tonnes of starship and as many as a hundred lives. He vaguely noted the Senecan pilots had ejected just prior to impact; not quite so suicidal after all.
Still, he had to remind himself, the enemy was down to a mere three ships. Even if those ships had eliminated two more Alliance fighters while the others had engaged the Hirami.
“Weapons, target remaining fight—”
The tactical map flashed an angry red as two Senecan cruisers and six frigates materialized on the map.
Lt. Colonel Jenner: Admiral, we must retreat.
Lt. Colonel Pniewski (Michigan): What about rescuing survivors?
Another Alliance fighter vanished from the map.
Lt. Colonel Jenner: The Senecans will pick them up. They’ll be POWs, but they’ll be alive. Admiral? Do we have a retreat order?
A long pause.
Rear Admiral Tarone (Sao Paulo): Retreat. Rendezvous Fionava.
“Billoughy, engage the sLume drive immediately. Fionava heading.”
It took approximately 7.2 seconds for a frigate-sized sLume drive to power up and engage. The sole intact Alliance fighter sped into the Sao Paulo’s bay with five seconds to spare.
Malcolm kept an eye on tactical while the drive powered up. He—
Lt. Colonel Jenner: Michigan, watch your starboard!
The remaining Senecan fighters had cloaked in, revealing themselves less than a second before their weapons fired into the sLume drive. The developing warp bubble cavorted wildly then detonated in a massive sphere of exotic particles, vaporizing the Michigan as it expanded at an alarming rate—
“Flight?”
“Drive active…now!”
The glare of the explosion blurred to nothingness as they accelerated away at hundreds of times the speed of light. He sank into the chair, stunned, as the adrenaline abandoned him in waves.
The formation had been all but wiped out, none but the Sao Paulo, the Juno
and a single fighter surviving to retreat.
It would take nearly six hours to reach Northwestern Regional Command on Fionava. But when they arrived, Malcolm was damn straight departing the ship and finding himself some fresh air to breathe.
63
SPACE, NORTH-CENTRAL QUADRANT
Senecan Federation Space
* * *
The first thing Alex was aware of was the chill of gel medwraps melded to her abdomen and back. Next came the dull but not insignificant pain.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
A wave of disorientation washed over her—the cushions beneath her felt wrong, the walls looked wrong, the lights…then she remembered. Not her ship. A rental.
Caleb sat cross-legged on the floor, back to the wall, hands fisted at his chin, eyes downcast. He must have caught the telltale signs of movement in his peripheral vision because his eyes shot up to her. They shone brightly, but their color had paled to that of heavenly blue morning glories blooming with the dawn.
“Hey, you’re awake.”
She blinked and frowned. Her brain felt like muddled mush. Had they been outside the Intelligence Division building? Everything since they left the riverwalk was a blur. “How did we get here? We were…I don’t know.”
“You passed out—you’d been shot. I took a skycar to get us to the ship, then treated your wounds. How do you feel? Can I get you…something…?”
He quickly stood but didn’t approach her. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, and even in her addled state she noticed the light fading from his eyes. It was as if he were disappearing away from her down a long tunnel—which was ridiculous, because he still stood right there.
“Water, maybe?” She steadied both palms on the couch cushion and gingerly sat up, letting her legs trail to the floor. Ow. Yes, she most certainly had been shot. Vague memories began to bubble up, all jumbled and fragmented. It had been the first volley, as they dove behind the vehicle a millisecond too late. She tried to arrange the memories in a sequential order, but after the laser sliced into her the rest was chaos through a smudged lens.
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